To my sister writer and pal Virginia Farmer, for all the support and great ideas and encouragement. Hugs!
To my Denmark Sisterhood, who are always cheering me on!
To Victorian and Valerian (yes, they’re brothers and they’re REAL!), for the use of their awesomely cool names.
To my agent, Jenny Bent, and my editor, Laura Cifelli, and to Jesse Feldman, for all the support and leadership. Thank you, and to everyone else at NAL who worked on Afterlight! Your hard work is appreciated!
To Oceana Gottlieb, fabulous designer of Afterlight’s cover. Thank you so much! It is PERFECT!
To the band Breaking Benjamin, whose music totally rocks! I love you guys!
Finally, to Mike Cummings, owner of Inksomnia Tattoo in Alpharetta, Georgia, for allowing me to use his wicked-cool shop name for Riley’s. Thanks!!
Preface
Savannah, Georgia
City Market
October
Afterlight. According to the Gullah, it meant two things. One: darkness or dusk. Two: death, the life after, or beyond. I’m familiar with both.
Death I’ve known for a long time. I’ve seen it firsthand, and it left a gruesome imprint in my mind that will haunt me forever. But like most crappy things that have happened in my life, I’ve just dealt with it, and maybe death has made me stronger. One thing I’ve learned is no matter how you face it, and no matter the situation, there’s one constant present: finality. There’s no getting around it.
My vision blurred as I watched the rain pelt the window of the corner booth where I sat at Molly McPherson’s pub, and I blinked to see clearly through the evening shower outside. God, I wanted a smoke, but these days it made me want to puke, so I fished out a piece of nic gum from my bag and popped it into my mouth. October twenty-third, nine p.m., and it was rainy and warm — nearly seventy-five degrees.