Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

CHAPTER 37
THE DAY I return to Aplana, Jonas is waiting on the Asphodel’s porch,
drinking something dark from a mason jar. He holds it up in greeting as I
approach, nodding his chin.
“The king of our little underworld returns,” he says, leaning back in the
white rocking chair. “How was Boston?”
“If I never go back, it’ll be too fucking soon.”
Marcelline opens the door for me, having returned to the island not long
after we touched down on the mainland, noting that she didn’t feel
comfortable being an accomplice to any more of my crimes. I walk past her,
trying not to linger in one spot too long, unwilling to let the emptiness of the
house get to me.
Moving into the kitchen, I pause in the doorway, spotting Elena’s
hairbrush on the island. Her pink nail polish on the sink. The copy of
Shakespeare’s Macbeth that I had her read aloud to me one afternoon while I