Kelly Martin - The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 KELLY MARTIN

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities toactual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features areassumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are usedonly for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of theseterms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction ofthis book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,constitutes a copyright violation.

THE AFTERLIFE OF LIZZIE MONROE

Copyright 2014 KELLY MARTIN

ISBN: 978-0-9911273-3-7

ISBN 10: 0991127331

Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

Edited by Laura Heritage

To God for everything

To my girls for being excited about Mama's books.

To all my readers. Thank you so much!

To all the people I've pestered about this book, Iappreciate you taking the time to help me make it better.

I count not myself to have apprehended: but this onething I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reachingforth unto those things which are before.

Philippians 3:13, KJV

Lonely Lizzie full of strife

In the barn, she took her life.

Go there now and count to three

Lonely Lizzie you will see.

-Dixon, Tennessee Legend

"Shane, man, snap out of it."

Shane Davis heard Drake Samson, lead singer and allaround jerk, but he didn't feel the need to respond. They had beenpracticing for three hours on the same song: a snore-worthy balladwith the slowest drum beat ever invented okay, maybe not theslowest ever, but it was pretty close. Three hours of the sameobnoxious beat, the same painful tempo wore Shane's nerves verythin. He needed a cigarette then he needed to leave. Somewhere heneeded to be; something he'd wanted to do for months on the agendatonight.

"I would, Drake, but I'm a bit bored. Can't we playsomething that screams Love's Suicide and not something thatmakes the audience want to actually commit suicide?" Love'sSuicide hadn't been his first choice for a band name, but ithad history to the town and history he was told sold tickets.He couldn't see how some poor girl's suicide could make people wantto pay to hear heavy metal, but whatever. He was just the drummer.No one ever really asked his opinion when it came to names or songsor tempo or anything. If he cared, it would tick him off. As itwas, Love's Suicide killed time. If he got payment or laidfrom it, bonus.

"We could always cut the drums out completely on thesong." Drake smiled his ever pompous smirk. "It's not like they areneeded. I was just throwing you a bone by adding them." If thepreppy cut, brown-haired idiot thought his little threatintimidated Shane, he had another thing coming.

"Awesome." Shane jumped up from the drum set andlaid the sticks on the stool. He flung his nearly shoulder-lengthlight brown extremely curly hair out of his eyes and crossed hisimpressive muscular biceps the perk of being a drummer over hisdark grey, body hugging shirt. "Get out of my garage."

Drake's face dropped much to Shane's enjoyment. Itwas one thing to be a jerk in someone else's house. Very muchanother to be a jerk in the only band member's 'whose parentsweren't home' garage. "We have to practice, Shane." Drake cowardlybacktracked. "We have a gig this Saturday in case you'veforgotten."

If only. Drake had only reminded him of it everyother hour since he'd booked Sarah Sadler's sweet sixteen.

"And sweet Sarah will want more than one slow as thehills song. She might want to even, strange as it sounds,dance."

"Boys" Cheyenne gave her unwanted two cents fromthe bass. "Put' em back in your pants. Neither of you have anythingto strut about."

"Sister, you've not seen mine since we were six."Shane smirked at his two minutes younger twin. She looked a lotlike him in some ways long brown curly hair, though hers wasn'tas curly as his. She had light green eyes where his were chocolatebrown. She was shorter and he was snarkier on most days.

"I stand by my statement." She grinned like aknow-it-all. "You two fight more than an old married couple."

"Gay marriage isn't legal in this state," Shanereminded her.

"Like I'd ever marry you," Drake mumbled.

"Like you'll ever marry my sister either, but itdoesn't mean you don't pine after her every second of everyday."

If looks could kill, Shane would be as dead as thepreacher's daughter, the one Love's Suicide was nameafter.

"Don't deny it," Shane just had to add.

Drake walked toward him with his fist balled up, andShane simply flexed his muscle. Like he was scared of a rich idiotlike Drake.

Preston Long, tattooed, pink-haired guitarist,jumped between the two raging bulls. "That's enough guys. Drake, ithas been a long afternoon, man. Maybe it's time to move on.Practice something else."

Drake stopped, but his nose flared with everybreath. It wasn't the first time Shane had seen him mad. He knew itwouldn't be the last. In all honesty, he liked aggravating Drake.It made life worth living. What else did he have to do with histime now that school was out for the summer?

But lately, like over the past few months, Drake hadchanged. He was jumpier now. Moodier, if that were possible. Hehadn't mentioned why to Shane's knowledge. Of course, he could havesaid and he hadn't paid attention. That was always possible. Shanetended to tune out things that didn't interest him like politics,the economy, and Drake talking.

After a few second stand-off, Drake rolled his eyes."Fine. Let's play something more upbeat to make the baby happy." Heturned and stomped back to the microphone.

Preston nodded to Shane and slapped him on theshoulder before going back to his post to the right of Drake. Thegarage wasn't terribly big, only a two-car, so they were always inpretty close proximity to each other. Drake's garage was muchbigger, as was his house, but his mom wouldn't allow them to causesuch a 'ruckus' at their house. Shane's mom didn't care. She wasn'thome enough to care. And his old man well, yeah, no one cared.

Cheyenne winked at her brother and smiled. Shanecouldn't help smiling back. She was the only person in the worldwho could make him smile on a regular basis. The baby of thefamily, she played her part perfectly as the little sister. Shanedid more things than he liked to admit when Cheyenne played the'please' card including staying in the band when he wanted to quiton a regular basis.

Without a word, Cheyenne faced the 'audience', orthe grungy garage door, and got ready to play.

Shane was the only one not at his or her post, so heslowly grabbed the drumsticks from the seat and plopped down. Hesincerely hoped Drake didn't pick another draggy slow song. Hecouldn't take any more drabness. His arms were itching forsomething faster, something to work out his muscles and allow himto flop his hair around. Built up stress and nerves and all.

"Lizzie's Rest." Drake called, and it was Shane'sturn to smirk. He'd written that song a few months ago. It was hisfavorite. Hardcore drum beat on that one. It so didn't fit thelyrics.

"One two three four." Shane called out. He hitthe snare and off they went.

Eight counts later, Drake started vocals. "A younggirl still in her prime. Lost her love and her mind. The news wasbad. She has no rest. Lizzie Monroe slit her wrists"

****

Finally, blessedly, band practice ended at aroundeleven, way longer than Shane would have liked, but he sufferedthrough. It would have seemed suspicious for him to say, "Hey guys,I need you to go because Preston and I are playing with matchestonight, and we'd like to get to it."