Death Never Sleeps Read Online Free

mutually exclusive passions where Alex was intimately involved.
    Next to Alex’s second wife, Greta, sat his only son, George. At twenty-three, he was a large, hulking presence, underdressed as always in a black-and-silver heavy-metal-themed sweatshirt barely concealed by his dark green, ill-fitting sport jacket. His black wavy hair and a ponytail gave him a Christ-on-steroids appearance. Next to George was his own son, Alex’s only grandchild, Pete, a five-year-old seemingly oblivious to his immediate surroundings and circumstances, if not the entire planet, while glued to his electronic game.
    Suddenly feeling his BlackBerry vibrating, Michael reluctantly reached into his pocket for it, catching Samantha’s attention.
    “Jesus, Michael, put that thing away. It’s a funeral, for God’s sake,” she whispered.
    Michael looked pained. “I know, but this is crazy. Someone just sent me Alex’s picture.”
    “Alex’s? Well, that’s nice,” she said.
    “I’m not sure. This is more strange than nice.”
    “What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Samantha now turned toward Michael.
    “Well, the picture is okay. It’s just Alex behind his desk, in his den.”
    “So, what’s wrong?”
    “There’s a quote or some saying, underneath the picture.” Michael was straining to read the small print without attracting the attention of the others in the pews.
    “What does it say?” Samantha asked.
    “It says, ‘Life is a dream, and death is waking up.’”
    Samantha turned back, an expression of confusion on her face. “That is so odd. Who would send something like that?”
    “I have no idea. I don’t recognize the sender’s e-mail address.” But as Michael continued to stare at the small screen, the e-mail began to dissolve until it disappeared. The screen went blank. He clicked onto “Recently Deleted” mail, but there was no sign of it there either. “That’s strange. It’s gone now. It just disintegrated right on the screen.”
    “Michael, are you sure it was there in the first place?”
    “Yes, of course. But I can’t imagine who would have sent it.”
    Just before turning her attention back to the altar, Samantha smiled and said, “Maybe Alex did.” Michael nodded and, perplexed, stared ahead at his brother’s coffin.
    The pews behind him were packed with a broad assortment of cousins, nieces, nephews, Alex’s devoted employees, and a colorful spectacle of his “business associates,” most of whom appeared to be genuinely saddened by Alex’s death. Michael could hear the low murmurs of grief and an occasional sob coming from a group of women sitting behind him; an unknown hand had given him a sympathetic pat on the back as he’d entered the church.
    As Michael watched and listened, his mind sped back to the years when he and his brother were home and very young. He wondered if Alex had been happy or at least content with the life he had lived. He tried to imagine how things might have been different if Alex had married a different woman—or different women. Or, Michael thought, was he simply projecting his own preferences and prejudices onto his brother, who was clearly different than he was?
    Nevertheless, he was intent on not doing what he believed most people did at funerals: flashing back through one’s memory of the person inside the casket. For, despite the day-to-day distance he had kept from his brother, the memories would be too painful to relive now. But, as he always did at funerals, even as a child, he couldn’t help asking himself as he looked at the casket, Where is this person now?
    Michael always believed, from too early an age, that one’s whole life was almost irrelevant without the answer to that question. Too much of life, he thought, was simply a race to a finish line with no clue as to where that line was or what was on the other side of the tape.
    All this uncertainty was likely the source of that persistent feeling of angst that he had; that shadowy fear of something