Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (76 page)

Shelley

Disco boots.

Disco boots. Disco boots. Disco boots.

Oh God, I wont those disco boots.

That's why I'm here. As I try not to be grossed out by all the blood and gore, I keep reminding myself of those bright yellow, sequined, tasseled, retro 70s style disco boots in the window of the store. I'm here so I can earn $230 and buy myself the best pair of disco boots the world has ever seen.

Honest to God, that's why I'm standing here, holding this brain.

"Often," Walter says, with his back to me, "the county morgue sends bodies to us in multiple bags. Do you understand what that means, Shelley?"

I stare at him, feeling slightly nauseous. "What?" I ask.

He frowns. "Heavy night last night?"

I smile. "No," I say, desperately trying to cover up the fact that I've got a monster hangover. "Sorry, I just missed the question."

"I said that the county morgue often sends bodies to us in multiple bags," he says, sighing. "I asked if you understand what that means."

"Um," I say, trying to think. This is my first day working here, and it feels uncomfortably like being back at school. Walter, the owner of the funeral home, is trying to get me to understand why we do the things we do. I wish he'd just tell me straight instead. "I guess it means that the person who died got carved up pretty badly," I say, guessing.

Walter turns to me, holding a severed arm. "Basically, yes," he says, smiling. He's an old man, close to retirement age and with a kind face. "They have no care for the niceties, so they just throw the pieces into some bags and send them to us." He examines the arm. "It's our job to put everything together so that when the time comes for the funeral service, the body is presentable. It's this level of attention to detail that has helped my family's funeral home survive through good times and bad."

The funeral home is on the outskirts of Dedston. If someone you love has died, and you can't afford a big funeral, you come here. Walter's known across town for providing big discounts, and he genuinely cares about the feelings of his customers. Down here in the basement, however, where the bodies are prepared for viewings and open caskets, there's not much room for tact or sensitivity. The bodies are laid out and treated like blocks of meat.

I look down at the dead body on the slab. It's a middle-aged guy who seems to be missing most of the lower part of his body. The top half looks fine, down to the stomach area, and then he's just a mangled mess where his hips and legs seem to have been ripped away. Also, the top of his head has been sliced open and his brain has been removed.

"What happened to him?" I ask.

"This is Franklin Lord," Walter says, "a married father of three. A teacher at the local high school. He was involved in a rather terrible car accident. He died instantly, though that will be little comfort for his poor grieving widow and his children." He checks his watch. "They'll be here in half an hour to talk about the casket."

"Are they going to see the body?" I ask.

"Of course not!" Walter says, sounding a little irritated. "It's not ready at all. They'll come back in a few days when we've had time to work our magic." He pauses. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Please ask any questions that you have." He glances at me. "It's the only way you'll learn."

I look at the brain in my hand. "Why did they take his brain out?"

Walter sighs. "I'm afraid that was a procedural error at the hospital. Someone ticked the wrong box, and by the time they'd realized their mistake, the autopsy was over. Now we have to sew Mr. Lord's skull shut and fix it so that nobody notices when the family members come to view the body." He sighs again. "The family insist upon an open casket, and unfortunately - as you can see - Mr. Lord was completely bald. This will be a challenge, for sure."

I look at the body. It's hard to believe that Franklin Lord, with the top of his head sliced open, can ever look good enough to be viewed by anyone. "Okay," I say, "so shall I pop the brain back in now?"

Walter frowns. "No, you can toss that in the trash."

I stare at him.

"We can sew the skull up without putting the brain back in," he says, with a tone of voice that makes it sound like he thinks I'm a bit of an idiot. "The family won't know. Put it in the trash container for medical waste."

There's a sound behind me. I turn to see a guy coming in from outside. The first thing I notice is that he's hot. Very hot. Although he's wearing an apron with blood stains on the front, he has the most gorgeous cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, and tousled black hair. The fact that he works at a funeral home only adds to his appeal. There's something cute about the way he seems able to be around dead bodies with such apparent ease.

"Comfortable, you're just in time," Walter says. "Go and mix up some latex for me. We've got a bald one to fix."

The guy nods, then glances shyly at me before walking over to the other side of the room and grabbing some pots. No introduction, no "Hello," just getting on with his job. I like that.

"Shelley," Walter continues, "I need you to hold the top of the head in place while I sew."

"Okay," I say, moving around to the other end of the table and taking the piece of skull. Walter helps me position it on the dead guy's head, but I can't help glancing over at the hot guy as he starts mixing the latex. I force myself to look down at the head. I need this job. Well, that's not true. I need the disco boots, and that means I need a job. With the economy going down the drain, this is the only one I could find.

"Keep a steady hand," Walter says to me. "I don't want to get this wrong." He grabs a tube of glue. "The first stage is simply to glue the bone surfaces together." He squirts clear gel onto the skull, just like he's gluing together parts of a broken vase. "In many ways, this is the most important part of the process, because it provides the structure for all of our subsequent work. We'll then grind down any ridges and rebuild with putty before using latex to smooth over the join." He looks up at me and smiles. "Simple, huh?"

"Uh-huh," I say, still unable to keep from glancing over at the hot guy, who has his back to me. Sophie always laughs at me for falling in love too fast, and perhaps she has a point; but in this case, I think even she would approve. This guy is seriously, seriously hot, and he has that quiet, slightly shy and moody demeanor that can be pretty hard to pull off properly. I already want to know everything about him: his name, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his plans for the future, his favorite position in bed... I'm not in love with him, obviously, but I'm in love with the idea of having some fun with him.

"Steady now," Walter says. I look down to see that he's still applying glue to the skull. "Make sure your hands don't shake too much."

"Sorry," I say.

"It's fine," he replies. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough." He focuses on his work for a moment. "Surely you will," he adds under his breath.

Great. I've been here barely two hours and already my new boss has given up on me. It's going to take me a couple of months to earn the money for those disco boots, and I'm kind of worried I might not last that long. I should never have stormed out of the restaurant, but it's too late to go back.

"Hold this in place," Walter says, and I put my fingers against the top of the head so that it stays where it is and the glue can dry.

"How long for?" I ask casually.

"Until I get back from greeting the deceased's family. They'll be here soon and I need to get changed before they arrive. I'll be back in forty, maybe forty-five minutes." He heads to the door.

"I have to stand like this until then?" I ask.

"If you don't want the job," Walter says as he leaves to go upstairs, "I'm sure there are plenty of others who'll happily take your place." And with that, he goes up to the main reception area of the funeral home, ready to greet the family.

"I'm not so sure about that," I say under my breath. Standing there and holding the piece of skull in place, it takes me a moment to summon up the courage to look over at the hot guy, who still has his back to me as he mixes up the batch of latex. Watching the back of his head, I find myself trying to come up with the perfect opening line for a conversation. Given the circumstances, I should be able to come up with something pretty funny, but unfortunately I find that my mind has gone kind of blank.

"So," I say, deciding to just dive in, "what's your name again?"

"Comfortable," he replies, not even looking over at me.

"Sorry?" I ask, not sure if I heard him right.

"Comfortable," he says again. "It's my name."

"Cool," I say, frowning a little. I look down at the dead body and see that the piece of skull is still in the right place. "I'm Shelley," I add.

No answer.

Damn it, this guy's only slightly more talkative than Patrick. "Comfortable's an unusual name," I say.

No answer.

"It's pretty weird," I continue.

"I know," he replies stonily.

"Did your parents really call you Comfortable?"

He nods.

"Cool," I say. "Is it alright if I call you Comfy?"

He finally turns to me. "No."

"Okay," I say, starting to wonder if perhaps I should give up. For whatever reason, this Comfortable guy doesn't seem very comfortable around me. Perhaps he got so mad at his parents for giving him a dumb name, he decided to react by turning into an ass. Still, I'm not going to be too discouraged. After all, the guy's barely even looked at me yet and I should have a few more opportunities to get under his skin. Just because he's not going to jump into bed with me straight away, I'm not going to abandon all hope. This can be a long game, and I'm patient. I'm willing to wait one, maybe two weeks to get him on my side. If a guy's hot enough, there's no reason not to go the extra mile in order to get a date.

"So do you want to get a drink after work?" I ask.

"No."

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Okay," I reply. "Maybe another time."

"No."

I take a deep breath. I've never met someone who's so outright rude.

The door opens and Walter returns, looking a little annoyed. "How are things coming along?" he asks.

"Nearly done," Comfortable says.

Walter looks at the piece of skull that I'm holding in place. "Let go," he says. I do, and the piece remains in place. "That'll do," he says.

"You were quick," I mutter.

"The family were quite upset," he replies, grabbing some tools from a nearby bench. "I'm afraid they were overcome with emotion, which meant they were no use at all. I told them to come back tomorrow." He sighs. "Some people just don't know how to handle death at all."

As Walter gets to work, I glance over at Comfortable and decide - sadly - that I've blown my chance. I mean, the guy might look good, but he's clearly got some personality issues. Basically, I'd like to have sex with him one time, but beyond that I don't think there'd be much of a future. And while hot guys are pretty rare in Dedston, I can live without this one. I'm not gonna make myself look like an idiot just to try to get into his pants. I don't often give up on a target, but when I do, I like to think I retain a little dignity. So screw you, Comfortable. Have fun mixing your latex.

Just before 5pm, Walter tells me I can go, adding that he'll see me tomorrow bright and early. I guess that means I haven't been fired yet. As I get changed in one of the side rooms, taking off the lab coat and putting on my own clothes, I work out that I'm about $15 closer to the disco boots. Not great, but still something of an improvement. Grabbing my bag, I head out the door and find that it's pouring with rain. I take shelter under the awning of a nearby shop and, fishing my phone from my bag, I try to call Sophie. Once again, there's no answer, and I go to voice mail

"Hey, it's me," I say in my most unimpressed voice. "You remember me, right? Shelley? Your best friend. The one who knows all about your crazy shit? Well, if you get bored doing whatever you're doing and you wanna hang out, give me a call." I pause. "And even if you don't, call me anyway. I just wanna make sure you're okay. Okay?" I disconnect. I haven't been able to get through to Sophie for two days now, and I'm starting to get worried. With all the stuff going on in Sophie's life, it's pretty clear that she could be in danger.

"Hey," says a voice next to me. I turn to find that Comfortable has followed me out of the funeral home.

"Hey," I say.

"So..." he says, seeming a little awkward, "I thought about it again, and if you want to get that drink..."

I stare at him. This, I was not expecting. Then again, now that I've changed out of those dowdy lab clothes and I'm in a T-shirt and tight jeans, maybe I've caught his eye.

"Sure," I say, a little shocked that's he's come forward like this. "I know a bar down in -"

"I know a bar too," he says. "Come on." He turns and starts walking. For a moment - just a moment - it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn't go with him. Shouldn't I play hard to get? Sighing, I realize there's no point faking it. I'm not hard to get.