Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Gideon
“You’re certain you want to do this tonight?” Henry asked as we sat in the SUV outside the funeral home on Sunday evening. “We haven’t had time to prepare. Not like we did with Alton.”
“You said it yourself. The more time that lapses between James’ visit this morning andwhat I’m about to do, the less likely the police will consider Brian a person of interest. You’ve done more than enough research. I have an opportunity tonight, especially with him giving his staff the day off. I’m going to take it. I have to take it.”
“There are still a lot of unanswered questions,” Henry reminded me. “I tried to run a proper background check on this guy, but there’s only so much I can find out in a short period of time. Based on what we overheard earlier, he’s definitely involved in more than just cleaning crime scenes. I haven’t been able to figure out what that is yet.”
“You’ll have eyes and ears on me?”
“I’ve highjacked his feed so it’s on a loop, but I’ll be able to keep track of you everywhere inside, except for his office and the cremation room.”
“Good.” I reached for the door handle, but before I could slip into the night, Henry stopped me with a hand on my forearm. I met his green eyes.
“Be careful,” he admonished.
“I always am.”
He nodded, but didn’t let go right away, as if wanting to tell me something else.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.
He closed his eyes and pushed out a long breath. Then he released his hold on me, although I could sense his reluctance.
Smoothing a hand down my suit, I climbed out of the SUV and took a moment to become the person I needed in order to lull Brian McGuire into a false sense of security.
Then again, the money Henry promised when he called to beg for a last-minute meeting for his wealthy boss was probably all Brian cared about. Henry may not have had time to thoroughly research my unexpected target, but he learned enough to know Brian wouldn’t be able to turn down a huge pile of money, even if it ended up being detrimental to him.
Which it would.
“You must be Mr. Saint,” Brian greeted with a slick smile, opening the door before I even had a chance to ring the doorbell.
Using my name was a risk, but Henry thought it might work to my advantage, considering it would only take a quick internet search for Brian to see my vast wealth.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I apologize for all the secrecy, but I’m trying to make a plan for my grandfather without the entire world learning his health is failing.”
“In my line of work, discretion is of the utmost importance.” He stepped aside to let me enter, the familiar smell of roses and clean linen nearly causing me to lose my balance.
“I trust my assistant has compensated you for your time.” My tone was smooth and polite, although the longer I remained in this man’s presence, the more I wanted to make him suffer. But I kept my cool, reminding myself to be patient.
I’d have my chance to make him suffer before the night was over.
“He has. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“Shall we begin in the viewing room?” Brian extended his arm down the long hallway.
“Certainly.” I followed him out of the foyer, my surroundings all muted grays with subtle accents of blue. It was a calming environment in which to say farewell to your loved one.
Or to hold a man hostage before selling him to an underground fighting ring.
“While we have enough space to host large families, if this isn’t sufficient, I have contacts at several event spaces in the area and can arrange to host the viewing there instead. I find most of my clients prefer the ‘homey’ feel this space provides, and they often alter their plans accordingly, opting for a more private viewing before the public service.”
“I can see why,” I responded, taking note of the spacious room in the back of the house he led me into. It could easily fit several dozen mourners.
“Since I understand how difficult this time can be, I also have a separate room just for immediate family.” He headed toward a pair of pocket doors on the far wall, sliding them open to reveal another room decorated in the same distinguished style, but on a smaller scale. “We partner with area restaurants to provide refreshments for the family for the duration of the viewing.”
“That’s a nice touch. I haven’t come across many funeral homes that offer that.”
“We like to make sure all our guests’ needs are taken care of while they’re with us.”
I made a show of examining both the family space as well as the viewing room before turning back to him. “May I see the preparation rooms?”
He hesitated, his fake smile faltering. “Those aren’t typically open to the public.”
“I understand, but my grandfather has been quite particular about his final wishes. I want to ensure they can be carried out with dignity.”
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, stealing a discreet glance toward a door on the opposite side of the viewing room. I couldn’t lose him now. My plan hinged on him going along with my wishes.
“Otherwise, I’ll be on my way,” I said politely as I started toward the hallway.
“No need,” he responded quickly, stepping in front of me. “I’ve been in this business long enough to understand some people may have different requirements than others. I do have an open preparation room I can show you.”
My lips curved up in the corners. “I appreciate that.”
I followed him through the viewing room and toward the door he’d just glanced at. He input a code into a numbered lock, and the door buzzed open, revealing a stark, white corridor that felt more like a hospital than a funeral home.
My senses were on high alert as I tried to absorb each detail, everything about my surroundings so damn familiar. The hum of the air conditioning. The buzz from the fluorescent lights overhead. The smell of cleaning supplies. There was no doubt I’d been kept here all those years ago, especially when Brian brought me into one of the rooms, the aroma of antiseptic and bleach so strong I had to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.
I may not have had many clear memories of the time between Liam shooting me and waking up in a cold cell, but certain smells stayed with me.
And this smell would be permanently etched into my memory — an olfactory stamp that would never fade.
“As you can see, we keep our prep rooms clean and sanitized,” Brian’s voice sliced through my thoughts, his words dripping with faux professionalism. “When the deceased comes to us, we take care to remove all clothes and jewelry and return them to the family, ensuring everything is logged in and out. The last thing we want is for anything of importance to go missing.”
“Can you tell me a bit about the embalming process?” I asked in an effort to prevent myself from tackling him to the floor and beating him to death right now.
A gentle smile tugged on his lips. “That’s probably one of the most frequently asked questions. I assure you, it’s done with the utmost respect and dignity.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I was wondering if you could tell me what it entails. I’ve always been fascinated by this sort of thing, especially after reading a book about how they preserved Lincoln’s body.”
“Ah, yes. I hear that quite a lot. While the science has definitely improved since the Civil War, the concept is still the same, for the most part. I start by making a few incisions. One to the carotid artery and another to the jugular vein.” He gestured to the corresponding parts on his body. “A tube containing embalming fluid is placed by the carotid to pump the mixture through the body while the incision to the jugular acts as a drain, ridding the body of blood. After that, I embalm the cavity.”
“The cavity?”
“To preserve the organs. A small incision is placed just above the navel and I place a trocar inside the abdominal and thoracic cavities.”
“What’s a trocar?”
His smile widened as he headed toward a wall of cabinets on the far side of the room. After sliding open a drawer, he removed what was probably the longest needle I’d ever seen and handed it to me.
“This is a trocar.”
“Good thing they’re already dead, or you’d put them off needles for the rest of their lives,” I remarked as I studied the instrument with curiosity.
“I almost fainted the first time I used one in school, but I eventually learned to toughen up.”
“What do you use this for?” I returned it to him.
“To suction out any remaining blood or bodily fluids before delivering embalming fluid into the organs. After that, all incisions are closed up with sutures.”
I nodded, taking a moment to process everything in order to give off an interested impression. In reality, my mind swirled with thoughts of using the trocar on him and sucking all the blood out of his body as he begged for his life.
“My grandfather has mentioned a desire to be cremated instead of buried. Do you still recommend embalming?” I asked finally.
“Even if you decide to go with cremation, embalming helps preserve the body so it looks more…natural during the viewing.”
“So less like a corpse?”
“Precisely,” he replied with a laugh.
“It’s my understanding you have onsite cremation?”
“We do. And I can assure you that no cremations will occur during any visitation or viewing hours. We only do them after business hours.”
“May I see the facilities?”
I could sense his reluctance once more. This time, however, he didn’t object to my request. After all, I’d paid him handsomely just to meet with me. No doubt he was already seeing dollar signs in his eyes over what I’d pay to have the perfect service for my nonexistent grandfather.
“Right this way.” He spun on his heels.
I followed, but not before discreetly grabbing the trocar he left on the embalming table and slipping it into the sleeve of my suit jacket.
“I had this entire wing built as an addition when I bought the house,” he explained proudly as he led me down the hallway. “While I strive to give my guests a comforting environment, there’s still a clinical element to what I do, as well as building code requirements in order to carry out cremations on site. I pride myself on being able to offer a one-stop shop service to my clients.”
“It certainly is convenient,” I mused, although I was thinking more of the convenience it offered for my plans tonight.
After passing several more rooms, he came to a stop at the end of the corridor. Like every other door along this hallway, there was another keypad requiring another code. But in addition, there was also a fingerprint scanner, making me think something more sinister than a typical cremation occurred on the other side of this door.
“Quite a bit of security,” I commented as he input his code before pressing his thumb to the scanner.
“As I’ve mentioned, the safety of your loved one is of my utmost concern.”
The door buzzed, and he pushed it open, revealing another sterile space like the preparation room he just showed me.
But this one was much bigger, probably four times the size. And unlike the other room, there was a large oven built into the far wall.
He headed toward a panel beside it and flipped several switches.
When the unmistakable sound of gas igniting filled the room, another memory slammed into me. Something about the beeps and hissing of gas were so familiar, confirming my suspicion that I was kept in one of these sterile rooms as this asshole nursed me back to health, just to turn around and sell me off like livestock.
“How long does a standard cremation typically take?” I asked, needing to distract myself from the rage that was becoming stronger with every second I remained in this place.
“The entire process can take approximately three hours, sometimes longer, depending on the size of the body. The oven is usually preheated to about eleven hundred degrees, which doesn’t take long with the powerful flames inside. Once that happens, the mechanized doors are opened and the container is rolled inside before the doors are quickly closed again.”
“Container?”
“While it’s not necessary, I prefer to keep the body in a combustible container. I find it more…respectful. Sometimes it’s just a large cardboard box or simple coffin like this here.” His tone was chillingly casual as he walked toward a plywood box in the corner of the room.
“And after the process is complete? What happens to the ashes?”
“The chamber is then cooled and the cremated remains, which actually resemble a skeleton, are swept into a tray. Then the remains are put into this.”
He strode toward a machine that looked similar to a tool cabinet, the only difference being the clear doors on the front. He opened them, demonstrating where the remains were placed once they came out of the oven.
“First, the machine will remove any metals, like from fillings or hip or knee replacements. Then it will grind whatever’s left.” He closed the doors and opened the compartment beneath it, gesturing toward a metal bin where I assumed the grindings ended up. “After that, the remains are placed in a container of the family’s choosing, which I personally deliver within forty-eight hours.”
Nodding, I strolled through the room, taking in all the equipment, doing my best to remember every detail he just shared with me.
Especially the cremation process.
This asshole probably used this very room to dispose of bodies and evidence of crimes. Hell, he probably would have used this room to dispose of my body had I not still been alive when he arrived at the crime scene that night.
And now I was going to dispose of the evidence of his death in an act of poetic justice.
“Well, you’ve been extremely accommodating and thorough.” I faced him with a bright smile. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to go over the entire process with me. It certainly helps make my decision much easier.”
“I understand this can be a difficult time. I’m always more than happy to answer any questions you may have.”
“I actually do have one more question, if you can spare another minute of your time.”
“Certainly.” Brian flashed a smile. “Anything to make the decision easier.”
In one swift move, I removed the trocar from its hiding spot and plunged it into his stomach.
“How much did you make when you sold me?” I growled, my eyes flaming with fury.
He parted his lips, confusion and panic overtaking his expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered in a strained voice.
“Then let me refresh your memory.” I leaned closer, relishing the fear in his eyes. “Five years ago, you were hired to clean a crime scene. When you arrived, the victim was still alive, so you conspired with a certain soon-to-be United States Senator to make a bit of money. Instead of finishing the job, you brought the victim back here, patched him up, then sold him.” My jaw clenched. “Sold me .”
Recognition flashed in his eyes, his complexion paling even more as he struggled to free himself from my hold. But he was no match for me. After all, I’d spent four years fighting for my life on a regular basis, thanks to him.
I could easily overpower him without even breaking a sweat.
“They said you died. That’s why I stopped getting?—”
“Getting what?” I roared, twisting the trocar around in his stomach.
A piercing wail ripped through the room as more blood stained his white suit shirt. “A cut,” he shouted, his face scrunched up in agony.
I paused my motions. “A cut?”
“It was part of the deal. A finder’s fee, so to speak. Any time you won, I got a share of the proceeds. But they told me you died over a year ago.”
“They lied,” I sneered, removing the trocar from his stomach, his eyes widening in terror in the seconds before I plunged it directly through his heart.
Years ago, this sort of thing would have sickened me.
That was before I became desensitized to death and torture. Before I had no choice but to live and breathe it every second of every day.
Now I was able to look into the eyes of the man who put me in that hellhole as he struggled for every last gasp of breath until blood sputtered from his mouth and his body went limp.