Melancholia

Chapter 1

“Let it never be said that Eleanor Collins shies away from blood.”

The words are spoken by the woman across from me just as I place eye caps on the corpse, holding the lids open to slip the caps into place.

Once that’s done, I make sure the eyes will be staying shut, before flipping the sheet back up over the body and going to the clipboard on the edge of the desk nearby.

The woman watches me impassively, an unwanted guest in a place not meant for her.

“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I grumble, not looking at my guest. “I didn’t ask for you to be here at all.” I keep my voice quiet, listening for the telltale click of the lobby door. Cecil will be back any second, and I’d like to get as much of this body done as possible before he gets here.

“You should ask for a redo of your interview embalming,” the woman remarks.

“Last I checked, it’s not exactly proper procedure to do the eyes, then cover the body back up.

Doesn’t Cecil prefer you do it all in one swoop if you can?

” This time I don’t answer, though when I look up, the woman is touching the large, spread-out birthmark she has under one eye, as if rubbing it will remove it like a paint stain.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask as she stares down at the body, her other hand crossed protectively over her stomach. When she looks up at me, her dark brown eyes are plaintive and unhappy. I’ve never seen someone with eyes like mud, but that’s all I can think of when she looks at me.

God, I wish she’d go away. I don’t have the energy for guests tonight.

“Why not?” the woman, Mary, retorts. With a click of her tongue, she moves to scrub harder at it. “I think I always hated this.”

“Why?” I glance up at her, head tilted slightly as I stroke my thumb over the metal clasp holding the report to the clipboard. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

But Mary just fixes me with a plaintive look and murmurs, “I don’t know, Eleanor, you tell me.”

“You know it’s Nell—” The front door suddenly opens, then closes, though I only hear it because I’ve been expecting it. Thunder rumbles outside like an omen, but it can’t be for anything bad.

Not when Cecil is the definition of sunshine and smiles, there isn’t a grumpy bone in the older man’s body. Despite the fact he owns a mortuary and funeral home that’s been passed down in his family for enough generations that getting out of the business wasn’t really a choice for him.

I wonder if he’s ever minded that.

“It seems to suit him,” Mary remarks, leaning her hands on the embalming table, carefully avoiding the body there. “I think he likes doing the community this kind of service.”

I roll my eyes at her, but I don’t reply. Not when Cecil is already coming down the windowed hallway from the lobby, his glasses perched on the end of his nose like they’re hanging on for dear life while he flips through the mail.

“Seems like we’re in for some storms over the next week or so,” he comments, looking up to smile at me with the mild, friendly expression he wears so naturally.

“Maybe being around death makes him appreciate life more?” Mary asks, still from her spot by the table.

“I can’t figure out why else he’d be such a damn teddy bear.

” When I glance over at her, she’s rubbing her face again, fingers rasping over the birthmark.

But I just shrug at her, not knowing the answer any more than she does.

Cecil doesn’t give Mary even a glance, but of course he doesn’t. He just grins his usual sunshine grin at me and sets the mail on the desk. “How’s the night going?”

“Everything is all good,” I promise him, gesturing at the body covered by a sheet.

“Pulled her out of the cooler about fifteen minutes ago, I was just waiting for you to really get started.” I pause, then add almost sheepishly, “I did her eye caps, though. I figured you’d be okay with me doing that without you. ”

Please don’t be mad, I think to myself.

Mary snorts. “He’s never mad. I don’t think he has it in him.” As she speaks, I find myself mirroring her movements; rubbing my fingers against my cheek where I know there’s a constellation of freckles, and tucking my black hair back behind my ear as Cecil finishes leafing through the mail.

“Hmm?” He looks up absently, obviously unaware I’m waiting for a response.

“Oh! That’s completely fine, Nell. Honestly, you know I trust you by now.

You’re better at keeping up with things than I’ve ever been,” the owner of Kindred Pines chuckles.

“I’m not here to babysit you.” He barely glances at the body on the table.

“I just wanted to come by to do a last check and make sure I didn’t forget anything.

Like…” He opens a drawer on the large, multi-tiered desk and lifts up an old, half-mangled phone charger that might be from the Stone Age. “Aha!”

“Does that thing even work anymore?” I can’t help but ask. In the four months I’ve been working here, the charger somehow looks worse and worse every time he finds it in some drawer or shelf. “It looks, uh, past its expiration date.”

Cecil gives me a slightly withering look and I smile at him. “Sorry.”

But he only huffs a sigh, waving me off. “No, no it’s fine. You’re not the only one to make a comment about it. I was charging my phone last night and Adele said almost the same thing. Except less nice.”

“Oh, here he goes,” Mary snorts. “You know you’re in for it once he’s said her name.”

I just give her a look and Mary shrugs, then diverts her attention to the covered body, one hand raised like she might touch it.

“The sheriff was here yesterday?” I can’t help but ask, though I'm not being very subtle with my prying. It’s clear everyone in town knows he’s in love with her, and that she more than eagerly returns his feelings, yet Cecil is somehow still oblivious.

“Mhmm.” He picks up the clipboard and walks around the room, straightening a few things and checking levels of chemicals like he just can’t help it.

“Oh, you know, she just wanted to talk to me about my trip tomorrow. Told me not to get distracted on the way. Don’t pat any stray dogs.

” He rolls his eyes fondly. “You know Adele—always hovering over me like I’m a child. ”

Or like she’s your girlfriend, I don’t say. He’ll probably figure it out. At least, I hope he will. I don’t want him missing out on what would clearly be the sweetest relationship the town of Still Pines has ever seen.

Not that there’s much competition, when this town has a population of maybe six hundred and at least half of them are over fifty.

“Now, who do we have here?” He reaches out for the sheet, then glances at me. “You don’t mind me intruding, do you? I’m not here to judge your work, Nell. Pinky swear.” For some reason, he crosses himself, instead of making any kind of motion with his little finger.

But it’s endearing, in the scattered old person kind of way. Cecil is the town’s father figure, I’ve decided. Even to those older than him. He can’t seem to help himself, and is always the most supportive, least judgmental person to absently amble the streets of our faded downtown.

“Not that he has much to compete against for you, does he?” Mary asks, leaning against his shoulder. “We all know your father was—”

“Mary Shively,” I say, watching as he pulls the sheet back from the middle-aged blonde woman with a large birthmark on her cheek.

“Forty-seven. Died of an overdose, found in her house by her ex-husband.” Not that those details matter much to us, but I can’t help but say it anyway.

“She was from…” I scan my mind, trying to remember what town she was sent from without having to look at the clipboard Cecil’s holding.

“Cave Creek,” Cecil supplies, after glancing down at the information in his hand. “Just off Smisker Road. Shame. She was so young.” He frowns at the body, while Mary rolls her eyes beside him. To me, forty-seven isn’t so young, but I’m not going to argue.

“Maybe I lived a full life worth twice my years.” She reaches up to scratch at the birthmark. “How would he know if it’s a shame or not?” She leans over with him, staring down at her own face that’s slack in death on the table. “Well, that is a shame. I look sort of stupid down there, don’t I?”

Go away, I will mentally. It’s hard to focus on Cecil tonight, with Mary right there as a constant distraction in my head. Just go away until he leaves.

But Mary only smirks at me and walks away, taking her sweet ass time in heading down the hallway that leads back to the cooler and incinerator. “You talk like she was that much younger than you,” I say finally, tearing my eyes away from my unwanted guest. “What are you this year? Fifty-four?”

“Fifty-six,” Cecil corrects, looking at me with a grateful grin. “Though I appreciate you knocking a few years off.” He goes to the desk and sets down the clipboard again, before walking back over to respectfully tug the sheet up over Mary’s face.

“Before I leave—”

Here it is.

The rambling about his trip. The things he’s told me over and over for the past week that he, of course, wants to repeat one more time. Because this is Cecil, and reassurance is his favorite thing in the world, even if it’s unneeded.

A stab of guilt goes through me at my moment of annoyance, and I give him my full attention while leaning against the wall next to the windowed hallway that leads back to the front desk.

“You’ll be gone for a week,” I repeat like a parrot, smiling and keeping my tone light.

“You’ve spoken with Havenfield out of Philly.

They’ll take most of the work load while you’re gone, so I shouldn’t be left with much.

If I need anything, your cell number is in my phone, and also taped to the wall over the printer.

” I glance to the side of the room where there are rows of PostIts, though most of them are reminders to Cecil and have nothing to do with me.

“Don’t feed the incinerator after midnight,” I go on, making a little joke that I know will have him grinning. I’m right, and he doesn’t fight the smile that spreads over his lips.

“Otherwise you’ll have a very unfriendly gremlin on your hands,” he agrees with a chuckle, raking a hand through his grey hair that’s made silver by the harsh lights of the embalming room.

Thunder rumbles outside again, and from the corner of my eye, I see Mary press her face to the wall like it’s a window.

Clearly, if my guest is doing weird shit like that, I must be tired. Usually they act a bit more normal, a bit more believable, even. But this is…not.

“Maybe if you slept like a normal person—”

“Nell?” I realize at the sound of my name that Cecil has been talking to me, and it’s only his tone of concern that makes me glance back his way.

“Hmm?” Forcing an apologetic smile onto my face, I push off of the wall and go to the printer, checking to make sure that there’s paper in it, even though I know already there is.

“Sorry. Got distracted by the storm.” Luckily for me, thunder rumbles once more, distantly.

If we get anything tonight, I doubt it’ll be much.

Though from what I’ve read on my phone, tomorrow is when the storms are really supposed to start.

It’s unseasonable for August, at least in my opinion. But I’m not from the area, so maybe my opinion isn’t the most knowledgeable on the subject.

“Do you usually get this much rain here in August?” I ask, working to sound normal and simply curious. It’s pretty easy to distract Cecil from topics I’d like to avoid, and he’s already shaking his head, looking mildly perplexed.

“Not the norm,” he assures me. “This year’s just a weird one, I suppose.

” He rakes his fingers through his hair again and glances at the clock.

Clearly, someone is anxious to go. “I think that’s all.

Like I said, you shouldn’t have much work this week.

And you can always call me. I can come back early, if—”

“I doubt a plague will ravage the town in your absence.” My smile softens the words, though my tone remains dryly humorous. I’m grateful Cecil doesn’t care about formality here at the mortuary. Otherwise, this would be a much less enjoyable and comfortable job.

He chuckles at my words and moves to his desk to sort through his collection of pens. “I’m just an old worrywart,” he admits. “Pay me no mind. And don’t get nervous. If you need her, Adele can come over. She already told me—”

Cecil’s lecture, it turns out, could not be denied, only delayed. For twenty minutes he talks, going off on tangents, eventually segueing into some story about the nephew he’s going to see for a few days before attending his wedding.

At last, however, I can tell he has nothing else to say. He hovers, glancing down at the body, clearly itching to help. But he’s supposed to be leaving on his drive within the next couple hours, which I only learned thanks to eavesdropping on his conversation with Adele.

But it pays to know things.

“Listening where you aren’t wanted is a nasty habit,” Mary remarks, her voice carrying from the hallway. “Some might call it a trauma response, with how much you—”

“Stop it,” I whisper, just as Cecil makes it halfway down the hallway back to the lobby. He stops and looks at me.

“Did you say something?”

Fuck.

“Yeah.” I hold up my hand, showing off the reddened skin around my thumbnail from chewing on it.

“I’m telling myself to stop it before I do more damage here.

I’m fine,” I add, not wanting to give him more of an excuse to hover.

“Have fun on your trip. I promise the mortuary will still be here when you get back.”

“It better be,” he chuckles, easily mollified. “Otherwise, what will my grandfather have to say from beyond the grave?”

“A lot, probably.” A few more traded jokes send Cecil on his way, then seconds after the lobby door closes behind him, rain starts to tap against the windows, light and sparing, not quite a steady downpour but close enough.

Mary saunters back over to me, staring down at the clipboard I’m holding again. “You forgot to add one.” She taps the line to denote any identifying marks on her right lower leg. “You really are tired. Not like you to forget that.”

I only sigh and flip up the sheet to see the cluster of scars on her lower leg, which I’m pretty sure are from an old dog bite. “Are you going to be here all night?”

“Maybe.” Mary doesn’t move. “Depends on you, I guess. Now, could you get to wiring my jaw shut? I’m not a fan of seeing myself all slack-jawed like this. Thanks in advance, Nell.”