CHAPTER SIX #2
“You can come,” Shawn said as if he could read my mind.
“I don’t want to go,” I said, and it was the truth.
I didn’t.
I just wondered if I would ever feel the freedom to live my life rather than simply maintaining it. There was just always too much to do, too many people to assist and protect and prepare for a burial.
Shawn nodded, not pressing the matter. “All right. We’ll see you later. Probably won’t be back until the morning.”
“Or tomorrow afternoon,” Ike replied with a wink, already heading out the door with his mask in place.
Shawn sighed, rolling his eyes toward me. “He’s gonna be so wasted; he’s not gonna be able to get it up.”
“Don’t let him drive himself home,” I warned, looking up from my spot on the couch.
“Nah, I’m driving,” he assured me. “And if I have to, I’ll call him a cab.”
I gave him a single nod before turning my attention back toward the window. Watching for the costumed ghouls and goblins brave enough to dare a chance at getting candy from the spooky old funeral home.
Shawn let me know he had his phone, wished me a good night, and left with a spring in his step.
Years ago, he’d told me he thought Shelby could be the one, and considering they had been together for years, I wondered if he was right. I wondered if, one day, they’d get married, and he’d eventually leave the security of his home here.
Would I feel a little freer if he did? Or would I still somehow feel responsible for his life and safety, alongside his wife and future children?
Would all my attention go solely toward Isaac and his penchant for getting into bar fights and road-rage-fueled drag races?
How close is he to prison? I wondered as two witches wandered up the walkway. He’s been lucky so far, but even a cat has only nine lives.
How many of my own have I used up?
I tugged my plague doctor mask on and stood to open the door.
The girls froze in the middle of the walkway at the sight of my towering frame, donning my usual uniform of a black three-piece suit, complete with a black button-down shirt and a new tie, replaced after I’d given mine to Robert Martin.
The hood attached to the mask concealed my dark hair, laying over my neck and capping my shoulders, and I smirked at the terror in their eyes.
At the end of the walk was a woman a little older than me, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties. She looked at me, startled, but then encouraged the girls to be brave.
I don’t see you running up here yourself, lady, I thought, holding the bowl of candy out to the girls.
A peace offering, if you would.
“Trick or treat,” they said warily in unison.
I nodded, wordlessly, and held the bowl out further as they climbed the steps.
Without taking their eyes off me, they each selected a single piece of candy, then retreated with muttered thank-yous and a single, “Happy Halloween,” before running back the way they had come.
The mother lifted her hand—a weak little wave—and called, “Have a good night.”
And for the sake of remaining in silent character, I waved back—just as weak and barely committal—but said nothing in return before I retreated into the house.
Robert Martin lay beneath my feet, prepared for his burial in the morning.
Leonard was with that unnamed friend, presumably enjoying his evening.
My brothers were partying until whatever ungodly hour of the morning.
I stood in the foyer, considering my seat on the velvet couch before deciding there was unlikely going to be any more trick-or-treaters tonight.
So, I wandered past the staircase, down the hallway, and toward the living quarters of the house.
There, I took off my suit jacket and made myself comfortable in the small living room, taking a seat on the old couch and turning on the TV to watch the second half of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining.
I laid my plague doctor mask on the cushion beside me to allow it a few more minutes of fresh air before I tucked it away in the box beneath my bed until next Halloween. I looked at it, its beak-like nose lit from the TV’s glow, and I thought about a girl from so long ago.
I thought about Anna, and I thought about the sickness plaguing so many of our society that had taken her away from me. The devils, disguised as people we were supposed to trust.
I thought about the piece of her I still had, lying in that box beneath my bed.
And somehow, without realizing it was happening, I fell asleep.
***
“Abraham!"
"Huh …" My head jolts as the scream echoes through the desolate wasteland of my mind.
"Abraham! Help me!"
Anna …
My lips moved to utter her name, but the two syllables died on my tongue the moment a kick to the foot lurched me from my restless slumber.
"What the fuck?" I murmured, wiping a hand down the length of my face before opening my eyes to see Shawn standing over me.
"Abraham," he said, his tone firm, his face taut with tension. "Are you awake?"
"I guess I am now."
I swung my gaze toward the living room window.
Daylight peeked through the curtains, streaming toward the television that was still on.
No longer was The Shining playing. Instead, Andy and Red, of The Shawshank Redemption fame, were displayed on the screen, sitting in the yard of the fictional Shawshank State Penitentiary and talking about the dangers of having hope.
Must be Stephen King day, I thought, my gaze roving toward the doorway, where I noticed a woman peering into the living room with her body half hidden behind the wall.
It was Shelby. I had only met the woman a handful of times throughout the years. She was nice enough, albeit a bit distant and mousy in my presence. I supposed that could’ve been my own fault though. It wasn’t as though I’d made any attempt to get to know her better.
Maybe I should.
If this was the woman my chosen brother was going to marry and spend the rest of his life with, then perhaps I could try to be friendlier, even just a little bit.
"What's going on?" I asked, keeping an eye on her half-concealed frame for a moment before looking back to Shawn, realizing he was no longer wearing the tuxedo he'd worn last night.
Now, he was wearing the plaid flannel pants he wore to sleep and missing a shirt altogether. His dark blond hair was tousled, like he’d rolled out of bed minutes ago.
He just woke up too.
Shit. Robert Martin’s funeral.
I jolted from my relaxed position to sit upright.
"Fuck. I have to get to work," I said in a rush, ready to run, but Shawn held up a hand.
"Isaac's handling it," he said reassuringly.
That was a shock. Ike normally didn't handle anything without being told, especially after a night of partying. Leonard must've woken him up.
I relaxed with a deep exhale, my shoulders slumping a bit as I nodded. "All right, good. Where's Leonard—"
"He's not here."
My eyes slowly lifted to meet Shawn's, and it was then I noticed the stormy concern brewing inside the blue depths of his irises.
"He's not here," I repeated, enunciating every word beneath my breath. "What time is it?"
"Seven," he replied. "He wasn't here when I got in at around two. We slept for a few hours, woke up at six, and his car was still missing. Ike went to the basement to get Robert ready to go, and I tried calling Leonard's phone."
"And?"
The muscles in his throat shifted with a hard, concentrated swallow before he shook his head. "Nothing."
Every instinct in my body told me this wasn’t good. Something must’ve been very wrong for Leonard to not come home at a reasonable time without at least leaving a message with one of us. But before I could throw myself into panic mode, I exhaled and tried to talk myself off a proverbial cliff.
There was an explanation for this. There had to be.
I sprang to my feet, smoothing my shirt and vest against my chest as I glanced toward the doorway to find Shelby was no longer there.
I grabbed my jacket from the arm of the couch and pulled it on as I said, "Leonard's a responsible guy, right? He went out with his friend last night, probably had a few drinks, and decided to crash on the couch."
"Right. Cool. Makes sense," Shawn replied, nodding, though his face said he was less than convinced. "Except when has Leonard consumed alcohol? Like, ever?"
I shrugged, forcing nonchalance when I felt anything but. "I don't fucking know. Maybe last night was a special occasion we don’t know about. Maybe his friend was celebrating the birth of his new grandkid. Maybe this friend is a hot little thing, and he went back to her place to get his rocks off."
Shawn rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his bare chest, shaking his head as he looked off toward the doorway. He knew the idea was ridiculous, and I did too. But I couldn’t have him losing his cool right now.
"Not every little thing is a reason to panic," I concluded, buttoning my jacket to complete the ensemble.
"I'm not panicking," Shawn muttered, bringing his glare back to mine.
I grabbed my cell phone from the couch cushion and glanced at the screen, hoping I'd have a missed call, a message, or something from Leonard to prove he was all right.
But there was nothing waiting for me, and that growing, gnawing sense of unease spread throughout my gut and up into my chest and throat.
"He's fine," I assured Shawn as well as myself, tucking the phone into my breast pocket. "Probably just had a really good night and lost track of time. Now, go get dressed. It's time to get to work."
***
After Robert Martin’s burial, Ike went to pick up another body for my table while I hung around the funeral home, doing the cleaning. The carpets were vacuumed. The floors were mopped. The windows were scrubbed. Every toilet in the place glistened like Mr. Clean’s bald head.
Shawn spent the time in the office, answering the phone and handling the paperwork, while Ike brought our next client down to the embalming room.
We kept ourselves busy during the hours that went by, and still, there was no sign of Leonard. And the more time that went by, the harder it became to not fixate on that distressing fact.