And the basement, that’s what I find really cool.
When they converted it, my grandfathers essentially dug out and built tunnels all over the property because this predated industrial freezers and morgues as we know them, and keeping the bodies underground helped. It was just one big room at first, with a tunnel that led to the crematorium and one that went to the side of the house in order to get the body back inside, but over time, that changed.
It wasn’t until my dad was a boy and started having nightmares about ghosts that they decided to change anything, but when they did, it was awesome.
More rooms and tunnels were added, like the embalming room I just left, the morgue Harlow is going to, an actual office where we keep paper files that go back almost one-hundred and twenty years, as well as a room we can crash in if Dad and I get a big workload. The first floor is now for funerals with caskets, the second for memorials or services with urns, and the kitchen still functions as a kitchen so people have the option to have the entire funeral here from start to finish if they choose.
Not a lot of people go for that, but it’s on the table, and it helps having a kitchen around when we’re working.
When they redid the house, that meant my grandpa needed a new one, so they built a small, two-story bungalow on the back of the property and that’s where my dad has lived ever since. Walking to work isn’t a half bad deal because yes, I still live with him.
So yeah, I like my job and pretty much everything that goes with it.
I smile as I climb the stairs, but when I get to the top, I pause at what I hear.
Motorcycles.
Lots of them by the sound of it, and when I push up through the storm cellar doors and out into the side yard, I find that I am one hundred percent correct.
There are probably a dozen motorcycles sitting in our long driveway, a few of them empty, but the rest idling with their riders still seated.
I close the doors carefully then just stand there like an idiot for a few moments staring at the ridiculous number of dangerous men that have invaded my space. There are some I haven’t seen before—not that I saw many the other night—but I immediately recognize a few.
Like the quiet, broody man with the ball cap pulled down over his brow, and the one kind of crazy looking one with the mismatched eyes. And I see the two my dad told me were the decedent’s grandsons, the really tall one that looks like a Scottish Viking and his cousin that looks like the dirtier, blonder version of him. Those four were there the other night and they were the ones talking to Snipe when we left.
“Hey there, pretty lady.” The dirty Viking grins. “That the old bastard in the box?”
I nod as I start walking along the side of the house.
I’m actually not sure if I should be confirming that the man in my hands was abastard—it goes against all of my training—but based on what I saw and heard, he was, and I don’t really care about the rules right now.
The taller Viking spits with a snarl as he turns away from me, but his cousin speaks again. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. Wasn’t directed at you.”
With a tight-lipped smile, I nod again and pick up my pace.
They don’t make me nervous, not really, but I’m starting to think hanging onto the cremains of someone they obviously didn’t like could work against me, and I’d rather not be on anyone’s bad side, even by default.
Once I’m inside and clear the foyer, I take a deep breath, then immediately choke on it when I walk past the first viewing room and see the mother and father of the little boy standing outside my dad’s consultation office.
He looks pissed, so pissed, but stoic, and she’s openly crying, which is about how they were when I saw them the other night.
Wonderful.
They’re probably here out of courtesy, out of respect to really show the couple that the man that caused so much pain is dead and gone, but it’s still not something I was prepared to deal with and seeing them again has my heart breaking.
And if I thought walking past the bikers outside was hard, getting by those two is going to be even harder.
Especially when the office door opens and Snipe steps into the hall.
Shit.
“Excuse me,” I basically whisper as I stop short of them. “I have to…”
Snipe says a few hushed words to the still hurting couple, then turns to me.
“I have to… I need to get by. I’m so sorry…”
“No worries, sweetheart.” He ushers the couple down a bit, then looks over his shoulder at me. “Nice to see you again, Sofie. Even if it’s under shitty circumstances.”
