The whole drive home last night, my skin was crawling with the need to be nosy, when I fucking know better, and unwrap the guy with the missing finger out of…morbidcuriosity.
Har-har.
They were all a mess, and I didn’t bother unwrapping the other three, but before I turned the assumed hubby to ashes, I satisfied that curiosity with a thorough inspection. There was no question about the dark rage that it must have taken to murdersomebody like this. He even cut a name into what was left of the guy’s head. It had taken me a minute to realize through all the gore that his tongue was pulled through the slash in his throat. An Indian Necktieanda Highland Smile? That’s a cultural clash from Hell itself, and the pain that was dealt to this unfortunate bag of bones must have been nothing compared to whatever that green-eyed, murderous…god-like…gorgeous…
Okay, Seven…get it together.
That kind of emotion was rooted by something that runs deeper than just about any other human emotion. That was love. Raw and uncut, and from the looks of it—excruciating. It made me almost feral for the story behind it. I pondered it while I roasted the little foursome and fertilized our rose garden out front with the ashes. The sun was coming up well before I finished. I snuck up to my old bedroom and used that shower before Mom and Dad woke up to start the day. I think I might have laid down for maybe half an hour before they figured out I didn’t go home last night and started knocking on the door. I made some pathetic excuse at breakfast that I’d had another shitty date and decided I didn’t wanna go back to the apartment. It worked, anyway.
My body got delivered around ten this morning and I promptly got to work on it. Sad as it sounds, she was easy.Oddas it sounds…I actually don’t recognize this one. She was only two years older than me. Her paperwork says she died of natural causes. That’s a scary as fuck thought, honestly. She’s got good taste in wardrobe though. The outfit that was left for her could have easily been found in my closet. I pulled out the good curling iron for this one. She’s gonna have a service fit for a queen. I even did her the courtesy of lifting her tits with scar tape and trashing the bra that was in her personal effects. No woman should have to rest for eternity with that shit. Goodnight, Annaliese Montague. I hope I did you proud.
The sun was starting to set, and I trudged up the stairs to the main part of the house, cutting down the hall to the left to where our living space is separated and closed off from where viewing rooms and the chapel are. Mom was just walking out of the kitchen with a pan of meatloaf, cut and steaming, and one of my nieces was following behind her with a huge bottle of ketchup. I plunked face first onto the sofa in the living room. I swear if I blink too long, I’m done, dude. I’ve never been so fucking tired.
“Heyyyy. She lives!”
Jesus, Greg.
He had Emmy on his shoulders, and she made an airplane sound when he knelt down for a ‘landing’ right next to where my face was smushed onto the cushion. “Two dates in one week, huh? That’s a good way to start some town gossip…slut.”
“What’s a smut?” Emmy asked, while I tried my best to pretend I wasn’t about to crack.
“Greg, you might be grown and have two kids, but if you think I won’t stuff you into one of these caskets with a bar of soap in your mouth…you’re wrong!” I love my Mama. The thing about Greg is that he’s the oldest. He can’t say or do anything right. Me? I’m always gonna be the baby. And it doesn’t matter if my mother finds out I dispose of bodies for a living, she’s gonna find a way to make sure the rainbows still blow out of my ass. She’d also probably blame Greg for it somehow, too. Poor guy. “Sev, you want dinner? I made meatloaf.”
“It’s Wednesday night, Mom. Of course you made meatloaf.”
This place wouldn’t run like a well-oiled machine if it weren’t for the strict schedule my parents have kept since before me and Greg were even born. Breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve…dinner at five. But only if there’s no scheduled services, andalwayswith a planned menu. Wednesday nights? There’sgonna be two meatloaves made with mashed potatoes, and homemade garlic bread.
“You know you’re welcome to stay. You’re welcome to move back, too. Just a thought.” She’ll never stop hoping I throw in the towel and crawl back to Castine to become the crazy cat lady I mentioned.
“Thanks. I’m probly just gonna head home. Just needed to lay down a minute. Montague’s ready. She looks good.” I glanced at Greg, who was still kneeling next to me. “Can you set her up, Greg? I’d do it, but I don’t have the strength, man. Her casket is in suite two. I’ll check on it all in the morning. The viewing isn’t until four tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I got it. You okay, Pipsqueak?”
I nodded wearily, yawning as I peeled myself off the cushion and sat up. “Just a long ass night. I’ll survive.” I smiled at Emmy and reached over to tickle her armpits. I love hearing her laugh. It’s contagious. “What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”
“It’s not that. I don’t wanna do gymnastics no more.”
“Why, Baby?” The look on her face set my auntie spidey senses off. Emmy loves gymnastics. She’s also really damn good at it, so whatever it is…it’s gotta be something big. “Is somebody messin’ with you? Cause the only thing more tasty than Mema’s meatloaf is Auntie Sev’s knuckle sandwiches. They’re served fresh daily.”
“Mommy says they’re not worth it.”
“And she’s right. But…you might also wanna go remind them what kinda things happen in this house. Want me to go tell ‘em?” I heard my phone buzzing, and I dipped my hand into my bag sitting on the floor, pulling it out to find—nothing. Hmm…
“That’s kinda why they don’t like me. They think I’m weird.”
Why are people such assholes? I bet it had very little to do with how cruel kids are these days and more to do with the constantly running mouths of their bitch-ass parents. They honestly have nothing better to do. I brushed a curl of her caramel hair behind her ear.
“Lemme tell you something about us weirdos, kid. We’re wayyy more fun than those boring asshats. Don’t let anybody stop you from being yourself or doing what you love. And don’t you dare think any different about yourself just because someone else’s idea of normal isn’t the same as ours. They suck. End of story.”
Greg smiled at me, but like the shit that he is, he turned his chin over his shoulder, yelling at Mom in the dining room. “Hey Ma? Seven’s cussin’ at your grandchild. Does she get the soap too?”
“I heard nothing,” Mom barked. “Whoever’s eating, get to the table. It’s past five.”
I shot Greg a middle finger and he tussled my hair before standing up and taking Emmy to where Vivian was already sampling mashed potatoes with her little chubby fingers. My phone buzzed again, and I glanced at it, finding no new notifications and getting frustrated, until I realized…
There’s a text on the burner phone. Fuck.
I shouldered my bag and started for the back door, yelling my farewells to the fam and almost walking right into Dad on my way out. “Hey, Little Bean.” He’s been calling me that apparently since Mom’s first ultrasound with me. “Not staying for dinner?”
