The Last One to Let You Down

by K. L. Hiers

  Mister Doodles jumped up on the bed to come over and investigate, sniffing urgently all around Tom’s face with a low whine.

  He reached up to pet her, mumbling, “Daddy’s okay, girl. I’m just… I just fucked up, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Her teeth lightly nipped at his ear, whining again.

  “If you’re gotta eat me, start on the left side, please.”

  It was a very good thing Tom had today off because he was righteously hungover when he woke up.

  He crawled out of bed long enough to walk Mister Doodles and get her breakfast before stumbling right back to bed again. He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to think, and he definitely didn’t want to remember last night.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t go back to sleep. No matter how much he tossed and turned, he was awake now. He got up, showered quickly, and attempted to feel like a human being again. He made a pot of coffee and tried to find something to snack on to ease the swishy feeling in his stomach.

  He didn’t have any new texts from Cypress and resisted the urge to message him.

  They were taking a break from whatever the hell it was they were doing, and Tom figured it was for the best. He was so out of his depth with Cypress, and maybe it was better to let it all end.

  Immediately, he knew he wasn’t satisfied with that decision. He’d never felt anything like he had when he was with Cypress—the pain, the thrill, the absolute ecstasy.

  No one else would ever be able to give that to him.

  But he didn’t know what to say to Cypress now, and he was still embarrassed. It was all so weird. It was freaky and filthy and fuck, Tom was getting hard thinking about it.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Tom asked Mister Doodles. “Tell Cypress that oops, sorry, hearing people scream apparently freaks me the fuck out, and I’m still trying to accept how much I love being spanked?”

  Mister Doodles tilted her head and wagged her tail.

  Tom petted her, smiling sadly. “Yeah, I don’t know either. Guess it doesn’t matter. In my experience, when a guy says he wants to take a break, that’s pretty much the end.”

  Mister Doodles yipped.

  “Yeah, whatever you said.”

  He spent the rest of the day catching up on laundry and dishes, watched a few episodes of television, and did everything he could not to think about Cypress.

  Not his kisses or his laugh or his sexy smile, not his touch or the way he fucked or how he could make Tom feel like the most beautiful creature with only a few words…

  Shit.

  When he got a text message right before bed, his pulse thudded, and he practically ran Mister Doodles over in his haste to see who it was.

  “Fuck,” he muttered after seeing it was Gerald.

  He was asking Tom to come in tomorrow even though he wasn’t due back until Thursday.

  Whatever.

  Wasn’t like he had any other plans.

  He confirmed that he would and went to bed. He still hadn’t heard anything from Cypress, and the mere thought of him summoned a plethora of phantom sensations. Tom could recall the sting of his skin when Cypress spanked him and the brush of his beard when they kissed, the scent of his cologne in his nose when they fucked and the deep shudder of climax.

  His hands drifted down to his underwear, slipping inside to grab himself. He kept up the flow of vivid memories, letting them guide his strokes. He found himself back at the party with Cypress’s hot mouth around his cock, and God, he wished they could have finished.

  Cypress’s mouth had been so slick and warm, just the perfect amount of pressure and fuck, he had taken every inch, right down to Tom’s balls, and his tongue, he’d started to do this little thing with his tongue—

  “Mmm.” Tom grunted as he came, squeezing the head of his cock to milk every drop. He wanted it to last, but it was over in only a few twitches. He got cleaned up and trudged back to bed, hating how empty it had felt.

  It wasn’t the same.

  In only a few days, Cypress had completely ruined him.

  He drifted off to sleep, his heart in his stomach, hoping some marvelous epiphany would come to him in his dreams. No such revelations came, and he found his phone devoid of new texts after shutting off the alarm.

  He shouldn’t have been so disappointed.

  Tom went to the funeral home and found himself up against four embalmings. He, thankfully, hadn’t seen any news trucks outside, but everyone was still in a foul mood. Their new infamy hadn’t stopped the calls from coming in at least, and Tom got to work. He stayed in the prep room all day, worked late into the evening, and went back home to find a nice pile of poop on the kitchen floor for his trouble.

  He cleaned up, made a quick dinner, and went directly to bed. He got up the next morning for another rough shift, and the brutal cycle repeated until there was finally a break on Saturday.

  Tom hadn’t gone home at a decent time all week, and he was grateful for the chance to get caught up on cleaning and stocking the prep room. Junior was back, sober for now, and Tom avoided him as much as he could. There had been even more burglaries over the past few days, bringing the total now to twelve. Aaron had mentioned Fox coming around the funeral home again, but he didn’t ask to speak with Tom.

  Probably for the best since Tom wouldn’t be able to stop staring at his nipples.

  Miss Edie was there doing hair for a deceased woman named Mrs. Mendez while Aaron and Junior had both left to take out funerals. Mr. Crosby was at a graveside service, and Gerald had come back from a funeral to get ready for another one that afternoon. Services tended to bottleneck on the weekends, and Tom was glad he had been allowed to stay hidden in the prep room despite how busy they were.

  He was not in the mood for dealing with the living today.

  Tom hadn’t had any contact with Cypress. He knew he’d been making his usual deliveries because Aaron told him, but since Tom had been stuck in prep all week, he hadn’t seen him. Not that Tom would know what to say. He hadn’t even been able to text him because he didn’t know what to type, and every time he tried, he ended up deleting the text and giving up. He needed to be honest with Cypress about what had upset him at the party, but it sounded so stupid.

  Hearing someone scream? Really?

  It was ridiculous.

  Not to mention, he was still trying to work out how he really felt about the adventurous sex. Other than the obvious, that it was beyond mind-shattering, he had to decide if he could get over the inherent sense of deviance that came with it. Yes, it was dirty and a bit perverse, but wasn’t that exactly why it was so much fun? Wasn’t the forbidden element part of the thrill?

  Did he really need to be blackmailed to enjoy it?

  “What’s the matter, baby?” Edie asked, peering over at him with a deep frown. “Your face looks like a cat’s ass.”

  “Huh?” Tom jerked away from where he’d been restocking eye caps and mouth formers in a drawer. “No, what? I’m fine. Totally fine.”

  “God don’t like a liar, baby.” Edie wagged the curling iron at him. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

  Tom could already feel his face getting hot as he stammered, “This is, uh, it’s pretty personal.”

  “Is it about your fella?”

  “How do you…”

  “Aaron told Miss Wheel, who told me when I went to go get my check,” Edie said with a sly little smile. “Said you was seeing the nice black fella who owns the flower shop.”

  “Well, I was.” Tom shut the drawer with a sigh.

  “What happened, baby? Do I need to go beat him up?”

  Tom tried not to laugh at the idea of tiny Miss Edie hurting anyone, and he said, “We moved pretty fast, and we’re… well, I don’t know what we are.”

  “Was the sex bad?” Edie frowned.

  “Edith,” Tom hissed, absolutely scandalized by such a blunt question.

  “What? S’why I left my first husband. He was as soft as a turkey neck unless I fed him p
eas like a baby.”

  Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing and clutched the box of eye caps to his chest. “He… what?”

  “You heard me, baby.” Edie went back to fixing Mrs. Mendez’ hair. “He couldn’t do nothin’ unless he was being a baby, baby.”

  “And that was… too weird for you, right?” Tom chose his words carefully, as a heavy stone began to roll around his gut.

  “Oh, I didn’t really care about that,” Edie replied with a deep laugh. “Everybody’s got a little weird up in ‘em. But there won’t no compromise. It was all about him and his damn peas. A woman can’t live on just peas, you know what I mean, baby?”

  “It had to be peas?”

  “Lord, yes. I tried offering him carrots one time, and you woulda thought I’d spit right in his face.” Edie rolled her eyes.

  “Did you ever, uh, do anything like that again?”

  “Mm, well, as a lady, I’m not gonna air out all my dirty laundry, but I will tell you that in my many years walkin’ on God’s green earth that I’ve had some fun.” Edie smiled, and Tom couldn’t believe how wicked she looked.

  “And you didn’t care people might think it’s dirty?”

  “Baby,” Edie said, stopping to look Tom dead in the eye. “What people? Are you planning on telling everybody what you and your fella do?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then who gives a flip? Ain’t nobody’s business what you’re doin’ beneath the sheets. As long as you’re both happy and feelin’ good, and it ain’t nothin’ with live animals.”

  “Noted.”

  “So? What’s the problem, baby? Was it like eatin’ too many peas?”

  “It was more like…” Tom couldn’t believe this conversation was actually happening. “It was like having ice cream, and then tiramisu and sponge cake, and it was just… it was so much, and I felt bad about eating it all? Like, what would people think if they saw me eating all of that?”

  “You on a diet?” Edie huffed.

  “No, but—”

  “But nothin’, baby. You eat what the hell you want to. Life is too damn short for munchin’ down on something you don’t like. You gotta figure out what flavors you like, and then you go for it. You ain’t got anybody to answer to except yourself.”

  “Yeah?” Tom smiled.

  “Come on now,” Edie urged. “You and that nice lookin’ fella need to sit down and figure out what recipes you like. Do you understand what I’m saying, baby?”

  “You’re saying I should go for it and not worry so much about what I like even if it’s, uh, different?”

  “Exactly, baby.” Edie grabbed a can of hairspray. “I dated this one guy who liked suckin’ on my toes, but Jesus was okay with gettin’ his feet washed in the Bible, so I reckon he’s good with the weird stuff, too.”

  “Edie, I love you.” Tom laughed. “Please don’t ever change.”

  “I love you, too, baby. And don’t you worry about that. This mold is done set.”

  Despite the extreme awkwardness, Tom did feel a bit better. He felt his pocket for his phone, and he debated sending Cypress a text. They needed to talk, and this time he was going to tell him the truth.

  About everything—Junior, Mrs. Dresser, cake flavors, and all. Life was too short, just like Edie had said, and there wasn’t anybody else Tom wanted to munch on except Cypress.

  Okay, but when they did finally talk, he was going to leave out all the funny food analogies.

  Before he could even open a new text window, Gerald came flying into the prep with two pieces of paper. “Bosco is on his way back from the medical examiner’s office with two embalmings. One is Mr. Ross that we’ve been waiting on all fuckin’ week, and the other is a Mr. Lundy.”

  “Do we know how they died?” Tom asked, glancing over the paperwork.

  Bodies at the medical examiner’s office were usually there because they had died an unnatural death, whether it was from suicide, homicide, or an accident. Sometimes, it would be something as simple as an elderly person who had died after having a fall that needed to be investigated.

  Other times, not so simple.

  If the medical examiner decided to perform an autopsy, the time for embalming automatically doubled. The brain and all the organs would have been removed, so each leg, arm, and both sides of the head would have to be individually injected. The inside of the skull and the empty body cavity would also have to be treated, as would the organs if they were returned with the deceased.

  Suturing up the autopsy incisions was at least a thirty-minute task all on its own, making the embalming of a full autopsy a three- or four-hour job.

  And now, Tom was potentially looking at two of them.

  “Neither one of them is posted,” Gerald grunted. “I called. Mr. Ross is a homicide, no autopsy. It’s why it took them so long to release his body. They were holding him for the investigation.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible, baby!” Edie exclaimed. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. Next of kin is a nephew, and he didn’t know shit. Oh, and the other one is a suicide.” Gerald made a face. “Shotgun. Let me know what you can do.”

  “Got it.”

  Gerald left, slamming the door behind him.

  “I know you’ll be able to fix them both right up,” Edie said proudly. “I’ve seen what you can do. My baby can fix anything.”

  “Thanks, Edie.” Tom was relieved neither case would be an autopsy, but severe traumas were their own special headache. He was already preparing himself for more poop on the floor at home because there was no way he would be leaving on time today.

  He hugged Edie farewell when she was done with Mrs. Mendez and thanked her again for her help. He was definitely going to text Cypress later, and he started going over what he wanted to say in his head as he prepared for the embalmings.

  Bosco showed up as Tom had finished getting his instruments together, propping open the door so he could roll in both stretchers. He nodded at one of them, saying gravely, “Be very careful. Mr. Lundy is double-bagged.”

  Tom wrinkled his nose. “And Mr. Ross? Gerald said it was a homicide.”

  “Stabbed. Chest and stomach.” Bosco shrugged as he stepped out. “Face is a little fucked up but not bad.”

  “Thanks.” Tom decided to start with Mr. Ross, wheeling him over to the stainless-steel table and pulling him over. He wasn’t fully gowned up yet, but he wanted to take a quick peek to see what he would be dealing with.

  He dragged the zipper down and immediately froze. This was normally the part where he would start talking to the deceased and introduce himself, but he already knew this man.

  Though he’d never known his name, he would have known his face anywhere. It was the old man he used to sell the embalming fluid to for Junior.

  And he was right here on Tom’s table.

  Murdered.

  “Shit.”

  Reading the man’s ankle band revealed his name to be Louis S. Ross. When they found out what the middle initial stood for, the band would have to be changed to reflect his full legal name. Tom thought he looked a little odd without the thick glasses he’d always seen him wear.

  It could also be because he was dead.

  He got Mr. Ross out of the bag, and his heart was pounding.

  Did Junior know?

  Did Junior have something to do with this?

  Tom checked Mr. Ross’s personal effects, noting only his glasses and a shiny watch had been returned with his body. The medical examiner was likely holding the rest of his clothing for their investigation, and Tom caught himself taking a closer look at the watch.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  He took it out of the plastic bag it had been sealed in and hastily checked it for an inscription.

  Happy Birthday, Junior

  There it was, right on the back.

  “Shit,” Tom hissed frantically, shoving it back into the bag. Maybe it was a coincidence. They didn’t have Mr. Ross�
��s full name yet, and it was possible he was a ‘Junior’ as well.

  But damn if that watch didn’t look like one of the big gaudy ones Junior loved to wear.

  Checking Mr. Ross’s date of death showed he’d died the day right before Tom and Junior had that big blow up in the parking lot. Junior had looked like he’d been strung out for days then, and Tom hated how quickly conspiracies were taking root in his mind.

  Maybe Junior had already traded the watch for drugs and didn’t have anything else to barter with, and when he needed more, things went wrong.

  Very terribly wrong, Tom thought with a grimace as he surveyed the damage.

  Mr. Ross had at least a dozen stab wounds, most of them focused in and around his stomach. His face was a dark purplish color, but that was most likely from lying face down after he’d been killed, and blood had simply pooled there.

  At least it was on the left side.

  Tom went through the motions of putting his personal protection equipment on and started getting Mr. Ross ready to be embalmed, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Junior.

  Should he confront him about it? Should he even say anything at all? Junior was many awful things, but Tom couldn’t imagine him being a murderer.

  So engrossed in his work and his internal criminal investigation, he barely heard the prep room door beeping.

  “Ah, so, this is Mr. Seymour!” Aaron exclaimed, popping up beside Tom and startling him.

  “Shit. Yeah. Wait, Mr. who?”

  “Him. Mr. Seymour.” Aaron grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay. Just in my head, you know?” Tom tried to smile. “So, uh, the ‘s’ stands for Seymour?”

  “Yeah, we can fix it when you’re done,” Aaron said. “No big deal.”

  “Is he a junior by chance?”

  “No?” Aaron blinked. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Tom cleared his throat as he tried to suppress the urge to scream their co-worker might be a cold-blooded killer. “I’m sorry about his face. I may not be able to get all of that discoloration out.”

  “Huh?” Aaron glanced at Mr. Ross. “Oh, okay. I’ll let Gerald know. He’s actually waiting on them.”