by K. L. Hiers
“Oh. Then how did you know his middle name?”
“Heard Gerald and Earl talking about it,” Aaron replied briskly.
Tom wasn’t used to Aaron being so short with him and frowned at his tense expression. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Aaron snorted. “What?”
“Seriously, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Aaron did not sound fine.
“Everything okay with Shelby?” Tom ventured carefully. She was usually the source of Aaron’s troubles.
“Shelby is Shelby.” Aaron grimaced. “She hasn’t even moved in yet, but she’s already picked out the ring she wants me to buy, and she’s looking at wedding dresses that cost more than my car. Ugh.”
“She does realize you’re a funeral director, right?” Tom teased, trying to distract himself from the fact he was embalming a man he’d broken the law with.
“She doesn’t get it.” Aaron leaned against the counter with a grim smile. “She sees the fancy cars and the suits and thinks Gerald is like gonna adopt me or I’m gonna be crazy rich or something.”
“But… he doesn’t even own the funeral home now.”
“See? Totally doesn’t get it.” Aaron threw up his hands. “I’m gonna have to start selling kidneys to keep up with her.”
“Sorry, man.” Tom offered a sympathetic smile.
“How are you and Hot Florist Guy?”
“We’re, uh, on a break.” Tom frowned. “Things got a little intense.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. You guys gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Tom smiled, thinking about peas and carrots now. “Got some very weird but effective dating advice from Edie. That woman must have been wild in her younger years, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Like when she was robbing banks?”
“Pffft. Very funny.” Tom turned the embalming machine on to start his injection. “Your service go okay?”
“Short and sweet.” Aaron shrugged. “I may head off early before Gerald shoves one of his families off on me.”
“Good luck with Shelby.”
“Thanks. Good luck with HFG.”
Tom waved goodbye and focused on Mr. Ross. The man had been dead for so long that fluid did not distribute well to his legs, and Tom had to raise both femoral arteries to inject them directly. It took longer than he’d been hoping, but he was pleased when he was done with the arterial stage of embalming.
Before Tom began cavity treatment, he sewed up all the stab wounds and glued them so no cavity fluid would leak out.
Time ticked by, and when he was finally done, he’d never been so happy to cover up someone with a sheet.
What the hell had happened to this man?
If not Junior, maybe it was some other lowlife Mr. Ross had been dealing with. Tom couldn’t imagine a life of buying up illegal formaldehyde didn’t come without risk, and there was no telling what else he was into.
And of all the funeral homes, why did Mr. Ross come to this one? Was that a coincidence, too?
Tom took a quick break and changed into a fresh set of personal protection equipment to start on Mr. Lundy. He dragged the biohazard trash over right beside the table so he could put the bloody bags into it directly instead of potentially dripping blood all over the floor.
Mr. Lundy had placed the shotgun in his mouth, and the top of his head was shattered. Tom could feel the bones of his forehead were cracked, but the rest of his face was in good shape. He could fix him, but he was going to be here all night.
He took a deep breath and got to work.
The first thing he did was raise both the left and right carotid arteries and tie off the left one. For this embalming, he was going to inject the head and body separately, so he needed to restrict the flow of fluid. Head traumas had a very high risk of swelling, and it was safer to inject the head at a lower pressure.
The embalming went well, though having to inject Mr. Lundy’s head on its own took more time because he had turned the pressure and rate of flow down so low. By the time he was ready to start the actual reconstruction, he had missed lunch and was probably going to miss dinner, too.
There was definitely going to be poop on the floor when he got home.
Tom wheeled over a small stool and sat down to begin. He had to pack the inside of Mr. Lundy’s head with putty and cotton to prevent leakage and fill the space, so he had a foundation to rebuild his skull.
He had most of the fragments and was able to glue them together, one piece at a time. He filled in the cracks with putty to reinforce the glue, and he cut pieces of reinforced cardboard to fit the empty spaces where pieces were missing. It was soothing, like working on a puzzle, and he was able to relax.
For a while.
Once he began to pull Mr. Lundy’s scalp back into place, his thoughts drifted back to Mr. Ross on the embalming table next to him.
Even if he was a criminal, no one deserved to die like that.
No more than poor Mr. Lundy had after taking his own life, Tom thought glumly. He couldn’t imagine what kind of pain Mr. Lundy must have been in to do something like this, and he had to set his needle down because his hand had started to shake.
Before Tom knew it, there were tears running down his face, and they wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t finished sewing up Mr. Lundy’s scalp, but he couldn’t see clearly enough to keep going. He quickly scooted away from the table and took off his gloves, gasping sharply as he started to sob.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He couldn’t stop crying and quickly became overwhelmed with intense despair. There was a pain in his chest he had never felt before, and he felt lost. He didn’t know where all of this was coming from, and his hands were still trembling.
Tom had dealt with cases far worse than these two before, and he had no idea why he was so upset. He stripped off the rest of his gear and tried splashing water on his face, but it didn’t help. He was nauseated, his heart was pounding, and he kept waiting for it all to stop.
But it didn’t.
And there was no one else he could think of to call.
“Hey, Tom,” Cypress said, answering after only the second ring, his tone neutral but friendly.
“Cypress.” Tom did his best to hide how upset he was, slouching against the counter. It was such a relief to hear his voice.
“What’s wrong?” Cypress sounded worried. “Are you okay?”
“No, no, I’m really not,” Tom replied, laughing mirthlessly and sniffing back another wave of tears. “Something’s wrong. I can’t stop fucking crying, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I didn’t know who else to call, I’m so sorry—”
“Hey, hey,” Cypress soothed. “How long have you been like this? When did it start?”
“Just now. I’ve been working late and going right to bed and today… I don’t know. I can’t stop, and I’m so sorry. I was such an asshole, and I know it’s not like eating peas—”
“Huh?”
“—And I never meant to hurt you. I want to be with you. Just you. Please. It was the screaming, okay? That’s what upset me at the party. This poor woman, this mom, she was screaming like that when I had to pick up her son. I’m so sorry. Fuck, look. If you’re a freak, then I’m one, too. Okay?”
“Tom,” Cypress snapped, his voice firm. “Take a deep breath. Right now.”
Tom sniffled and tried his best to, his breath shaking on the exhale.
“Take another.”
Tom did.
“Keep breathing for me. Find a spot on the wall to focus on and listen to my voice. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, what?” Cypress demanded.
Oh, that stern tone made something in Tom jerk and forced his back to straighten, and he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” Cypress said softly. “Are you at the funeral home still?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m on my way.”
They hung up, and Tom felt a little better. He had stopp
ed crying at least and got himself cleaned up. His hands were trembling too much to even think about fixing Mr. Lundy, and he covered him up with a sheet.
He left the prep room to wait out in the garage, hugging himself as the minutes dragged by. He didn’t know how long it was before Cypress popped in through the flower door, but Tom ran right to him the second he saw him.
“Hey.” Cypress held out his arms, catching Tom and hugging him tight. He kissed his hair, rubbing his back slowly. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Tom panted, clinging to Cypress’s neck. It felt so good to be held, and he was afraid he might start crying again.
“I’m sorry, too.” Cypress sighed. “This is all my fault.”
“What?” Tom scoffed, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re dropping,” Cypress explained, pulling back so he could look at Tom. “This kinda thing happens, especially with submissives. It’s like a crash or a really bad emotional hangover from a scene.”
“But that’s… isn’t that why we have the aftercare?”
“Yes, but we had a lot of really intense scenes, all back to back.” Cypress kissed his brow. “I should have made us take a break.”
“I wanted to do all that stuff.”
“Ah, but I should have known better. I was selfish. And after what happened at the party, I should have known something like this could happen.”
“So, what?” Tom smiled weakly. “Heh. We’re both assholes then?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Cypress laughed quietly, hugging Tom close again. “Mm. Even though you are still totally an asshole, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Tom whispered, turning his head to nuzzle Cypress’s soft beard and breathe in his scent. He was calmer now, and the pain in his chest had eased to a dull throb.
“Tell me what you need,” Cypress urged.
“Please just hold me. Don’t let go.”
Cypress embraced Tom, wrapping his thick arms around him and cradling his head against his shoulder. Tom closed his eyes and sighed, the anguish fading into the background of his mind.
It was safe here.
He didn’t know who moved first, but slowly their lips found one another’s in a sweet kiss. It was gentle, tender, and left Tom’s head absolutely spinning.
When they finally parted, Tom felt like he was floating, and he was pleasantly out of breath.
“Tell me again what happened at the party,” Cypress asked quietly, raising his hand to brush Tom’s hair out of his face. “You said it was a woman screaming?”
“Do you remember when I had that work-related injury?” Tom touched his lip. “It was from this lady, Mrs. Dresser. We had to pick up her son, and she got hysterical when we tried to leave. Hit me, and then Bosco, the other guy I was with, got between us. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”
“She had just lost her son?” Cypress frowned in sympathy. “Fuck. That’s a nasty kind of pain.”
“Yeah.” Tom sighed. “I’ve been hearing her ever since, and at the party…” He shivered and tried again. “At the party, I heard that other lady screaming, and all I could think about was Mrs. Dresser.”
“I’m sorry.” Cypress kissed his cheek. “For both of you.”
“Both of us?”
“You take a little bit of all these families’ pain on yourself. You have such empathy for them, which is beautiful, but you care so much that it’s hurting you, too.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Tom said miserably.
“You talk to me,” Cypress replied. “Don’t hold it all in. We can work out some shit in scenes, but you have to tell me what’s going on. If I’d known you were having this issue with that woman up in your head, I wouldn’t have ever taken you to the party.”
Tom grimaced. “It’s not easy for me to talk about this stuff. I literally broke down in the middle of sewing up the head of this guy who killed himself with a shotgun. Normal people don’t wanna hear this shit.”
“Newsflash,” Cypress said, smiling warmly. “I am far from normal, and I have an iron stomach. You can tell me anything.”
“We’ll see about that iron stomach the next time I have to prep a decomp.” Tom managed a little smile in return.
“Challenge accepted,” Cypress declared. “You were really working on another shotgun case? I swear you just had one. How often does that shit happen?”
“More than you think,” Tom replied sadly. “And right before that, I had this guy who was stabbed to death.” His eyes widened. “Fuck. The guy. The fuckin’ guy. I need to tell you about the guy.”
“Hey, hey, what guy?”
Tom took a deep breath. “I need to tell you the truth. About everything. All the cards, right?”
“If you’re ready to talk, I am ready to listen,” Cypress said, squeezing Tom’s hip reassuringly.
“The person here at work making me sell all the embalming fluid?” Tom cringed. “It was Junior.”
“I thought so.”
Tom stared.
“Come on.” Cypress snorted. “Who else would it be? Mr. Crosby? Little tiny Aaron?”
“Okay, fine.” Tom wrinkled his nose. “Well, things have gotten a bit more complicated. The old man that I used to sell it to?”
“Yeah?”
“I just got done embalming him earlier. He was the stabbing victim.”
“Wait, wait.” Cypress almost looked like he wanted to laugh, scoffing incredulously. “What?”
“He was murdered.” Tom fidgeted. “His name was Mr. Seymour Ross, and, uh, yeah, he’s pretty dead right now.”
“Well, fuck. Do they know who did it?”
“No idea,” Tom replied. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’ve also been stuck in here all day. I haven’t seen Junior since this morning, but…”
“You think he had something to do with it?”
“He was making me sell formaldehyde to that guy, and, uh, there’s a watch with Mr. Ross that has ‘Junior’ engraved on it.”
“Let me guess. He’s not a junior?”
“No, he’s not.” Tom swallowed back a mouthful of bile. “I know it all sounds crazy, but it’s possible, right?”
“Shit.” Cypress stepped away for a moment to scrub his hands over his face. “You know you guys are already all over the news.”
“I know. The burglaries.”
“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?” Cypress sighed, pulling Tom back into his arms and kissing his hair.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Tom groaned as he smothered his face into Cypress’s chest. “Am I nuts for thinking Junior could be a murderer? I was already pegging him for the burglaries but killing someone?”
“He’s not exactly out there petting ponies and helping old ladies cross the street.”
“What should I do?” Tom looked up at Cypress. “I want this to stop, I want it to be over, and I’m getting kinda scared.” A new stab of fear jolted his heart. “What if this is about the fluid? What if they come after me next?”
“Easy, easy. Let me think, okay?” Cypress paused to consider the question. “We should talk to Fox.”
“Ah, fuck—”
“He’s my friend, and I trust him,” Cypress insisted. “He’ll be fair, okay?”
“Even about the formaldehyde?” Tom could feel his anguish starting to stir up again. “I don’t want to lose my license—”
“We’re only gonna talk in hypotheticals, okay?” Cypress kissed him firmly. “That’s all.”
“Right now?” Tom grimaced.
“No. Right now, you’re gonna finish up whatever you need to, and then you’re coming home with me.”
“Wait, what?”
“Look, I failed to take care of you, and you’re still dropping. I don’t think you should be alone right now, and I think we still have a lot to talk about.” Cypress quirked a brow. “Like that eating peas shit you were rambling about?”
“Yeah, okay, right.
” Tom tried to estimate how much longer he had to go in his head. “Maybe an hour of sewing? I can do the rest tomorrow.”
“Yeah, no. You’re also calling in sick tomorrow.”
“No way,” Tom huffed. “I can’t just call in.”
“Can’t someone else cover for you?” Cypress huffed back dramatically. “You need to rest, and we are gonna need to go talk to Fox, you know.”
Tom made a face. He hadn’t called out in years, and he knew he had plenty of sick time he could use. “Look, I’ve still gotta come in to finish Mr. Lundy, so like, what if I took a half-day?”
“Fine.” Cypress smirked. “Stubborn ass.”
Tom smiled.
“Go on. Do your fuckin’ thing. Pick up the little man-eater and come over as soon as you’re done.” Cypress reached out to hold Tom’s chin firmly. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom said, his eyes fluttering at the stern way Cypress spoke. Maybe it wasn’t intentional but being ordered around like that was still hot.
“Good boy.” Cypress kissed him and gave him a big hug. “Mm, I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, hugging him back tight.
“I’m glad you called.” Cypress rubbed his back. “We’ll get this shit figured out. Can’t be dating a criminal, you know.”
“So you’ve said.” Tom smiled. “Does this mean…?”
“There you go, trying to run before you crawl again.”
“That’s not a no.”
“We still have a lot to talk about,” Cypress reminded him, but he was still smiling. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Tom decided he could live with that for now and waved as Cypress left. He let out a big sigh of relief and marched back to the prep room with a renewed sense of determination.
What he was going through was normal, and there wasn’t anything wrong with him.
Well, other than being fairly sure that his ex was a murderer.
Tom kept the memory of Cypress’s voice with him as he got back into his gear to finish sewing up Mr. Lundy’s scalp. Some of the damage ran down into Mr. Lundy’s forehead, and Tom switched to a smaller needle and dental floss to suture that area.
The floss would be easier to place wax over because it was so thin and would make doing the makeup tomorrow go much more smoothly.
