The Will to Die

by Joe Pulizzi

  “Look, I’m just trying to bring out the facts so we can make sense of them.”

  “Let me get this straight, Will,” Robby said. “This conspiracy from your GA buddy about them targeting minorities as the scam. You’re saying that might not be the scam. The scam is that they sign them up and then find ways to accelerate their death?”

  “It’s a possibility, right?”

  “That has to be a movie,” Robby said.

  “Hell, Robby, you’ve just been complaining about there being no black people in Sandusky. Maybe they’re killing them off.”

  At that, the three of us just stared at each other.

  “I don’t think this drink is near strong enough for that kind of theory,” Robby whispered.

  Sam looked down at the paper. “So, any other points to consider off of this scribbled sheet?”

  “Not really,” I said. “The only other thing I noticed was that Dad was writing in his diary a lot less starting at the same time the business tanked, and he became visibly frustrated with something.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “What do we do with all this?”

  “Well,” I said. “For starters, I think you should send some more of those blood and tissue samples Dad collected to your contact in Cleveland. Then you can match those up with the coroner’s report, and we can see if it sheds some light on Dad’s paranoia.”

  “I can take the life settlements thing,” Robby said. “After the funeral tomorrow, I’ll go see my uncle again. Maybe we can take a ride down the rabbit hole to see who’s funding all the settlements in Erie County.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Sam, do we collect ethnicity information when we sign up a new customer?”

  “Janet doesn’t. And your dad never did it on intake, as far as I knew. But,” Sam said, smiling, “the embalming records do.”

  “Bingo,” I said. “The problem is the data on this might be a bear. We’ll have to go back, let’s say a year before the business tanked, and cross-match minority customers with life settlements. Robby, what do you think your uncle would need to find out if someone sold their policy?”

  “I’ll check, but probably just name and address would do it,” Robby said. “It’s all public record, so it shouldn’t be that hard.” Robby paused, rubbing his hand back and forth over the stubble on his chin.

  “What’s this SA scribbled on your paper?” Sam asked.

  “Sandusky Alliance. That’s the group my dad belonged to that helped to revitalize downtown. Do you know much about it?”

  “Not really. They have a pretty good reputation, from what I hear,” Sam said.

  “Xena is a member. I saw the SA logo on her door when we went to eat there. I’m supposed to give her some feedback on the restaurant, and I’ll find out some information on SA at the same time.”

  We all paused. I broke the silence. “Either we’re all going crazy or there’s something here, so whatever we do, we can’t mention anything to anyone about this.”

  Chapter 17 – The Camera

  It was after eleven when we left Jerold’s. Robby followed me back to Dad’s place. We parked and headed for the door. “Nightcap?” I said.

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  We loaded up, same as the night before, Tito’s and Jack Daniels, and saddled up at the kitchen table.

  “You know,” Robby said. “I think you should do something with your dad’s diary.”

  “Like what?”

  “If you were a small business and I was your consultant, and you showed me a gold mine of content like you have with your dad’s diary, I would tell you to create a blog out of it. Or perhaps a podcast.”

  “I see where you’re going, but these are the innermost thoughts of my dead father. They were never meant to see the light of day. It would almost be like a betrayal.”

  “Don’t be so quick to see it that way. Even with all this crazy shit going on, he left you the funeral home in dire condition. Either he was crazy, or he actually thought you could turn it around. And he knew you had marketing chops, so you’d be getting creative.” Robby paused and took a drink. “I don’t know, Will, I think this is exactly what he would want you to do with it.”

  “Let’s say I agree to do something. How would you proceed?”

  “First thing is to get the whole thing transcribed. From looking at your dad’s handwriting, I think we could pay a freelancer to scan each page, and the computer will do most of the work. Some of the metadata would be captured, like the date, as well as some broad categories. We can preprogram the software to tag it if a certain word or phrase comes up. Then once that’s done, either you or I would go through and rate each one, as well as mark some not for use. As for titling, the software will automatically create a title, which we can edit after the fact.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this quite a bit.”

  “A little. But I’m stuck between a podcast and a blog. A blog would seem like the natural fit, but I could also see this being like a Serial-type podcast where people would want to know what happens next. If that’s the case, you could just go in chronological order and can the ones that don’t tell a compelling enough story. Tales from the Crypt or some shit like that.” Robby laughed. “But—and this is a huge but, my friend—you have to be willing to change the business model, like we discussed the other day.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Because this is a bold move. If you deliver this consistently over time and build an interested audience, it’s going to target a different clientele, which will be asking for different products or services. Hell, just like you pitched PopC. Could be merchandising, sponsorship, and advertising, maybe even an event, but that’s down the road. Funerals would come in different shapes and sizes for sure. Anyway, Suzie Q Homemaker from Sandusky probably isn’t going to give a crap about the blog, but other people will. It could be amazing. But it could also create a shitstorm, especially in Pleasantville here.”

  I PULLED INTO THE FUNERAL home at five thirty a.m. and Sam’s car was already there. Is she a workaholic?

  I walked in the back door and headed down the stairwell. “Sam, you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  I saw the body she was working on. Sam was standing next to a naked elderly white woman, probably over eighty years old. She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. Her breasts sagged down and to the sides, almost brushing the table. Sam was standing next to the centrifugal pump, which was busy draining blood from the woman’s system and replacing it with embalming fluid.

  “Did you set the features last night?” I asked.

  “You’ve been paying attention,” Sam said. “Yes, I actually set the features right before I left for Cleveland yesterday, so Mrs. Reeves here was looking as close to her picture as possible. Then, as you know, the day got away from me. I need to get Mrs. Reeves here finished and then Mr. Talbota over there.”

  Sam pointed her head to the far mortuary table, where an elderly Latino man was waiting his turn.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you be in a second. I remembered something last night. As I told you, Jack said that Uncle Dan didn’t come around much anymore, but Dad could still have been seeing him. When Uncle Dan read Denise and me the will, he mentioned that Dad changed it many times over the years, most recently a few weeks ago. And the letter accompanying the will sounded like Dan and he were still the lifelong friends they’d always been.”

  “So maybe there’s nothing there. Either Jack was wrong, or Dan just didn’t come to the funeral home when Jack was around.”

  “I think you’re right. Strange though. This whole thing. Ride in the limo with Jess, Denise, and me?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “I know that would mean a lot to Jess. And don’t forget that list of bodies by ethnicity when you get a chance.”

  I headed back upstairs, grabbed a cup of light roast from the Keurig, and beelined to Dad’s office. I closed the door and sat back in the swivel chair.

&nb
sp; “Talk to me, Dad. What was going on? What aren’t you telling me and why?”

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, then spun around for a few rotations. I opened my eyes, trying to see the world more clearly.

  “Couldn’t be,” I said aloud. Straight above me, next to the recessed ceiling light, was a small black indent covered with clear glass or plastic. I rose from the chair and went to the door, opening it a crack to see if anyone was coming. The coast was clear.

  I closed the door, carefully stepped on the swivel chair, and stood on the old mahogany desk. I reached up to feel the clear material. I knocked on it. Plastic for sure. It was the size of a fifty-cent piece. I strained to see what was inside but couldn’t make it out.

  Standing there, I removed my iPhone from my pocket and zoomed in on the circle, taking multiple pictures. Then I gently stepped back down onto the swivel chair and sat. I had taken five pictures, with one getting the best view of what was inside the hole. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said aloud. I was right. It looked like a tiny camera, something like you’d see in the eye of a teddy bear that watches over a small child. Something new parents would use when hiring their first babysitter.

  My first instinct was to go ask Janet or Jack about it, but I just sat there. If anyone knew about it, they would have pulled the video footage from the night my father died. They must not have known, or they would have said something.

  I left the office and walked out the front entrance. Just above the door I spotted the original security camera Dad installed a decade ago. I then headed to the back entrance to find another camera hanging off a light fixture that illuminated the parking lot.

  I heard a car pulling up. It was Janet. Six fifteen on the nose. She parked and headed toward me.

  “What are you doing out in the trees?” she said.

  “I actually remembered we have a security system. I was looking at the cameras.”

  “Had a security system,” Janet said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Your father cut the service middle of last year. He said they didn’t serve a purpose, but it was really a cost-cutting measure.”

  “So these don’t film anything?” I said, pointing up at the camera.

  “Nope. As useless as your father was in the kitchen,” she said with a smile.

  “So this entire place has no security system at all?”

  “That’s correct.”

  We walked in the back entrance. “You need anything?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Well, I will be.”

  “Do you have your speech written?”

  “Shoot. I actually forgot.”

  “Go in your dad’s office, close the door, and get it done. I think the entire city will want to hear your thoughts on your father.”

  “I’ll do that now. Hold my calls, please,” I said with a smile.

  Janet turned left, and I went back to Dad’s office, shutting the door.

  I walked back to the desk and looked up at the tiny camera. This added a whole new dimension. First, why would Dad want one there? And second, how did Janet not know about it? Janet knew everything about Dad. If Janet didn’t know, then Dad didn’t want her to know.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to think about this now. We were just a few hours away from Dad’s mass, and I was to give the eulogy after communion. It took me forty-five minutes to scratch out three blue notecards that included word prompts for the stories I wanted to tell. In my marketing career, I had the opportunity to give speeches all over the country, so I was comfortable with getting in front of people. But this was different. This was my dad. It had to be memorable.

  Chapter 18 – Closure

  There was a knock on the door. It was Jack. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was working on my dad’s eulogy. What’s up?”

  “I need the keys to the van for the flowers,” Jack said.

  “I was thinking about that, Jack. You know that my dad wasn’t a flower fan, which is pretty strange for a funeral director. Anyway, I think we should skip transporting the flowers to the cemetery. Agreed?”

  “This is a funeral director’s funeral, correct? Probably the most famous funeral director that’s ever been in this city, county, and state. And there are going to be hundreds of people there. Boy, this is advertising as much as anything else, so we’re doing this one by the book. Flowers and all. I’m taking every goddamn flower I can find to the mausoleum today.”

  “I didn’t think about it that way, Jack. Thanks. I forgot about the marketing aspect.” I stood up and tossed him the keys. He caught the keys with his left hand and headed out to the back lot.

  A few seconds later, Robby texted. Check your email.

  I scrolled to the email app on my phone and saw it immediately. It was from Sarah at PopC. They want us in for a meeting on Monday morning. Who sends an email on Saturday? But holy crap. A meeting meant we were down to either the final two agencies or we got the project.

  I texted Robby back. OMG.

  Can you make the meeting? Robby texted.

  Are you crazy? Absolutely.

  I’ll respond back and get a time. CU in a bit.

  I sat back in my chair and smiled. “Not bad, huh, Pop?” I said out loud. Getting the PopC account would change everything.

  Don’t count your chickens, I heard him say to me. You can get excited when the deal is done. Dad must have told me not to count my chickens before they hatch a thousand times growing up. Whether it was cross-country or math competitions or school, Dad was adamant on me never getting too excited until the task was over.

  I read through my notes on Dad’s eulogy one more time. I cut out a couple small sections, knowing I’d probably ad lib a bit as well and I wanted to make sure I didn’t go too long. Nothing worse than a funeral mass that never ends.

  People were starting to mill around outside the visitation area. In the front, Jack was hard at work lining the cars up behind our limo and securing the magnetic purple funeral flags to the tops of the cars. After one of the longest weeks I’d ever had, the funeral was finally here.

  As I walked out the office door, I ran into Uncle Dan. He was talking to a couple of my distant cousins whom I only saw at funerals and weddings about the new development going on downtown.

  “How you holding up?” he asked.

  “I’ll be glad when the day is over.”

  With quite a few facts still shaky in my head, I pulled him aside. “In the past few months did you notice anything strange about Dad’s health? I’m trying to figure out if he was hiding some health issues from me and the heart attack was just the last straw.”

  Dan scratched his head. “You know your father. He kept his well-being to himself. So, no, I didn’t know if he was having any doctor-related issues.”

  “When was the last time you two got together?”

  “Not sure exactly, son. A few weeks ago, I presume. Coffee or breakfast or something,” Dan said.

  “Thanks,” I said. At least this confirmed my suspicions. Uncle Dan had a perfect memory when it comes to meetings with anyone. He could tell you to the day the last time he met with any one of his clients. That he was fuzzy about seeing my father the last time spoke volumes.

  “Any thoughts on whether you want to keep the business or not?” Uncle Dan asked.

  Who asks a question like that the morning of your father’s funeral? “I’ve been thinking plenty about it. If you were me, what would you do?”

  “That’s not for me to say,” he said. “But considering your own business and the state of your father’s business, I’d probably sell it and get as far away from here as possible.”

  Dan loved Sandusky more than his kids, so his comment took me off guard. Either something was going on or he didn’t want me here. I’m becoming paranoid for no reason. I took a deep breath in and out. “That helps,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you later.” I shook his hand and walked to the side of Dad’s casket
. I figured it was the best place to stand for the next twenty minutes just in case a few people wanted to pay their final respects. I saw Denise in the back of the room, and she came to join me.

  Jess walked in, smiled, and approached us, giving a long hug to both Denise and then me. Then she sat in a seat in front of Dad’s casket. Jack approached a few minutes later. “You ready, Will? Denise?”

  “Yes. Thanks,” I said, taking a seat next to Jess.

  Jack turned to face the audience. About three-quarters of the chairs were taken, with another dozen people standing in the back. “Welcome, everyone,” Jack said. “We’re going to say the final prayers, then you can all head to your cars while we let the immediate family say their good-byes. Then we will all process to St. Mary’s Church on Central Avenue.”

  Jack then led us in a Hail Mary and an Our Father, and a minute later it was just Denise, Jess, and me with Dad.

  “Let me know when you’re ready?” Jack said to the three of us.

  “Where’s Sam?” I asked.

  “She’s right outside,” Jack said.

  “Could you have her join us please?”

  I held Jess’s hands while we were waiting. “You know,” I said to Jess. “Your grandfather was never one for showing emotion. But you know the first time I ever saw him cry?” I paused as she waited. “At the hospital the day you were born, he and your grandmother came to see you. I passed you to Grandma and she smiled and told you how pretty you were, then she passed you to Grandpa. He just looked at you, and the biggest tears you ever did see started rolling down his cheeks. And for the next five minutes or so, he just held you, smiling and crying. He loved you so much, Jess.”

  Jess started to cry, and I began to cry. Sam entered the room and stood to the side. When we saw her, Jess and I opened our hug to invite her in, and the three of us held each other ... then we walked over to the casket where Denise was waiting for us.

  The four of us locked hands and took one final look at Dad. I nodded at Denise. She nodded back. I turned my head at Jack. “Okay, Jack, we’re ready. Sam, will you lead Denise and Jess out to the limo please? I’ll be there in a second.”