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“Oh, man, you’re going to dump and run? Not cool, Double Trouble. The least you can do is help me out, here. I’ve been stuck all alone in the dead room for days; I’m starved for the company of a pretty woman. ” He flashed that brilliant smile at her again. “You’ve had enough of all this shit, I’ll bet. Tell you what. Instead of me giving you the grand tour of the freezers, how about going out for a drink, or preferably lots of drinks? Could be your lucky night. ” With one last squeeze of Mr. Granberry’s puffy biceps, Freddy stepped back and peeled off his blue gloves, which he three-pointed into a biohazard bin. His plastic apron followed, leaving him in a lab coat with neatly pressed jeans showing beneath, and some shoes that Bryn was almost sure were Kenneth Cole, or at least that expensive. “Unless you want to spend the evening with Mr. Gran, here. I mean, he’s not much of a talker, but he’s working a nice after-death stiffy right now. You want to see?”
“No. ” Bryn tried to keep her voice even, her gaze straight. She had the eerie impression that Freddy was one of those men who would go for the slightest sign of weakness. “I’ll be going now. ”
“So you didn’t get into the business for the cold ones? Some do, you know. Lucky you, then. I’m nice and warm. ” He winked at her, and Bryn wanted to throw up. “Right, it’s drinks, then. We’ll see about what comes after. ”
Bryn took a step back as Freddy rounded the end of the embalming table, suddenly aware of everything—the chilly temperature of the room, the deserted mortuary, the fact that the alcohol had led her into what could be a very bad decision. “No. Thanks. Really, I was just … on my way out. ”
“Going home to what? A single-serving frozen dinner and a twin bed? You don’t look like a woman with a boyfriend—at least, not a boyfriend who’s keeping you satisfied, and I can always tell. So how about that drink? You can tell me all about how lonely you are. ”
Bryn was shaken, not that she’d let him see it. “Take no for an answer, Freddy. You ought to know the word by now. I’m sure you hear it enough. ”
“Ouch. ” He seemed more amused than hurt. “Look, I don’t really want to be seen in public with you either; you’re not exactly up to my usual standards. So how about a quickie down here? Nobody here but Mr. Granberry; I don’t think he’d mind. I could break out the wine coolers. ”
“If you come near me with a wine cooler, I hope you go both ways, because I will shove it up your ass. ” Bryn walked for the door, half expecting him to grab her and throw her to the floor, but when she looked back Freddy was still standing there, smiling at her.
“Don’t know what you’re missing,” he said. “When you’re ready for a good time, you know where to find me, sweetheart. You’re welcome down here anytime. ” He blew her a kiss.
Bryn didn’t even remember going up the stairs, or going into her office—only the slamming of the door let her know that there was a solid oak surface between her and Fast Freddy. She shuddered, locked the door, and backed off to collapse into her office chair. “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” she said, and dropped her head into her hands. “Now I really need a shower. ” She’d met guys like him, of course. Lots of them. It came with the territory of working in a traditionally male area. And she’d learned to deal with them. She just hadn’t quite expected to have to do it here, in civilization.
And not at the end of a miserable first day.
After taking a few dozen deep, calming breaths, she stripped off her lab coat and retrieved her purse from the drawer of her desk. So time to go home. Maybe Lucy had been right—a glass of wine and a massage—but if she couldn’t get the massage, at least a glass of wine, a movie, something to take her mind off of things.
Bryn jerked at the sound of a thunderously loud knock on the door. “Hey, girl? You still here? Come out! Come out!”
She hadn’t turned her fluorescent office light on, so as long as she kept quiet, Freddy wouldn’t know she was there. Hopefully.
She could hear him breathing. There was something very creepy about that.
Finally, he muttered, “Man, you are one cold bitch,” and she heard him walking away. She held her breath until she heard what sounded like the front door slamming, and then went to the window to look out. Carefully.
Freddy drove a silver sports car, and she watched him climb inside and drive away in a squeal of tires. Oh, thank God.
Just her, then. Her and the late Mr. Granberry downstairs.
She bet Freddy hadn’t bothered to put him in the refrigerator. That seemed like the kind of slap-dash asshole move he’d pull.
Bryn unlocked the prep room door and turned on the lights, and yes, she was right: Freddy had left poor Mr. Granberry naked on the table. It was cold in the room, but not cold enough to properly retard decomposition … and besides, it was just disrespectful, leaving the poor man there exposed and alone.
Bryn walked over and looked down at his face. Bodies didn’t scare her—never had, really. They were a sad remnant of a life already gone by the time she saw them like this—an impermanent memorial, melting like paper in water. Everybody—and every body—had a story. She supposed Mr. Granberry’s was kind of tragic, given his wife and what had happened with his daughter, but he didn’t look especially tragic—just absent.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and put her hand on his cheek. He felt cool and utterly lifeless, like a rubber doll left outside in winter. “Take care of Melissa, wherever you guys are. I don’t think she meant to hurt anybody. She just didn’t want to live with all the pain. I’m sure she really loved you. ”
Talking to the dead was always useless. Mr. Granberry didn’t hear, didn’t feel, didn’t care. But Bryn felt better for having said it, and that was really the point.
“Time to go to your room. ” Bryn spread a clean white sheet over him, then removed the brakes from the wheels and rolled his table into the walk-in refrigerator. “Sleep tight, Mr. G. I promise we’ll do our best for you. Oh, look— you’ve got a friend. ” Mr. G had a neighbor, it seemed— another body, still zipped in a dark plastic cocoon. She supposed it was a late arrival from a hospital or the coroner’s office.
As she closed the door on him, she could have sworn she heard something. Bryn paused, holding her breath, but she heard nothing now but the hum of machinery. She couldn’t help but think of poor Mr. Granberry sitting up on his tray. Corpses sometimes did that sort of thing. It wasn’t anything to do with zombies; it was just muscles contracting. It seemed creepy, but it was just … biology.
Although biology could be pretty damn creepy, when you came right down to it.
She looked inside, but nothing seemed to have changed. As she swung the door shut, she heard it again. A faint sound but definite.
Kind of a scratching.
“Rats,” she said, and shuddered. She’d have to tell Mr. Fairview. The last thing any mortuary needed was a rodent problem. That would get them shut down quickly, and ruin their reputation forever.
Bryn clicked off the lights decisively and walked out the doors, locking them behind her.
