Page 112 of The Dearly Departed

My plague doctor mask was the last thing Zeke had seen as I covered his gaping mouth with my gloved hand before he could manage a scream and drove the blade of my butterfly knife through his ear.

My gut clenched, and the need to be sick barreled through me at the thought of it now.

Gerald was right in calling me ruthless—but only in the moment.

Afterward, I often succumbed to the violent demand to vomit, and the visions of the things I’d done embedded themselves in my brain and came to haunt me during my sleep.

"Have you tried those sleeping pills I gave you?" Shawn asked.

He had broken up with Shelby a couple of years ago, and ever since, he struggled with a touch of depression. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but coupled with the loss of Leonard, he was understandably sad. He’d thought he would marry that girl, and then she turned out to be someone different. Someone he didn’t want to spend his life with.

He could've found another woman. He was a good-looking guy, honest and loyal. But he hadn't tried to date much since they'd broken up. He wasn't ready, he'd say repeatedly, and I wasn't sure he ever would be. Not without someone giving him a hearty shove.

"Nah," I replied with a shake of my head. "I don't know that I want to rely on medication." And I didn't want to be in a medically induced coma every single night and unable to hear if someone was calling me or breaking into the house to collect my soul.

"No, I understand that," Shawn replied, nodding. "But sometimes, when I'm lying awake for hours on end, it's nice to be knocked out, you know?"

"Yeah," I replied.

I did know.

I knew more than he thought I did.

Because after lying with Virginia, being used in ways that made me sick to my stomach, and after I got back to the funeral home to hopefully catch an hour or two of sleep before I had to return to my unmasked life, I would stare at the ceiling and agonize over how long I could possibly keep this life going before I met my demise.

How long until someone served as my judge and sent me barreling toward the fiery gates of Hell?

I was terrified of that day, and yet I knew with it would also come the relief of knowing this could be over.

From inside my pocket, my burner phone buzzed.

I didn't react, didn't reach for it, but silently, I cursed Gerald for not being capable of leaving me alone for more than a couple of days. And it wasn't always because he needed someone dead. Sometimes, he needed me to scare someone, arrange funeral plans for one of his fallen friends, or help his other hired gorillas collect what was owed to him. But it seemed that, whatever I was needed for, I was always needed.

He couldn't just give me a fucking break.

The phone buzzed again.

"Do you hear that?" Shawn asked, lifting his phone and checking the screen.

Ike nodded. "Yeah, something's buzzin'."

My personal phone was on the counter, and I got up to grab it.

"Might be mine," I said, lifting it just in time for the burner in my pocket to buzz again.

“It’s me,” I half lied, staring at the blank screen as my brain worked quickly to come up with a diversion, a reason to leave the room.

Shawn and Ike sat unperturbed, continuing to eat their lunch without question as I stood at the counter. My fingers itched to grab the burner from my pocket, to check the messages that had come through, but I couldn't risk them seeing it.

"I have to piss. I’ll be back," I announced, already hurrying from the kitchen to lock myself in the bathroom, reaching for the burner.

Two missed calls. Three missed texts. All from the same number.

I'm sorry to text you, but I need help.

Please. I don't know what to do.

Maybe I shouldn’t have contacted you at all. I feel so stupid. I’m sorry.