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Sage
Present Time
The streets were dark and poorly lit by the few lamps that were in the area. The air was crisp with a winter chill, causing her breath to puff out in a visible cloud in front of her face. Sage was in an older part of Hornbeck, which was known for its gloomy appearance; even the holiday lights could not penetrate the atmosphere. As she dashed for the entrance of the funeral home, she slipped on a spot of ice on the ground and rolled her heel, stumbling forward like a drunken loon.
Christ, I almost joined my husband in death,she thought after recovering. Thankfully, there had been no onlookers to see her blunder.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Sage stopped in front of the old stone building. She’d always avoided this area of town due to its ominous state. To top off the eerie atmosphere, the wind seemed to howl more ominously as it tore at Sage’s clothes and hair.
Although a luxurious neighborhood, the buildings were ancient. They were looming structures with triangular tops. To Sage, they appeared like something out of an old horror film. Mark must have known how she felt. Why else would he make pre-arrangements with the funeral home there? He’d always insisted on testing her fears. According to him, it was for her own good, though, Sage believed a part of him intentionally tried her anxiety to satisfy his sadism. When it came to decisions, he’d always controlled everything. He’d act without consulting her. Thus, the pre-planning of his funeral.
“Thank god!” Sage mumbled to herself when the large wooden door of the building opened. Despite the late hour, the funeral home hadn’t closed. Sage needed desperately to talk to a director about the overpriced selections her husband had made.
Ever since Mark’s death, Sage’s life had been an utter disaster, and it hadn’t exactly been great before. Not only had she been plagued with an onslaught of negative emotions related to grief, but she’d also been left with a file of documents outlining the funeral he’d arranged for himself−a funeral of which she’d had no knowledge. No doubt he’d chosen the most expensive options to spite her.
I swear, Mark if you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you!Sage said to herself, angrily. On second thought, Mark hadn’t chosen a lavish service to spite her, he’d done so as a result of his narcissism. He’d been an extreme perfectionist as long as he’d been alive. Everything had to be in its place in the house. All items had a purpose and were of the highest quality. For someone so thorough and precise, he hadn’t exactly done a complete job when it came to his funeral arrangements. Now that his perfect tidy self was gone, Sage was left with a complete mess of documents that meant jack shit to her.
Pre-arranged funerals were intended to help ease the executors through the funeral process. In the case of Sage’s parents, who’d both pre-arranged and pre-paid their funerals, the experience had been remarkably simple. Sage hadn’t needed to make a single payment or decision, allowing her to focus on moving through her grief. It’d also helped that they’d chosen a funeral home in a less grim part of town.
The door creaked unpleasantly as it opened. Cringing at the sound, Sage hesitantly entered the building. The interior showcased high ceilings and rich red carpeting, along with matching crimson décor. The walls were adorned with medieval-looking drapes, as well as other fragments of artwork that seemed as though they were from that period. Everywhere Sage looked, there were crystal vases of roses and what must have been thousands of tea light votives, infusing the room with a warm glow. There were garlands and wreaths to indicate the holiday season was upon them, but those few decorations did nothing to modernize the interior space. It looked staged for a period performance.
It’s magnificently opulent decor plus the vastness of the space made Sage feel particularly small. To the right of the door was an empty reception desk, although it too was an antique. The only thing that gave it away was a small brass sign that simply said, ‘Reception’. Sage glanced around her in search of someone to speak with. While doing so an ornate mirror caught her attention. She stared curiously at her disheveled disposition reflected in the speckled glass situated next to a grand staircase.
“Madam you must hurry before it’s over,” a woman’s voice blared from behind Sage, startling her. The sound she made as a result sounded like the sound a cat made when its tail was stepped on.
Why do you jump at every little sound? It’s pathetic.Even beyond the grave, Mark’s critical words haunted Sage.
Collecting herself as best she could, Sage turned to face the receptionist, wondering where on earth she’d come from so suddenly. Before she could explain the reason behind her visit, the receptionist had her by the crook of the arm, leading her frantically toward a pair of double doors. Not wanting to appear awkward and clumsy, as Mark so often named her, Sage went along with the woman until she stopped abruptly, inches from the doors. “I think you’ll find what it is you desire through there,” she indicated.
Confused, Sage thanked the receptionist and ventured into the room. When she saw how grand the chapel was, her jaw dropped. The windows depicted odd scenes done in muted colors of stained glass. Normally, Sage expected to see biblical-themed morals within a chapel, but these images were unfamiliar. There were no crosses or saints, but instead images of white-faced people enjoying glasses of red wine. The myriad of roses continued as well. In place of a cross on the back wall of the chapel, was a wreath containing the flowers. Long mahogany tables spread across either side of the room, leaving a narrow runway through the middle, where Sage was currently gawking. No holidays decorations punctuated the somber tone.
There was something surreal about the chapel. Sage felt as though she’d just walked from the world she knew, into a different realm. Even the pairs of people seated at the tables looked alien to her. They were all dressed to the nines in suits and satin gowns and possessed skin so pale, Sage swore she could see the color of their vessels. The funeral home, and its current guests, reeked of aristocracy. Sage bet the reason they were all so lacking in color was because they had servants to do all their yard work. She scoffed. Not a single one of them had a decent tan.
Leave it to Mark to make arrangements at the most outrageously expensive funeral home in Hornbeck,she thought bitterly.
Mark had come from a prestigious family. His father owned a law firm, and his mother was a successful opera singer. One would think their industrious ways would carry on through the bloodline. Alas, Mark hadn’t been near as remarkable. After his parents passed on, he inherited their wealth, sitting on it like a soldier on rations. Initially, Sage had confused his fastidious nature for pragmatism. It wasn’t until long after she married him, that she realized her mistake. Mark was a tool and a control freak. He was an asshole Sage should have left ages ago. As wrong as it was to be glad he was gone, a part of Sage rejoiced in his death.
It was then that Sage felt a tap on her shoulder. “Welcome to the Church and Chapel,” greeted a dapper man, “humor me for one moment, would you?”
“Uh… okay,” Sage replied, still marveling at her surroundings.
“Would you happen to be the eighth attendee?” he asked.
His question took Sage by surprise. Since when did funeral homes give people numbers? Then again, she’d never visited one before, so perhaps it was a typical practice. “I-I wasn’t given a number,” she stammered. She immediately cursed herself for sounding like a basket case.
Don’t stutter when you talk to me, woman!The memory of Mark’s voice bellowed in the base of her skull.No wonder your only friends are plants.
He hadn’t been wrong. Sage worked as a horticulturist. She studied forests: quiet, humble forests but she recently found that she liked that about herself. In fact, after Mark’s passing, she found she quite liked a lot about herself.
“No matter,” the man said. He seemed oddly unhinged. “I’ve been counting. Please, sit.” Taking her forcefully by the arm, he guided her to a seat across from another man. “Why must she complete a row of eight?” the man muttered wearily as he walked away. “What’s the point of having two tables on either side of the aisle possessing two people? Why not three tables or four?”
Baffled, Sage watched as the man exited the chapel. She wondered why the number eight was so abhorrent, though presently she had a more pressing matter to attend to. She needed to undo Mark’s preposterously overpriced funeral selections.
When she saw how incredibly handsome the man across from her was, Sage found herself speechless. His cheekbones, nose, and jawline were so angular and perfect they almost looked as though they’d been carved. Pale and almost translucent, his skin was like fine marble. Looking around, Sage found that many of the people around her shared these features. They appeared too gorgeous to be real. It was as though they’d been mass-produced in a factory, with their calculated movements and fine-tuned beauty.
They must all go to the same plastic surgeon,Sage concluded.
