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“Okay.” Voice crackling, Emilie turns toward Aubree and explains more the workings of the camping trips they take each year.
Excusing myself, I hurry into the giant fridge and move directly to the drawer Paul is currently occupying. Pulling his tray out to the very end, I check the sheet covering him, but know he’s beyond bleeding now. His organs have been removed, his blood drained. His bowels are empty, and his bladder long ago ran dry. Incisions that are almost invisible to the naked eye sit behind his ears, so if I were so inclined, I could peel back his scalp, pluck off the top of his skull, and peek inside the cavity that once held his brain.
He’s just a cadaver now, not even useful to medical students who might want to learn and practice on real human flesh.
Fixing his sheet so it covers his entire torso and missing limbs, I tweak the fabric so it also sits above the section of his neck that his killers took an axe to.
He was beheaded, but like Dr. Frankenstein did for his monster, I put him back together again… sort of.
Pleased with what I have to present—it’s not perfect, but it’s the best we’ve got—I take a step back from the table and grab my phone to text Aubree.
You can bring her in.
“Come this way.” Immediately, I hear Aubree’s soothing tone. Her soft coaxing as they approach and step through the door. “This is likely to be confronting to you, Emilie. Maybe a little scary. You need to prepare yourself. But we’ll be with you the entire time, okay?”
I remain standing by Paul’s body, while twenty feet across the room, Emilie’s gaze locks onto her friend and tears spill over.
Slowly, the pair makes their way closer.
“Oh, Paul.” A soft cry makes its way along our visitor’s throat only to stop on a whimper. “Oh my gosh, mijo. What happened to you?”
“You can’t touch.” Carefully, I reach out to intercept her hand when she comes closer. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Elenora, but you just can’t touch yet.”
Snotty and sniffling, she presses one hand to her bosom and the other to her nose so her tissue catches the mess. “Okay, I won’t…” Fat tears roll along her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you need help, Emilie?” Aubree stands close enough that their hips touch. “After this. You said you’re going around in circles; the George Stanley has a counselor on-staff to help the family of the deceased take their next steps. She would show you options, guide you through the paperwork, help you with the arrangements. And if Paul’s estate doesn’t have enough funds to take care of a service, the counselor can also help you apply for grants.”
Emilie shakes her head and attempts to still her quivering jaw. “He already documented his wishes.” Slowly, her gaze comes up to Aubree’s. “We see a lot of tragedy in our line of work, Doctor. We see the value of life, and how quickly it can all come undone. So a few years back, Paul made certain to purchase an insurance policy that would take care of his burial. He wrote down his wishes and had them certified. So I won’t… I won’t…” Her chest heaves with grief. “I won’t spin in circles forever, Doctor Emeri. Just today. Just until I was able to see him.”
“What about the youth center?” I ask. “Will there be enough left over to help there too?”
She shakes her head and hiccups past the tears lodged in her throat. “The funeral is paid for from that policy, but there won’t be any left over. So there’s a different policy to help the center stay afloat.”
“There is?” I look across at Aubree and raise a questioning brow.I called it! IknewEmilie Elenora seemed guilty.“That’s such good news.” I fake a smile and bring my eyes back to Emilie’s. “Will you be in charge of that, too? Will you require guidance?”
“No, it’s not… It’s not cash in hand,” she murmurs. “It’s a disbursement system. To pay the rent and electricity for the building the center occupies. To provide a stipend for groceries. There won’t be cash for anyone to touch. But the children will be safe.” She chokes on her tears and turns her eyes away. “The children will have somewhere to go.”
* * *
“Fine.” After seeing Ms. Elenora out of the building and making our way back up to my office, I huff and shove through the door with a petulant sigh. “So she’s not profiting from Paul’s death. I’m allowed to be wrong sometimes, you know?”
Aubree only drops onto my couch with a thump so the cushions fluff full of air and let out a whistle as it escapes again. “You seem really upset that you’re wrong about something, Mayet. Do you need… counseling?”
“I need steel-toe boots so I can make it hurt when I kick your ass out of my office.”
Unruffled, she only sniggers and lays back on my couch.
She treats this place like a therapist’s office, and the couch is where she goes to recline and tell me all sorts of crap I don’t want to know.
“You seem a little less mopey today.” Stretching her neck back, she looks at me upside down as I slump into my chair. “You and Arch make up?”
“No. And whatever Arch and I do is none of your business.” I take out my cell and tap the screen to find enough unread texts to make me sigh. “And I’m not mopey. I’m never mopey.”
“You’re super mopey.” Turning over on the couch, she rests on her belly and places her chin in her hands. “But today, you’re a little happier. What happened between the hours of six last night and six this morning?”
To mess with my second, or to leave her be?
A slow grin works its way across my lips. “I spent the night with Fletch.”
