After Death (4 page)

Frank was still chuckling, even harder now — when that electric chill ran up his spine that stopped his laugher in his throat.

The big idea had arrived! There was no mistaking it — that weird moment that started as a chill and expanded as it moved upward until it felt like a vibrating cloud of electricity around his head.

It only lasted a second or two — a euphoric moment that made him want to shout “Eureka!” and then it receded but still left a slight tingle in its wake and a new surge of pulsing energy.

He jumped enthusiastically to his feet, accidentally startled Argus.

“Sorry, boy…” He murmured as he raced for his computer.
There was no time to shut off the TV and DVD player, no time to use the bathroom, no time for anything — He needed to get the idea written down while it was so vibrant — before that blazing imprint across his mind had faded into something faint and pale and obscure…

She really didn’t like her job
, Frank thought, as he sat on the other side of the wide faux-wood desk waiting for her to finish reading through his resume. Everything about her behavior screamed that she was bored and tired and couldn’t wait to retire or even take an early layoff. The standard placard on her desk read Katherine Sully but it could have read anything. She was no different than a million others like her, people in positions of responsibility that really didn’t care, they were just biding their time, picking up paychecks.

The fact that she didn’t ask a single question about his rather sparse and strange resume didn’t surprise him one bit — it just cemented what he already thought about her. She didn’t even comment on all the odd death-related jobs he’d had between teaching positions. Mortician’s helper, Coroner’s assistant, Cemetery Security Guard; half of them he almost didn’t put down but he was afraid they’d check the time-line if he didn’t and it wouldn’t match up. Better to be forthright. Instead, she did what the bored and tired and very lazy did, she pretended to read it and immediately offered him the position just so that she wouldn’t have to spend any more time interviewing candidates.

“It says here you can start immediately, that’s fine.” She said flatly, her round face and three chins bouncing a little when she tilted her head down and stared at him over her thick reading glasses. “Do you have any other questions about the position before we address the paperwork?”

Of course, he had about a hundred questions bouncing around in his head but he couldn’t ask
her
. And getting immediately offered the job when they were completely clueless about him would have topped the list. He tried to mask his unease and shifted a little in his chair. He hadn’t expected the interview to go this fast and certainly hadn’t expected to be instantly offered the job. Despite the fact that he wanted the position, it was a bit off-putting and knocked him off his stride.

“Uhmm… I’m still a little bit unclear on what the job duties are..?” He asked, trying to sound curious without seeming like an imbecile.
Not that she’d notice…

“Your position is as the “Social Services Designee.” She said quickly and without any emotion at all, she continued as though by rote and without any understanding of the words. “It will be your responsibility to evaluate the patient’s mental status; whether they know who they are, where they are, basic items that tell about their overall well-being. You write up simple reports on assigned individuals and turn them over to me.”

He chewed his lip. It sounded like a pretty important position.

“And there’s no special psychology background needed?”
He hated to ask, he wanted this job… but he didn’t want to get in over his head and endanger anyone at the hospital…

Her face became stern and when she spoke it was now with a tight, curt, clipped ending to every word. She reminded him somehow of a snapping turtle. She wanted this interview process over.
Now
.

“No.” (snap). Any other questions?” (snap).

And that was that; the job was his.

He had taken the first step towards putting the big idea into motion. The job was to do extensive research; make the piece as real as possible. This part had been easy — surprisingly easy. Now he just hoped Jackie would take it well and he would be on his way…

***

“Something you’re not telling me?” she asked from across the dining table.

Frank was smiling more than usual over their beef stew dinner and even humming… He couldn’t help it. He really felt this was it — they’d look back on this dinner years from now and laugh and say “Yep, that was when it began. That’s when success finally took form.”

He hummed that odd old ditty a bit longer, the one he knew so well but couldn’t remember where he’d learned it. He was drawing out the suspense. Jackie stared at him with the same impatient look he knew he had when she had read some of his work and wasn’t immediately forthcoming with her opinion.

“Something you’re not telling me?” She finally asked again, this time more pointedly.

He shrugged and brandished a playful smile, teasing absently at a chunk of meat on his plate.

“Could be.”

She recognized the game and played along.

“Something you
plan
on telling me?”

He almost laughed.

“Could be.”

She sighed and slumped her shoulders in a sure sign of defeat. He decided to let the cat out of the bag and sported a ridiculous grin.
Please let her be as happy as I am.

“I got a job. I start tomorrow.”

“That’s terrific!” She
was
genuinely pleased… And then her face slackened and he knew she was mentally cataloging his job history. Her enthusiasm ebbed noticeably.

“Uh, where..?” She asked, the corners of her mouth upturned in a partial wince, as though preparing for something unpleasant.

He winced as well.
There was no getting around this.

“Well… That’s the part you’re not gonna like…”

She groaned disappointedly before she realized what she’d done.

“Let me guess… For more research you got a job as — A grave digger?”

Frank shook his head.

“— A Mortician’s helper?” He shook his head again. “Coroner’s Assistant?” He just kept shaking his head slowly side-to-side, that smile plastered on his face.

“But certainly something to do with death,
right
?” she asked with a heavy measure of certainty.

She knew him all too well. His head stopped and he realized after he’d answered that he sounded a bit whiny and defensive.

“Well… Yeah…”

She rubbed her eyes.

“Okay, I give up.”

“A Social Services Assistant — At a convalescent hospital.”

Her face screwed up, involuntarily repulsed.

“So you can watch old people die one by one?” She shuddered and made a weird sound in her throat. “Yipes — Gives me the creeps.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it?”

He knew it was time to go into his final pitch. With any luck he’d never have to do this again. He stared into her eyes with his best look of absolute earnestness.

“I think this is it, I really do. The idea scary as hell, not to mention pretty original. I really think this is the one that will make it happen for us — I really do.”

She was almost there… His future as a writer balanced on the head of a pin…

“Maybe you want to bounce it off me, get my opinion on it before you commit —”

He cut her off at the pass.
He had to.

“— Just trust me, it’ll be worth it. Besides; you know how talking about a project before it’s written makes me lose my incentive…”

It was true; sometimes in the act of communication, the idea lost all that electricity it generated when it was born. The urge, that driving desire to bring the thoughts to life, just dissolved and there was suddenly…Nothing. And he definitely didn’t want this prime idea to become nothing…

She seemed to understand and searched for something positive to end the subject on.

“So the job pays this time, right?”

He couldn’t hold back the surge of joy he felt at this success.
She always looked for the silver lining. Another of the many reasons he loved her so much.

“Seven and a quarter an hour, baby.” He said with another ridiculous grin. “Look who’s bringing home the bacon now!”

Fernando Puenza had worked at the WestHolme Convalescent Hospital for three years now but had never managed to get used to the smell that slammed into his nostrils every time he started a shift. It didn’t exactly smell like human waste— it wasn’t quite as obvious as that — but in some ways it was nastier since it was a pared down lingering
residue
that Management attempted to hide under layer after layer of Pine-Sol cleaner.

The reaction to this lurking odorous undercurrent that permeated the entire hospital (but most particularly the two wings with the patient rooms) was what Fernando was waiting for with the new guy. Management had asked Fernando to show him around — It was funny that they always had him do the introductions since he was a cafeteria cook, but he loved it — Anything to get out of the kitchen.

He walked Frank down the main hall to an alcove with the time-clock and the time-cards. This area was for all the guests to see so it was pretty clean — white tile against white walls (even the smell was reduced here — it was no secret the staff were instructed to pay special attention to this area).

Fernando lifted a time-card from its slot and showed it to Frank.

“This is the most important thing you need to know, man, how to punch the clock. You don’t do this, you don’t get paid, what the hell you doin’ here…”

He waited to see if this Frank would take the bait; maybe tell him that he was here by order of the court or some other reason. Nothing—just a polite nod and a blink like he was taking a mental picture. Fernando continued.

“You write your name and address here, sign it here. You forget to sign, you don’t get paid for that week. Got it?”

Frank nodded and replied quietly; “No problem.”

Fernando smiled.

“Maybe not for you and me but we got some real losers here, man. This way.”

He led Frank down the rest of the central corridor and they turned a corner. As the cleanliness of the place began to noticeably drop off, Fernando couldn’t help but wonder at this new guy. He was older than the last three by at least ten years. He also seemed a lot more interested in knowing what he was supposed to be doing…The others were so distracted he had to repeat everything over and over and they still usually didn’t remember. Of course, the king of the bozos was the kid that came in with spiky hair and his MP3 player blasting in his ears. He’d refused to take them out and after Fernando had spent several frustrating minutes trying to communicate with him — practically shouting in his face — Fernando had finally given up and just walked away.

He remembered being worried about what would happen to him for not doing his part but no one ever said a word. And the amazing part was — they still hired the guy! Of course, the kid only lasted about a week…From what he heard, the punk didn’t like old people… and there were too many of them at a convalescent hospital for him to be “comfortable” — Go figure.

Fernando always wondered where they found these losers and why they hired them? He could’ve found a dozen better candidates just walking down the street in his native Mexico…He knew he shouldn’t compare…Survival was a great motivator and one these pampered gringos would never know…

Which is why Frank’s behavior really stood out…
They must’ve upped the pay…
He thought.
It was the only explanation…
He wondered if it was a position he could take a shot at when this guy was gone…
No more giant pots of mac and cheese. No more sweating his ass off in summer in front of the grill or slinging gobs of mashed potatoes onto plastic plates over and over — that would be great…

They passed several open doors, some of the sick and elderly staring out as they passed. Most were oblivious, their eyes glazed and dull, almost opaque. Some were so thin it was hard to look at them, their bones barely covered by a tight flesh covering that showed signs of possible breakage at all the sharp angles. Only one or two seemed to flash a brief instant of notice or recognition in otherwise sunken and blank faces.

Fernando glanced sidelong at Frank; still no reaction to the smell. They passed a door and a particularly nasty waft of waste assaulted them —
Ah, there it was—the involuntary wince as the nostrils curled in disgust on their own.
He wondered how long this one would last
; Two weeks maybe..?

“Oh, yeah, the stink.” Fernando said without thinking. “They don’t clean this place too good. Don’t worry, after ‘bout ten minutes, you don’t notice no more.”

He said the same thing to all of them.

They came to an open door at the end of the hall and paused in the doorway. An old woman sat facing them in a wheelchair, her long grey-haired head bent forward as if it was too heavy to carry any longer. She might have been dead except that she kept mumbling something to herself over and over, her thin voice still strong enough that it bounced audibly off her boney lap.