D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

“Del, I know you’re here,” he said. “I don’t know how you got out, but that’s not important now. What’s important is that we bring this to an end. You have to die. And the girl has to die. The only difference is that she has a chance to avoid extinction… like all my other girls. She may not be alive forever, but she can be here on earth… forever young, forever beautiful.”

Suddenly, Quilla moaned. It wasn’t so much the sound of a person waking up, but the gentle noise of someone tossing in her sleep. But it was loud enough for Nolan to know that she was in here. And if she was in here, he knew I was too.

In a second, Nolan was standing in the utility room. He flipped on the light and saw me crouched in the corner. I was sure he didn’t see Quilla tucked behind the washer.

“Where is she?” he snapped.

I looked over at Nolan’s makeshift embalming room. For some reason, I said, “In there.”

“She better be.” He waived the gun and gestured for me to go into the embalming room first. I did. He came in a few steps behind me. “ Where ?” he said.

“Perry is on his way here right now. You’ve already killed Greg. Perry’ll find the women. It’s over. To kill me or Quilla is unnecessary. Even if you did, this sad, maudlin world you’ve made for yourself will end. If you let us go…maybe…I mean, I don’t know the law…but maybe you can plead insanity and…”

“Where’s the girl, Del!?! I want to work on her. She’ll be the youngest yet. She has wonderful skin. It’ll be my biggest challenge ever.”

“Nolan, we’ve known each other for so many years.”

“She’ll be the last one. I promise. I’m an artist. I…”

Quilla moaned again. Nolan turned around in the direction of the washer and dryer. I decided to take a chance and go for his gun. I don’t know where my strength came from, but I leaped at him, knocking him over, causing the gun to tumble from his hand. Nolan fell on top of me, his fists flying wildly. I knocked him over. He scrambled towards the gun which was setting in a corner next to a container of formaldehyde. As Nolan crawled along the floor towards the gun, I stood up and frantically looked around the room for a weapon. Normally an embalmer has plenty of tools lying around, many with sharp edges, but here Nolan didn’t use his skills on a daily basis, so there was nothing at hand.

But then I saw the one thing I could use hanging from a hook on the wall. The trocar. As I grabbed it off the hook I looked at the eight-inch needle. It was used strictly on dead people, but I knew it was capable of making someone dead too.

As Nolan grabbed the gun, he spun around and prepared to fire. I was too tired to raise the trocar over my head like a spear, so with it firmly in my right hand I rushed towards Nolan, sticking the needle in his chest. He winced in pain, fell against the embalming table, lowered the gun for an instant, then raised it and with an unsteady hand pointed it at me. He seemed ready to fall over. Without thinking, I yanked the trocar out of his chest and shoved it in him again, this time in the stomach. He cried out, then dropped the gun and grabbed me. We were almost face to face.

“Del,” he said lightly, as the life ebbed out of him. “I don’t expect your forgiveness.”

“You won’t get it.”

“I’m not entitled to it. But there’s one thing I am entitled to. A proper burial. I deserve one. Wilt will work on my corpse. I want a big funeral. The works. Mahogany coffin. No expense spared. There’s a box of money in the closet up with the girls, probably fifteen thousand. Whatever’s left give to Wilt. Bury me in my family plot at Elm Cross. The name is Oberfuolner.” He coughed. “And Del… maybe some day you’ll find it in your heart to put some flowers on my grave.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing was weak. I stared coldly at him as his eyes opened and said, “Don’t count on it.”

There was a memorial service for Alyssa, Virginia Thistle, Patricia Fowler, the two other girls in the attic, as well as the two girls buried in the gully. They all were re-buried at Elm Grove except Alyssa. Her mother lived in California and had the body sent there.

I arranged for Tyler to handle everything. Gretchen picked a plot for her mother under a spruce tree on a hill overlooking one of the two duck ponds in Elm Grove.

Perry tried to communicate to his father that the Virginia Thistle case had been solved, but he wasn’t sure if Chester had absorbed the information or not. Nolan only wounded Greg. He was considered a hero and was given a commendation by the Mayor of Dankworth. The excitement of the case motivated him to apply for a job with a big city police department. He has applications in to Youngstown, Cleveland and Dayton.

I promised Viper a job after he graduated from college. He’s already doing odd jobs at the Home. After Nolan’s death I was concerned about replacing him, but the problem solved itself because Clint decided that an embalmer/restoration man had far better hours than a Funeral Director, so with Cookie’s blessing he took the position.

Quilla has become something of a surrogate daughter for me. She comes around and we chat. She does most of the talking. I listen. Give her advice. I enjoy it.

Gretchen took the discovery of the bodies the hardest. Because she’d spent so long believing her mother was still alive, the truth was nearly incomprehensible for her. She demanded from the District Attorney that he initiate proceedings to clear Kyle Thistle’s name in the murder of his wife.

Gretchen and I started going out. She has been trying to get me to reexamine my motives for being a Funeral Director. She thinks that, though it’s a necessary service, it’s a negative and personally non-productive way for me to make money. She says she isn’t sure if she could be seriously involved with someone who’s life is so totally wrapped up in death. I know I have solid people skills. I’m giving what Gretchen said serious consideration, checking into careers in which I could utilize what I’ve learned as a Funeral Director.

In the meantime, I still have to earn a living.

The phone in the Counseling Room is ringing. Someone has died or is about to. I have to answer it.

“Henderson’s Funeral Home. May I help you?”

D.B. Gilles is the author of I Hate My Book Club, a comic novel about a dysfunctional book club. His non-fiction includes The Screenwriter Within, 2nd Edition, The Portable Film School and You’re Funny! Turn Your Sense of Humor Into A Lucrative New Career. Also a playwright, he has written numerous plays, most notably Men’s Singles, The Girl Who Loved The Beatles, Sparkling Object and Inadmissible . He writes the screenwriting blog Screenwriters Rehab: For Screenwriters Who Can’t Get Their Acts Together. He is a member of The Writers Guild of America and The Dramatists Guild.

Check out other books by D.B. Gilles at:

http://dbgillesbooks.blogspot.com/

Contact D.B. Gilles directly at: dbgillescript@gmail.com

Follow D.B. on Twitter: @dbgilles

Copyright 2012 by D.B. Gilles

Published by Black Mask Publishing

ISBN: 9781476004914

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