Chapter 1

Endless Night.... 

The black abyss that had entered my dreams a few weeks ago slowly began to take me over. Night after night, the same voice called out to me. Unfamiliar and unrelenting, its haunting melody sent waves of calm energy through my soul. It plead for me to come closer, to come back to it. 

Get up. 

It's time to go... 

My hand fumbles for the alarm clock, screaming at me as I smash the off button and sit up in bed. My room is still dark, aside from the clock's crimson lights that read 3:15 am. My eyes, still heavy with sleep, run down the space next to me. I was alone. It had been a little over a month since she left, and I still couldn't take away her pillows or blanket she had left. They still smelled like her... 

Like a mindless zombie, my morning started the same as most, out of bed, hot shower to wash away the darkness of my dreams, and off to work. She had taken Willow, the Cat we got together a few years ago, and I admit, I missed the cat's company more than Allie's

Pulling into the parking lot for work only made me realize I was alone again. I was always the first one here in the mornings and the last to leave at night. Someone had to stay and keep the dead company, and I enjoyed my work. I had no one to talk to, but I was never much for conversation. 

My keys jingled against the door as the final lock clicked, and the large oak door to the funeral home swung open. Inside was black, just like my dreams, and I welcomed it. My body knew the layout like the back of my hand, and it wasn't long before the fluorescent lights that lined the long halls of the funeral home illuminated it once again. 

"I've missed you... "

I froze, the hairs on the nape of my neck bristling with a sudden chill that coursed through my veins. Had I truly heard a voice, or was it merely a phantom of my restless mind?

I shook my head and continued to my office at the back of the building. My calendar read three names to be prepared for burial. I tied up my long black hair and peeled on the PVC apron in the corner of my office. I was off to the morgue. 

One by one, I cleaned the bodies of the deceased, decorating them as they would have been before their deaths. Each had a story and a past that I tried to replicate. The first was an elderly woman whose face almost looked content, as if she was ready to go. I brushed out her short white hair left in curlers from the night before. Her daughter insisted that it be perfect, so I took my time. I was not a hairdresser, and my long hair had never taken a curl, so it was a first for me. It looked almost identical to the reference photo I'd been given. I smiled to myself slightly at my work. After dressing her in the cream-colored gown that was provided, I pushed her back into the cold room and dragged out the next body. 

The next was a young man, mid 20's, tall and handsome. His features were slightly sunken in, and then hollow of his cheek darkened his face. The tattoos that covered his body told a story that I read into. A portrait of a small child on his left arm with the name Sadie underneath, followed by a timeline of her life. She only lived a year, and the other ink on his body splayed the pain of her loss. From lyrics to a tiny handprint on his shoulder, I wept for them both, though we never met. 

Not often had I let myself feel in this room, but the tears easily slid down my cheeks. Perhaps it was because I felt alone, much like the young man who had taken his own life. I finished filling in his cheeks with makeup, with only the sound of my sobs to keep me company. 

When I had finished, I looked at the desk clock the director had given me last year for Christmas. It was in the shape of a coffin, and the bright green numbers stood out against the black plastic. 7:45 a.m., others would be here soon. I cleaned up my face and returned the young man next to the elderly lady. 

Darcy was the first to arrive, as usual. She joined us here a few months back as a coordinator, and her sunny disposition was rare for someone her age. Even her dark blue suit seemed cheerful when she wore it. It was modest but still hugged the curves of her body, outlining her features beautifully. Unlike the black vest and trousers I was accustomed to wearing, which did nothing for my figure. I looked mostly plain with some details on the silver buttons that ran down the left side. My undershirt changed from dark blue to emerald green and dark plum. Today, just a plain black button-up underneath the vest. 

Darcy greeted me and went over the schedule for the day, along with the arrivals, which the director would pick up later in the day. She kept the conversation brief as if to hit the keynotes. I smiled and nodded to her as I headed back to the mortuary to complete my work on the young woman whose wake was this evening. 

Her death was not a peaceful one like the two previous inhabitants; she had gone thrashing, fighting for her life. The gunshot wounds in her stomach and shoulder were the mark of her death. I worked on her skin and filled in her face yesterday. Her family had not given any photo or description of how they wanted her to look other than natural. I had seen her picture on the news the day her body was found, so I used that image as a starting point. Her short blond hair had been covered in blood when she first arrived and, after being washed, was curled into tight ringlets that complemented her pale skin. I applied less makeup than in the photo to fit the "natural" look her family had requested. When I was finished, it almost looked like she was sleeping, entirely still alive. 

I dressed her in the black lacy dress and silver accents that were chosen to adorn her body. I took a step back and admired my work. It was difficult to explain to my parents why I wanted to go to mortuary school, I had said it was a steady business and something I could do my whole life, and that was good enough for them, even if a bit macabre. Deep down, I had always felt comfort in death, and the satisfaction of a job well done was a nice little ego boost in an otherwise tormented life. 

As I finished with the young woman, the director graced the door of my workspace. His tall figure and handsome features were the first things most noticed about him; however, for me, it was the eyes. They were sharp and spotted every imperfection. A swirling pool of deep emeralds complimented by his smooth, ebony skin. My eyes followed him to the body before me as he surveyed my work. He gave a slight nod as he looked her over. He was not one for compliments, so the nod was the best I got. 

He beckoned me back to the bay doors that welcomed new arrivals and opened the door to the large black van splashed with the funeral home's logo, Sage and Laurel. 

"Mr. Wrirs' family will arrive this evening for a consultation. Darcy and I will be directing the wake for Ms. Arturo, and I need you to give them a walkthrough of pricing and what services we offer until we conclude the wake. It should be under 20 minutes or so," he said, pointing to the body bag on the left. 

"However, Mrs. Scott has already set everything up ahead of schedule. She will need to be ready by Friday morning for burial", he said, pointing to the other body. 

I gave my signature nod and smiled, removing the first body from the van with a gurney. It was small and felt so fragile. Mrs. Scott had commended me on my work when her husband passed away last year and told me she trusted me to make her look "good," whatever that meant. As I started to roll the cart inside, Mr. Babineau's deep voice rumbled, "Thank you, Wren."