Page 2 of Shelly
“Go for it…” She bites her lip, but God, I can’t stop staring at that hand.
“Have you ever seen a dead body before?”
Her brow twitches, and I wait for my answer with bated breath. This is it, this is where I’ll know if I have to leave and do what I need to another way, or, if she will willingly come with a man she just met. It’s the question I ask all of them. The ones before her and the few that will come after her.
“No.”
“Would you like to?” I clasp my hands together in front of my face, resting my chin on the top while looking into her deep brown eyes.
“What like…” she leans in closer, whispering, “a real as day dead body? Like totally on the slab and like… dead.”
“Totally on the slab… totally dead.” I mimic her, and she snorts. She thinks for a moment, obviously weighing up her options because, let’s face it, this isn’t really something you offer on a first date. Except I can see the cogs turning in her head. She wants to, but she’s scared; she’s intrigued but disgusted at the same time. She—
“Ok,” she whispers.
The curve at the corner of my mouth is real this time. It always is when they agree, when they give over their trust so easily that I don’t even have to fight for it. Those are the ones I love; those are the ones who will make for the perfect woman–one that won’t fight or scream or… embarrass me.
With warmth in my heart, I stand from the two-person table, and the legs of my chair screech along the wooden flooring of the high-priced restaurant we just finished eating in. Decorated impeccably with Christmas decorations that I’m sure they paid a pretty penny for, but none of that matters in this moment.
I pull out my wallet and throw down a few hundred-dollar bills onto the table. That should cover the meal, tax and a generous tip for the waitress who didn’t even care enough to call me ‘sir’.
“Let’s go.” I hold out my hand.
“Now?” She tilts her head.
“Now, darling.” And with the pet name leaving my lips, she slides that flawless right hand into mine. Even the skin on it is soft; nails a little longer than I would like but I can work with that.
Tonight is going to be perfect. I can feel it in my bones.
Crimson & Son’s Mortuary is a family-owned business. One that has been running within my family lineage since the 1700s and passed down from generation to generation. When my father passed away ten years ago, it was left to me and since then, I have kept this place running impeccably. I don’t talk about it because it’s not important. I own it sure, but it’s not at all what defines me as a man in this day and age.
Astrid runs her delicate fingers along the cold steel of the cadaver table in the centre of the room, her eyes darting around to look at all the medical tools neatly displayed on the walls. Those of which are passed down from my family history and have been hung there beautifully.
“Wow.” She smiles. “I’ve never been in a place like this before.”
“Of course not, you’re alive.” I wink in her direction and a light blush creeps up her skin. I’m so close I can almost hear the audible sound of her beating heart as it pounds against her chest. Not in fear but excitement. “Are you ready?”
She nods, sucking the cover of her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing it. She’s nervous now. Most are when they’reabout to see something morbid for the first time. Viewing a dead body isn’t at the top of everyone’s list, and most of the time, when it happens, you don’t get a say in the matter.
I wander to the back wall where all the bodies that pass through here are stored, wrapping my hand around the middle handle of the second row and turning it down. Pulling it open, a cold rush of air bleeds out into the room, giving the illusion of smoke when it does. Astrid moves to stand next to me, just as I drag the cadaver tray out into the open.
“It’s cold.” She states matter-of-factly.
What is it the teens say now?‘Duh’because obviously, it will be cold. First of all, the fucking body is dead. Secondly, it needs to be kept that way.
“It has to be to stop the body from decomposing while, let’s say… a criminal investigation is ongoing or to keep the body cold in preparation for the funeral. Otherwise, they would rot.”
Leaning forward, I wrap my fingers over the ice-cold sheet that covers the body. “This one came in yesterday.”
“Fresh then?” she asks, chewing on her nail.
“As fresh as he can be. Now, you cannot touch the body… ok?”
Astrid faces me then, lifting a single elegant finger from that unforgettable right hand and draws a cross over her chest.
“Cross my heart.” Her gaze filled with something unrecognisable.
“And hope to die?”
