Page 38 of Volt
***
“All right, the grill’s ready. Let’s cook somethin’,” Leonard says a little too excitedly.
Leonard is a thirty-something who’s only ever worked here at the Samuelson Funeral Home. It makes sense since this has been his family’s business for generations. At least four generations of Samuelson men have been undertakers that I know of. I didn’t know Leonard’s father, but the guys all said he was good people. Now the funeral home is Leonard’s. He’s a good guy, but he’s a little odd—he really seems to enjoy being an undertaker. I mean, taking pride in your work is one thing but actually enjoying handling corpses all day like Leonard does is something else entirely.
Leonard is a smallish guy. Five-eight at most, but he’s pretty solidly built. I can tell the guy works out a lot. He’s got a full head of dark hair, black horn-rimmed glasses sitting atop a patrician nose, and tan skin that says he spends a lot of time outdoors. I think I recall him saying he surfs, which would explain that.
The guy is disturbingly preoccupied with death. I don’t think I’ve ever had a single conversation with him where he didn’t slip in some inappropriate joke about a corpse—though only the female ones, I’ve noticed. So, it’s good that he at least draws the line somewhere, I guess. I’m not saying for sure the dude is a necrophiliac, but I shudder to think about what he does with those corpses when nobody else is around.
Adam and I push the cart over to the cremation oven and like a magician pulling a tablecloth off a table, Leonard dramatically whips the sheet that was covering the bodies off. If he’s expecting applause, he’s got a long wait.
“Big men,” he says.
“Big men,” I confirm.
“That’s all right,” he says. “When I’m done, they’ll be nothing but a few cups of cremains. Speaking of which, what do you want done with them?”
“Cremains?” Adam asks. “That’s a new one.”
“Ashes,” I tell him then turn to Leonard. “Scatter them on your roses for all I care. We just want them gone completely.”
He snaps me a salute. “No problem. It’ll be as if they never were,” he says then glances at Adam. “Cremains is just a nicer word than ashes. Grieving families seem to prefer it. I’ve heard that the word ‘ashes’ reminds them that we just burned their loved one down to nothing. The word ‘cremains’ softens that a bit.”
Adam chuckles. “Fair enough, I suppose.”
“As if they never were,” I say. “That’s what we need.”
“Then it shall be done,” he says. “Here, help me load them onto the tray.”
He pushes a button on a control panel attached to the oven and a door slides up. There’s a loud mechanical whirring sound as a long metallic tray slides out of the oven. It locks into place with a loud thump.
“Okay, we aren’t supposed to do this but since you don’t care about the ashes, it doesn’t matter,” Leonard says. “I’m assuming nobody will be looking for the ashes.”
“Oh, somebody’s going to be looking for these guys. Just not the families.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “Load the bodies side by side. There should be enough room.”
Adam and I do as he says and lift the first body off our cart and set it on the cremation tray. The second guy has to be propped up on the other one a little bit, but we manage to make them fit.
“I think that’s about as good as it’s going to get,” Adam says. “They’re big guys.”
“Good enough,” Leonard says. “It’ll work.”
He hits the button and that mechanical whirring sounds again as the tray is drawn back into the cremation chamber. The door comes down and locks into place with a loud buzzing sound. A moment later, there’s a loud “whoosh” from inside the chamber. Through the small window mounted in the door, I can see the flames growing in height, and judging by how quickly the room is filling with heat, in intensity as well.
“And we’ll be a fifteen hundred degrees here in just a moment,” Leonard reports. “In four to five hours, there will be no trace left of our friends here.”
“Good news. Doc will be happy to hear it,” I say.
Leonard frowns and nods. “I am sorry to hear about Prophet. He was always very kind to me. I hated to hear that he… passed. I hope you’re all… okay.”
Passed. That’s another word that’s gentler and helps the grieving not focus on the fact that Prophet had his goddamn brains blown out the back of his head. I wish the word “passed” softened that visual for me. But it doesn’t. Not one iota.
“Thanks. We’re all as okay as we can be. We’re all just trying to cope,” I say.
He nods, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence in the air. I look over at Adam and see him looking around and shuffling his feet. He’s as anxious to get out of here as I am. I pull the envelope containing five grand Doc had given to me for Leonard’s services out of my jacket pocket and hand it over to him.
“Should all be there,” I say.
