and the hairs on her neck stood straight but she wasn’t sure why.
There was laughter just to the right of her. She turned toward it. “Boys!”
As she took a step forward she felt a tremendous tug on her arm that threw her forward to the ground. She screamed as she hit the dirt, confusion and fear taking hold. She went to pick herself up and realized she couldn’t.
Her arm had been severed at the bicep and blood cascaded down from the ragged flesh, coloring her white dress a dark red. “Oh God!” she screamed. “Oh my God! God please help me! God!”
Another tug and the world spun; quiet a long while before the hushed breeze blew again.
The husband came out of the house a while later and flipped on a pair of Tommy Hilfiger sunglasses. It was hot and he’d only worn shorts and a cotton button-up. The breeze felt nice against his bare legs and he stood and enjoyed it.
The sun was so bright he had to squint even with sunglasses. It reminded him of the Caribbean. Before he’d met his wife he was there at least four or five times a year. It was easy to pick up women at bars and nightclubs with the promise of a weekend getaway for the two of them. Some of the women genuinely liked him. Most did not. They were the type of women that spent their lives in smoke filled bars, counting down their days one drink at a time. Some of them had children or husbands at home waiting for them. One had even offered to bring her sixteen year old daughter along with her and “teach” her how to please him. Though tempted, he had to turn it down in the end. It seemed like that was a line that if he crossed, the line would disappear and he wouldn’t be the same person anymore.
He stepped off the porch and walked along the path through the grass to the rented jeep he was convinced he’d been overcharged on. His family wasn’t inside. He turned back toward the grass and looked around. “Katherine,” he yelled out. “Boys?” He walked back the way he came and went inside the house. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty and so were the basement and the upstairs bedroom. They must’ve gone for a walk or something.
The man flopped on the couch in the living room and decided he would wait for them. He would walk outside every few minutes and look around but no one came. Finally he decided he would drive around and look for them.
As he stepped out of the house, he froze. Vultures were flying down into the jungle canopy, their bald heads held stiff in between their slim shoulders as they drifted toward the ground. They were far larger than he thought they would be. He wondered what they would be doing here before his eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. “Katherine!”
He ran into the jungle as the vultures scattered into the air. One was on the ground near him and he kicked at it and it bit him on the shin before flapping its wings and flying off over the grass. They didn’t leave the kill, just waited nearby; they had grown patience over time and could wait for days.
The man dropped to his knees when he saw what they had been feeding on. A mass of bone and sinew with bits of ragged flesh attached, a white dress torn to pieces on the dirt. Vomit burst out of the man’s mouth and down his shirt and he stumbled back.
He sat weeping on the ground as the vultures, slowly and quietly, began their descent back to the kill.
CHAPTER
The funeral parlor had a splash of taste in the decor but little in the owners. They had bought the funeral home as an investment only a few years ago and it was turning out to be more work than profit. They seemed to dislike the dead and disliked grieving relatives even more. More than one family had to tell the receptionist to quit talking on the phone during a service, or tell a mortician to turn down the television, or tell the director not to let her children run around.
Eric sat in the front row next to his mother and Jeff. Jeff had chosen this place because he said his mother’s service had been here, but Eric knew it was to save money. James’ estate would be divided soon and Eric and his mom would be receiving a sizeable share; Jeff had no intention of letting his wife spend it on frivolous expenses like her ex-husband’s funeral.
Eric had dreamed last night of his father. He’d seen his broken body in some ditch in India, covered with flies and maggots, his entrails spilled out onto his lap. India appeared like a graveyard in his dreams. The sky was red and gray. The rivers were dirty and all the animals were decomposing, their slick flesh exposed underneath open sores. The dream came more than once and woke him up each time, cold sweat dampening his shirt and causing him to change it.
But his fear from last night had transformed to annoyance today. He felt generally agitated, not wanting to be around anyone or do anything. Irritation wasn’t an emotion he frequently felt and he didn’t know the mechanisms to deal with it effectively. It just sat in the pit of his stomach like jagged metal, weighing him down and clouding his thoughts.
Some of the mourners would truly miss his father. A few friends and co-workers and girlfriends. One of his girlfriends, a plump blond named Brittney that wore clothes far too tight for her larger frame, walked up and knelt down in front of him.
“How are ya darlin’?” she said in her Southern drawl.
“I’m holding up. How’ve you been?”
“Not so good since your daddy left us. I’m gonna miss him you know. He always had a way a cheerin’ me up.” She looked over at Eric’s mother giving her an icy stare and decided to cut the conversation short. “I just wanted to tell ya that if ya needed anythin’ don’t hesitate to give me a ring. Okay?”
“Okay, thanks.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand before returning to her seat.
Brittney really would miss his father. But most of the people there only showed up because they thought it would look inappropriate if they didn’t. The way they were laughing and talking-trying to keep their voices to a whisper but never succeeding-it looked like they’d forgotten him already.
Though she’d been emotional yesterday, his mother seemed fine today and Eric wondered if she’d taken something. There were periods when she’d go to a psychiatrist and get the latest anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medicines. It was a cycle; every fall she would get on medication and every spring she would stop taking it. Her moods were unpredictable at either time, ranging from ecstatic happiness to near suicidal depression. Still, no matter what she went through, Eric thought she always kept at least the appearance of independence and strength. Besides her psychiatrist, she refused to ask anyone for help with anything.
His mother stood and began walking around the room, chatting with the guests. Before long she was mingling and men were flirting with her while Jeff stewed in his seat and watched her from behind sunglasses. Eric looked on with glee and could barely contain a smile.
He began searching the room, looking for familiar faces. There was one face that didn’t look familiar at all. It was old and tan, leathery almost. Like it’d had too much exposure to sun and wind. The man sat quietly in the back, not speaking with anyone.
The man saw him staring and smiled. Eric turned around, facing the casket again. The service was starting.
It was customary to wait a day between a viewing and the funeral, but the director of the parlor had urged that they take place the same day and Jeff agreed. There was no doubt in Eric’s mind that some sort of deal had been worked out.
