*Fiction — December 1, 2022
Report of a Death
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The body was found face down, wet. The wetness came from morning dew. It traced a pattern across the body’s blue shirt, gathering on the shoulders like wings.
A passerby reported it early Monday morning. There’s a body at the very opening of the alley behind McBride’s, said the passerby on the phone to the police dispatcher, you better come and pick it up before it upsets someone. The passerby wasn’t upset but rather annoyed at having to perform this service.
Two detectives arrived shortly after. Detective One was approaching hung over—his body wasn’t what it used to be, four Budweisers last night and now this churning stomach and a general malaise hanging over his skull region. He pressed down on his eyeballs until fuzzy greens rings appeared against the blackness of his inner lids.
Detective Two was careful not to dirty his shoes when he leaned down closer. The body was white, male, average height, average weight, late 40’s to early 50’s. It had neatly trimmed hair and fingernails. The head leaked redness—it painted an oval from left ear to edge of alley, spilling over onto the sidewalk. Staring at the body’s curved ear lobe, he worried about Detective One, whose left hand tremored slightly as he brought a paper cup to his lips.
Green rings continued to float before Detective One’s open eyes even though they were now open—the rings hung against the mottled brick of the building like abstract paintings that refused to remain still.
A young robed person answered the front door of a brick house, ivy climbing up the face. Female, budding. Night had fallen, and her features stood out starkly under the overhead porch light. Purple valleys below the eyes.
A young robed person answered the front door of a brick house, ivy climbing up the face. Female, budding. Night had fallen, and her features stood out starkly under the overhead porch light. Purple valleys below the eyes.
We need to speak to your mother, said Detective Two.
An older version of the girl appeared. A different color robe.
The girl sat on her bed and prodded the up and down arrows of her keyboard breathing in a very shallow manner until her mother returned and said, give me your aunt’s number.
Fuck, father issue—what had he done? The girl moved to her desk and thumbed through an address book, placed a finger on her aunt and jotted her down on a yellow post-it note. She sat back on the bed and experienced a sick twisting sensation deep in her stomach because she had been quietly watching porn when the doorbell rang. She wanted to hurl her laptop through the window but instead looked at its bright screen and sat in filth in her pink robe.
Her stepfather entered her room and said, I have to tell you something about your father—unfortunately, he died.
The girl had to be sad so tears welled in her eyes and wet her lashes. Her stepfather lurched in for a hug.
Orange sky the next morning. Air heavy with the promise of heat and pit stains and darkened freckles. Detective One sat in his Jeep in front of the bakery, engine idling. He gnawed on an Italian grinder. The bread was tough, probably from yesterday. A jagged piece rubbed against his upper gum, right above his front tooth, and made it bleed. The bite-marked bread turned pink. Detective One tossed the sandwich out the window and drove towards his apartment.
The girl stared at her white ceiling for several minutes after waking. It was so smooth. She wished she could be absorbed into it, but she sensed her mother and stepfather sitting in wait for her in the kitchen. She decided to take a shower, so she got naked and wrapped herself in a towel. When she emerged, her stepfather came over for a hug and his palm came in contact with her bare shoulder blade. Her towel slipped a bit and her eyes began to tear up. The girl pushed into the bathroom and felt safer. Hot water beat down on her face and she became cleaner than before. She felt her mother and stepfather continuing to sit out there in the kitchen.
Orange sky the next morning. Air heavy with the promise of heat and pit stains and darkened freckles. Detective One sat in his Jeep in front of the bakery, engine idling. He gnawed on an Italian grinder. The bread was tough, probably from yesterday. A jagged piece rubbed against his upper gum, right above his front tooth, and made it bleed. The bite-marked bread turned pink. Detective One tossed the sandwich out the window and drove towards his apartment.
The girl stared at her white ceiling for several minutes after waking. It was so smooth. She wished she could be absorbed into it, but she sensed her mother and stepfather sitting in wait for her in the kitchen. She decided to take a shower, so she got naked and wrapped herself in a towel. When she emerged, her stepfather came over for a hug and his palm came in contact with her bare shoulder blade. Her towel slipped a bit and her eyes began to tear up. The girl pushed into the bathroom and felt safer. Hot water beat down on her face and she became cleaner than before. She felt her mother and stepfather continuing to sit out there in the kitchen.
The girl’s mother sat at the table in a slow meandering panic that betrayed no outward signs. Her heart beat rapidly, and every beat brought her closer to a center of dread that she saw as a dead animal in a clearing. Some creature that refused to decay in a natural fashion. The mother moved closer to the animal at the table and the animal twitched so the mother covered her eyes.
The girl twitched in the shower. Her skin was all pink and tender from the water.
Detective One noncommittally considered killing himself some mornings as he drove home after working a double. If his sandwich was disappointing, the intensity of his considerations increased. He tongued a piece of lettuce in his back molars. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, playing an imaginary scale.
The girl reclined in the backseat of an aged Volvo. New Friend drove and Old Friend sat in the front passenger seat, staring back at the girl in the rearview mirror. Why wasn’t the girl crying?
Detective One noncommittally considered killing himself some mornings as he drove home after working a double. If his sandwich was disappointing, the intensity of his considerations increased. He tongued a piece of lettuce in his back molars. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, playing an imaginary scale.
The girl reclined in the backseat of an aged Volvo. New Friend drove and Old Friend sat in the front passenger seat, staring back at the girl in the rearview mirror. Why wasn’t the girl crying?
You seem very calm, said Old. Do you want to talk about it?
The girl shrugged.
Old stared at the side of New’s head to secure her attention, but New focused on driving. If she took anything else in right now she might crash.
The mortician arranged the body on the table, resting its neck in a curved plastic stand. Its skin stood out bright white against the silver. The body was very hairy, too hairy. The mortician wondered if the body should be shaved, made smooth and clean—no, no, that wasn’t his job. The extreme hairiness made him not want to work on the body. He could feel the coarse hair through his latex gloves. On top of that he was having trouble getting the lips to stay closed. Maybe the glue was old. The mortician had only been working at the funeral home for six months, and he still had much to learn. He didn’t want to call down his supervisor. He scraped more glue from the bottle and spread it across the body’s lips. He pinched the lips closed as gently as possible between thumb and forefinger. For a few moments, the lips remained sealed, but they very slowly pulled apart and front teeth emerged. The mortician sighed and walked upstairs, still wearing sticky gloves.
The girl looked at the cup of hot chocolate and plate of fries. She felt kindness emanate from them. New Friend and Old Friend sat across from her in the booth and tried not to look at her too intensely. The girl felt their gentleness. She started crying and said thank you thank you I really appreciate you. The friends didn’t know what to do so they said you’re welcome and each held one of the girl’s hands across the table. The girl had never touched New for a prolonged period of time. Her palm was warm and a bit electric. The girl wondered what it would be like to touch more of her.
The mortician arranged the body on the table, resting its neck in a curved plastic stand. Its skin stood out bright white against the silver. The body was very hairy, too hairy. The mortician wondered if the body should be shaved, made smooth and clean—no, no, that wasn’t his job. The extreme hairiness made him not want to work on the body. He could feel the coarse hair through his latex gloves. On top of that he was having trouble getting the lips to stay closed. Maybe the glue was old. The mortician had only been working at the funeral home for six months, and he still had much to learn. He didn’t want to call down his supervisor. He scraped more glue from the bottle and spread it across the body’s lips. He pinched the lips closed as gently as possible between thumb and forefinger. For a few moments, the lips remained sealed, but they very slowly pulled apart and front teeth emerged. The mortician sighed and walked upstairs, still wearing sticky gloves.
The girl looked at the cup of hot chocolate and plate of fries. She felt kindness emanate from them. New Friend and Old Friend sat across from her in the booth and tried not to look at her too intensely. The girl felt their gentleness. She started crying and said thank you thank you I really appreciate you. The friends didn’t know what to do so they said you’re welcome and each held one of the girl’s hands across the table. The girl had never touched New for a prolonged period of time. Her palm was warm and a bit electric. The girl wondered what it would be like to touch more of her.
Detective One slept for several hours and headed to McBride’s in the afternoon since it was his day off and what else was he going to do. He sat on a listing bar stool and fixed his eyes on the Red Sox game. He sipped from a tumbler of Johnny Walker Black. After four or five Johnny’s he took a notebook and pen from his pocket and lazily began drawing the body. He included the brick wall and pool of red, though he couldn’t make it red with his pen, but it was easy to imagine.
He walked outside to the alley and stood right where the pool of red had been. He checked it against his drawing and found it to be pretty accurate. He added in some details like a twisting weed and pile of pebbles. Leaning against the brick with his left arm, his right hand reached into his pants, and he took a long piss against the wall, sighing deeply, feeling great thudding relief. He was almost emptied when a presence materialized beside him, a young boy, maybe 5 or 6, wide eyed and red haired, and the boy reached out towards him giggling and a woman screamed far off.
The girl got out of the Volvo and reentered her house. New Friend and Old Friend drove away. Old placed a hand on New’s thigh. That’s distracting while I’m driving, said New. I don’t know what to do about her, said Old, removing her hand. I don’t either, said New.
The girl got out of the Volvo and reentered her house. New Friend and Old Friend drove away. Old placed a hand on New’s thigh. That’s distracting while I’m driving, said New. I don’t know what to do about her, said Old, removing her hand. I don’t either, said New.
New worried about the hand on the thigh. And the kiss last week. It was happening again. What was it about her? A closeness always got too close. Straight girl crushes. She felt Old’s large, limpid eyes staring at the side of her face in adoration and the adoration made her want to peel the skin off her cheek. She knew when she stopped the car in front of Old’s house, Old would linger meaningfully. That Old would say something expressing genuine concern about the girl, but Old would be waiting for New, wanting from New some words of confirmation, and how wrong was that after the girl’s father had just died and all three of them were woven together now tighter than ever. New felt Old caring less about the three. That her care had shifted towards New, and that brand of caring was violent and apocalyptic—that’s what New inspired. It was early yet, and perhaps New could stop it. At a red light she looked over at Old and got lost in the clearness and blueness and it was too late in fact why not just dive into it with abandon they would all end up choking on gasoline anyway. She inhaled deeply, anticipating the fumes. She lunged forward.
The mortician walked home, hands shoved into pockets. He didn’t want to look at them. They felt infected. If he took his hands from his pockets he feared he would have the hands of a gorilla. When he got home he wouldn’t turn on any lights and he’d keep his hands there in his pockets as long as possible. He’d try to go to sleep, even though it was only 7 pm. The funeral for the body was the next morning. He’d look at his hands again after the body was in the ground. They should be okay by then.
The mortician walked home, hands shoved into pockets. He didn’t want to look at them. They felt infected. If he took his hands from his pockets he feared he would have the hands of a gorilla. When he got home he wouldn’t turn on any lights and he’d keep his hands there in his pockets as long as possible. He’d try to go to sleep, even though it was only 7 pm. The funeral for the body was the next morning. He’d look at his hands again after the body was in the ground. They should be okay by then.
The mortician lay in bed, hands still in pockets. He pressed his eyelids closed, and yellow and purple rings floated behind them. These were distracting. He lay there for an hour. Two hours. He could not sleep. Still keeping his eyes closed he slowly removed a hand from his pocket and reached it down the front of his pants.
The girl had to go up to the casket so she did. She knelt in front of it, keeping her head down, and tried to predict how the face would look, but nothing came to mind. She glanced up and it was like wax. In her head she said, sorry things weren’t better, and she crossed herself. She felt everyone sitting, staring at her from the chairs. How long was an appropriate time to remain kneeling in front of a casket? She counted to ten slowly and headed back. She slumped into a seat by her mother who didn’t seem to notice—her gaze was fixed a couple rows ahead and to the right.
The girl had to go up to the casket so she did. She knelt in front of it, keeping her head down, and tried to predict how the face would look, but nothing came to mind. She glanced up and it was like wax. In her head she said, sorry things weren’t better, and she crossed herself. She felt everyone sitting, staring at her from the chairs. How long was an appropriate time to remain kneeling in front of a casket? She counted to ten slowly and headed back. She slumped into a seat by her mother who didn’t seem to notice—her gaze was fixed a couple rows ahead and to the right.
The girl followed her line of sight to where New Friend and Old Friend were seated. Old leaned towards New, speaking intently. New’s back was angled towards the girl, shoulders tight by ears. A smile crept into Old’s mouth, into her eyes. They flooded with light. New touched Old’s shoulder briefly. The light flooded the rest of Old and she glowed softly yet fiercely from her straight-backed chair oh she had been made into a being of light. New turned her body around towards the girl, spine in a deep twist—she took the girl in, all of her, and exhaled. Pain danced across New’s face. The girl sensed that she had been clutched then relinquished. Tears welled in the girl’s eyes and wet her eyelashes until tears streamed down her cheeks and her mouth opened and her spine bent, chest towards knees protecting a howl that had been gestating in her fragile womb.
Is there anything I need to know? asked the girl’s mother back at the house.
Is there anything I need to know? asked the girl’s mother back at the house.
The girl made her face very still. She concentrated on relaxing the muscles around her forehead and mouth. She breathed all the breath out of her body. She wanted to flatten. Have no fleshy curves, be like a sheet of white paper. Her mother really needed to stop looking at her like this, more investigative than concerned. She deserved a little latitude or something like that: she deserved not to be questioned.
No, said the girl.
Her mother leaned and pressed in with her face and dark eyes, and it became harder for the girl to breathe like her lungs didn’t want to do their job.
New Friend floated through the girl’s mind, and she caught her mother’s face darkening. She pushed New away, urging her to seek cover.
No, said the girl.
He never—began her mother, and the girl relaxed her face then tensed a different set of muscles, lower ones. So this wasn’t about New at all.
The girl didn’t help her mother. She was going to make her spit it out.
He never, well, did anything to make you feel uncomfortable or anything concerning?
Why are you asking me this now?
The mortician had called out of work for three days. He stared down at his hands and repeated over and over these are my hands these are normal hands. He was unable to leave his apartment.
This is bad, said Detective Two from an armchair.
The mortician had called out of work for three days. He stared down at his hands and repeated over and over these are my hands these are normal hands. He was unable to leave his apartment.
This is bad, said Detective Two from an armchair.
Detective One laid across his sofa, head flat and feet propped on the arm. His little toe peeked through a rip in his sock. Detective Two’s face floated over One’s feet.
It was pure accident, said One.
Even so, said Two, nothing about this looks good. The little boy isn’t changing his story, and the mother is convinced of what she saw.
She was too far to see anything—I was taking a piss for Christ’s sake—Nothing happened! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!
But why didn’t you just go back inside to use the bathroom? It was three in the afternoon. Your tab was still open.
One moved his feet up higher so they obscured Two’s face.
Convenience, said One. Urgency.
Why did you go back to the alley in the first place? asked Two. That investigation is over. I just—
It will all blow over don’t worry about me.
Two wondered if One had it in him. To do that. Then he shook the thought away.
The girl stared at Old’s moving mouth. The shape of her teeth was annoying. So square. Old delicately took a bite of pudding. So delicate as not to upset the girl? No sudden movements no no none of those we can’t upset her in this state. Old’s mouth held still in a close-lipped smile. Her eyes all large and gentle. She mouthed the girl’s name and the sound reached the girl a couple of seconds later.
The girl stared at Old’s moving mouth. The shape of her teeth was annoying. So square. Old delicately took a bite of pudding. So delicate as not to upset the girl? No sudden movements no no none of those we can’t upset her in this state. Old’s mouth held still in a close-lipped smile. Her eyes all large and gentle. She mouthed the girl’s name and the sound reached the girl a couple of seconds later.
Where is she? asked the girl.
Who? said Old.
You know, said the girl, cracking her neck.
I’m not sure, but hey look do you want to talk about things? We think you really should, and if not to us then we think you should—
We?! You’re a we now?!
Old’s face opened up, eyebrows raised—bewildered like a doe.
Doesn’t matter, said the girl. She bit into sandwich she bit nothing she replayed the way New felt on her palm and wanted to reach her body across the table to bite Old’s ear off but she didn’t she just sat there in the cafeteria with its fluorescent lights like a fucking idiot.
The mortician now had normal hands but in return he’d become aware of every centimeter of his skin all at once, perhaps a further curse of the gorilla man now in the ground. Cottony shoulders, khakied knees, oily scalp, latexed knuckles, and on and on and he shifted from one foot to another wishing to cancel out all of these conflicting sensations. He looked down at the fresh body on the table, or rather he looked down at the sheet covering the body on the table and began to imagine what the sheet would feel like on his skin (cool and quieting and uniform), and he considered draping the sheet over his head, but that seemed unfair to the body—why should the body be unclothed when there was so much cloth covering the mortician? He removed his clothing, item after item, folding shirt neatly on top of briefs on top of pants. He formed a stack by the body’s head on the table.
The mortician now had normal hands but in return he’d become aware of every centimeter of his skin all at once, perhaps a further curse of the gorilla man now in the ground. Cottony shoulders, khakied knees, oily scalp, latexed knuckles, and on and on and he shifted from one foot to another wishing to cancel out all of these conflicting sensations. He looked down at the fresh body on the table, or rather he looked down at the sheet covering the body on the table and began to imagine what the sheet would feel like on his skin (cool and quieting and uniform), and he considered draping the sheet over his head, but that seemed unfair to the body—why should the body be unclothed when there was so much cloth covering the mortician? He removed his clothing, item after item, folding shirt neatly on top of briefs on top of pants. He formed a stack by the body’s head on the table.
Frigid basement air coated his skin and gave rise to a layer of goosebumps. He removed the sheet swiftly from the body and draped it over his own head. Through the thin weave the body appeared milky and vague. He’d never touched a body without a glove. Hand covered by sheet, he stroked the body’s shoulder. He inhaled and sucked the sheet up against his nostrils and parted lips.
Detective Two walked slowly into McBride’s. One sat hunched in the corner of the bar crumpling a napkin in each hand.
Detective Two walked slowly into McBride’s. One sat hunched in the corner of the bar crumpling a napkin in each hand.
Two slapped One’s shoulder, and One drained his tumbler.
Why did you make us come here? asked Two as he sat down.
One shrugged. It’s still a good bar.
Two signaled for a beer.
Do you think I should leave town? asked One.
Well, wherever you go it’ll follow you, said Two. You’ll still have to knock on every door and announce yourself.
You know I didn’t do it, said One.
Of course, said Two, you’re lucky you got off without having to do any time.
Two wondered if One did it. Maybe he was really drunk and thought it would be funny. Or maybe he really just wanted to fuck little boys and that was why he had always been such a miserable human. Either way his life was over.
It’ll be alright don’t worry, said Two.
It’ll be alright, said New.
It’ll be alright, said New.
The evening vibrated softly. The girl and New sat cross-legged in the grass. New was here. Here. Here. Old was somewhere not here. Her father was dead and she should care more but New felt like everything and there wasn’t much about him worth remembering. He felt somewhat like a pile of crumbs in her lap that had been brushed away. She could barely recall their grainy sensation under her fingers.
New stared straight at the girl, and the girl shed a layer of skin. She was afraid of what would happen if she was touched now, but she chewed her fear and swallowed it down. It swam in acid and she stared straight back at New.
They kissed each other, and things felt worse and better.
Originally published in No Tokens Issue No. 10. View full issue & more.