The Quiet Type Read online

  There were only two doors in the hall, an appalling bathroom on the left, and what may have been a bedroom on the right. The hall and each room, including the bathroom, was stuffed with more refuse. Tim had heard of hoarders before, and had gone into many different homes that had been cluttered, dirty, or both, but had never encountered anything like this in his life. Just before he entered the bedroom to look for the body, another thin-as-a-rail cat skittered out ahead of him.

  The smell of death grew stronger, letting him know that somewhere in the dank confines ahead of him, lay a body. One that had been expired for quite some time if his nose served him correctly. Shimmying between stacks of newspapers piled precariously on either side of the door, Tim made his way into the room, scanning to try to find the body, conscious that time was ticking away. He saw a pile in one corner that seemed higher than the others, and, taking a closer look, spotted a foot, ironically clad in a running shoe, sticking out of the mess. If the size of the foot was any indication as to the size of the body, Tim had no idea how he was going to get the man on his gurney and into the hearse. He made a few notes in his notebook, and made his way carefully over to the body, slipping once in what looked like a fresh pile of cat poop, but recovering quickly enough that he didn’t fall.

  Thankful for his nitrile gloves, the mortician started grabbing plastic bags filled with who-knows-what and tossing them to the other side of the room, revealing a leg that looked like it was thicker around than his somewhat pudgy waist. He stopped for a moment, glanced at the narrow door frame, then back at the leg, and sighed. After nearly half an hour, Tim had most of the morbidly obese man uncovered. How the coroner had made a determination that there was no foul play involved in the man’s demise was anyone’s guess, but the mortician was more focused on how he was going to transport such a massive body. If he was even able to get the corpse out of the house, which was a task he definitely couldn’t accomplish by himself, he didn’t know for certain if the deceased would fit in the hearse. He needed to call for help, which would make the operation take that much longer.

  By the time that the ambulance had arrived, Tim had cleared all of the debris from the area immediately surrounding the young man who had apparently died of asphyxiation when he had become wedged in the corner of his bedroom, unable to rise from the bed.

  “We’re not going to be able to get him through that door,” the EMT, who wore a surgical mask over his face, shook his head. His partner had caught one whiff of the stench in the house and was presently leaning over the porch rail heaving up his dinner.

  “I don’t believe we have a choice. I can’t prepare him for burial here,” Tim commented, trying not to glance at his watch.

  “Seems like he’s already buried,” the EMT looked around the room in disgust.

  “What do we need to do?” Tim demanded, his patience running short.

  “Gotta call the fire department. We need an extraction,” he shrugged. “I’ll go check on my partner and let them know that we need an extraction unit.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “They probably won’t even get here for a bit, then they have to set up their equipment and then the actual work happens. Once they gain access in here, there’s the matter of using a special crane to get him in the ambulance, then we have to start the whole process all over again when we unload him at your place. We’re in this one for the long hall, buddy,” the EMT shook his head.

  **

  By the time Timothy Eckels got back to the mortuary, and had secured the new corpse in a walk-in cooler, it was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and he was utterly exhausted. He pulled out the drawer containing the body of Myron Biggs, the young man he’d been working on earlier, and was actually relieved to see that Tanner, against his wishes, had finished the prepping of the body, with the exception of the cosmetic work, which would take no time at all. Tim could theoretically sleep in tomorrow and still have enough time to prepare Myron prior to his funeral tomorrow evening. The weary mortician shut off the lights, locked up the mortuary, and was so tired when he finally staggered into bed, that he noticed, but didn’t care, that his wife wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER 34

  * * *

  Knock-knock

  Tanner seemed a bit too preoccupied as he went about his prep duties at Le Chateau, barely glancing at Susannah, even when she handed him a box of salmon to gut and filet.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, wondering if she might just have to kill him after all.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I may be coming down with something,” he mumbled.

  Though she was several feel from him, Susannah instinctively stepped back and made certain that she was breathing through her nose.

  “Then you shouldn’t be preparing food,” she insisted, wanting all possibility of germs out of her kitchen. If she became ill due to exposure to Tanner, she wouldn’t have any qualms at all about killing him. “You need to go home.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, still not looking at her. He put down his knife, peeled off his gloves and untied his apron, heading for the door.

  “Hope you feel better,” Susannah called out, darting to the supply room for disinfectant.

  The young man shuffled, head down, the bracing autumn air assaulting him through the worn cloth of his jacket. He hadn’t slept last night, and should have been relieved in a way – there would soon be a significant amount of money in his account, thanks to Bradley Dobbins. He felt guilty that he wouldn’t be going to the mortuary today, and was sad about the fact that he probably would never be going back again. He’d enjoyed the quiet, steady company of the introverted man who’d used human flesh as his canvas and brought the dead to life for one last goodbye. He felt as though he understood Timothy Eckels, who preferred his solitary world to the one in which the rest of humanity lived and breathed. People could be awful to each other, and it had scarred the sensitive youth more than he cared to admit.

  **

  Timothy Eckels was not one who was general moved by emotions, either positive or negative, but something had been niggling at his psyche all day. Something just didn’t feel right. He tried to pass it off as lack of sleep from his eventful night, or maybe the fact that his wife hadn’t come to bed until nearly six a.m., but the churning low in his gut that put his animal instincts on edge, just wouldn’t go away. The mortician didn’t have time to focus on his misgivings however, he had a funeral to prepare for, and it was going to be a big one. Local newspaper reporter Myron Biggs had passed away from a heart attack the day before, and the turnout for his memorial service tonight promised to be standing-room only. Why Myron’s next of kin had demanded such a quick turn-around time was a mystery, but thanks to some less-than-official help from Tanner, Tim would be able to accommodate them.

  The sliding panels between mourning rooms had all been opened in anticipation of overflow crowds, with the casket to be placed in the middle room. There would be three hours designated for the final viewing, with a memorial service to follow. Thankfully, the wake would be held at the country club, so at least Tim wouldn’t have to stay up late two nights in a row. Susannah was working tonight, so he’d be on his own for dinner after the funeral, and quite frankly, he was looking forward to the down time.

  Preparing Myron for his viewing had been a breeze after Tanner had done nearly everything the night before, while Tim had been mired down in the extrication of an overly large corpse. A quick application of makeup on the somehow still-supple skin of the reporter had been all it took to make him presentable and lifelike. Tim admired the skill and eye for detail that his young protégé had exhibited, and thought that Tanner would make a capable assistant mortician. He might even be willing to foot the bill so that he could go to mortuary school. He’d been disappointed when the young man hadn’t shown up to work today, but would tell him of his thoughts when he saw him next. The mortician glanced at his watch and his stomach turned over with the realization that crowds of mourners would begin sh
owing up in roughly half an hour. That gave him time to change into his oh-so-sober suit and tie, and take a breath to prepare for dealing with the public, his least favorite task.

  **

  The viewing had proceeded according to plan, and the mourners filed into the largest center room for the memorial service. Tim was more than glad to hand the reigns of the service off to Pastor Waylan Fartham, who shepherded the flock over at the Methodist church, where Myron and his family were members. The tough part was over. Now all he had to do was stand respectfully in the corner of the room behind the Pastor until the service concluded, then transport the body and set up the casket at the cemetery, and he could call it a day.

  “Friends and loved ones,” the Pastor’s usually big booming voice was subdued a bit. “Let us begin today with a moment of silent prayer, where we reflect upon the precious fragility of life, and our never-ending bond with our Creator and each other. Please bow your heads.”

  Silence, glorious silence. Tim was often offended when soft coughs, rustling or restlessness interrupted the silence. It held no holiness for him, but the absence of human interaction and opinion helped him to relax. This time however, the sound that he heard didn’t offend him, it sent a bolt of sheer terror surging through his body. He literally, physically jumped, his head snapping up so hard that his neck cracked.

  Thump, thump, thump. Mmmmmmm!

  A haunting reality that the mortician had heretofore only experienced in his most heart-stopping nightmares had just occurred right in front of him. The noise was coming from Myron’s casket. There was a collective gasp and more than a few screams as Tim rushed to the casket, only to be shouldered out of the way by Sheriff Arlen Bemis, who lifted the lid to reveal a wide-eyed and clearly hysterical Myron Biggs, whose lips were sewn securely shut, muffling his screams.

  **

  The sheriff had dismissed Tim, telling him to go home while the Biggs family decided whether or not they were going to press charges. At the very least, his mortician’s credentials would be revoked, and he’d be out of business. This was what he got for giving someone a chance, this was what he got for trusting Tanner to do the job that only he should’ve done. His career, his life, his reason for being had just been flushed down the tubes in one fell swoop. He had done the unthinkable. He had almost buried a living human being. But how? He’d had no indication that Myron Biggs was alive. There was no movement and no pulse, but he had noticed the odd pliability of Myron’s skin, which should have tipped him off.

  His wife wasn’t home when he arrived, and he was glad, preferring to grieve alone. He thought about his enigmatic mate, found his thoughts wandering toward the solace that she received from her hobbies and suddenly found himself compelled to explore her solitary realm again. Maybe he would see the peace and beauty in her art that she saw. Maybe he could somehow draw strength and hope from seeing his wife’s creations. At the very least, it would feel better than sitting hopelessly in his darkened living room, lost and ashamed.

  Donning a well-worn cardigan to ward off the basement’s chill, Tim headed down the stairs hoping to at least take his mind off of his current situation. He reached the door at the bottom of the stairs and was surprised to find that it had been padlocked. When had that happened? He didn’t have long to puzzle over the sudden appearance of the lock, because his doorbell rang urgently, three times in a row. He seriously contemplated just hiding out in the basement stairwell until his caller went away, but when a fierce knocking began, he realized that whoever was on the other side of the front door, wasn’t giving up easily. Sighing, Tim trudged up the stairs, in no particular hurry, and shuffled to the door, where the persistent person on the other side was still knocking.

  “Mr. Eckels, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but I have to tell you something important,” Tanner put his hand on the door to prevent the mortician from slamming it in his face.

  Timothy stared at the young man in disbelief, blinking at him from behind his thick glasses.

  “I can’t think of anything that I’d want to hear from you right now,” he replied, stone-faced.

  “But you have to, because…” his sentence was cut short by flashing lights and the whoop of a siren as two police cars rounded the corner.

  Tanner’s eyes went wide and he let out a startled exclamation, diving for the bushes which shielded the side of the porch from street view. In seconds, he’d disappeared, and Tim stood in the doorway as the sheriff and a host of deputies pulled into the drive beside his house.

  CHAPTER 35

  * * *

  The Spider and the Fly

  Susannah Eckels had lied to her husband. She wasn’t scheduled to work this evening, she’d called off, telling Andre that she needed to help Tim out with Myron Biggs’s funeral, so while her boss thought she was with Tim, and Tim thought that she was at work, she had actually been preparing to pull off her most creative bloodletting yet. She’d plotted for months to torture Bradley Dobbins as much as possible before she finally killed him, and she planned to get very inventive in harvesting souvenirs from the arrogant bastard as well. He’d wish that he had never attempted to flirt with or otherwise offend Susannah Eckels. She wouldn’t let him scream either. He’d have to suffer in silence, and it would be glorious, her crowning achievement. The sins of all controlling, manipulative mankind would be paid by this despicable sacrificial lamb.

  She had gotten to his house early, just after dusk, slipping into the neighborhood through the woods, and keeping to alleys and side yards so she wouldn’t be spotted. Even after she’d taunted him, Bradley Dobbins had been too stubborn and cheap to put in an actual alarm system, so she let herself in easily, and hid in his closet, slipping on a pair of his sandals and waiting for him to come home to meet his doom. She had only one object in her pocket, a chloroform-saturated handkerchief, secured in a plastic bag. Once she had effectively used that, she’d choose her instruments of torture from among the veterinarian’s extensive collection of sharp, blunt, and potentially lethal or painful items. There were kitchen knives, yard tools, and just plain ordinary household items galore that would serve as wonderfully effective implements of bodily harm, she was giddy just thinking about it. Tim had better be ready for action when she got home, her senses were heightened and her libido was rising, and Brad’s blood hadn’t even started flowing yet.

  Susannah shivered with delight when she heard the purr of his car engine pulling into the attached garage. She had already scoped out the locations of the duct tape that she would use to secure him, the socks with which she’d keep him quiet, and the best surface on which to do her handiwork. Now, it was only a matter of time.

  **

  Bradley Dobbins whistled a cheery tune. His plan to run Timothy Eckels and his strangely unappealing wife out of town had gone off without a hitch. It had cost him, dearly, but it was worth every penny. The kid had done what he was supposed to do, and Dobbins would refuse to give him a dime of the money that he had promised. What was the kid going to do? Call the cops? Nope, the investment that had been made was in buying the cooperation of Myron Biggs, which had taken some tall talking and lots of zeros. Myron had owed Bradley a favor, after the veterinarian had stumbled upon the reporter with his pants down…quite literally, while in the company of a male prostitute. The vet didn’t look upon his proposition as blackmail, but more like two businessmen ensuring each other’s success. He smirked when he thought of the abject terror he’d seen in Myron’s eyes when he’d been busted doing unspeakable things to a thin, tattooed young man in a public park. Price you pay for not being careful.

  Now, after a hard day’s work, Bradley was going to take a long hot shower, order a pizza and stuff himself silly while watching TV with a six pack of craft beer. Assured that his business would be safe from a crusading pet lover, he could start daydreaming about his Caribbean retirement again. It had taken some creativity, but finally, Dobbins’ life was back on track, without any pesky interference from animal lov
ers.

  Entirely unaware of the woman crouching behind the garment bags in the corner of his closet, Brad stripped down, tossing his clothes into the hamper of the walk-in, and padded off to the shower. Susannah nearly gasped in her need to possess his life force, to hold it in her hands and toy with it, but she stayed silent as a ghost until she heard the water running and the shower door click shut behind him.

  Slinking out into the living room, where she’d observed him often enough to know his routine, she slipped into the space between the back of the couch and the wall, directly behind where he always sat, waiting to make her move.

  While Brad was showering, the hair on the back of his neck raised, inexplicably, and he stood still for a moment, trying to listen over the sound of the running water. Hearing nothing and convincing himself that he was just jumping at shadows, he finished lathering up and rinsing before turning the water off and stepping out into the steamy confines of his spotless bathroom. He toweled dry, and ran his hands through his hair to straighten it, before heading back to his bedroom. He planned to dress in comfortable athletic clothes before his pizza was delivered, but, feeling saucy, he strutted out to the living room completely naked, a soft erection forming at his crotch. He hoped that the person who answered the phone at Papa Guido’s was female, and he thought about satisfying one of his hungers before the pizza arrived.

  Peeking around the corner of the couch, Susannah saw Brad’s semi-tumescent state and nearly giggled, catching herself in the nick of time. He was certainly feeling his oats today…which would make her triumph that much sweeter. Hoping that he’d sit in his favorite spot before making the phone call to the pizza place, she grinned from ear to ear when she heard the couch springs creak under his weight. He tapped out the number, and when she heard the ringing on the other end, she knew she had to strike. If he had time to place his order, she’d have to kill the delivery guy too, and that wasn’t part of the plan.