Page 41 of The Dearly Departed

And for the sake of remaining in silent character, I waved back—just as weak and barely committal—but said nothing in return before I retreated into the house.

Robert Martin lay beneath my feet, prepared for his burial in the morning.

Leonard was with that unnamed friend, presumably enjoying his evening.

My brothers were partying until whatever ungodly hour of the morning.

I stood in the foyer, considering my seat on the velvet couch before deciding there was unlikely going to be any more trick-or-treaters tonight. So, I wandered past the staircase, down the hallway, and toward the living quarters of the house. There, I took off my suit jacket and made myself comfortable in the small living room, taking a seat on the old couch and turning on the TV to watch the second half of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining.

I laid my plague doctor mask on the cushion beside me to allow it a few more minutes of fresh air before I tucked it away in the box beneath my bed until next Halloween. I looked at it, its beak-like nose lit from the TV’s glow, and I thought about a girl from so long ago.

I thought about Anna, and I thought about the sickness plaguing so many of our society that had taken her away from me. The devils, disguised as people we were supposed to trust.

I thought about the piece of her I still had, lying in that box beneath my bed.

And somehow, without realizing it was happening, I fell asleep.

***

“Abraham!"

"Huh …" My head jolts as the scream echoes through the desolate wasteland of my mind.

"Abraham! Help me!"

Anna …

My lips moved to utter her name, but the two syllables died on my tongue the moment a kick to the foot lurched me from my restless slumber.

"What the fuck?" I murmured, wiping a hand down the length of my face before opening my eyes to see Shawn standing over me.

"Abraham," he said, his tone firm, his face taut with tension. "Are you awake?"

"I guess I am now."

I swung my gaze toward the living room window. Daylight peeked through the curtains, streaming toward the television that was still on. No longer was The Shining playing. Instead, Andy and Red, of The Shawshank Redemption fame, were displayed on the screen, sitting in the yard of the fictional Shawshank State Penitentiary and talking about the dangers of having hope.

Must be Stephen King day, I thought, my gaze roving toward the doorway, where I noticed a woman peering into the living room with her body half hidden behind the wall.

It was Shelby. I had only met the woman a handful of times throughout the years. She was nice enough, albeit a bit distant and mousy in my presence. I supposed that could’ve been my own fault though. It wasn’t as though I’d made any attempt to get to know her better.

Maybe I should.

If this was the woman my chosen brother was going to marry and spend the rest of his life with, then perhaps I could try to be friendlier, even just a little bit.

"What's going on?" I asked, keeping an eye on her half-concealed frame for a moment before looking back to Shawn, realizing he was no longer wearing the tuxedo he'd worn last night.

Now, he was wearing the plaid flannel pants he wore to sleep and missing a shirt altogether. His dark blond hair was tousled, like he’d rolled out of bed minutes ago.

He just woke up too.

Shit. Robert Martin’s funeral.

I jolted from my relaxed position to sit upright.

"Fuck. I have to get to work," I said in a rush, ready to run, but Shawn held up a hand.

"Isaac's handling it," he said reassuringly.