Disrobed for Death Page 2

  She followed the doctor into the unit. The patient’s rooms surrounded the nurse’s station like the spokes on a wheel.

  “Here we are,” he said, pointing to one specific room.

  A. K. hurried to Susan’s bedside. “Doc said you did great, and you’re going to be out of here before you know it.”

  Susan’s mouth twitched as if she was going to say something but didn’t.

  “She’s sedated,” he said.

  “Looks to me like she’s agitated.”

  “I got the impression she’s rather head strong.”

  A. K. cringed. No telling what Susan had said under anesthesia. While she was sweet as could be, Susan was a no-nonsense business woman. If she was hallucinating about her shop, it was anyone’s guess what she’d said.

  “We’d better get out of the way and let the nurses do their thing,” he said as a young woman in scrubs entered the room. “Leave your number at the nurse’s station. If there’s any change, someone will call you.”

  “Better not be any change. You said she was going to be just fine, and I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Chapter 2

  Susan’s eyelids fluttered, and she squinted at her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was drawing her bath. Slowly, the memory of what happened began to come back—the water on the floor, her fall, the terrible sound when her head cracked against the tiles. To her surprise, the pain was gone and a quick check revealed no evidence of the lump. How? And where was she? This was definitely not her bathroom.

  The long corridor with its gilded pier mirrors struck a familiar cord, and recognition seeped in. Many times before, she’d stood in this very place, and it wasn’t under good conditions. This was Roselawn, the local funeral home.

  “What the hell am I doing here?”

  There was no one to answer her. She stepped closer to the guest register outside Parlor A and stared in horror at the name on the tiny marquee—Susan Griffin.

  “I’m dead?” She held out her arms which looked very much alive. Then she looked down, and her voice screeched to a high, shrill note. “And I’m naked?”

  So she had escaped her worse fear of dying on the crapper, but dead is dead, and she wasn’t ready to accept her fate.

  “It’s not fair. I can’t be dead. It was just a simple fall. I must be dreaming. Besides, if I’m dead why isn’t someone here to help me cross over? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” She looked down the long hall and into the parlor. And wasn’t she supposed to see a bright light, or did that just happen in movies? All of a sudden she wondered if….

  “Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t perfect, but I lived a decent life, always tried to do the right thing.”

  “Hello,” she shouted, but no one answered. Frustration turned to anger, and she took a swing at the guest book, determined to knock the book from the stand. Instead, her hand passed through it. “Not good,” she said. “Not good at all.” She reared back to try again when she heard something.

  A woman pushing a vacuum cleaner entered at the other end of the corridor. Yes, she wanted answers, but ghost or not, Susan had no intention of facing anyone in her birthday suit. With one arm covering her breasts and the other shielding her private part, she looked for a hiding place. The best she could find was a wimpy palm plant.

  Holding her breath, she wiggled behind the arrangement. About the only thing it covered was her face. Peeking through the foliage, she watched the cleaning lady pass without so much as a glance in her direction.

  Then it hit her. “Of course, she can’t see me if I’m dead. And if she can’t see me, then she can’t hear me, either.”

  Confusion roiled in her gut. She had tons of questions, no answers, and no one to help her.

  The clock in the foyer indicated it was five a.m. No wonder there were no visitors. Roselawn had long gone the way of the modern world. No one sat up with the dead anymore. The doors opened at eight a.m. and closed at eight p.m., but surely she wasn’t the only deceased person in the place. A light over the register in front of Parlor B and Parlor C indicated she had company.

  While she was curious about the other occupants, she was more concerned with her own predicament. Maybe if she saw her body laid out, it would convince her that this was not a bad dream, and life as she knew it really was over. Gathering all her courage, she eased into her parlor.

  Flowers lined the back wall, and arrangements on easels surrounded the casket. The outpouring suggested a big turnout. Family and friends were to be expected, but she also knew there would be those she hadn’t seen in years. Aside from her family, there was only one who really mattered—Wesley.

  “Why now?” she asked. “I never had the chance to see him again, and he was the real reason I moved back home. I was so hoping we could recapture what we once had.”

  Susan pictured her family grieving for her. That was sure to hurt more than she could imagine. Oh, and she could count on her high school classmates. Most would come out of loyalty to their friendship, but there were those who would come out of curiosity, to see if they had held up better than she had. After a look-see at her remains, that little clique she detested would mosey to the kitchen for coffee and to munch on whatever goodies church members had provided. There, they would rehash old times. What the heck, it was tradition to catch up on gossip at funerals, weddings, or family reunions.

  Nevertheless, Susan hated the idea of them ogling her remains. She could hear them now, expressing their regrets in overdone southern drawls. “My, she looks beautiful, just like she’s sleeping.”

  “Liars! Stiff and waxy never looked good. Dead was dead. Well, before they rub their grimy little fingers over the lining of my casket, I might as well take a look.”

  Gathering as much composure as she could, she tossed her hair, sucked in her gut, and sashayed past the empty pews with as much dignity as a naked person could muster. The bare-ass trek down the aisle proved tortuous. With every step, a cold draft goosed her in places she’d rather not mention, and she cringed at the possibility of a departed one scrutinizing her, especially eying those parts in need of a major overhaul. Then the irony of the situation hit her—even in death, the Grim Reaper took a back seat to vanity.

  She arrived at the foot of the casket with her head held high. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes. To her surprise, she discovered that she looked lovely. Someone had thought to bring her favorite blue outfit, the one she was going to wear to work that day. A smile crossed her lips. The dress and matching accessories had to be A. K.’s doing.

  She didn’t know what to expect, but seeing her body didn’t affect her like she thought it would. Sure, it looked like her, but it wasn’t her. It was only a shell of who she used to be. Was it normal to feel so detached?

  “The real Susan is who I am now,” she said. “I look the same, only I’m not…I exist in some weird, invisible form.”

  She looked with envy at the beautiful blue dress and imagined the silky sheath sliding over her head and down her body. When her hand brushed against her thigh, her breath caught in her throat, and she discovered herself clothed in the same dress.

  “So that’s how it’s done?” she murmured.

  “Exactly, and may I say you look stunning.”

  Startled, Susan turned toward the voice. A tall man strode down the aisle; his black, neatly groomed hair glistened under the lights.

  “You can see me?” Then a picture of her marching naked down the aisle popped into her mind, and she added, “Uh, you saw me?”

  “Every inch, and I thought being dead was going to be dull.”

  If ever a ghost blushed, she did.

  “You must be Susan Griffin. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jack Evans, Parlor B.”

  She accepted his extended hand.

  “I can touch you.” She pressed her other hand against his chest then reached up and patted his cheek. “You’re real, uh, I mean, it’s like you’re real.”

  “I know what you mean. You
must have passed through a solid object.”

  She nodded.

  “First time I did that, it freaked me out, too. Seems we’re real to each other, but not to any living person or surrounding objects. Unless…well, I’ll explain about that later. I don’t know exactly how it works, but we can handle some things.”

  “I’m so glad I can finally talk with someone.” It didn’t bother her that he was dead. Guess that came with being a spirit. Maybe he could supply answers about this afterlife, what she could and couldn’t do, and what was going to happen after the wake.

  She took a good look at her ghostly friend—dark hair and blue eyes, nice build. Someone was definitely going to miss him. Too bad she wasn’t in the market. All she could think of was Wesley. What she wouldn’t give to have one more chance with him. She pictured his sandy hair and hazel eyes that always left her breathless. Why, oh why, did she have to die now?

  “Is there any way we can undo our death?” she asked, doubting they could reverse the process.

  “I wish.”

  “Okay, Mr. Evans, I have a million questions, and I’m counting on you for answers. I know how to dress myself, but what else can I do?”

  “Give me your hand.” In an instant, they were in the kitchen. “Beats the heck out of walking, doesn’t it? You have only to think where you want to go.”

  “Can we go anywhere, or are we confined to the funeral home? How long are we earthbound? Did you find out anything about a bright light? What happens after we’re buried?”

  “Whoa, slow down. I only arrived a few days ago myself. I have out-of-town relatives coming for the funeral, so they put my body in cold storage. Watching my corpse on a steel slab was a real downer, so I made the rounds of the parlors, met a few of the deceased residents.

  “Randy Mumford in Parlor C shared some of what he had learned about our new existence. After his wake, he asked to be left alone. He was only 20 years old and dropped dead cutting his grass. Too young…way too young.

  “I find it extremely sad when a young person dies and can’t help but wonder what kind of life he might have had? Whose lives would be changed by his passing? If the tears were any indication, many of the young people realized it could just as easily be them in that coffin.”

  “I felt that way after a classmate died, made me put things in perspective. Well, since the funeral home isn’t bursting at the seams with our kind, I imagine we don’t hang around long. So, where do we go, and when do we leave?”

  Jack started to answer when his attention was diverted to the sound of someone in the hallway. “Whoever it is can’t see or hear us, but old habits are hard to break.”

  The cleaning lady entered the kitchen and put the vacuum in a closet. Opening the refrigerator door, she removed trays of pastries and arranged them on a table. Then she filled a Styrofoam cup from one of the large urns and exited the kitchen, leaving behind the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

  Sweets were always Susan’s weakness, and the plate of brownies looked absolutely scrumptious. “It’s not like me to pass up a treat. So why don’t I have the urge to scoff up a brownie?”

  “We no longer have the need to eat or drink, so we’re not tempted.”

  “Now, that’s a real bummer. Well, no use hanging around here.” She closed her eyes and returned to her parlor. Jack appeared beside her, the sleeve of his suit coat brushing her arm. Standing near her casket, she heaved a sigh. “I still can’t believe I’m dead. There were so many things I wanted to do.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  The doors to the parlor closed behind them with a loud bang.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “You must not have read the marque. Both of our wakes are scheduled for later today—four to eight p.m., so they’ll keep our parlors closed until then.”

  “When are our funerals? I didn’t bother to find that out either.”

  “Mine is scheduled for eleven a.m. tomorrow. Yours is set for one p.m.”

  Susan smoothed the front of her skirt, which really didn’t need it. “It’s scary to think about it. I don’t know if I want to be there. I definitely don’t want to leave my loved ones, and how do I know that light will come for me?”

  “You’re not alone, seems everyone feels that way. But I have a feeling we’ll do what’s right when the time comes. Why don’t we sit and talk, find out a little more about one another. It might help us get through this.”

  Susan remembered her hand passing through the stand and guest book. “How can I sit without falling through the pew?”

  A boyish grin crossed his lips. “Like before, you only have to visualize it.”

  She pictured herself sitting on the front row. It worked, and Jack sat next to her.

  “I still haven’t figured out how to pick up or move an object,” he said. “Thinking about it doesn’t work. Guess I’m going to have to visit a poltergeist to learn the secret behind rattling chains.”

  “Sounds like you plan to stay earthbound for a while.”

  The muscles around his mouth flinched. “At least until I figure out who shot me.”

  Susan’s mouth flew open. “You were murdered?”

  The grandfather clock in the foyer struck four o’clock p.m., and with the last chime, the funeral director opened the doors to her parlor. Over shuffling feet and muffled conversations, Susan recognized A. K.’s voice.

  “I’m so sorry. Susan was like a sister to me.”

  Susan stepped into the aisle and watched A. K. comforting her parents and Edward, her brother.

  Jack cleared his throat. “I’d better return to my parlor. We can talk later when we’re alone.” In an instant, he was gone.

  A. K. and Edward headed down the aisle together. Susan’s mother and father followed, each supporting the other. Their grief stricken faces hurt more than Susan thought possible. Caught up in the moment, she failed to step aside, and A. K. passed right through her. Her ghostly form quivered as if jolted by a volt of electricity. It was a sensation she never wanted to experience again. At the same time, A. K. shuddered and rubbed her arms.

  “Dang, it’s freezing in here,” she said.

  Susan moved behind the casket and waited to recover from the harrowing incident. Her jangled nerves finally calmed, and she made a mental note not to get too close to another living person. While standing on the other side of the casket, she watched their tearful expressions and listened to questions she had asked herself.

  Her mother clutched the side of the casket then leaned down and kissed the lifeless body on the forehead. “My baby…why my baby?”

  Her father shook his head and put his arm around his wife of forty-five years.

  “Let’s sit down, dear.” He persuaded her to take a seat on the front row.

  Despite Susan’s earlier resolution, she took a seat beside her mother.

  “I love you, Mom,” she whispered. It didn’t matter that her mother couldn’t hear her. She needed to say what was in her heart. “I can’t believe I’ll never again be a part of your life.”

  Susan longed to touch her, to feel one last time her warmth. Braving the consequences, she reached out and caressed her mother’s cheek. There was no jarring encounter, but the firmness of the flesh didn’t exist. Susan felt nothing. But her mother’s reaction was quite different. Like A. K., she shivered.

  “You’re right, A. K. It is cold in here,” she said.

  Susan drew back her hand and returned to the casket, where she stood beside an easel of yellow mums. That’s when she saw him—Wesley Grissom, the one man and only man she had ever really loved.

  His sandy hair looked even lighter against his dark blue suit. With his head down, he made his way to the casket where he stood for a long time looking down at her, and then he gently touched her cold, hard cheek. She flinched, not wanting him to remember her that way. After he withdrew his hand, he squeezed the edge of the coffin until his knuckles whitened. His mouth drew tight, and his hazel eyes glistened
like shiny marbles.

  She wished she could turn back the years, feel his arms around her once again, but she was helpless to do anything. Standing behind him, she breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave, a mixture of foreign spices that so reflected his masculine persona. She exhaled as if to blow a kiss on the back of his neck, and his skin pebbled.

  “Oh, Wesley,” she said, “I came home hoping we could build on the past. We didn’t get the chance to try. I was busy trying to get my business started and thought I had all the time in the world. Boy, was I wrong.”

  “Wesley,” her mother said, “is that you?”

  He joined the family, seated in the front row. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He cradled the elderly woman in his arms.

  “Thank you for agreeing to be a pallbearer. Susan would have wanted that.”

  “What I really would like is to not be dead,” Susan said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Wesley said.

  He spoke briefly with her father and brother, who introduced him to A. K. After expressing his condolences, he excused himself and took a seat in the back of the parlor.

  Susan followed and sat beside him, frustrated that she couldn’t make contact. “I’m here, Wesley. I never stopped loving you. I really thought the future would hold good things for us. It’s true what they say—don’t put your dreams on hold.”

  Wesley sat silently staring at her coffin.

  “I don’t want you to think of me that way, a cold, lifeless shell. Remember me from the past.”

  For two hours, he sat alone with his thoughts then eased his way through the visitors gathered in the lobby and exited the front door.

  Co-workers, neighbors, and friends continued to arrive. They filled the room with a mixture of perfumes and colognes and the hum of hushed conversations. A. K. walked back and joined Debbie and Sheila, who sat a few rows behind her family.

  Susan turned her thoughts to her friend and employees. What would become of them? Would her parents sell her business? Her parents had no knowledge of the industry and certainly didn’t need the money. If only she had made arrangements to leave the boutique to A. K. Susan wished there was some way she could communicate with her friend. But on second thought, she realized that a voice from beyond would probably send A. K. fleeing for the front door. As she contemplated her existence in the afterlife, Susan couldn’t help but wonder how many spirits had stood beside her at prior funerals.