The Quiet Type

by Summer Prescott

  The beast had lost the strength to even leave his bed, and when Susannah went in to check on him later, the stench before she even reached the door was overpowering. Though she had to breathe through her mouth to prevent her gag reflex from kicking in, she smiled a sinister smile at the thought of her father lying there in puddles of vomit and filth. He glanced up when she appeared in the doorway, his face grey, sweat beading on the sickly flesh.

  “How are you feeling?” she taunted, holding her homemade spike behind her back. Her stomach churned at the sight and smell of him, but her heart beat faster with anticipation.

  Todd’s mouth gaped open as he tried to speak, a trail of bile leaking from the corner of his cracked lips. Dehydration was a terrible thing. His eyes grew wide, and though he looked panicked, he was unable to utter more than an agonized grunt, and one hand flopped limply at his side as he tried in vain to gesture. It was time. Susannah advanced toward him, a faint smile playing about her lips. His expression of fear turned to one of resignation. He saw something in his fat, malevolent progeny that reminded him of his own dark soul, and he knew that the end had come. When she neared the bed, he closed his eyes and relaxed into his inevitability, never seeing the handcrafted spike that rocketed toward his torso.

  Susannah quickly rolled her father onto his side after placing his limp hands around the spike. She’d been wearing nitrile gloves pilfered from the Cadaver Lab, so the only prints on the spike would be his. He was still alive, but had passed out, either from the pain or the poison, it didn’t matter which, and by the time he could have even attempted to fight his way back to consciousness, he would have already bled out. She stood watching the rich red blood soak into the mattress, having lifted the spike out of the wound just enough to allow the coppery-smelling liquid to flow freely, and felt two emotions – relief and excitement.

  Greta was horrified when she returned home for lunch and found that her irascible, but wealthy husband had taken his own life. She wanted to keep his death quiet and refused an autopsy, despite his recent illness. Susannah was most supportive now that her mother had lost her partner and stood to collect on a massive insurance policy. Her mother felt that it would be best for her daughter to continue her education, so the chubby blonde returned to class the very next day…with a satisfied smile.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  Death and Dating

  It was dissection day in the Cadaver Lab, and Susannah volunteered to wield the scalpel.

  “You’re quite good at that,” Timothy Eckels observed with quiet admiration.

  “Years of practice,” was the cryptic reply.

  “On what?”

  “Chickens, pigs, goats, fish, and a whole lot of other foods in my culinary courses,” Susannah shrugged, slicing deftly through precisely the right amount of skin and fat without disturbing nerves and vessels.

  “Do you have to kill them first?”

  “Who?” she asked absently, focused on the task at hand.

  Tim stared at her for a moment, thinking that “who” had been a strange response to his question.

  “The…uh…animals. Before you…dissect them,” he blinked rapidly behind his thick-lensed glasses.

  Susannah gave him a lopsided grin.

  “Well, it’s kind of difficult to filet something that’s still walking around,” she teased, enjoying the way that the perfectly-sharpened knife slipped through the cold flesh like butter.

  Tim smiled back awkwardly, paying close attention to her cuts.

  “Hey, wait,” he lightly touched the back of her hand to still the cutting motion.

  “What?” she frowned, seeming offended. “This is how this is supposed to be done…” Susannah began to protest, but trailed off when she saw Tim peering more intently at the flesh in front of them.

  “Look at this…” he whispered.

  “What is it?” she pushed her glasses up with the back of her wrist.

  “Tweezers,” he commanded. Susannah didn’t hesitate, grabbing them from the tray and handing them over.

  Parting the folds of skin that she’d just sliced open, he carefully inserted the tweezers, and started pulling them out, ever so gently, bringing a long, thin white worm with them.

  “Congratulations, Table 8, I was wondering if any of you would be sharp-eyed enough to find the parasitic worms that had infested this unfortunate young man before his death,” Professor Socks boomed, startling both Tim and Susannah, who had been so intent upon their work that they’d forgotten that anyone else was even in the room.

  The duo didn’t know how to react, so they simply stared blankly at him, with Susannah holding the scalpel and Tim holding tweezers with a pallid worm dangling from them.

  “Well done,” Socks nodded. “Carry on.”

  “You’re good at this,” Susannah looked at Tim as though seeing him for the first time.

  “Thanks,” he replied, staring back.

  “I’d like to cook for you,” she said simply.

  “I make pies,” Tim set the tweezers with the worm down carefully on the tray.

  “Then you should come to my house,” her eyes followed the tweezers, the worm. “I’ll cook for you, and you bring a pie for me.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  **

  Timothy Eckels stood on Susannah’s front porch, holding a Key Lime Pie. He pushed the doorbell and heard it clanging within the contemporary “farm” house. The imposing structure was a far cry from his humble apartment, but he was so focused on listening for approaching footsteps that he hardly noticed.

  “You brought a pie,” she said when she opened the door.

  “My grandmother made the best pies,” he offered gravely.

  “My grandmothers live in Florida. Come in.”

  She opened the door wider and stepped back so that he could enter. They were both wearing the same clothes that they had worn to school, and Tim, as usual, hadn’t bothered to comb his thinning hair. The interior of the home was well-kept and sparsely furnished, looking somewhat like an ad for an upscale furniture store, and smelled of cleanser. It was a strange contrast to the older buildings behind the home, which housed farm animals of all sorts and surrounded an organic vegetable garden.

  “This is your house?” Tim asked, blinking at Susannah and still holding his pie.

  “No, this is my mother’s house,” she shrugged, sending a lightning bolt of terror rippling through him. He hadn’t anticipated having to deal with a stranger, and was quite certain that he wouldn’t be able to eat in front of Susannah’s mother.

  “Where is she?” he choked out the words.

  “Somewhere in the Caribbean, why?” she looked at him curiously.

  “There might not have been enough food,” he glanced away.

  “Oh don’t worry, I made plenty. I hope you’re hungry,” she took the pie and put it in the fridge.

  “Why would you hope that?” Tim was baffled.

  For the first time in quite a while, Susannah actually smiled. A good, healthy, tooth-exposing smile appeared like the sun coming out of the clouds and Tim was caught off guard, staring.

  “Because then you’ll enjoy my food more,” she continued grinning. “And still have room for pie.”

  “Oh. Well then, yes, I’m hungry,” he nodded, still somewhat dazed by her smile.

  “Good. Here, you can open the wine and put it on the table in there,” she directed, handing him a bottle of expensive red wine that had been in her late father’s collection, and a corkscrew.

  Tim looked at the corkscrew curiously.

  “Do you know how to use that?” Susannah asked.

  “Yes,” he avoided her eyes.

  “Good. I’ll meet you in there with the food in a few minutes,” she said, turning back toward the stove, where something that smelled delicious was burbling in a pot.

  Tim took the wine and the corkscrew to the dining room, where the table had been set for two, and regarded the corkscrew with trepidation. He’d
never seen anything like it in his entire life. His grandmother had never indulged in spirits, and he’d never so much as tasted a drop of wine. Susannah came in from the kitchen bearing a platter of crusty, golden-brown garlic bread that was liberally sprinkled with herbs and parmesan.

  “Just set that down on the table,” she instructed, seeing that he hadn’t yet opened the wine. “I’ll open it in a minute.”

  She returned moments later with two heaping plates of spaghetti and meatballs, setting one down on each placemat. Sitting down, she took the wine and opened it, while Tim watched, fascinated.

  “Do you like wine?” she asked, reaching for his glass.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve never had it before?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, this one pairs really well with the spices in the food, so it should taste really good,” she assured him, pouring a glass for each of them.

  Tim thanked her and picked up his fork, spearing a meatball and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, enjoying the flavors, then frowned.

  “This meatball…it’s really good, but it tastes…different,” he admitted.

  “Oh, that’s just George,” Susannah shrugged, placing a hunk of garlic bread on the side of his plate.

  “George?” he asked, quietly putting down his fork.

  “One of our calves. The meatballs are made from veal,” she explained, twining strands of pasta around the tines of her fork.

  “Do you always eat food that used to have a name?”

  “Around here…usually,” she nodded.

  “What do you do with the parts that you don’t eat?” he asked.

  “I’ll show you after dinner. Are you going to try the wine?”

  “Okay,” he replied, reaching out and awkwardly grabbing the glass by the stem, trying to imitate the way that Susannah held hers.

  He brought the glass to his lips and sipped, making an awful face.

  “I think it’s gone bad,” he gasped, hurriedly drinking from his water glass.

  Susannah grinned again, delighted.

  “You don’t like it,” she observed with approval. “It’s a three thousand dollar bottle from my father’s collection, and you think that it tastes bad.”

  “I would think that three thousand dollars would taste better,” Tim grimaced.

  “Timothy, I don’t like people, generally, but I think we’re going to get along just fine,” Susannah proclaimed.

  “I’d say so,” he nodded.

  **

  Tim had never been to a barn in his life, but this one would have held surprises even if he had been accustomed to the drafty buildings filled with straw and animals. Susannah had taken him to the chicken coop, the pigpen, and the cowshed, finally leading him here, to the far end of the goat barn. Beside her workbench, there was a strange tree with paper-thin leaves that rustled from their oddly white branches. Scattered on shelves around the bench were sculptures made from wood and other materials, which were creative and quite good.

  “You’re an artist,” Tim observed, his eyes traveling from one piece to the next while she watched him taking it all in.

  “I guess,” she shrugged.

  “This is how you’re so precise with your cuts. You work with your hands, you know how tools work, you have skills.”

  “It’s my escape,” she admitted, her eyes downcast.

  “You make the animals into art,” Tim’s eyes peered into her soul from behind those coke-bottle glasses.

  Susannah nodded, wondering at the fact that she saw no judgment at all in his gaze. He missed nothing. His eye for detail had seen that the leaves on the trees were made from the skins of various types of animals, and the branches were long, polished bones. Her sculptures included bits of bone, leather, teeth, claws and fur. Nothing was jagged, or ragged, or torn, everything was precisely cut, honed and placed to achieve a spectacular, if macabre balance.

  “It’s perfect,” he murmured, his eyes shifting from her, back to her artistry.

  She had the same reverence for the preservation and presentation of flesh that had compelled him to go to mortuary school in the first place. She understood. She was as much of an oddity to the outside world filled with “normal” people as he was. Tim had found someone with whom he could relate, for the first time since his beloved Gram had passed.

  “I should go,” he said after a long moment.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Susannah reached for his hand, and he let her take it.

  When they got to the car, she let his hand go and gazed up at him, studying his face, his eyes.

  “You should kiss me goodnight,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Why?” Tim blinked at her curiously.

  “Because this is a date and that’s what happens.”

  “Oh.”

  He stood, staring at her, not uncomfortable at all, but clearly not knowing what to do next.

  “Here,” she said approaching him and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Bend down toward me a bit and close your eyes,” Susannah directed.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. That’ll get it started,” she nodded.

  “Okay,” he agreed, and did as he was told.

  Susannah stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips quickly against his, startled at the rush of feeling that the simple action had sent spiraling through her.

  Tim stayed put, eyes still closed.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  “Was that right?” he asked.

  She nodded, staring up at him.

  “I had a nice time, Tim. Thank you for the pie.”

  “You’re welcome,” he couldn’t take his eyes from hers for some reason. “My Gram…” he began.

  “Always made the best pies,” Susannah finished for him.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Tim, you won’t tell anyone about my…art, will you?” she whispered.

  “People don’t talk to me,” he shrugged.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Twisted Limbs and Hearts

  Tim and Susannah chatted regularly before class and after, and he’d visited the farm for dinner more than once, since her mother seemed to stay gone as much as possible. Susannah was the first person since his Gram with whom he’d felt comfortable enough to share conversation, even bestowing a rare smile upon her on occasion. She understood what it was like to feel shunned by the rest of the world. Tim had been abandoned by his parents, and Susannah had wished her whole life to be abandoned by hers. They’d both been the objects of ridicule and scorn from their classmates, and even teachers on occasion, and both had simply turned silently inward to hide from the pain of alienation. Tim had at least had Gram, Susannah had no one…until now.

  Today’s lab was exciting for both of them, though for entirely different reasons. It was head and neck day, and Tim was eager to see the effects of death on important tissues and organs that would affect how a body was prepared for funeral presentation. Susannah was glad that she’d finally be able to wield the bone saw, peeling back the scalp and penetrating the skull to uncap the brain. She hadn’t killed anyone or anything since Todd had taken his last painful breath, and there was a nearly constant buzzing in the back of her brain that compelled her to seek out flesh to cut. Cadaver Lab was keeping her community safe for the moment, but the rush of power that she’d felt when taking a life, be it man or animal, was a heady sensation that she longed to experience again…and soon.

  Susannah thrilled at being the one in control, the one who decided whether someone or something was allowed to live, or whether they should die. Every slight, every snicker, every carelessly rude comment that had ever been visited upon her, flashed through her brain as a dark reminder of the relief that was to be found in the cold sharp steel of knives and saws and picks. Tim found his satisfaction in turning cold, dead flesh into something that looked like a healthy vital human being who was merely taking a nap among the f
olds of satin in their coffin. They were both perfectionists in their own way, him making certain that the body was prepared perfectly, leaving loved ones with a pristine image of the deceased, and her deftly applying her instruments with the appropriate amount of malice needed to punish whomever she saw fit to kill. She was merciful with animals. They gave their lives to sustain her, in more ways than one, so she did all that she could to minimize their fear and pain.

  When the tray with the homeless man’s head was placed in front of them, Susannah’s eyes widened. Tim noted her response and tried his awkward best to provide comfort, knowing that Professor Socks would not be pleased if she freaked out over a dead head.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, trying not to move his mouth much. “He looks like he didn’t have a happy life anyway.”

  Susannah continued to stare at the head numbly, but nodded. Tim was surprised, he’d never known his lab partner to be squeamish before. She was accustomed to severed heads, having lived on a farm, but perhaps the fact that this was a human head bothered her for some unfathomable reason.

  “Do you want me to do the dissection this time?” he offered.

  The look that she shot him when he said that seemed like desperation mixed with anger.

  “No,” she said quietly. “Just hold it in place and I’ll do it.”

  Professor Socks moved about the classroom watching the progress at various tables and stopping to comment occasionally. He usually glided by Tim and Susannah, not knowing quite what to make of the clearly intelligent, but awfully strange duo. Today however, he paused, watching as Susannah made her scalp incisions like a pro. Tim bent one wax-filled ear forward and shuddered in revulsion when he saw the corpses of dead lice piled in the crease behind the ear.