by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
“I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you then. I think Mr. Vale would have disapproved of me yammering on like this.” Lyle worked as he spoke, carefully laying out the various brushes, sponges, pots and palettes required for the task ahead of him. They belonged to Henry Vale rather to Lyle. He would have to buy his own kit soon, but he wanted to find out what equipment his course tutors would recommend before making his first substantial investment in his new career. He’d also have to wait for his first pay-check, meagre though it might prove to be; Lyle rather suspected that his employer would make numerous deductions based on anything he had to use or borrow until he got his own stuff together.
Lyle considered the photograph he had been supplied with. Mrs. Ferguson looked at least fifteen years younger in the snapshot than she did now. He wasn’t sure of the image was an old one, or if it was Mrs. Ferguson’s current state that had aged her so much. Judging by the clothes she was wearing in the photograph, Lyle suspected it was a bit of each. He studied the woman’s face carefully, then checked her paperwork, which indicated she was actually fifty-two. He would have guessed a little older, if asked. She would be fifty-two forever now, in the memories of those who had loved her.
“I’m new to this, but don’t worry. Vale will check my work. He’ll re-do the job if I get it at all wrong.” Lyle said. “I hope you don’t mind me practising on you, though?” Mrs. Ferguson made no reply, much to Lyle’s relief. It was intended as a rhetorical question, of course. He was mostly speaking to the corpse in order to hear his own voice, boosted as it was by the generous acoustics of the mortuary workroom.
Lyle drew a deep breath and selected the tools and cosmetics he felt he would need first. He continued to prattle on, pausing from time to time to repeat a word, searching for the correct, manly intonation. “Hopefully we’ll be okay here. I want to do a really good job for you.” Mrs. Ferguson continued to offer no response.
Lyle continued to reassure his client as he started on his task. “This is something . . . something,” he repeated until he got the sound out that he wanted, “. . . something I’m familiar with at least, . . . familiar with, at least, thank goodness.” It felt like he was rehearsing for a play. In a way my whole life is a play, now. I’m always on stage, being someone I’m not. Of course that’s been the case all my life. I wonder what it will be like eventually, when I am...right? Lyle thought to himself as he continued applying make-up to the dead woman before him.
Lyle continued to chunner at the corpse whilst he worked, recounting to her his thoughts, feelings and first impressions of Haven Falls and its inhabitants as he worked.
“I’ve not met many people yet. That’s because I’m shy, I guess. I’m not really much of a looker either, not by local standards anyway! Did you notice how many good-looking men there are around here?
“The guy I’ve seen the most of so far, other than Vale, is that Gillespie bloke. He’s asked me to go with him to the opening of that new nightclub, the Renegade Steel. I think it’s quite a posh place, but fortunately in this job you at least get to have a decent wardrobe . . . ”
Lyle chattered on about what he might wear for his date with Carter Gillespie, seeking Mrs. Ferguson’s opinion on the handsome paramedic. She was not very forthcoming with her advice, not about his wardrobe choices or about whether Gillespie would be the understanding sort.
“The one other man I’ve properly met so far is this guy Flynn Archer, the one who had that argument with Vale. You must have heard it, Mrs. Ferguson?” She didn’t comment. Lyle thought back to what he had witnessed and to the conversation he had with Flynn during his lunch break thereafter. Flynn had said to ask Vale ‘about the hands’, but Lyle didn’t want to become the shuttlecock in whatever sort of game Vale and Archer were playing.
Flynn Archer was young, arrogant, mouthy and not nearly as invulnerable as he liked to try and make other people think. He was attractive in an obvious sort of way, especially if you liked ‘bad’ boys, but Lyle had already worked out that Flynn was not going to be one of his favourite people. Lyle still didn’t understand why Archer had nicknamed him ‘Jude Law’, but he had begun to think of the phrase ‘in like Flynn’ whenever he spied the youngster now.
*****
Colour correction, re-texturing and applying the blush of life to the features of Mrs. Ferguson was even more challenging than Lyle had anticipated. He had to undo all evidence of his first attempt once he realised the fact that she was flat on her back required shading and highlighting to be applied differently than if she were sitting or standing. Lyle duly apologised to the very patient Mrs. Ferguson for his shortcomings as a decorator of the dead.
The second attempt was better, but doubtless Vale would find fault. There was fault to find, Lyle freely admitted to both himself and his client. He hadn’t been shown this task yet, he was working it from cold. He rather suspected he’d been deliberately set up for a telling-off, so that Vale could feel superior and have an excuse to emphasise how special and talented he was.
Lyle checked his watch. Vale had given him “exactly one hour” to attempt the task of making up Mrs.Ferguson in readiness for meeting with her nearest and dearest for the final time. He had used fifty-three minutes getting this far. There was no time for a third go, but at least he could nip to the toilet before letting Vale start in on him.
Haven Falls #128 - Green Eyed Monster
Miles Sutherland and Lyle Ashley Tate
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Miles studied the face of the assistant mortician. What was his name again, Liam? Maybe not quite as old as Miles himself, but definitely a change from all the babies wandering around town... early thirties? Sometimes the rest of the town’s residents made him feel quite ancient. Their enthusiasm and lust for life got a bit wearying at times. Maybe he’d have more in common with someone older? The black suit the mortician was wearing made him look distinguished. Short stylish blond hair, fine jawline, quite good looking in fact. He seemed a bit in shock. Hadn’t they warned him about the age of the deceased?
Miles smoothed the sheet back over Bernie’s head. Ten years, that’s all he’d had. He’d been in the last stages of cancer when Miles had arrived in Haven Falls, but he’d seen photos of a cheeky young kid taken the previous Christmas. So different from the one who seemed to grow ten years older with every passing month, those eyes changing as the truth of the inevitability of his death became clearer with every passing day. It wasn’t frickin’ bloody fair. How can a kid get renal cell carcinoma? The visiting oncologist had said the tumor might have been there from birth. Who knew? All he knew was that the parents had been devastated. Even after seeing kids die of malnutrition and disease in Africa, it still hit Miles fair and square in the gut too.
Lyle was saddened by the appearance of the youngster he’d been sent to collect. The family had provided the funeral home with a picture of him from better days. He guessed Vale would be able to get a wig to approximate the hair of the boy as he was in the photo. He checked the paperwork. The cause of death was cancer, so Lyle figured the poor kid had received chemotherapy. He signed for the body and handed the clipboard back to the medic.
As the mortician handed him the paperwork, Miles got his first close-up view of the man’s face. He’d never seen eyes that color before, a pale yellowy green with a dark blue line around the iris. Stunning. He swallowed. Since when had he started noticing men’s eyes again? Shit, since this morning when he’d caught himself thinking of Gil’s warm brown ones. “Thanks, Liam.”
“No problem. It’s Lyle, by the way. Lyle Tate.” He proffered his hand. Would the doctor notice? How obvious was it to someone like him? If he noticed would he say something? Lyle was reminded of exactly why he was not going round making new friends in this burg yet.
Miles tucked the clipboard under his arm and gave himself a mental kick for being so careless. He usually had a good memory for names, too. He shook the outstretched hand. Firm grip, not soft. It got
lost in his big paw though. “My apologies. I gather you’re Vale’s new assistant.”
“Yeah, only started this week. I’m a trainee, Vale is tutoring me and I’ll be going to mortician school too.” No reaction, so maybe things were okay. Shaking hands with someone new was always a nerve-wracking part of the act; Lyle tried to relax. He rather liked the man before him. He had an Australian accent, and it gave his voice a warm tone that was quite attractive.
“Usually things are pretty quiet here, mostly elderly citizens. It’s a shame when they’re young like Bernie was. How are you coping with it all?”
“So far so good. Vale demands a lot, but I can cope with that. It’s more being in a new town that’s bothering me. I have met hardly anyone yet other than dead people.”
“I detect a pommy accent, are you from England?”
“Originally, yes. I’ve been a US citizen for a while now though.”
“Hm, you should meet up with Carter Gillespie sometime, he’s newly arrived in town, too.” Miles kicked himself again when he said that. This guy was probably just Gil’s type. Neat, looked after himself.
“Oh, we already met. He nearly ran his bike into my car on my first day here.” Lyle smiled, to indicate the event had not resulted in any harm to either party.
“Good.” Why was the word the exact opposite of what Miles was thinking? “I mean the meeting bit, not the running his bike into your car.” He tried to smile. “I was wondering what you know of your predecessor. Vale never mentioned he was getting a new assistant, and the man seems to have disappeared.” There, let’s steer this conversation back onto a safer path. Not that he didn’t wonder just how friendly Gil and Lyle were.
“Well, a friend spotted the job for me. She knew I was looking for something like this. I wrote to Vale and things moved pretty quickly after that, actually. I didn’t realise I had a predecessor.”
Miles put the clipboard down and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, a fellow by the name of Stan Riley. You sure Vale never mentioned his name? It all seems a bit strange.”
Lots of things seem strange in this town, Lyle thought. Flynn flashed into his mind, along with his odd advice to ‘ask Vale about the hands’. Now a vanishing assistant? He could feel a call to Agent Tyler coming on.
“No. I’d have thought if there’d been some problem with Riley, Vale would have let me know it though. He doesn’t seem the sort to forgive easily. I understand now how I got the job so quickly, his place seems quite busy and he does need someone to do the menial stuff”.
“Menial - hey - actually doing stuff with his hands?” Miles laughed. “There’s been a surplus of those around lately. Though I don’t suppose Vale would see the joke if you mentioned that.” He scanned the man standing opposite him. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere. A ‘Have-a-chat’ guy or just lonely? “If you do hear of anything strange, let me know. Stan may have just hot-footed it out of town because the IRS or an ex-wife were breathing down his neck, but I’ve just got this uneasy feeling. Not sure why.”
This was weird. Suddenly the doctor was asking him about missing persons and talking about hands like Flynn did? Lyle had an uncomfortable feeling starting up in his stomach now. He rolled out his mantra... Not my business, not my business... “I hope you manage to track down your friend. We’ll take good care of Bernie here. Vale knows his stuff, and he’s making sure I don’t cock anything up.”
Miles nodded. Something seemed not quite right. Had the other guy blushed when he said “cock”? In a way the guy almost looked too pretty; his features almost delicate. Made Miles feel even more like the wild man from Borneo. “Thanks, mate. Hope you start feeling more at home here... settle in. The new nightclub is opening soon, are you going?”
“You mean the Renegade Steel? Gil..Carter Gillespie...he asked me to go actually. Apparently he has enough pull to get tickets”.
Figured. He could just picture this young man with Gil. They’d make an attractive couple. Assuming he was gay of course.
“What’s Carter like to work with?”
“Gil?” Miles stared at Vale’s assistant. From the sounds of things he was definitely more than interested in his paramedic... the paramedic. Shit. Who was going all green-eyed now? And since when was he the possessive type? Since Carter Gillespie started to butt into his life and give him a shake whenever he wallowed in an indulgent self-pity-fest. Miles tried hard to sound casual. “He’s a good bloke. Professional. Cares about people. He’s out on a job now. Some sort of emergency. Hope there isn’t more work for you soon.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think a small place like Haven Falls would have so many dead people. I’m beginning to feel like I moved to Midsomer, when really I was expecting Smallville. Very cosmopolitan too, from what I’ve seen so far.”
“Yeah, though I don’t think we’ve got too many people in disguise.” Miles frowned at the man’s startled reaction. “Smallville... Clark Kent... Superman? Get it?” Geez, nobody got his jokes nowadays.
“Oh yeah... Well a guy would be chancing his arm running around showing off his skimpies in this town, I think... “ Lyle tried not to choke over the medic’s reference to false identities. Had he been sussed? Or was he just being paranoid?
“Not an unattractive picture given the way some of the guys in this town are built.” Shit, here he was supposed to be Mr. Small-Town MD, but he’d let the truth slip to Gil just yesterday and now he was throwing out hints he was gay to an almost complete stranger. Did he have some secret wish to out himself? “I hope you have a good time.”
“A good time? Oh, at the opening of Renegade Steel you mean? I guess. Not sure it’s my kind of place, but Vale wants me to socialise as much as possible. It’s good for business, he seems to think.”
“Hm, Vale. Maybe I should ask him what’s happened to Stan?“
“He’d maybe know. I guess I’ll see you around some more then. I hope you’re wrong about Gil bringing us more work though.”
Lyle took the trolley out to the car and boarded his passenger, Bernie. Idly he wondered whether the boy would be more of a conversationalist than Mrs. Ferguson had proved to be. He needed someone to talk to about his concerns right now. Hands? What the hell was the deal with the hands comments?
Haven Falls #129: Painkiller
Flynn Archer and Henry Vale
___________________
Flynn couldn’t believe he had no Excedrin. He would swear he used to have a big bottle of the stuff, but of course when he needed it he couldn’t find it. So he ran to the drugstore, wondering if they had anything stronger.
He blamed Riley’s journal for his headache. His handwriting was terrible, a crab like scribble that seemed to get worse as it went on, and he sometimes used words and abbreviations that made sense to him, but without some kind of translation key it was gibberish. All he could figure out was Riley, in spite of his bland name, wasn’t exactly American, and he thought there was something going on at Vale’s that wasn’t exactly kosher. There was a word that looked like it could have been “Russian“, but also could have been rusted or russet. Hessian?
At least it got his mind off Aiden. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but it was starting to feel serious, which was a little disconcerting. He didn’t need serious, and he especially didn’t need it now. The simple solution was to stop seeing him, but then he was afraid he was leaving him alone to Vale’s tender mercies. Was there any way to win? Well, stop caring, but he couldn’t do that either. He was a bastard, but not nearly as cold hearted as he thought he was.
He wandered down the pain medication aisle, wondering why there were so many choices, when he caught someone staring at him out of the corner of his eye.
There, at the mouth of the aisle, was Vale.
He had that cold, vicious smile on his face, as sharp as a scalpel, and he was dressed to the nines in a storm cloud grey suit with a tasteful dark blue tie. “Are you following me, young man?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
Flynn glared at him, wondering if there was something heavy enough he could hurt him with here. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
Vale continued to give him that empty, hard smile. “I don’t need to follow you, boy. I always know where you are.”
That sent a chill down his spine, and his hands balled into fists automatically. “What the fuck does that mean?”
His grin grew wider, showing off his bright white teeth. They looked like little tombstones all in a row. “It’s not a big town. And you’re not exactly subtle.”
There was no one around, which was bad, but also it was good. He had room to bust out some of his kickboxing moves, and would Vale actually shoot him in a store? It was highly unlikely, giving him the edge. And he figured he could take Vale in a straight physical fight, just because of his age and general lack of musculature. Not that scrawny guys couldn’t be as tough as old leather, a category he was sure Vale slotted into, but his age had to work against him. “What is it you want from me?”
“Who told you that stupidity was charming? Because it’s not.” Vale lowered his voice to a silky whisper, and said, “This will all go away if you just hand it over, Errol.”
He stared at him like he’d just started speaking Esperanto. “What?”
The mortician shook his head, frowning at him in an exaggerated manner. “You really do enjoy playing the role of the empty headed pretty boy, don’t you? Your father was a rat, and you’re no better. We know he gave it to you, and we want it back.”
Now it was starting to make a little sense. They thought his dad had given him something? What? He hadn’t heard from his father since he ran away from home. So why was Vale and his “friends“ - whoever they were - under the impression he had something that belonged to them? Had to be his dad again, causing trouble even after death. Somehow that figured. “A rat? If you mean he was a bastard, I agree with you. But he didn’t deserve to be dismembered.”