by Andrea Speed, A. B. Gayle, Jessie Blackwood, J. J Levesque, Katisha Moreish
Haven Falls - #147: Showing Due Respect
Lyle Ashley Tate and Henry Vale
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Mrs. Ferguson was proving even less communicative than earlier. Lyle figured it was because she was as nervous in Henry Vale’s company as he was, even though she was dead. It was almost time for her to go centre stage for her viewing, so the two men were busy with the final preparations. Later today Mrs. F would be six feet under and have only insects to chat to; Lyle was sorry she wasn’t taking greater advantage of her opportunity for a final conversation.
The mechanics of embalming the body had been done mostly by Vale, with Lyle watching and making notes, or helping when two people were needed to complete a step. Dressing Mrs. Ferguson and making her up for her starring role in her disposal had been done by Lyle, with guidance and supervision. Now they were putting the finishing touches to the set up, since the viewing was scheduled for eleven, the commitment being at four.
“Did the family request pink roses?” Henry wondered, looking at display of pink roses in a wide glass bowl. He had to fight back the urge to sneeze, as their scent was cloying.
Lyle consulted the bundle of notes relating to Mrs. F. “Yes, it says here pink roses, lilacs and baby’s breath.” The roses seemed odd for a pensioner’s funeral, but the document had been initialled by the executor. Maybe Mrs. Ferguson had been a rose grower or a romance writer.
“Christ, how tacky.” Henry did a visual scan of the room, and noted the work Lyle was doing on Ferguson. Sometimes there wasn’t much that could be done for the very old, or for those who had been disfigured in some way. Sometimes, it was the same damn thing. “Was the lipstick your idea?”
“It’s what the relatives sent over.”
“Terrific. Do you wish to bet they all show up wearing plaid?”
Lyle couldn’t help but giggle. He had wondered, given the Scottish surname, whether a few kilts might indeed make an appearance at the viewing or the internment.
“Perhaps we should deep fry a selection of foods, make them feel at home.”
Lyle checked the notes, prompted by Vale’s acerbic comments, wondering what music the family had requested. Sure enough, bagpipes were to feature heavily in the proceedings. If it were his themed funeral Lyle might have requested something like ‘Donald Where’s Your Troosers?’, but sadly it wasn’t amongst the listed tracks Mrs. F’s people had picked.
“Do we have good enough access to a variety of offal though?” Lyle pondered aloud.
“This is a funeral home. Finding guts is never an issue.” Henry tried rearranging one of the lilac displays, but the scent was even worse than the roses, and he turned away to sneeze. Damn it, he hated flowers, but the sickly sweet ones, the ones that mimicked decay, were the worst.
Lyle wasn’t sure quite how much of what Henry Vale came out with at times was said in jest, and how much he meant. He decided to change the topic just in case. “Are you allergic? Did Riley deal with the flowers before me?”
That name. Riley. Wouldn’t that silly fucker just remain dead? “Yes, he did. I’m not fond of flowers. The flowers I like don’t have scents.”
“Was he with you long?” Lyle was asking for a variety of reasons; he wasn’t sure all of them were good.
“Not too long. Long enough for me to realize he wasn’t cut out for this job. Too many people see those stupid procedural shows on TV and assume they could work with corpses just as easy. It’s not true.” Was Lyle curious? That wasn’t good. How far he was willing to push this would determine what Henry was going to do with him.
“I like what I’ve seen of the job so far. It’s more people based than my previous jobs and more hands on.” Lyle recalled his first months in America, writing computer code in a dull little cubicle, surrounded by hundreds of other identical little cubes. This was definitely more interesting, even if the coding had come naturally to him.
Henry looked at Lyle curiously. “Hands on? Was that a joke, Mr. Tate?”
Lyle looked blank. He felt stupid looking so blank, but he had no idea what he’d said to prompt Vale’s latest question. Then he remembered. Flynn had said to ask Vale ‘about the hands’. Apparently the topic was known to Vale and wasn’t a welcome subject for discussion?
“No... I just... Well I didn’t mean anything bad. I just like working with my hands as well as my head. I like to be active.” Would that cover it? Lyle didn’t want his employer thinking he was about to start corpse-fiddling or something.
Henry nodded, keeping his expression assiduously neutral. It may have simply been an inauspicious choice of words, no more, but the fact that he seemed nervous was interesting. “I wouldn’t have qualified putting make up on a corpse as an intellectual activity, but I suppose it depends on how you look at it.” He was going to have to keep an eye on Lyle, wasn’t he? He didn’t know how much trouble Flynn was trying to make, and that Aussie doctor was asking questions about Riley that he really didn’t like. The Australian was moving up his list of people that needed to go away. At least in his case, his vagabond nature, much like Flynn’s, would make his disappearance unremarkable.
Lyle decided not to elaborate on his thoughts about the mental challenges posed by his new career. He doubted Vale would be impressed with the more esoteric aspects of the business he was himself intrigued by. Despite having been working there less than a week it seemed fairly obvious to Lyle that the Final Rest funeral home was just a sausage factory--dead people processed, packaged and planted in exchange for substantial quantities of cash, no emotion required.
“So Riley didn’t make the grade? I’d wondered if he had gone off on his own to set up business elsewhere... I’m just glad of the opportunity, his loss is my gain.”
“It is, and I suggest you don’t worry about Riley. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s doing his usual piss poor job.” That was only true if you believed in an afterlife, or perhaps even reincarnation. Henry realized that was kind of an amusing thought. Could Riley be a fuck up if he was reincarnated as a slug? It was a wonderful thought. The only slug who headed directly for the salt lick.
Lyle wasn’t too sure what had brought a smirk to Vale’s face. The man creeped him out, but Lyle thought maybe that came with the job. He wondered if he would gain a similar aura if he stayed working as a mortician. He really could do without adding that to his difficulties in getting a date. He had a date for tonight though, and with a really gorgeous guy at that. The thought perked him up enough for him to respond boldly, “Well, I hope you find my work satisfactory. Ideally a lot better than satisfactory. I want to do well and be an asset to your business.”
Henry nodded, holding back a sneer. A little kiss ass. At first he accepted it as part of his settling in phase, but by now he should have dropped the pretence. There was something ... off about Lyle. He was probably worth investigating, when he had the time. Why was he so eager to ingratiate himself? Only a man who had something to hide was so phony. And if anyone would know that, it would be him.
Haven Falls #148 Send Three and Fourpence,
We’re Going to a Dance
Carter Gillespie and Lyle Ashley Tate
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Lyle reviewed his recent security tapes when he got in from work, but found nothing alarming there. No-one had been to the house today who wasn’t already vetted and expected. He checked his watch and decided he had time to do his emails too before getting ready to meet with Carter Gillespie. It could be a life-saver doing so, if Agent Tyler had any pertinent information about his latest acquaintances. He hated being suspicious of everyone he encountered. It was a necessary evil, though.
He read rapidly through the few subscriptions he had set up in relation to his current identity and responded to an email about his Mortician College course. The task of dealing with his correspondence took less time than Lyle had expected, since Agent Tyler hadn’t got back to him yet, so now he had time enough to get nervous about his date.
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br /> Was it a date? Lyle still wasn’t sure. Carter...Gil... had invited him to the opening of the Renegade Steel, but had he really meant it as a date? This evening could turn into all kinds of shit if he had misunderstood. It could go horribly wrong in a few dozen ways if it was a date too. Lyle wondered if Gil was the sort of guy to expect someone to put out on the first date? If he was, he was going to be mightily disappointed tonight. Would he get angry? Lyle was jittery as a June bride by the time he got to the point of choosing what to wear.
Gil wasn’t sure what to wear for the Steel’s opening night. He did not want to go looking too formal. Formal in his book was uncomfortable and that was not what he planned. Besides, Lyle was on the cute side and Gil didn’t want to disappoint him. He appeared to be a little straight laced, rather formal in his own way: Gil hoped it was because of his job and his boss that Lyle came across like that. He was optimistic that he would see a more relaxed version of Lyle tonight. Briefly, Gil wondered what he was like in bed. He smiled, picked out a black silk shirt and looked at it critically, before throwing it on the bed and going back into his wardrobe again.
Underwear! Oh god, what to choose? Lyle scrabbled around for the perfect pair of pants. Not that it would matter unless things went much farther than would be safe! He tried eleven different sets before settling on something that would make him feel sexy and safe at the same time. Enhancer shorts were cheating really, but what else was to be done ? No, no cheating; he stripped his choice off and started again.
Hell, cheating was unavoidable, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what he’d been doing for over two years now? Maybe he should just call Carter and cancel? He didn’t want to start something under false pretences. God though, he so wanted to start something! Lyle rummaged for various elements of dress he both hated and needed, then picked his enhancer pants back up off the floor.
Gil pulled out a suit and frowned. Not sure. Christ, he was behaving worse than his sister! He put the suit back and rummaged again. Shit, this wasn’t really even a date, it had been a casual invite...but he wanted to look good, didn’t he? He wanted Lyle to think he was attractive and available and what? Bed-able? He was going to get himself a reputation at this rate, and not a good one at that. Doubtless he would get chapter and verse on safe sex from Miles if he wasn’t careful. This one will do, he thought, dragging his favourite suit out of the closet, grinning at the analogy.
Lyle considered his reflection in the bathroom mirror. This is insane. You like this guy and you’re going to blow it, he thought. His fingertips traced his jawline, finding a soft down there. Should he shave? No, keep it, I have a right to facial hair at the weekend, he thought. God, nearly time, better get a move on. Can I claim an emergency stiff if I need to bail? Oh Lordy! If only!
Dressing down for a date? How weird. The Renegade Steele was posh though, so he couldn’t exactly opt for jeans and a T-shirt, even if he wanted to. Leather and lace? Would Gil like that? It was probably the furthest he could get from his work outfits. Too camp though? Gil was fairly straight-acting and might not appreciate his goth look? Lyle checked the flyer for the Steele again and wished he had managed to get to the clothing sale this afternoon, but he’s been too busy driving Mrs. Ferguson’s relatives around and sorting out Bernie.
Gil arrived at the address on foot; he presumed the guy wouldn’t be up for travelling on the bike and he thought it stupid to get a taxi, the short distance didn’t really justify it. Maybe they could call one for the journey home? Lyle’s house was a pleasant one, pretty, somehow a bit feminine, but Gil presumed that Lyle had only just moved in and hadn’t got to grips with decorating yet. He knocked on the door, admiring the flowers in the beds. Everybody seemed to love gardening round here. Except Miles, he thought with a smile. Thoughts of the doctor disturbed him somehow. He wasn’t sure what he felt there. Miles was definitely not opening up to him as much as he had hoped. He banished thoughts of the doctor. Tonight he was with Lyle and he ought to make sure Lyle felt as if that was the case.
Was that a knock on the door? Damn, he wasn’t nearly ready. Lyle went to the tech desk and checked the cameras. Yep, it was Gil, stood on his doorstep looking gorgeous, dressed all in black. A silk shirt? Oh man, this evening suddenly got harder. He stowed the surveillance station before grabbing his robe and answering the door. Wouldn’t do to have Gil thinking he was completely paranoid, even if he was.
Gil turned at the sound of the door opening. Sounded like the man was unlocking Fort Knox though, he heard at least three bolts being opened. He smiled warmly and waited for Lyle to finish letting down the drawbridge. So far as Gil was concerned this wasn’t New York, although after the recent spate of bodies, he was beginning to wonder. Still, an Englishman’s home was his castle.
* * * * *
Lyle cycled through his choice of smiles whilst unlocking his front door. He settled on his sexiest ‘innocent’ one and then hauled the door open.
“Hi there.” Gil paused. Lyle wasn’t even dressed yet, at least it looked that way to Gil. “Am I early or are you having as much trouble as I did choosing what to wear?”
“Yes to both? Sorry. Come on in, I’ll do my best not to keep you waiting too long.”
“No worries.” Gil checked his watch. “I am early. You need any help? I’m always happy to offer an opinion.”
“Thanks. I was trying to break the mould... I already hate wearing suits out of work. This leaflet seems to have banned every other kind of outfit though.” Lyle wafted the promotional handbill. “I wasn’t sure either... Well, I didn’t know what you’d expect.”
“What I’d expect? How do you mean?” Gil found himself admiring the figure before him in the robe. Lyle half-dressed was quite a nice sight, though he was hanging onto the edges of the robe a bit too tightly. Might not take any advances at this stage too well then, Gil considered.
“Well, I’ve not been to such a posh place with such a handsome man before. I wanted to make you proud to be with me. Come through and I’ll show you what I’ve narrowed it down to.”
Gil couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Lyle was very sweet. “I can’t believe that you haven’t been to a date like this before,” he said as he followed Lyle into his home. “and thank you for the compliment.”
Fess up now? Let Gil escape before they were both in too deep? Lyle considered his options carefully whilst showing his delicious companion into the lounge. He realised he was trembling slightly. Get a grip, Lyle, he thought to himself, disgusted at how anxious all this was making him.
Gil followed Lyle, admiring the back view as they went. Neat arse, he found himself thinking. He was shown into a comfortable room, not as tidy as he’d have imagined, going on the man’s appearance. He wasn’t OCD about his accommodation then.
“Help yourself to a drink if you would like one. I won’t be long.” Lyle gestured to the drinks cabinet and then headed for his bedroom.
Gil looked about for a moment, then considered that they would be ages if he waited downstairs. Especially if Lyle wanted his opinion on what he was going to wear. He went into the hallway, located the stair and began to follow, calling out as he did so--he didn’t want to startle the man. “Hey Lyle, if you want an opinion, hadn’t I better come up? Otherwise you’ll be running up and down stairs like a lemming.” He paused, not sure that was a correct analogy but it would have to do.
A lemming? Lyle wondered what Gil meant, then realised what else he’d said. Gil was on the stairs, heading for his bedroom! To his surprise, Lyle’s first thought was, how untidy is it in here? His brain quickly caught up, though, and the next thought it supplied was cobalt blue with swear words. The evening was about to come to a disastrous climax before it even got started!
“Oh... Er... Hang on a minute, I’m not decent.”
Gil grinned. “Well,” he said in his best sexy drawl, “depends on how decent you want to be...?”
Lyle had no idea how to respond to that one. Gil was hot as hell and almost in his bed
room and that was the first and the last thing he wanted.
“Lyle?” Gil asked when his quip was met with silence, “you okay?” The door of the bedroom was closed and he rapped on it gently. “I was joking...”
Lyle considered his appearance. The robe was off and the game was almost up. He might still rescue the situation, but was he prepared to? Could he do what he needed to do, or should he do what he wanted to do?
“Lyle? Are you okay?” Gil was getting concerned. “If I pissed you off, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”
“Just give me a minute.”
“Okay, as long as you’re alright.”
About as far from alright as I can get, Lyle thought miserably. Now he’s going to think I’m a prude and an idiot, and touchy to boot.
“I didn’t piss you off, did I?”
Lyle opened the bedroom door a crack. “Sorry, I’m fine...Come in.” So wrong, so bad, Lyle thought as he opened his cabinet of secrets and let Gil enter. Earlier he had been wondering whether he was going to get his first kiss tonight, or his first fist in the face; he was reasonably sure now which it would be.
As the door slowly opened, Gil wondered what on earth was wrong with the guy. It had been a throwaway line. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He was almost scared to move. What had he done?
Lyle tugged his robe back tight around himself, his arms across his chest in a defensive posture. He did his best to smile; Gil deserved a smile, he was beautiful.