After Death

by D. B. Douglas

“…Which means… I think I’ve lost it…” He finished weakly.

  He felt like he was on the verge of tears. A grown man — reduced to… this… It was pathetic — He was pathetic… Jackie was still absorbing what he’d told her, still frozen in her disbelief.

  “You’re really saying this all happened to you..? I’m trying to understand... Are you really saying you witnessed Lidia’s death last night?”

  He nodded. Would she finally take him seriously?

  “What about the bloody clothes? What about evidence?”

  He got up with difficulty. He was so tired suddenly. He felt as if gravity was working against him. He led her into the bathroom like a zombie and opened the trash bag in the corner. There they were — The bloody shirt and pants, wet with repeated attempts to clean them but totally ruined, just as he’d described them.

  The reality of the clothes seemed to get to her. Her mouth snapped set and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to reason him (and herself) out of this whole thing…

  “Frank…”

  She stopped, then re-analyzed, eyes turned inward, searching and sifting through all plausible explanations.

  “Isn’t it possible it was a suicide and when you went to check it out, that’s when you got the blood on you?”

  He’d thought of that — He would love to believe it — but it didn’t work. He responded with difficulty. It was like his system was shutting down.

  “Lidia’s bed has rails. She couldn’t have gotten into her chair by herself to get the picture. And it doesn’t explain the rest of what I saw…”

  His wife was staying on point. She was so focused on solving this, she didn’t seem to notice his condition.

  She was nothing if not rational. He had to admire her for that.

  “I know this will sound terrible — he’s your friend and everything — but what about Fernando? Maybe he did it or at least brought Lidia the glass?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “No way. It wasn’t Fernando.”

  He’d thought of this as well but it didn’t make sense. Other than the fact that he had gone there with Frank, there was nothing to make this theory work — not motive, not timing, not location, nothing.

  “Frank… It wasn’t some… ghost… That’s ridiculous… You think that, what — It drinks blood and becomes more... real? — Solidified…? And you think this is Eli? All because of some promise you had him make?”

  He said nothing. She continued. She was determined to talk them out of this. There was no stopping her now and he didn’t have the energy anyway…

  “Look, Frank — This stuff you wrote about — the finger nail in your stomach, this Burt guy telling you about some murder that ties to some jewelry with a victim’s name you found in Eli’s stuff, the death at the hospital seeming like it matches his MO — It’s all pretty weird, I grant you that — but SOMEBODY did it. It sure as hell doesn’t conclusively add up to ghosts on the rampage. So the question we have to ask is — If it wasn’t Fernando, and you think it wasn’t a suicide, who was it?”

  Again, he didn’t answer. She stared at him probingly. She hadn’t seen what he’d seen. He couldn’t blame her for being so… adamant.

  “Frank, I’m as open to new ideas as the next person. Probably more. But you can’t still be serious about this Eli stuff. Think about it for a minute. You were up all night. You’re obsessed with a particularly weird idea and you’re all over yourself to make this the one that sells. You’re a writer so your imagination gets a little more use than most. In other words, you’re a combination of exhaustion, frustration, and imagination.”

  She paused and stared even harder trying to knock this home.

  “Now if you were on the other side of this, taking these factors into account, would you believe yourself if you told you this?”

  The last phrase was a bit strange but he had to admit—she was convincing. She would’ve made a good lawyer.

  “No.” He said quietly.

  “No.” She repeated after him with ten times the zest. “No, you wouldn’t.” She got an idea suddenly and leaned across and lifted his shirt to study the wound on his stomach.

  “And there’s another factor. Add that you have a nasty infection…”

  She put a hand to his forehead.

  “…And that you’re burning up and voilla! No wonder you’re seeing things.”

  She herded him back towards the bedroom.

  “What you need is sleep. As much as you can get.”

  He resisted but she pushed him along. Sleep — If it were only that easy…

  “And seriously, Frank… This idea about…” — She did her “dramatic voice” like a commercial voice over — “The Promise! In real life it doesn’t really hold water anyway. What about wedding vows? If promises were always binding, imagine the consequences. “To cherish, uphold, and protect —“

  —“’Til death do us part.” He interrupted.

  For just an instant, this caused a momentary hitch in her argument. And then it was gone and she pushed to the bed and swung the bed comforter open with a thin smile.

  “So you’re saying promises are more binding in death, is that it? That everyone who makes a deathbed promise to come back, will? Really, Frank. This is silly…”

  She patted the bed and indicated for him to crawl inside. He slid under the covers and she smoothed them over him, puffing his pillow before his head fell backwards. He felt like a child — but at least a loved child. She continued with an impish expression:

  “Repeat after me — I, Franklin Davis, promise to return after death…”

  Was she kidding?!? This wasn’t funny! And Judging by how she poked at him, his growing annoyance must’ve been obvious.

  “C’mon, Frank, I have my reasons. Trust me and just repeat what I say, I’m trying to make a point. I, Franklin Davis, promise —

  “I don’t appreciate being mocked.” He ground out.

  “You’re not being mocked. Just do it, I have my reasons. I, Franklin Davis…”

  She wouldn’t rest until he did it. Her mind was made up. He’d seen this tenacious side in her before. Usually an excellent quality but now…

  There was nothing to be done. The bed felt so warm and soft — He just wanted to surrender… recoup… He would’ve agreed to sell his soul if it would bring him just a few hours of quiet uninterrupted peace…

  He repeated after her through semi-clamped teeth — as though in one final effort at resistance.

  “I, Franklin Davis…”

  “Promise to return after death…”

  “Promise to return after death…”

  “To forever protect my Jackie…”

  “To forever protect my Jackie…”

  “Who even puts up with me in times of extreme retardation.”

  She grinned broadly. He had to admit — it did sound pretty dumb… Could they just let it go now..? Could he just… retreat..?

  “Do you hear how this sounds, Frank? You have to admit it sounds like rubber room philosophy…”

  She was still going… Still going… And he was fading, dropping… Falling…

  He barely heard her words as she pulled the drapes closed… But he knew they were tender… Loving…

  “Just block this stuff out of your mind and sleep now, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere — I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

  A stronger current of sleep took hold and cocooned him. The soft comfort of the bed layers were usurped by her feelings for him… He felt… completely… protected… And just before he drifted away and blended with the warm tide carrying him, he thought — She’s right, she’s always right — I’m just tired… My thoughts will be clearer after I get some rest… Get… some… rest…

  CHAPTER 19 – Perspective

  Jackie refused to return to work the following day or even the day after. She told Frank his “ordeal” merited time together and that she wanted to stay with him — She wasn’t go
ing back to work or anywhere else until they had a “handle on things” and there was no dissuading her from this decision.

  After the first morning, when they carefully went through the newspaper from front to back in search of information about Lidia’s death, things got better. There was nothing — no investigation, no suspicion of murder — not even a mention of suicide or even a notice in the obituary section. Frank chalked it up to all things convalescent and elderly. So what if things might have been found that were a little suspicious? The victim was over eighty years old with no living family. And the hospital was hardly motivated to start an investigation into themselves — they wouldn’t want to risk seeming negligent about the lack of security and certainly wouldn’t want the bad press. In other words — Who cared?

  With each day that passed, Frank got more perspective. Jackie was right — He’d been a mess. There was a lot of credence to what she’d said. By the end of the second day, he felt silly and by the end of third — downright ridiculous. There was no proof that he had actually seen anything and it was getting easier to believe her theory of infection, fever, lack of sleep, obsession, etc. The only real “evidence” was the bag of bloody clothes but he’d begun to discount these — it could’ve been as Jackie’d suggested — He could’ve just been highly susceptible to suggestion and his imagination had run away with him — maybe it was as simple as that. It was certainly easier to believe than the alternative.

  Jackie had tended to him for the last several days like a luxurious blend of nurse, confidant, true friend, and great love — and with her care and attention he began to reevaluate his life. By the time his stomach wound had scabbed over and all but disappeared, so had his impetus to write. The thought of continuing the horror novel had actually become repellent. The last thing he wanted to do was re-immerse himself in the whole thing. Jackie was making good money now and there was the promise of a lot more (if he could convince her he was okay and she returned to work). As incredible as he would have thought it a few months ago, his old teaching job was sounding better and better and along with it the prospect of a more conventional and normal life. It wasn’t the most creative occupation — but the idea of something calm and stable had begun to sound like it more than compensated for the characteristics it lacked...

  When Jackie finally left for work on the fourth morning, after countless assurances from Frank that he was A-OK, Frank decided it was time to stop being selfish and that it was time to make her happy (and he had to admit, despite the obvious contradiction — hopefully himself as well). He knew that nothing would please her more than if he went back to teaching — especially if she knew it was of his own volition. And since he had all day (and actually every day) to review the classifieds and find a job, he might as well get to it — and so he began.

  ***

  The job market had changed a great deal since he’d last taught and Frank was amazed that all he could find were substitute teaching jobs with no benefits and no job security. Not only that, but the positions were typically from K-1 to second grade — younger than he was used to. Still — he was out of practice and hadn’t bothered to keep up his contacts so it was a place to start.

  After two entire days of phone calls (something he didn’t enjoy and didn’t consider himself good at), he’d managed to set up two interviews for the end of the week. Not bad, he thought, considering the economy and how many candidates there must be.

  He had said nothing to Jackie, preferring to wait and surprise her when he actually had some solid news. The remaining days of the week were spent on the phone trying to set up more interviews (without success), watching bad day-time TV, and walking Argus or playing with him in their small yard. Each and every day he was feeling more relaxed and made a point of avoiding anything to do with his former obsession. He hadn’t gotten around to actually moth-balling all the books, the DVDs and tapes, or even boxing all his horror paraphernalia — but he gave the closet a wide berth. He even resisted the temptation to call Fernando — though he felt bad for his past behavior and really thought he should apologize. Not yet, he thought. Not until the past was a little farther behind him and he could actually think about it without a cold sweat starting to form on his back and under his arms…

  The day of the interviews finally came and Frank was ready — maybe over-ready. He’d spent the entire previous day ironing his old work clothes after meticulously brushing off the lint and dust — it took him forever since he usually asked Jackie to do these things for him and he was horrible with the iron. He told himself that he’d replace these old threads with new ones with his first check — after he got the job.

  ***

  The schools where he had the appointments were close to each other and Frank had shown up to the first meeting a little early — only to be greeted apologetically by the Receptionist who told him that the Personnel person he was supposed to meet had had a family emergency and that Frank’s interview would have to be rescheduled. Only one shot left, Frank thought disappointedly, I better make it count.

  At the second elementary school he sat in the waiting room/coffee room trying not to show the desperation he was feeling. When a teacher would swing by to refill their coffee cup he would put on a smile and say a cheerful “Good Morning!” Most would return the greeting but Frank got the distinct feeling they were just going through the motions, every bit as insincere as he was.

  When the Receptionist finally led Frank into the small office of the Administrator, Frank was surprised to recognize the man. It was Keith (he couldn’t remember his last name until he saw the placard on his desk—Worthy). He had fleetingly known the man four years ago when Frank had been an English teacher at another school and Keith had been the Assistant Principal. They had always been cordial with each other, even though Frank knew almost nothing about the man and was sure the lack of knowledge was mutual. Keith was an extremely lean man, bordering on anorexic, with a kind yet haggard and down-trodden expression that never quite seemed to go away. It was as if there was some strain pulling at him from the inside as inexorable as gravity and it always managed to show itself — even through laughter and smiles. Frank remembered the same expression from before and it was this that had made him so instantly recognizable.

  Keith rose from his chair and extended his long thin arm across the desk that was perfectly ordered and neat with organizer accessories (in/out tray, pen holder, card holder, stapler, etc.).

  “Frank — It’s good to see you. I thought I recognized the name on the resume…”

  His smile was warm and broad but the traces of something else were still there — as always. Frank wondered if he’d ever find out what was wearing Keith down from the inside out… but this was no time for such idle thoughts…

  He took Keith’s hand, careful to keep the shake firm and strong and maintaining eye contact — something he’d read in a magazine was important in interviews to make a good impression.

  “Good to see you again as well, Keith.” Frank replied, matching Keith’s smile tooth-for-tooth and even outdoing it as Frank felt no hidden pull of despair.

  Keith indicated for Frank to sit with an affable calm.

  “Sit, relax — It’s not as though we don’t know each other.” He said.

  Frank did as he was told but couldn’t shake his discomfort — He hadn’t been on an interview in a long time — He’d forgotten that weird feeling of being under a microscope — having every facial expression, body movement, and voice inflection analyzed in its minutia.

  “So — what’ve you been up to?” Keith asked casually — or was it?

  Frank moved into his rehearsed routine —

  “You’re referring to the time gap on my resume — and probably wondering what I’ve been doing since I last taught at —”

  Keith interrupted him with an upheld palm.

  “— Relax, Frank. Relax… I’m sure you had your reasons. I can see you’re nervous — but you shouldn’t be. Really.”

  Frank too
k a deep breath. He just didn’t want to blow it. Neither did he feel it was appropriate to get into his past desire to be a novelist — and a horror novelist at that. It didn’t usually go over too well to have other ambitions — They always wanted you to be thrilled to be there and be a grateful lifer… His nervousness was just trying to cover that gap gracefully… But he needed to back it off…

  “Okay… Sorry…” He managed to say with a huge exhale.

  Keith smiled.

  “You have no need to be, Frank. Frankly —” He caught himself — “Sorry, old habit — Actually, as far as I’m concerned, you already have the job. And you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

  He leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I hate interviews. Hate them. When I saw your name in the pile, I thought, Thank God! — One less stranger I have to talk to. Is that terrible? I guess it is, but we all have our peccadilloes and interviewing’s mine. There, I said it. Now you know my terrible secret.”

  Frank didn’t know what to say. He seemed to have had remarkable luck at interviews lately, first at the hospital, now here. Keith misunderstood his silence.

  “You do want the job, Frank?” He asked, showing even more of that pull of concern at the corners of his mouth than he had before.

  “Yes, yes — Of course!” Frank replied, realizing he must’ve seemed like a bit of an imbecile.

  Relief spread across Keith’s face and he plopped back in his chair with an exploding exhale that was several times as forceful as Frank’s had been. One would’ve thought it was he that had desperately wanted the job and just landed it.

  From that point on, the conversation was noticeably lighter — Keith appeared almost giddy to be done with this part of his duties. He later explained to Frank, amidst several anecdotes, that the reason for the posted position was because half the teaching staff seemed to be getting the flu, one after the other, so there was a strong likelihood that there would be plenty of substitute work for Frank over the next several months.