The Will to Die

by Joe Pulizzi

  The last woman I had any physical contact with was Sam. That was over two years ago. My body was responding in like fashion. All I wanted to do was take her in my arms, push her through the door, and toss her onto the bed.

  She pulled away and, with her about three inches shorter, looked slightly up at me. “I’d honestly love to, Xena. I really would. But I can’t. For a variety of reasons that I can’t get into right now.”

  Xena put her right hand on my genitals. Then she squeezed. “It feels as though you can,” she said. She kept her hand there. “Will, don’t worry. I’m divorced. You’re divorced. We’re both lonely. And I think we’re both attracted to each other. No harm, no foul. It could be a wonderful night. For both of us.”

  I took both her hands and placed them in mine. “A big part of me wants to. You have no idea. But I can’t right now. I hope you understand.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Then I turned around, made a left back toward the van, and thought of Sam.

  Chapter 25 – Homework

  I spent the night on Dad’s couch. I tried to sleep in the guest bed but couldn’t get comfortable. At one point during the night I almost jumped in the van and headed to the casino in Toledo. I thankfully gave up on the idea and showered instead. Regardless, I didn’t have a dollar to my name. Made not gambling a lot easier.

  Searching on the phone, I found a coffee shop near Cedar Point that opened at five. The shop was just opening when I arrived.

  My mind was on the day before. Could yesterday have been the worst day of my life? There were many to choose from. The first time I gambled away our savings was a top five for sure. Telling Sam the first time was right there as well. The worst was probably when she found out the second time, which ultimately led to us splitting up and then divorcing.

  So let’s say yesterday was a close second. Realizing that my father committed suicide felt worse than when I found out he passed away. To add to that, he may very well have been a racist who helped lead the entire city of Sandusky down a dark hole.

  And then there was Uncle Dan. His involvement was shady as well. And could be much worse depending on what Robby, Sam, and I dig up. Not to mention we were all being watched.

  I told myself that yesterday was the second worst day of my life, but I’d keep it open to further consideration, depending on what other information I could uncover.

  The coffee shop looked like it had recently received a makeover. New paint for sure. Newish sign. It was called “Coasters.” The name was perfect since it was a block off the Cedar Point causeway.

  An elderly man opened the front door. He gazed up and nodded like he was welcoming me.

  I shut off the van and brought in the BAM bag with the computer inside. The shop smelled of hazelnut. And maybe pumpkin spice? I couldn’t tell.

  I ordered a large low-fat latte and a blueberry muffin, put it on the credit card, and sat in the corner near the restrooms. The perfect spot, since the barrier between the booths was high enough that it blocked my computer from sight. If the SUV came around, there’d be no way the driver could see what I was doing. At least I hoped that to be the case.

  I booted up the computer and signed in to the security camera server. Now, fifteen lines appeared. It included today. The camera was apparently still working.

  I decided to go to the first day and watch each video. I didn’t want to miss anything. Who knew what kind of clues my dad was leaving me?

  A good, solid Wi-Fi connection. I clicked on the first date, and twenty-four blocks appeared, just like before. The first entry of the first day started at two a.m. Dad must have installed the camera that night. Or turned it on that night, since the midnight and 1 a.m. blocks were missing.

  At around two fifteen a.m., my dad was sitting at his desk. He was looking at the camera and mouthing something. I turned up the sound, but didn’t hear anything.

  Then he reached below his desk and seemed to press something. There was some crackling, then I could hear his voice.

  “Check, one, two. Check, one, two. Checking for sound.” Hearing his voice felt like home. Then he grabbed some files and left out the back door. Two minutes later, the video stopped. Why would Dad install a sound control for the camera?

  I clicked on three a.m. There was no video.

  It was the same for four, five, and six. Then I clicked on seven a.m., and at about seven thirty, the video picked up my dad walking in and laying the files on his desk. The camera only recorded when there was motion and seemed to shut off after about two minutes of no movement in the room.

  That should make it a lot easier.

  I checked through each of the first two days. Nothing out of the ordinary in any of the video clips. Dad had one meeting on the first day with a woman whose husband just passed, and had another one the next day with a young mother and father whose child had cancer and was apparently close to death. There were tears all around in that meeting. I must have gotten caught up in it because the man who opened the coffee shop came over to see if I was okay.

  Outside of Dad running in and out of the office, there was nothing else of note except the two meetings.

  Before I opened up the third day, I checked my watch. Six thirty a.m. I decided to text Sam. I figured she’d be up, if she’d even slept at all.

  Good morning.

  Three dots came up almost immediately.

  Hi. You’re up early.

  Couldn’t sleep. You know the drill. I’m heading to the funeral home before I head to Cleveland for the PopC meeting. Thought maybe we could review those financials before I do.

  Absolutely. What time?

  How about noon? I’ll pick up lunch.

  See you there.

  Just an ordinary text conversation, I thought. Nothing wrong at all. Or at least I was hoping whoever was reading our texts was picking up that vibe. Sam knew I wanted her to prepare the samples so I could take them to the Clinic. After a couple years together, we could communicate without using words, mostly through eye contact and gestures. We could read through texts to find the real meaning as well.

  I ordered another latte from the old man. A large again. Plus one of those mini-quiches. He asked me if I wanted a loyalty card, but I politely refused. For now.

  Two days down. Twelve to go. I clicked to the third day and made my way through. If I was backtracking correctly, it was a Tuesday. Nothing much during the day. My dad was in and out again. During the evening, the camera turned on, picking up some shadows, probably a visitation.

  The fourth day saw hardly any activity. Same with the fifth.

  It was eleven a.m., and my eyes were already sore from watching the videos. And my wrist was sore. Probably the start of carpal tunnel or some other new technology disorder that affected people who grew up on computers.

  I decided to shut things down and grab lunch before heading to the funeral home. As I clicked the corner X to close down day five, I accidentally ran the mouse over the last line. An icon popped up on the screen between the two and three a.m. slot. From today. The picture was blurry. I clicked it.

  The video began at 2:30 a.m. Lights turned on from the side. Possibly the hall lights. Then there was some kind of shadow outside the back door. Someone was pacing back and forth.

  A person walked around the front of the desk. He or she made a left at the desk and headed in the direction of Dad’s closet. It didn’t take the person too long to open the closet. They must have had a key. The light inside came on, then darkness. Two minutes later the video went out.

  At 2:54, the video returned. The camera picked up movement from the closet door. It opened, then the light shut off. Then the door closed. Two seconds later, a blur went across the screen, as the person crossed between Dad’s desk and the ledge behind, brushing his swivel chair. The movement was too fast, and I couldn’t pick up any details. Nothing happened until 2:57 when the video ended.

  I rewound the video back to the 2:54 mark and hit the pause button as the person came from the closet do
or. The figure entered the frame at the 2:54:42 mark. Definitely a man. Larger than most. Dark hair. Possibly some gray. The left side of his face was covered by the shadows, so I couldn’t get a good look. I played the video in slow motion: 43 seconds, 44 seconds. Still the same view as he reached the chair. Then at 45 seconds, just as he was nearing the end of the desk, the light from the hall hit his face, and I could finally get a good view.

  I recognized the man immediately. I was looking at the side profile of Jack Miller.

  Chapter 26 – Minority Report

  I parked the van behind the funeral home. I’d picked up a few Beef ’n Cheddars from Arby’s, one of Sam’s favorite guilty pleasures, and the smell had overtaken my senses. I had no idea Arby’s accepted credit cards. Sam hadn’t arrived yet, so I grabbed the bag and exited the car. I unlocked the funeral home’s back door, turned on the main lights, and headed for Dad’s office.

  The first thing I did was walk back and forth behind Dad’s desk, making sure the camera could see me. Then I marked the time: 11:52. I wanted to double-check the camera’s time for accuracy.

  Then I checked Dad’s journal closet. Locked, just like I had left it. Jack either had a key or he could pick locks.

  I unlocked the closet door and turned on the light. Nothing looked out of place, but it was hard to tell with over one hundred journals lining the walls. What were you doing in here, Jack?

  I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was a great friend of Dad’s. Even Abe himself had said so. And Jack had always been so good to me. To our family. He’d been so helpful to me—to us—this week. But everything in my senses told me that something was wrong. Is everyone in town a part of this conspiracy?

  I heard a knock. I opened up the door and saw Sam.

  “Do I smell Arby’s?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Wow, you are really sucking up to me lately. I kinda like it.”

  “You need to raise your standards if you’re impressed with me bringing you a sandwich.”

  She saw the bag on Dad’s desk and started digging through, searching for Horsey Sauce. “Do you mind if I get started? I skipped breakfast.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I said.

  Sam took the wrapping off one of the sandwiches and spread it out flat on the desk. She removed the top bun and squirted two packages of Horsey Sauce onto the meat. Then she put the bun back on the top and took a bite.

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked with her mouth full.

  “Sort of,” I said. I sat down at Dad’s desk and grabbed a sheet of Dad’s notebook paper.

  I wrote.

  Yes. Lots to discuss. Let’s go down and get the samples prepared, and then we can talk outside. Make sure cell phone is off.

  I flipped it over and let her read it. She shook her head.

  “Will, I don’t have a lot of time. Can we review those financials while I straighten up a bit in the basement?”

  “Of course,” I said. I grabbed the Arby’s bag and followed her down to the embalming room. By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs, she was done with the sandwich.

  Sam headed over to the meat locker and pulled out a small cooler big enough to hold a six-pack. She placed the cooler in a reusable grocery bag and hoisted it over her shoulder.

  She turned to face me. “You know, it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we finish lunch and talk financials at the old picnic table behind the back shed?”

  “Is that still there? Great idea.”

  We walked up the steps and out the back door. I turned to relock it, and we walked across the parking lot. I followed her as she passed the shed with Dad’s two old hearses and turned right to see the picnic table.

  “Looks like this thing needs a little love. Maybe on a free day I’ll sand and stain it.”

  “I think Abe would approve,” she said.

  We both picked a leg up like getting on a horse and straddled the benches. Sam sat on the far side of the table. I was closer to the shed.

  “Do you think we’re in the clear?” I asked.

  “If they have a recording device out this far from the funeral home, then they deserve to catch us doing God knows what.” Sam pulled a few curly fries out of the bag. “So, how was your date?”

  “It wasn’t a date,” I said. I could feel my face turning red. “But I did find out some things. But you first. What did you find?”

  “Last night while you were out, I was going through every dead body that’s come through here over the last four years. Now keep in mind that I didn’t start until two years ago, so I’m going by your dad’s records for the previous two. Four years ago, there was nothing special. At least I couldn’t see anything. The next year, there was a drastic increase of minorities. It’s a small sample size, but African-Americans increased by 250 percent, Asians by 150 percent, Hispanics by 300 percent. I actually went back through the numbers twice because I couldn’t believe the percentages.”

  Sam put a few more curly fries in her mouth and licked her fingers. “Things continued like that until February of last year. Basically, the numbers went right back to where they were before. Maybe even a little less. And that’s been the status quo up to today.”

  She dug into the Arby’s bag and pulled out another Horsey Sauce, squirted the contents on a napkin, and dipped in two fries.

  “Now, get this. Your dad started taking the blood and tissue samples in January, right before the numbers dropped. So there are quite a few from January, then it gets sporadic all the way to present day. And you’ll never guess who the samples were from.”

  “All minorities, right?”

  “Yup. Just a few Caucasians here and there. At least, those are the records I have.”

  “You are awesome,” I said. “Do you have the full list of names that have samples?”

  “Who do you think I am?” she said. “Yes, there’s a full list in the bag with the samples. Each name is marked with a number that corresponds to one tissue and one blood sample. Oh, and I called my Clinic contact using a pay phone. Can you believe that?” she said, smiling. “Anyway, his number is on there, and you need to text him tonight when you get to Cleveland. You can meet him somewhere. He’ll give you your father’s results and get to work on the others first thing Monday. He said he might have results same day.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Sam, thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to.”

  “The hell I didn’t,” she said. “Now tell me about your date.”

  “It wasn’t a date.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “So basically I had to swear I wouldn’t tell anyone what she told me. She acted legitimately scared that someone was going to hurt her. Or hurt her business. Since she started the restaurant, she’s been a member of SA. She went to some meeting. Dad was there, but not in the front. But Uncle Dan was there with the other founders of SA. They presented research about minorities being responsible for all the bad things happening in Sandusky. She was told in no uncertain terms that if she hired minorities, they had to work without being seen by customers.”

  “What? Sounds like Jim Crow or something.”

  “It’s something like that. And from what Xena said, my dad didn’t say anything. She thought I knew all about this because my father helped found SA.”

  “I think we’re picking up on a pattern. You’re not thinking your dad was involved in that. He loved everyone.”

  “Do I think so? Not really. But I can’t dismiss it. Obviously, he knew about it. Anyway, here’s the second part of what I found. I couldn’t sleep, so I went through a good portion of the footage from Dad’s overhead camera. I haven’t found anything from before Dad passing, but I did find someone snooping around Dad’s office early this morning, just after two.”

  “In the funeral home?”

  “Yep. And I recognized the person. Want to take a guess?”

  “No guess. Just tell me.”

  “It was Jack.”
r />   She paused. “Jack is at the funeral home in the middle of the night all the time. It’s his job. Might be nothing.”

  “Does he usually unlock my dad’s closet door? Stay in there for twenty minutes? Then relock it and leave?”

  Sam’s features went cold. Or sad. “I love Jack,” she said. “I don’t want him mixed up in this. I haven’t felt like this since ...” I knew what she was going to say.

  “Who knows?” I said. “Maybe it won’t be a big deal. But right now, I’m treating everything like it’s war on the Pollitt family.”

  I threw all the garbage in the bag. We both stood and headed back to the cars.

  As I reached the car, she handed me a slip of paper. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I bought a burner phone at Walmart. With cash. That’s the number. In case you need me. I didn’t want to wait for you to bring one back from Cleveland.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. I felt like giving her a hug but just opened the door to the van and she approached her car. “By the way, you’re in charge of the funeral home while I’m out.” Before she closed the door, something occurred to me. “Wait, Sam.”

  “What?”

  “This might sound ignorant, but why did Dad hire you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “From everything we’ve learned, the funeral home was under a massive amount of financial stress when you were hired. He was actively laying off the staff, and yet, you were hired.” I paused. “With embalmings going down, why did he hire you? Why couldn’t he just do the work himself?”

  She looked at me like she’d been blindsided. “I honestly don’t know. But now that you mention it, I can’t remember one embalming your father did by himself after I arrived. He insisted I do all of them. He said I needed the practice.”

  “I don’t know if it’s connected, but maybe he couldn’t perform for some reason. Or maybe he wanted or needed you at the funeral home. Give it some more thought.” I went to close the van door and turned back to Sam. “And be careful.”