The Dying Kind

Carina’s glassy, deflated eyes stared up at the ceiling. They’d once been a vibrant blue that my mother had adored: the color of the Mediterranean. But now they were iced over, opaque. I closed them for the last time and breathed a shaky sigh.

Death didn’t bother me. I had a steady stomach from nearly ten years of practice. But I could imagine that many other morticians could feel uncomfortable in my position. The dead shared secrets, after all. And, even if I’d been deeply envious of my little sister, I’d never have willingly invaded her privacy like this.

But Mom had insisted. She’d thrown herself into a tizzy to hear that an autopsy was mandatory, given the circumstances of Carina’s death: missing for three days, found alone in the wilderness, and with copious bruising along her arms and legs.

Thankfully, I couldn’t legally perform an autopsy on my own sister. I’d been spared that. But the medical examiner determined Cari’s cause of death to be hypothermia. The police determined that she’d been caught unaware by a pop-up of terrible weather. They’d all sounded bored by the result.

“I guess it happens often,” I murmured, taking up Cari’s makeup sponges and dotting primer upon her chilly skin. “But you had a habit of properly estimating everything. So why’d you let this place get the best of you?”

My whisper broke.

“Why even come here?”

Cari’s thin, pink lips remained still.

I glanced around the family-owned establishment where I’d been permitted to temporarily setup shop. The place wasn’t terrible, though not as cozy as the one at home in Arizona. But that was because I’d decorated that one with stickers and miniatures. All in all, not too different, I supposed.

“Why Alaska of all places?” I murmured, dabbing concealer into the hollows of her eyes.

“Why speak to her?” a new voice asked.

I leaped to my feet, my stool skittering across the floor and clamoring against the metal cabinets with a bang.

“Sorry...” the tone was masculine.

I whirled to find a man standing in the doorway. He held a cooler in one hand and rested the other against the door frame. He dipped his chin as if embarrassed.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“The door was open,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll go.”

“No, it’s alright, can I help you?”

“Oh, I was just...” he shrugged, swinging the cooler, “...bringing lunch to a friend. I dropped it off in the fridge so I’ll just... be going.”

His long, timber-brown hair was wavy and unkempt, but had a delightful softness to it nonetheless. I felt the sudden, unbidden urge to run my fingers through it. But he was turning away already.

“I think it helps them,” I answered.

He stopped.

“Speaking to them,” I clarified, “Doesn’t make sense, I know. It probably helps me more than them. But I’d want someone to care for me properly, even after I died, so I try to do the same for them. Give them a little small-talk.”

He winced, then swallowed, “And... how do you know what they like to talk about?”

“Usually I just guess, but,” my voice caught and I sniffled, looking down at my charge, “This one’s my sister.”

His head jerked back around, his eyes probing as he examined me. Eyes that were an unusual golden-brown like honey. They flicked down to my sister and, for a moment, I felt a shiver of jealousy. Even in death, she was prettier to look at with her fuller-figure and flawless golden skin; wasn’t she?

His eyes returned to me and I flushed with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, brows arched in agony.

“It’s not your fault,” I shook my head. “She was always adventurous. Usually, she was really well-prepared and knew her way around the woods.”

“You don’t?”

“Only the concrete jungle,” I chuckled.

A quizzical expression pinched his fingers momentarily.

“I’m from Phoenix, Arizona,” I clarified. “I work as a mortician there.”

He nodded, “A city.”

“Yeah,” I smiled softly at the simple response. “Though, I saw that this place was hiring. I was thinking I’d apply and see what comes of it.”

His brow furrowed.

“But... why Alaska?” he echoed my earlier sentiment.

“That’s what I’d like to find out,” I whispered, staring down into my sister’s peaceful face. “Such little infrastructure. Such high cost of living. And it’s so cold here. So unforgiving that even someone like her couldn’t...”

The ache of tears finally dipped into my voice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again, his tall frame seeming to sag a bit with defeat.

“What?” I chuckled dryly, “Are you governor of this place?”

“No...”

I frowned, “Sorry, I’m Vela, by the way. And you?”

“Lucan-”

The tinkling of a bell at the front made him jump, stealing the other words from his lips.

“Thank you,” he mumbled quickly, then bobbed his head, “I’ve gotta go. Sorry, bye.”

I blinked, confused, but he’d already swept into the hall and out of sight.

~

“Alaska? Really?”

“Her sister died there, though. It’s like settin’ up house in a graveyard.”

“I know, right? I could never.”

“Well, she is a mortician. Maybe that’s her thing.”

“It’s horrible really...”

Mom’s friends had always been ruthless but-

“...she overlooks her living family and hangs out with just the dead ones?”

“Poor Shelia. I know she didn’t raise such an ungrateful child. Just look how Carina turned out: such a bright young woman!”

“Sometimes they want to turn out dull and dismal.”

“Yeah, what can you do?”

“But acting out? Moving away right when her mother needs her most? That’s not dull, that’s malicious. That’s just spitting in the face of the woman who raised you.”

I should say something.

But, per usual, I stood in the corner eavesdropping on other conversations at my sister’s wake, merely imagining one-hundred different things to say. Even if I’d miraculously found the cahones to speak up, I wouldn’t. Carina deserved that courtesy. Even though Mom lived less than an hour away from me, it’d been Carina who’d call me once a week to check in. Carina who’d send me postcards from whatever park she was ranging at.

It wasn’t her fault Mom preferred her.

Traitorous resentment still clenched my gut at the thought.

“How’re you holding up?”

“Anna,” I sighed, setting down the whiskey I’d been nursing to give her a hug. “Thank you for coming. I’m doing okay.”

“You look okay,” the older woman agreed, then pursed her lips, “But quitting my practice and moving to the North Pole screams ‘midlife crisis’.”

“If this is a midlife crisis, then at least I’ll die before my face wrinkles like yours,” I chuckled.

Anna clicked her tongue, smirking. She was an unflappable woman from her crinkled crows-feet all the way down to the salt-and-pepper military bun at the nape of her neck. But I’d learned my gallows humor from her. She wasn’t as stoic as she seemed.

“I got a line in my face for each time you’ve called me old,” she accuses as I pick up my drink once more, “And a fresh gray hair for each bad joke that leaves your lips.”

“Besides,” I corrected, following her to the self-serve bar in the corner of my mother’s living room, “It’s not the North Pole. Just close to it. That’s all. You can visit me during the summers.”

“So my joints can get frosty?” she shorted, “They creak well enough as it is, thanks.”

“I’ll miss you,” I confessed.

Her face softened and those dancing green eyes melted with affection, “I’ll miss you too. But Funeral Manager is a career advancement I can’t give you, though you truly did give my son a run for his money - thank you for that.”

“He’s a hardworker in his own right.”

“Having you nipping at his heels kept him sharp though,” she chuckled, then her eyes glittered, “It’s a shame that tryst in the storage room didn’t go anywhere.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes, “Can’t believe you still bring that up. Do you like remembering your own son’s-”

“I like the idea of grandchildren,” she scoffed, “So I’m not about to get squeamish on the details of how they’re made. You taught that boy a lot of useful things, and not just about cleaning up his suturing technique. I’ll tell the next woman to send you a thank you card.”

“Speaking of sutures,” I smiled, quickly pivoting, “I’ve got my work cutout for me up north.”

“You’ll be doing a lot of teaching, right? You’ve got two rookies to look after.”

“That too, but I noticed that the medical examiner’s autopsy was a botch-job,” I scowled, “They should be the ones under my supervision. If I get any more bodies in a state like that, they’ll be hearing from me.”

“And what state was that?”

“It was like they’d forgotten to do something, ripped open her stitches, and then redid them,” I grumbled, glaring into the wake at large. “Haphazardly. Her torso had more damage than necessary too.”

“I assume they didn’t make note,” Anna scoffed, “Did they think you wouldn’t notice?”

“They did seem alarmed when I stated that I was the deceased’s sister upon pickup.”

“People don’t like acknowledging their mistakes. And many folks don’t feel that the dead have rights anymore so they don’t feel the need to apologize anyway.”

I nodded and took another swig of whiskey. My throat lit on fire.

“Will you write me?” I asked.

“Mailing letters?” she snorted. “What’re you, a boomer?”

“I don’t have Cari to do it with anymore...”

Anna nodded, rubbing my shoulder, “’Course I will.”