NaNoWriMo 2009 part 6

And so the trio got settled in their new lives, keeping as low a profile as possible.  Miriam, having grown harder over the years, got a job at a local morgue under the false name Michael Barker to help pay rent.  Eva, too, got work to pay both rent and her addiction to literature (so much to catch up on!), though her line of work, waitressing, was not nearly so gruesome.  The two sisters even made friends with a blind man of about twenty years of age who lived in the flat across the hall, a young Charles Jones.  (Thanks to his blindness he was even able to sense Death, though he insisted on calling him Mor'imer, much to Death's everlasting annoyance!)  And so it seemed, for once, their lives began to settle into some degree of normalcy, or at least as normal as anyone's life can be when one is living with the Grim Reaper himself.
They even got a cat.  It was by complete chance that the mangy little black thing stumbled into their flat, but it had only one eye, as did Miriam, and so she of course took to the thing immediately, treating it like the child that the sisters would never have and naming it Inkling.  Inkling never took to Death though, hissing whenever he came near, and so Death always called him "Cat".  So, yes, as normal as life could possibly be for two vampire-hunting sisters having been transported forward in time and living with Death, so it was.  An example:
Eva, ever fond of any books she could get her hands on, came home one evening with a deep red hardbacked volume, and handed it to Death upon his arrival after reaping the last soul that day.
"It's a gift, silly," she told him, her smile as effervescent as ever.  "Selected works by Edgar Allen Poe.  He's an American poet who's rather fond of macabre themes.  I think you might like him."
"I can't read this," he handed it back to her.
"Why?" she sounded hurt.  "Do you not trust my judgement?"
"No, Eva, you misunderstand me.  My maker instilled in me the ability to pick up tongues as quickly as anyone could possibly imagine, but I never bothered learning the alphabets of any of those languages.  That'd be way too many symbols dancing about in my skull."
"...oh," Eva blushed.  "I'm sorry, I didn't realise.  Here, let me read one to you.  Pick one," she held open the volume, flipping the pages with her thumb.
"That one," Death said, not knowing what or where 'that one' was, not particularly caring as long as Eva read it in the musical tone of voice she always used when reading aloud.
"Ah," she smiled.  "'A Dream Within a Dream.'  Good choice, a poem that questions the difference between reality and fantasy."  She cleared her throat and began to read:
"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream? "
At length, neither said anything, neither moved, Eva may even have been holding her breath for all Death knew.
"Er," a voice came from the doorway, "Am I interruptin' a moment?"
Eva blushed, "No, not at all Charles, do come in."
"I can't stay long," the blind youth grinned, brushing his light brown hair out of his face, blind eyes a glittering hazel.  "Jus' wonderin' if Miriam's in tonight."
"No, they had a particularly gruesome suicide today to clean up for the poor bloke's funeral," Death answered.  "I should know, I watched the guy off himself.  Not pretty, death by Winchester rifle.  Not pretty by any measure of the word."
"'sa right shame," Charles shrugged.  "Well, er, tell 'er I dropped in I guess.  I'd rather wished to speak wi' 'er, but I s'pose it can wait til tomorrow."  He bowed out and Eva found herself giggling.
"I do believe our blind young friend has a crush."
"You live for this crap, don't you?" Death muttered, not understanding this woman before him and loving her all the more because of it.
"Ah, but remember when our relationship was that young?" she smiled, remembering it fondly.
"I suppose, but I can't say I remember it well.
"Death!"
"What?  I'm only being honest."
***
"Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out." ~ Anton Chekhov
***
Eva did not grow bored of this little theory of hers.  In fact, she did all she could to push Miriam towards Charles, but Miriam, not the flighty one thing she had been as a youth, would have none of it.  Miriam's life now was all death and corpses.  Death had never thought he would think this of Miriam Farthingale, once known as the pretty Farthingale sister, but he could relate.
"Bloody awful day t'day," Miriam muttered as she came in one day, tossing her coat on the floor and bending down to give Inkling a scratch behind the ears.  "I've dealt with vampires and lycanthropes and the lot, no problem, but some poor sod came in t'day havin' died of dysentary - I tell you, Eva, you don't know the meaning of the word revolting until you 'ave t' clean something like that up!"
Eva grimaced.  "I'd rather not hear all the gory details, if you please, Miriam."
"Jus' makin' conversation," Miriam shrugged.  "Where's Death?"
"I do believe he had a late night appointment in the orient, so it's just us two for now, my dear young sister."
"Oi, none o' tha'.  I'm no spry young thing anymore, an' neither are you!" Miriam sank down on the floor by the chair where her sister sat.  "What's tha' you're readin', Eva?"
"A secondhand copy of Lewis Carroll's 'Nursery Alice'," she replied, making a mark in the book with her pen.
"Why tha's a children's book!"
"I'm not merely reading, Miriam, I'm engaging in a bit of wordplay.  Look here, I've done an anagram with this passage: 'So she wondered away, through the wood, carrying the ugly little thing with her.  And a great job it was to keep hold of it, it wriggled about so.  But at last she found out that the proper way was to keep tight hold of itself foot and its right ear.'"
"So?" Miriam questioned.  "Wha' does tha' nonsense mean t' me?  I don't particularly care what some paedophile made up t' woo a ten year old."
"How crass of you," Eva muttered.  "But look what I've turned it into."
Wearily, the younger of the two sisters stood and read over the elder's shoulder, "'She wriggled about so!  But at last Dodgson and Bayne found a way to keep hold of the fat little whore.  I got a tight hold of her and slit her throat, left ear to right.  It was tough, wet, disgusting, too.  So weary of it, they threw up - Jack the Ripper.'  Eva, tha's disgustin'!  Your lover's rubbin' off on you."
"It's just a bit of fun," Eva shrugged.  "And you do know Charles Dodgson to be  the true name of Lewis Carroll, the author of this very book."
"So wha' are you sayin', tha' the paedophile is wooing children while slicin' an' dicin' their elder counterparts?"
"That's not what I said at all.  I was only having fun.  Besides, I'm sure someone as clever as he could think up quite a better pseudonym to kill under than Jack the Ripper.  What kind of a silly name is that?"
Miriam shrugged and both sisters, at a length, began to chuckle.  Little did either know what soon lay in store for them, for tracking vampires and time travel was only the beginning...
***
"A cat is a puzzle for which there is no solution."  ~Hazel Nicholson
***
Death was suspicious about that cat.  And it wasn't just because Inkling hissed at him whenever he got near the damned thing.  The cat would not eat or drink in front of anyone, and would often disappear for a whole day only to come back purring as if nothing had happened.
"You're being silly," Eva insisted one night as he recalled his troubles to her in the bed they shared.  (For the record, he slept naked.  So did she.)  "That's just how cats are.  They're mysterious, independent creatures, and Inkling's no different than any other cat.  Besides, Miriam seems to like him, and it's been so long since I've seen her happy with someone.  I only wish she would open her eyes to poor Charles..."
But Death didn't think Inkling was a normal cat, still.  Sure, animals tended not to be too fond of him anyway, but not like this.  Most animals reacted with fear towards him, understandably as most animals only knew him as the one that showed up right before their human died.  But not this fucking cat.  It thought it was better than him; Death just knew it.  
What's more, the damned thing's breath was positively rank.  It smelt of decay.  And Death wasn't just overreacting; he'd been around death and decay long enough to know what it smelt like, and Inkling's breath was but a small sample of that unforgettable stench.  Though that may have been Miriam's fault, he realised.  But still, it was unpleasant, and Death was sure something was going on in that fucking cat's head, something sinister.  It would only be a matter of time before he figured out what.
The cat hissed at him the next morning before Death stomped at it, sending the thing bolting to the other side of the room, as cats usually do when one stomps at them.
"That's right, run away, you wanker," Death glared from beneath his hood at the fucking cat.
***
"Allo?" Charles poked his head into the flat that day.  "Anyone in 'ere?  Your door was open, so I assumed-"
"Just me and that fucking cat," Death replied.
"Oh, allo Inkling!" The blind youth bent down to give the cat a scratch at the base of its tail before it sauntered out the door arrogantly.  "What are you doin' 'ere, Mor'imer?"
Death cringed at that name - that fucking name!  "Don't have another appointment until about five, so I thought I'd wait for Eva to get home.  She'll be here soon."
"Wha' about Miriam?" Charles walked to a chair and sat down.  "D'you know when she'll be in?"
"No, and I don't particularly care either."  It wasn't that Death had anything personal against Charles.  He really didn't care about anything that had nothing to do with either his job or Eva.
"Tha's alright, I'll wait." The blind youth smiled cheerfully, brushing his hair from his eyes.  "So... how was your day?"
"A boy in America broke his neck trying to perform fellatio on himself," Death deadpanned.  "And you?"
Charles smiled even wider and replied, "I was going for a ruby down the frog in the jar when the bone went. Cor blimey if it weren't the trouble. She'd had her barnet done and bought a new tit for tat now her plates were giving her jip. Well she gave me a real north and south full 'bout the porkies I told her 'bout the waitress that I had rested my mince pies on, so I puts on me new whistle and peckham rye 'nd we went down the rub a dub dub and she had a cuppa rosey and I had a jar. Sorted."
"...Well," the Grim Reaper finally replied after a long pause, "for all the languages I've learned over the millennia, I can honestly say that I have absolutely no idea what you just said."  Pausing again to pull a scroll out of his sleeve - his notes from that morning, as it were - Death checked something on the scroll before announcing, "As for Miriam, I think her boss from the morgue is coming over for dinner."
"Ah," Charles nodded.  "So then Miriam won't be in; rather, Michael Barker."
"Whatever," Death shrugged, rolling the scroll up again.
"Is tha' paper I 'ear?  Wha' is it tha' you're readin', Mor'imer?"
He lied, "Edgar Allen Poe."
"Oh, y'like 'im?  I was never into 'im m'self, but I 'ave a cousin who's fond of 'is short stories.  Which of 'is works are you reading?"
Glaring directly at Inkling, Death muttered, "'The Black Cat'."
That fucking cat hissed in reply.
Charles, not having anything better to do, decided to stick around for dinner, having been invited by Eva when she got in as long as helped set the table (despite his blindness and inability to grasp why more than one fork or spoon was needed at each setting).  He also helped cook, stirring soup and helping Eva carry the freshly-cooked meat pie she'd bought to the table.  It was only a few minutes after this that Miriam, talking in a falsely-low voice, entered the flat, leading her boss Daniel Shaw inside.  Death stood his ground in a corner by the table; Mr. Shaw wouldn't be able to see him quite yet.
"Hello," Eva smiled and curtsied.
"Mr. Shaw," Miriam said gruffly, "this is my, er..."
"Wife," Eva supplied, shooting Death an apologetic look.  Death shrugged in return.  What did he care what a soon-to-be-dead man thought of his beloved?
"My wife," Miriam agreed, "Mrs. Eva Barker."
Daniel Shaw raised an eyebrow, surprised about being introduced to the lady of the house rather than the other way around until Miriam hastily added:
"Neé Farthingale."
"A Farthingale girl?" Now both of Daniel's caterpillar-like eyebrows shot up.  "Why, she's much too highbred for someone like you, Michael!"
"Who," Eva quipped, "being loved, is poor?"
"Oscar Wilde!  I'm impressed, Mrs. Barker!"  Daniel smiled graciously, taking his seat next to Charles.  Miriam sat across from him, not taking her eyes off her boss, and Eva next to her sister like a dutiful wife should.  "And who is this young boy on my left, your son?"
"Oh, no, I never did have children," Eva answered.  At least that was the truth.  "This is our neighbour Charles Jones."
"I can't see, so since me dear old mum died, the Barkers 'ave been takin' care o' me from across th' 'all," Charles nodded, pointing to his sightless eyes as he faced the general direction where Daniel sat.
"That's a shame," Daniel replied, "about your mother, that is, not about the Barkers' generosity."
"It isn't much of a shame for you," the blind boy laughed.  "Your business bein' th' one tha' embalmed 'er!  Did a damn good job of it at tha'!"
"It's not difficult to learn, my lad," Daniel took a big swig of the ale Eva poured him.  "I tell you, one good thing about that recent war in America - their necessity to keep the bodies of soldiers preserved in time to get home for the funeral led to advancements that pioneered the field and my job a hell of a lot easier!"
"Cor, th' bloodthirstiness of those ruddy Yanks was good for somethin' after all!" Charles exclaimed in his thick Cockney accent.
"Oh, yes, much easier now," the embalmer laughed heartily, slurping his soup up from the soup spoon.  Miriam watched wholeheartedly the whole time, smiling everytime Daniel laughed.  Eva swallowed nervously, glad Charles couldn't see the object of his affection swooning over someone else.  Daniel Shaw continued:
"First we have to clean up the body - Michael here is damn good at that, that one eye of his sees way more than my two I think! - then put it on the table, which isn't easy if the deceased is morbidly obese, or bloated with water from the Thames.  Or both.  Then we place the head on a block so the body is slanted downward, in what's called the supine anatomical position.  After that we have to strip it of clothes and jewelry and cover the genitalia with a modesty cloth, as is proper - only a mother should see such a thing for longer than a few seconds.  Then we massage the corpse to relieve rigour mortis and sew the eyes and mouth shut while making it look as if it's still living and merely asleep if the body's to be displayed in a wake.  And then comes the fun part!"
Charles looked away, not wishing to be impolite and interrupt, but not really wanting to hear Mr. Shaw's definition of 'fun part' either.  Though if anything at least hearing it would make him admire Miriam more - she was so much braver than he!
Mr. Shaw went on with, "We inject embalming chemicals - what we morticians like to call our secret recipe, though really it's mostly formeldahyde - into the right side of the neck, the cartoid artery.  While those fluids are going in, the blood's draining through a hole we cut in the jugular vein just like this," he cut into his meat pie in a very precise way.  Even though Charles didn't see it, he still pushed his mostly unfinished pie away.  "The whole process takes several hours, and then we wash the body again-"
"Oh, come now," Eva smiled demurely on poor Charles' behalf, almost getting a sick, voyeuristic pleasure out of playing the role of a good wife, "My husband is surrounded by death all day at work; we certainly don't need it in our home!"
Death had to suppress a laugh at the statement.
"Mi- er, Michael?" Charles spoke up softly.  "You really 'ave to do all tha'?  'Ow d'you eat dinner each night?"
Miriam shrugged, taking small, womanly bites of her food whenever her boss's eyes were on her.  "I've seen much worse.  Besides, everyone dies, so what I work with is completely natural... wouldn't you say, Mr. Shaw?"
Daniel agreed and Miriam's face flushed invonluntarily as she tried to hide her smile behind a forkful of beef.  Luckily, if Daniel Shaw noticed his employee's behaviour, he didn't say anything.
"Worse then that dysentary case last week?" Mr. Shaw replied, his thick eyebrows ever waggling.  "Now you have me intrigued, Michael!"
Miriam smirked, her face even redder.  "Oh, have I not told you?"
"I'm curious as well," Charles admitted, now feeling really shy.
Here, she smirked even wider, placing her hands on the table and lowering her face so that the shadows from the candelabra made it look... well, it was an effect, and Eva had to give her little sister credit for that.  "Tell me, you two, have you ever heard of... vampires?  Well?  Do you believe?"
"Why, tha's absurd, tha' is!" Charles protested, but Daniel was nodding with vigour.
"I've often said I won't touch a corpse if it has bite marks on the neck - go on, Michael.  Please, go on!"
"Well!" Miriam exclaimed.  "Back in Hereford, where I met my, er... my wife, there was a bit of an epidemic going around.  At the time, we thought it to be tuberculosis - ah, the consumption, as you would know it - except that it was spreading between social circles, between people who would have had next to no contact with one another.  And graves were opening, and there were rumours flying about seeing the dead walk the earth, looking much healthier and fatter than they had when they were alive.  I paid no attention to this until my very own little sister came down with the dreaded consumption herself!"
"Why, Michael," Mr. Daniel Shaw interrupted, "you never told me you had a little sister."
"I'm still grieving, I s'pose, so I don't mention her often," Miriam quickly replied.  "Her name was Al- er, Elizabeth.  Called her Ellie, we did.  Anyway, Ellie, she knew what was happening to her, and she made me promise - made me swear to the lord above - that when she turned, I would do all in my power to stop her from spreading this retched curse any further.  And wouldn't you know it, but a month later little Ellie, at only fourteen years of age, died of this disease and was put into the ground.  And just as I'd promised her on her deathbed, I went and dug her right up, I did, and there she was, fatter than I'd ever seen her, the fresh blood of her victims trickling from the corner of her mouth."
"Weren't you scared?" the blind boy whispered, awed.
"Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't," Miriam crossed her arms.  "But I'd made a promise, I had, and I was not about to let my little sister become the walking undead, stalking the night, some godless creature out for the blood of the living!"
Eva suppressed a grin.  Her sister was getting very into this.
"So," Miriam continued, "I dug her up.  I couldn't have been more than sixteen at the time.  And with my father's own hunting knife, the very knife I've used at work to slit the jugular, Mr. Shaw, I pierced her very heart.  And oh, how she screamed, how she screamed in terror!  And the blood, the blood Mr. Shaw - I was positively drenched in it, nearly suffocated by the awful coppery smell!  And when that deed was done, just to be sure, I severed her head.  It was that night when I truly became a man, sir.  I burned my clothes the next morning, in fact, and from that day on, devoted myself to hunting the undead in Hereford.  It got better over time - as an embalmer, you yourself know that over time the shock wears off.  But while I was getting better and more quick at such a job, the vampires were getting smarter and wising up to what I - a mere human boy - was doing to their godless kind!"
"So you moved here, of course!" Mr. Shaw realised, taking a bite of his pie but not paying attention, not chewing because Miriam's story enthralled him so.
"But of course," Miriam nodded.  "I couldn't put my s- er, my wife in danger, and those horrid creatures wanted me dead.  So I left, though I assure you before I did that I had done all I could by mysel- Mr. Shaw, are you alright?"
Daniel was grasping at his own throat.  Having forgotten to chew, he'd swallowed a morsel too large and could not breathe.
"He's choking!" Eva realised.  "Oh my God, someone do something!"
"Like what?" Miriam cried out.  "Oh, don't die, Mr. Shaw, please don't die!"
"Miriam-" Charles started.  But by then it was too late.  Lips turning blue, Mr. Shaw fell to the ground.  Swiftly, Death moved to remove the fresh soul, laughing darkly as he did so.
"That's not funny," Eva chided him.  "By all means Death, you should have warned us."
"Can't.  You would have saved him, and I would have gotten in a lot of trouble.  You can't upset the order of the universe," Death looked at the bright white soul in his hand.  "It's a shame, isn't it, Mr. Shaw?  Well, time to go release you to the winds, I suppose.  I'll be right back."
As Death calmly teleported outside, Inkling jumped through the window and dropped a dead rodent on the table right by the dead man's plate.
"Wonderful," Eva rolled her eyes and began to clean up as Charles comforted poor, distressed Miriam.