A Demon Inside

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hunter wondered if Maguire Funeral Home employed the same decorators as his grandmother. As he entered he noticed the same preponderance of heavy draperies in muted tones of beige and brown, thick carpets, polished wood and brass, and French impressionist oil paintings on the wall. It was as if the same mind had created the décor of the funeral parlor and the home he had grown up in, minus of course the urns filled with gladiolas and the endless floral arrangements that spilled over into the foyer of the funeral parlor.

He wanted to look anywhere but into the main parlor. Oh yes, look at the stained glass windows! Haven’t they done a great job with the recessed lighting? And that crown molding is to die for. Even Hunter had to smile at the macabre pun of his last thought.

But the cherry wood coffin refused to let Hunter look elsewhere, and eventually his gaze came to rest upon it. And it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Nana wore the peach silk dress she had loved, and in her withered hands she clutched a Bible and a rosary. Hunter moved closer, taking in his grandmother, lying atop a bed of cream satin. Her thin hair was perfectly coiffed into an upsweep she never would have considered in life. And the makeup! Lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, rouge…Nana had eschewed all these things. But she did look good.

She just didn’t look like Nana.

“It’s not really her, you know.”

Hunter turned to see a tall red-haired woman standing next to him. She wore a tasteful black suit, pearls, and a comforting smile. She was made up almost as carefully as the corpse in the box. This was Samantha Douglas, the funeral director who had helped Hunter make all the arrangements.

“What?”

“It’s just her shell, you know. She’s with us…but that’s not her.”

Hunter knew the woman was trying to offer him some solace, but her words were having the opposite effect, and he suddenly felt she stood too close. He didn’t want to smell her Chanel perfume or to note the blue of her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

Hunter hurried away from the casket, trying to take several deep breaths. His grandmother had a lot of friends, and he would need to keep it together for a few hours, no matter how understanding he assumed people would be. He wished he could simply go home. But how would that look?

A gust of chilled autumn air came into the room as the double doors of the foyer opened. There were voices and laughter, which quickly stilled. Hunter looked out to see a group of old women his grandmother’s age huddled together in the entry, removing cashmere coats and Hermès scarves. He wondered if there was a bit of triumph in their sorrow as they realized that, even though one of their own had fallen, they had each lived to see another day.

Two of the women spied him standing a few feet away from the coffin. He was afraid for a moment they were headed straight toward him to offer their condolences or, worse, hugs. But they veered close to the casket as they approached, and silently they took Nana in. One of the women stooped awkwardly to place herself on the kneeler in front of the casket, crossed herself, and bowed her head in prayer. Once she stood, both women touched Nana’s hands and leaned close to whisper to her.

And then they stepped away, smiling, and approached Hunter. How can they smile? Wasn’t Nana their friend? Why, they’re completely dry-eyed! Hunter realized then that visitation like this was probably a commonplace event in their lives, and he felt a little twinge of remorse for thinking that way. He tried to affix a smile to his own face as they approached.

Hunter remembered suddenly the names of the women. One was Mrs. Albert Pikes, who had been widowed decades ago and had never remarried. With her was her friend, known only to him as Miss Huxley. The pair looked like twin sisters and they were seldom seen apart.

Mrs. Pikes threw her arms around him and gripped him in a surprisingly strong hug. He was enveloped in a cloud of talcum and old-woman perfume. She pulled away and held Hunter at arm’s length, regarding him. “You poor, poor dear! She was a saint! An angel! You must miss her so.”

Hunter nodded.

“We played bridge right up to the end, didn’t we?”

She looked to Miss Huxley, who looked relieved at getting the opportunity to speak.

“Oh yes. She was quite the shark.” Miss Huxley let a titter escape.

Hunter noticed how her dentures seemed just a little too large for her. As if she’d read his mind, she covered her mouth with her hand.

“I didn’t know,” Hunter whispered, although he did. He would always secrete himself inside his room when the ladies came over for lunch and bridge. Unkindly he had thought of their laughter as cackling.

Miss Huxley stepped forward to give him a perfunctory hug. She stepped back. “I’m awfully sorry, Hunter.”

“Thank you. It’s nice of you to come. How are you, Miss Huxley?”

“Peachy!”

Mrs. Pikes nudged her. “Oh! Well, we will miss our friend.” The women exchanged glances.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Mrs. Pikes asked.

Hunter glanced at his grandmother, wondering if it was true, if she was really with them, if she could hear the words they spoke. “I’m doing all right, thanks. I think Nana is probably better off now.”

“She isn’t suffering anymore,” Miss Huxley said. “That cancer is a bitch.”

Mrs. Pikes nudged her friend once more and more forcefully. “Well, you give us a call if you need anything, young man. I think we’ll go over there and have a seat.”

“I will. Thanks again for coming.”

More and more people were coming in, and the funeral parlor was beginning to take on the attributes of a party. There was a chorus of voices engaged in animated conversations, and almost everyone had to take a moment to offer their sympathy to the poor grandson who had been left to fend for himself in the world. All of them were old and many not shy about asking about his trust fund and what he planned to do with the house in Evanston, telling him it was flat out too big for a young guy like him. And then there were the comments he overheard as people stepped forward to view the body.

“She looks just like she’s sleeping.”

Sure, if Nana slept in a ball gown, made up like a streetwalker!

“She’s not suffering anymore.”

Of course she isn’t. She’s dead; you twit!

Hunter felt a headache start to press in, the pain sharp, as though someone was poking needles into the backs of his eyes. He was seized by conflicting urges to break down and sob or to vomit.

When he saw old family friends, the McCarthys, headed his way, he wanted to run. Instead he plastered a smile to his face and held out his hands.

Mrs. McCarthy said, “Oh, Hunter, I am so sorry!”

Hunter took her hands. “Thank you.” Mr. McCarthy stood behind them, looking at the body. To break the silence, Hunter said, “She had been in a lot of pain.”

“Oh, aren’t you the brave one.” Mrs. McCarthy squeezed his hand, and her husband stepped forward at last to grasp Hunter’s shoulder.

“Come with us to look at her.”

Hunter was stunned by Mrs. McCarthy’s request. Other than the first glance, he had avoided looking at his grandmother throughout the visitation. It had been easy with so many people coming up to him to offer kind words. But how could he refuse? Yet he thought seeing Nana again, now that he was fatigued and his defenses were down, would result in tears. And he did not want to cry in front of these people.

But what else could he do? He followed the McCarthys over to where Nana lay. He felt dizzy as Mrs. McCarthy marveled at how good she looked, how beautiful. And when Mr. McCarthy agreed, saying “how fresh” Nana looked, Hunter was sure he would vomit. He tried, with force of will, to hold down the acid bile at the back of his throat. He realized Mrs. McCarthy was speaking to him.

“Aren’t you going to look at her, dear?”

Hunter met Mrs. McCarthy’s questioning gaze, noticing cataracts clouded her blue eyes. It was creepy. He tried to turn his head and saw his grandmother’s body in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t force himself to turn his head. Why did they think he had to look at her again?

“What’s the matter, son?” Mr. McCarthy asked.

Cold beads of sweat broke out on Hunter’s forehead and upper lip. A quick glance in the gilt-framed mirror above the fireplace confirmed what he already knew, that he had turned white, almost greenish. He didn’t know from where his next words came, but he spit them out at the McCarthys. “Are you enjoying this?”

He hurried from the funeral home, ignoring the stunned faces and stalled conversations as he passed. The chill early evening air outside was a shock. There was shrubbery at the side of the building and near those he threw up. He panted, sweating, until the retching stopped, eyes blurred by tears, the acid burning in his nose and throat. He gripped the brick wall with both hands for support.

Trembling, Hunter drew in several quivering breaths, trying by force of will to calm himself. He had closed his eyes, leaning against the building, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s been too much. You need to go home.”

Hunter turned to see Jay Blackstock standing on the walk beside him, dark eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

“Really. Doctor’s orders.” He smiled.

Hunter rubbed at his mouth and reddened eyes. “I’m okay. I need to get back in there. I have all those people to talk to.” Just the thought caused his stomach to lurch.

Jay c****d his head as if Hunter had said something in another language or had proposed skinny-dipping in icy Lake Michigan, four blocks east.

“Did you want to come back in with me? Or were you just leaving?”

Jay reached out to touch Hunter’s face. “Who are you kidding, Hunter? Not me. Those people will be just fine without you. They hang out at funeral homes. They run into their friends there…Unfortunately some of them aren’t as talkative as others.”

Hunter surprised himself by laughing. He realized he was shivering. Jay put a comforting arm around him, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re cold.”

“Thanks.”

The two men regarded each other. Then Jay said, “Look, I know it sounds phony and insincere, but I kind of know what you’re going through. I’ve lost someone close to me. Who hasn’t? But I know the toll it can take.” He stared down at the ground, rubbing at a piece of gravel with the toe of his shoe. He looked back up at Hunter and smiled. “Your grandmother is the first one I’ve lost. I just finished up my residency. Dr. Paskala took such good care of her, and then I come along, and in just a few months, look what happens.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The cancer had spread. Even Dr. Paskala couldn’t have saved her. She was eighty-five. We all have to die sometime.” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Enough with the platitudes. Did you mean what you said?” His voice quivered just a little with the question.

“What was that?”

“That I could go home?” Hunter’s gaze went to the front porch of the funeral home. “I don’t know if I have it in me to go back in there.”

Jay drew closer, engaged Hunter’s gaze. “Hunter. You do what you need to do. You have the funeral tomorrow. You need to rest. There’s not one person—not one—in there who will not understand if you just go home.” Jay paused for a moment as if lost in thought. “And you know what else? I don’t wanna go back in there either. I’m driving you home.” He dropped his hands from Hunter’s shoulders and stepped back, drawing his keys out of his pocket. “Come on. I’m freezing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hunter, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. I don’t do things I don’t wanna do. I’m smart that way. Now will you just come on? My car has heated seats.”

Hunter followed him to the parking lot.

When they pulled up in front of the redbrick driveway fronting Nana’s house—Hunter would always think of it as Nana’s house—Jay cut the ignition and turned to Hunter. Even in the dark, his eyes were full of concern. “I don’t know if I made this clear, but I do want you to know, I am awfully sorry for your loss. I know how big a part your grandmother played in your life. And from what I hear, she was quite a lady.”

Hunter grinned. “Quite a character is more like it.” Hunter turned to look out the window—and to hide his tears. He sniffed and batted them away, turning back to Jay. “Thanks for the ride. Do you, um, do you want to come in?” Hunter pulled at a loose thread at the wrist of his jacket.

“I’ll take a rain check.” He gripped Hunter’s chin in his hand, gently turning Hunter’s head so their eyes met. “For sure.” He let go of Hunter’s chin. “But right now, you need to make yourself some warm milk and crawl into bed. This kind of thing takes so much out of you. You need to rest.”

“Is that the doctor talking?”

“That’s your friend talking. Now scat!” Jay reached down to unlock Hunter’s door.

Hunter started to exit the car, and Jay grabbed his arm. He handed him a prescription bottle. “Ambien. Just in case.”

Hunter took the bottle from him. “Thank you so much.” He stepped away from the car and before closing the door said, “I am awfully tired.”

“Of course you are. Sleep. Good night, Hunter.”

“Good night.” Hunter closed the door, stepping farther back as Jay pulled out of the driveway. He watched until the red taillights disappeared where Sheridan Road dead-ended at South Boulevard. Inside the house, Hunter leaned against the door and thought how he had never seen eyes so brown.