The continue.
Chapter 4
Michelle’s Discoveries
Rescuers were carefully removing Austin, Michelle,
and Angelica from the damaged car, while a police
officer gathered information from Steve, Chris, and
other witnesses.
“This girl is lucky!” Michelle heard a paramedic
say; she did not open her eyes, but found strength to
respond. “I am okay.”
The teen tried to remember what had happened to
her. A slide show of pictures rolled through her head.
She was simultaneously staring at a dead cat and
watching windshield pieces pop out of her skin. And
the nightmare had returned. It had been absurd, but
not easy to forget. She tried to recall all the details of
her experience, but her thoughts were scattering like
roaches under a spotlight.
The ambulance transported her to a local hospital.
She kept her eyes shut and listened to the sounds
around her. In the intensive care unit, a doctor checked
her pulse and requested an MRI exam. Michelle wasn’t
sure why; she had no discomfort whatsoever.
At first, her heart crumbled with fear. She felt like
she was in a casket being buried alive. However, the
MRI machine made a light tapping sound, which had
a strange hypnotizing effect on the girl. She suddenly
found herself falling and plunging into a cloud of
white, soft marshmallow. A different universe was
kidnapping her consciousness again.
Michelle found herself lying on the hard surface of a
cot with silver belts strapping down her body. She was
in a small and bright room without visible windows,
light fixtures, or doors.
A tennis ball-sized object appeared in front of her
face and slowly got bigger. Michelle did not find
her own reflection in the mirror-like surface, but
recognized Tavy’s familiar features.
A red beam scanned Tavy’s head and then the ball
changed shape into a flat rectangle like a plasma TV. It
then made a whistling noise and said with a metallic
voice, “Tavy from Cassiopeia. Prisoner number
twenty-eight. You are convicted of manslaughter.”
Rocks’s handsome face with green hair appeared on
the mirrored surface.
Tavy clenched his teeth and fists. “Who are you?”
The plasma TV melted back into a ball and
answered with the same metallic voice. “I am your
Sentence Keeper. My duty is to control the quality of
your rehabilitation.”
“Is Alrami dead?”
The ball shifted again into a TV state, and Alrami’s
portrait appeared on the Keeper’s surface. “Your
victim is in a coma. If she and your unborn son survive
your attack, you will not face the death penalty after
your rehabilitation. “
Tavy banged his fists on the cot. “How do you know
my ex-girlfriend carries my child?”
“We ran genetic scans, Tavy. You are aware that the
humans of Cassiopeia suffer infertility, and a natural
conception is rare. Congratulations.”
Alrami’s portrait disappeared from the Keeper’s
surface, and Michelle studied Tavy’s reflection. His
eyes teared up, but he did not say a word. The thoughts
about fatherhood were ripping his jealous soul apart.
If I had known about the pregnancy, would I have let
her be happy with another man? Tavy wondered. The
thoughts spun rapidly like living pulsars in the universe.
Фантастика
С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА № 2 (91) 2016 год
Chapter 5
“My Nightmares Have Me!”
Michelle opened her eyes. The white-popcorn
ceiling of the hospital room welcomed her. The dream
was over. The other reality in which she was an alienmurderer
with amethyst hair and eyes had stepped
aside again.
The girl’s memory flooded her with pictures like an
avalanche. She had caused a car wreck! Everything
flashed through her head: the SUV ramming her
car, the broken windshield, Austin’s scream, and the
ambulance.
Michelle moved her toes and fingers, finding no
discomfort in any part of her body. She touched her
face and eyes, nails and fingers.
Her new world was a small hospital room with a
TV mounted on a beige wall, two wooden chairs, and
a restroom. The art in cheap frames portrayed dull,
boring landscapes. White, vertical blinds shaded the
hot summer from her.
In the corner, Fred sat on a chair and bit his nails.
Michelle had never seen such a habit in him. Someone
knocked on the wooden door of the hospital room.
Fred stood up.
A doctor came in. He was a tall man with gray hair
and a mustache like that of the famous artist, Salvador
Dali, but thicker and snow-white. Michelle thought
to herself that if the doctor grew a beard, he would
look like Santa Claus.
“The sleeping beauty is awake!”
“Hello, Doctor. Hi, Fred. What’s going on?”
“Hello, hello! I am Dr. Smith.”
Fred made a few shy steps toward the surgeon. They
shook hands. “Fred Redmond. I am her stepfather.
How is she?”
Dr. Smith looked at his paperwork and answered.
“Mister Redmond, you should not worry! Michelle
is very lucky. She suffered no broken bones or
concussions.”
“How long will she stay in the hospital?”
“Don’t worry, we should release her tomorrow.”
“What happened?” Michelle propped herself up in
the hospital bed and hugged her pillow.
“You killed your brother! That’s what happened!”
Fred cried, and stormed out of the room.
Thoughts raced through the girl’s head at the speed
of light. Michelle felt as if someone had punched her
in the stomach, or that she had had a tooth pulled
without painkillers. The next breath was a challenge.
The girl could only blink stupidly in her shock.
Little Austin is gone because of me? Oh, God,
our last conversation was so dark and stupid, about
dead cats and maggots! Michelle tried to remember
brother’s last words, his face, but only a memory of
a dark dead cat stuck in her head like a big painful
splinter.
“I will be back soon.” The doctor promised and
followed Fred.
In a few minutes, two nurses came to the room and
introduced themselves. They said aloud what they
were going to do to their patient. The nurses checked
Michelle’s blood pressure, her body temperature, and
her pulse with care and tenderness. Regardless, the
girl found all the procedures annoying. Did they have
any idea she was the murderer of her little brother?
Fred had not said anything about her mom. Why? If
her mom were all right, she would have visited her
daughter already. None of her questions had clear
answers. Michelle’s thoughts were like fat, stupid flies
stuck on a sticky flytrap.
As soon as the nurses left, someone knocked on the
door. It was a familiar knock, a drum roll.
“Steve, come in.”
“Hello, are you all right?”
“How did you find out about the hospital?”
Steve took a seat by her bed, grabbed her hand, and
took a deep breath. “We are the ones who crashed
into your car. I called 911. I am so sorry, Michelle.”
“How is my mom?”
“She is in the ICU. That’s all I know.”
“Oh, God. Steve, this is entirely my fault!”
Steve had never been in the position of comforter,
and he was not sure how to console his girlfriend after
the accident. So, he didn’t.
“…I have to go,” he blurted out awkwardly. “You
rest. I will come visit you at home soon. Bye.” The
boy got up, kissed her forehead, and left hastily. For a
moment, Michelle sat in stunned silence.
“Bye,” Michelle echoed finally, as she got up and went
to her restroom. She turned the water on and broke
into tears. Her ordinary and dull life had broken apart
like her pearl necklace. Life would never be the same
with little Austin gone. She had loved everything
about her little brother. Austin had liked to draw on
her mirror with her lipstick; he had worn her bras on
his head and thrown plush animals from the top bunk
on the floor. He had been the most important link
in the family because he made everyone happier and
closer. How would she live without him? The accident
had probably broken Fred’s heart. She was afraid to
face him again and look into his cold eyes.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
While washing her face, the girl jumped when
familiar features with amethyst hair and eyes appeared
in the mirror. Michelle stared at her hallucination.
The antihero from the bloody nightmares were now
leaking into reality somehow!
Austin’s dead, and now I’m going crazy.
Michelle left the bathroom and opened a window.
The light of the moon brightened the dark sky; bats
were hunting while crickets and cicadas were singing.
How did it get so late? The girl went back to bed and
fell asleep.
Early in the morning, the nurse on duty came to
check Michelle’s pulse, body temperature, and blood
pressure. The nurse warned her every time before
she touched her, did not ask any questions, and left
quietly.
Dr. Smith came in a little later in the morning with
a smile on his Santa Claus face. The girl studied his
smooth youthful skin, which had almost no wrinkles,
no large pores, or dark aging spots. It was a quite
unusual appearance for most people his apparent age.
Michelle wondered how doctors could find the
strength to be friendly and positive. A surgeon’s life
seemed like a steeplechase race with patients, wounds,
woes, and deaths serving as barriers. They must know
the secret of survival in such stressful situations.
“Good morning! Did you have a good rest?”
“No. No, I didn’t,” she answered, and then everything
spilled out of her mouth. “I have nightmares. Actually,
to be precise, my nightmares have me. When I sleep, I
am trapped in a maniac’s body, and I kill people. One
of the victims looks like my twin…” Her voice trailed
off as she realized what she had said. “Do you think I
need to talk to a psychologist?”
Dr. Smith took a seat by her and smiled. His voice
with its aura of wisdom and energy had inexplicable
calming effect on Michelle. “I used to suffer from
nightmares, too. I was afraid to fall asleep and enter
the same crazy world. Sometimes, I would dream
about surgeries I performed; every moment would
match reality. I would wake up tired and sick from
patients chasing me—especially the ones I did not
save. I wish I had power to save every single patient.”
“How are you doing now?”
“I read books by a wonderful author, Carlos
Castaneda. Other authors have written about
managing nightmares, too. One of them is the Russian
mystic and writer, Vadim Zeland. They are unique
minds, bursting with opinions about dream control
and overpowering your nightmares.” The older man
beamed. “Amazing, huh?”
“What do you mean?” Michelle was astonished.
“Well, how can I explain better? Let’s say you are
asleep and you are stuck in a nightmare. Now you
can wake up in your dream, snap your fingers, and
command your nightmare to take on a new scenario.
Maybe you should read Carlos Castaneda or Vadim
Zeland. There are YouTube videos on that subject,
called lucid dreaming.” It was clear that Dr. Smith was
not joking, — his face looked serious and confident.
He checked his wristwatch and got up. “I have signed
your release papers. They are at the nurses’ station.”
There was a knock at the door, and Fred came
in carrying a plastic shopping bag with Michelle’s
clothes. “Hello, doc!”
The doctor shook Fred’s hand and handed a booklet
to him. “You should hire professional caretakers. I
hope your insurance will let you do that. Here is a
brochure with services available in your area.”
“Professional caretakers? What happened to my
mom?” An invisible spring shrunk inside the teen.
“Your mother has a broken back. We diagnosed her
with paralysis of all four limbs. She is also catatonic.”
“Catatonic? What do you mean?”
Doctor Smith sighed. “Well, to be blunt, she’s like a
mannequin. She could remain rigid for hours, being
awake but not responding to anything. She will be
fully at rest. Your mother cannot walk or talk. Why
she suffered such a severe injury is hard to explain.”
“Your mother is a vegetable. An okra, or maybe a
potato. You pick!” Fred crumbled the booklet and
tossed it into a small trashcan and left.
“Her wish came true,” Michelle whispered in awe.
The teen remembered the scene in the living room
before they had left for church. Angelica had wished
“to do absolutely nothing, see absolutely nothing, and
worry about nothing.”
“Never exclude miracles.” Dr. Smith pointed his
finger to the ceiling. His lips moved in a silent prayer
as if he was praising some invisible guardian angels,
and then he left the room. Fred waited in the hall and
nodded to him.
Michelle thought her stepfather might have been
happier with a million-dollar insurance payout for
Angelica’s death rather than having to deal with his
now-disabled wife. The teen pushed those negative
thoughts away and got dressed. Goose bumps covered
her body when she realized that Fred had to enter her
room at home to get her clothes and underwear to
bring to the hospital.
She finished dressing, and her mind was blank.
Michelle could not visualize that her mother became
crippled and her little brother was killed in the car
accident. Her mind seemed empty like tundra. Soon
they were walking down the hospital hall in silence.
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Neutrally painted walls displayed dull reproductions
of boring landscapes, benches by trees, or bridges
over ponds. They were meant to not amuse or bother
patients’ imaginations. Michelle and Fred reached the
elevator and stepped in, and stared at their reflections
in the stainless steel walls without speaking. The teen
could not wait to get out and inhale fresh air.
In a few moments, the hospital was at her back,
and the girl inhaled freedom. The air was not fresh at
all, but hot, as if she had stepped into a heated oven.
Yes, Michelle had almost forgotten which month was
reigning in the subtropics: hot and humid June.
A bus stop by the hospital had a bench with an
advertisement for a disability lawyer’s services. Fred
stopped and checked the time on his cell phone.
“Did I total our car?” Michelle was wondering why
Fred did not drive to pick her up. He did not answer.
The bus did not make them wait long. The ride was
slow with frequent stops, and Michelle fell asleep. As
soon as she began having the same bloody nightmare,
Fred woke her up. They stepped off the bus to face
a one-story building with a brown roof and a brick
exterior. The building looked decent and stern.
Wind was playing with a giant American flag by the
entrance.
“Sleeptight and Sons, Funeral Home and Crematory,”
Michelle read. “What are we doing here?”
“Did you have other plans? Austin’s body arrived
here from the hospital morgue. We have to decide
when and how we will say our last goodbyes.”
Immaculately groomed bushes, blooming pink
oleanders, and unpretentious palms made the funeral
home’s landscape a beautiful sight. Several benches
looked inviting under the spreading crown of a tall
evergreen magnolia tree.
The empty parking lot around the building was clean
and shiny like those by supermarkets or pharmacies.
“Nobody is being buried today,” Michelle assumed.
Fred pushed his stepdaughter slightly because she
stopped and froze by the front door. They entered.
The foyer looked friendly and welcoming. Everything
looked nice: the curtains, the walls, and a large ikebana
arrangement in a giant vase on the floor. A statue of a
crying angel with her face covered was standing in a
corner of the foyer. A small fountain with a blue light
inside had a calming effect, too. The whole design was
inviting and relaxing, as if the place was embracing
people and comforting them. The funeral home had a
very clean linoleum floor.
How practical, the girl thought to herself.
An old, slim woman in a gray business suit with a
silver brooch and well-manicured, wrinkled hands
greeted them. “Mr. Redmond?”
Fred nodded and shook her hand carefully as if he
was afraid he might break it off at her wrist.
“I am Patricia Sleeptight. We spoke this morning.
Follow me, please.”
Patricia was not an ordinary receptionist, but the
owner of the funeral home. Mrs. Sleeptight looked
radiant, as if she enjoyed running the business with
her family members during her golden years. She
looked like one of those elderly folks who read books
like Younger Next Year, did cardio six days a week,
and volunteered at church.
Beyond the foyer, they entered a middle-sized room
with leather sofas and giant ikebana in tall vases.
Wonderful aromas filled the air of the funeral home.
Michelle looked around for candles, but did not spot
any.
Maybe they burn some type of incense to mask the
odor of death, she thought.
An image of the dead cat tickled her memory.
Nausea knocked on the girl’s throat.
A tall, young man in his early twenties, clean-shaven
in a black suit and tie, came out to meet them.
The love-light shined in Patricia’s eyes toward the
young man. Michelle figured he was probably her
grandson. She introduced him. “This is Mr. Sleeptight,
an administrator of the funeral home.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Redmond. Our condolences,
sir.” they shook hands.
“Sleeptight.” The administrator repeated his last
name, offering his hand to Michelle. He looked like
a person who talked and moved slowly and weighed
each of his words carefully.
“Michelle.” The teen shook his very warm hand.
Patricia returned to the foyer. Young Sleeptight
walked them to a different room where Michelle
almost fainted. She leaned against the wall to take a
breath.
The room was spacious with oversized windows
and light curtains, several large folding tables along
the walls and in the middle of the room. The tables
had beige table skirts with coffins displayed on them.
The coffins were different colors and sizes, and all
had price tags. The expensive ones had handcrafted,
pompous marble and metal inlays. Some were two
thousand dollars and higher. The children’s coffins,
some in blue or pink, were cheaper.
The administrator’s voice sounded quiet but
confident, as if he was selling home insurance or newgeneration
vacuum cleaners.
“There are stainless steel, oak, and cherry coffins.”
Fred and Michelle moved slowly through the room,
examining these final homes for human bodies.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
“Some folks like to spend money on expensive
funerals,” Fred muttered. “I wonder what kind of
people would bury six or eight thousand dollars in
the ground. I think saving money for a grandkid’s
college fund or a vacation would be a better choice.
Alternatively, charity funds like Make-A-Wish
deserve money. I don’t care where I rot. Do you?” His
gray eyes were like two drill bits pointed at Michelle’s
face.
“I don’t want to rot,” whispered Michelle as she
lowered her eyes. Mr. Sleeptight came to her rescue.
“Well, competition rules the world. Some people
crave showing off their wealth! They have as much
money to throw a fancy funeral as they would a
fancy wedding. ‘My coffin is better than your coffin!’
An expensive funeral lulls the guilty conscience.”
Sleeptight spoke with calm confidence. “The dead do
not care about the price of their coffins. A man’s selfesteem
sometimes can depend on if their loved ones
are resting in a fancy casket. A jewel sleeping forever
in a fancy jewelry box. Did you have life insurance for
your child?”
“No, I did not plan to bury my son; I never looked
into life insurance plans. How much is a burial plot in
a local cemetery?”
“Two thousand dollars, sir.” Sleeptight had quickly
realized he would not get these new customers to
spend money on an expensive funeral. “Let’s go to my
office.”
Michelle looked around the room with coffins again.
They looked like beds with matching pillows and
interior covers. The teen never thought that words
“elegance,” “design,” and “death” had something in
common.
Michelle wondered why the Christian tradition
allowed people to decompose underground. Those
coffins take up so much space, too! The girl followed
her stepdad and Sleeptight. The office had green
curtains, light-green walls, and green linoleum. The
furniture was elegant and black. Michelle and her
stepfather took seats in front of the administrator’s
large granite desktop. Even the granite had green and
brown swirls.
“Nice desk,” Michelle observed and rubbed her
palm against its smooth, shiny service.
“Thanks. Rainforest design is my favorite.”
The seats were large, comfortable, leather armchairs.
“Chairs like these cost a thousand dollars each,” the
teen said aloud. She could not hide her condemnation
toward the owners of the funeral home. They were
making money on people’s grief and showing it off
with their luxurious style and taste.
“Good furniture can be pricey. However, people
come here for comfort. Everybody deserves to be
comfortable, we believe.” Sleeptight did not show
any acknowledgment of Michelle’s opinion. “I think
it does not matter which chair you sit in when your
loved ones are dead.”
A feeling of shame replaced the disgust Michelle
had been feeling. The shame, as if it was an invisible
ghost, placed its cold fingers on her throat and began
to choke her. She was nothing but a jealous ass who
had never earned a penny in her life, but had the guts
to judge how other people made a living and spent
their money! How could she think about some stupid
black leather armchairs when her brother was dead,
and she was the reason? Michelle coughed.
Sleeptight pulled two water bottles out of a small
black fridge by the desk and placed them in front of
his customers.
“We use formaldehyde for short-term preservation.”
“What is it?” asked Michelle.
“Formaldehyde is an embalming fluid. Nothing else
preserves the body long enough to be presentable for
public viewing. Our specialist injects the embalming
fluid into the arterial system replacing the blood,
and a more concentrated fluid is injected into the
body cavity. The average embalming requires three
gallons of the embalming solution. Embalming and
body preparation cost eight hundred dollars. Funeral
ceremony and viewing cost one thousand dollars.
Each of these is required if you decide to let relatives
and friends view the deceased one and say their
last goodbyes. The grave at a local cemetery costs
one thousand dollars. In addition, to dig the grave
costs one thousand dollars. If the body is buried in
a cemetery, you will have to purchase a headstone
and a grave marker. If you have a thirty percent down
payment, we can finance your son’s funeral.”
Fred’s facial expression changed as he fell into a
trance-like state, staring at the urns in the office.
Sleeptight continued. “Another option is cremation
which costs one thousand dollars. You can purchase
an urn for the ashes and take it home. We have a
website; you can pick any urn you like.”
Michelle could not contain herself any longer. “We
live in a strange time. Funeral homes have websites,
and make money on grief and death!”
“I understand you very well.” Sleeptight did not look
angry or upset. He looked Michelle in the eyes with his
long, calm look. With that stare, he could get a mad
cobra to relax. “When people get struck with the loss of
loved ones, they cannot think clearly. They need help.
We offer professional help. Doctors serve life; we serve
death. It is part of our reality, don’t you think so?”
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Michelle knew he was right. What was wrong with
her? Why was she attacking this man? Sleeptight
seemed to be a man who loved his job, and he could talk
about death and people’s needs as long as he needed.
“In some countries, there are no funeral homes.
Relatives keep the body of a deceased person at their
house for one to three days, depending on their
religion. In the Islamic tradition, for example, relatives
bury a deceased person before sunset. People in some
third world countries keep a corpse at their house
without air conditioning. They invite an embalming
specialist and a pastor to their home. Grieving family
members have to make a feast for all the relatives
and friends who come to say their last goodbyes.
Can you imagine sleeping in the same house with an
open coffin with your loved one inside? To me, such
traditions are mockeries. People are mourning, but
they have to come up with resources and the strength
to cook meals for guests, even wash dishes while their
loved one is dead next room. We are here to make
your life and your loss easier on you.”
“I am sorry,” Michelle mumbled, red-faced.
Sleeptight walked up to a bookshelf with urns that
Fred was staring like a zombie.
All the urns were different sizes. Most of them
looked like vases with lids or like jewelry boxes. Some
were made of marble; some were wooden or metal.
“Why are those six little urns in one blue box?”
Michelle asked.
“It’s an example of a special order. Sometimes,
several children want to have a piece of their mother
with them. Therefore, after a cremation we place one
person’s ashes into several little urns. You know, some
people order pendants, rings, and even Christmas
ornaments with their loved one’s ashes inside.”
“I hope you feel smarter than before, my orchid,”
interrupted Fred. “Thanks for the lecture, sir. She
needed it. You can charge my credit card for a service
and a cremation.”
Michelle’s eyes got teary. She felt as if she was stuck
in the coffin of her own guilt. “Can I see my brother?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me, please.”
The funeral home had a mortuary, which was a large
room with several stainless steel tables. Dead bodies
were awaiting funeral or cremation with indifference
inside the freezer cabinets.
Sleeptight pulled out a tray from the freezer cabinet.
Austin’s body appeared in front of them. Fred started
kissing his son, as if his love alone could bring the boy
to life.
Michelle did not feel brave enough to get closer and
touch her cold brother. Dizziness embraced her limbs
and brain; she squatted and leaned against the cold wall.
“What killed him? Was it blood loss?” Michelle
pressed out questions steadily like toothpaste from a
tube.
“He died from your stupidity,” Fred announced
coldly as he pushed the drawer containing Austin’s
body back into the freezer cell.
Michelle felt as if she was going to lose consciousness,
but a hot inner wave brought the girl her strength
back. She left the mortuary in a daze.
“Again, I am sorry for your loss.” Mr. Sleeptight
stretched out his hand.
Fred ignored the offered handshake and rushed
to the exit. A few minutes later, Michelle and her
stepfather were walking toward a fast-food restaurant.
It was a cheap diner where Steve worked part time.
Hiring team members! Michelle read a flyer on the
diner’s window. She pursed her lips and entered the
restaurant. It seemed funny to her that cashiers and
kitchen cooks called themselves “a team,” as if they
were musketeers or something. One for all and all for
one!
Steve was working as a cashier, and he greeted new
customers. Fred nodded at him and ordered two
sandwiches with fries and colas.
Mr. Redmond took a few bites of his food, and
realized he can’t eat, can’t swallow, and can’t cry. He was
not hungry since yesterday. Fred was sipping his coke,
looking out the window. The colorful playground was
full of children. Austin loved that place, too. Fred did
not realize how his grip broke paper cup. Ice spilled.
Fred started cleaning the table with some napkins.
Michelle took a bit of her food and started chewing.
It was tasteless. Fries and coke were tasteless, too. She
did not share with Fred how her taste buds changed.
“I don’t understand why we don’t have money for a
traditional Christian funeral? Can’t the government
help with funeral expenses?” Michelle dares to ask
questions.
“Yes, it does help. We will receive a check for a
ridiculous two hundred and fifty dollars after we
pay the funeral home for a death certificate. It is
not enough to buy a coffin or a plot at a cemetery.
Two hundred fifty dollars is not even enough for a
cremation.”
Michelle glanced at her boyfriend who was taking
orders from other customers. He looked calm,
friendly, and tidy, but sad.
“Steve crashed into our car, right? Maybe their
insurance should cover all expenses…” the girl’s voice
trailed off and she turned red with shame to be talking
behind her boyfriend’s back.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
“Steve and Chris’s insurance will pay for our
wrecked car and for some of Angelica’s hospital stay.
But it’s not going to cover everything.” Fred narrowed
his eyes and seemed to savor every word that came
next. “The town’s prosecutor asked me if I wished
to press charges against you. My son died because
of you. There are witnesses of the accident; they
reported everything to the police. On one hand, what
happened is a tragic accident. On the other hand, it is
homicide by misadventure. That could mean twenty
years of imprisonment, honey cake.”
Michelle imagined herself behind bars. Twenty
years in prison sounded like a death sentence for a
young girl. Maybe she deserved it. Her guilt made her
feel lower than a piece of spit-out gum. She searched
for any feelings of anger, hatred or fear - none came
to the surface. She just felt numb, tired and empty.
Stupid, too.
“However, I asked the prosecutor to close the case.
Our family has suffered enough pain.” He seemed
satisfied to see how terrified Michelle was. He enjoyed
making her dance like blueberry pancakes in a Teflon
frying pan.
“Thank God!”
“You have to get a job immediately.”
“Why? I wanted to focus on studying for college!”
“You can do both. Did you graduate high school?
You sure did. Did you get a scholarship? You sure did
not. You have turned me into a caregiver. You should
become a provider, honey cake.” He spoke without a
shadow of irony.
The teen did not believe her ears. She straightened
her back and looked out the window. Gray squirrels
chased each other from branch to branch on a
giant oak tree. Michelle was mesmerized by their
carelessness. The tree looked almost magical with
hanging gray Spanish moss and bright-green fern.
“Mom should get a disability pension, right?”
“Oh, my silly orchid. To get a disability pension in
this country is like carrying a baby for nine months. It
is a long process. You can read everything for yourself
on the Social Security website. It takes six months to
get your first disability pay check.”
“How do you know?”
“My father suffered liver cirrhosis, became
homeless, and killed himself before any disability
checks arrived.” He pointed his index finger to his
temple as if it was a gun and pulled the trigger. “I
hate this system and its bureaucracy. Only those who
never applied for disability believe our country is the
best in the world!” He hissed in anger, like a cobra
ready to attack.
Michelle’s next question dissolved Fred’s inner
snake. “How much is Mom’s pension is going to be?”
“It would be ridiculously small, honey pie. Less than
a thousand dollars a month. As you know, Angelica
was a homemaker for ten years; she worked less than
five years. We can get food stamps fast because Uncle
Sam helps people with groceries. However, it takes a
month after applying to get free food.”
They cleaned up the table and placed their dirty
napkins and trash into a garbage can. Fred asked
Steve for a job application. Mr. Redmond looked at
the boy who was partially guilty of causing Austin’s
death. He wondered how people who are responsible
for the deaths of children can breathe, live, and love.
They did not have the right to exist!
Angry thoughts were burning his brain like hot
coals. He fantasized shattering Steve’s skull with
the cash register right there in the diner, and he felt
immediate relief. Instead, he hid his feelings and
behaved with business-like ease, as if Steve was a
stranger. Fred had pushed away the dark thoughts,
but promised to return to those coals in his head.
Michelle and her stepdad strolled for an hour back
home because the bus route did not run through their
subdivision.
“It’s like walking barefoot when you don’t have a
car!” the man growled. “I am so tired of this small
town! The buses only run five days a week and only
every two hours!”
They detoured into a small shop. Fred led Michelle
to a shelf with diapers for adults. Both looked with
confusion at the products they had never purchased
before.
“Which kind do we need? We have to pick the right
size, you know. Which color? Blue, white, or pink?
Your mom needs them now.” Mr. Redmond squeezed
irony through his teeth.
Michelle did not know what to say. The girl still
had not accepted her mother’s disability. The adult
diapers made it a reality. Her stepfather could read
uncertainty and confusion in Michelle’s eyes.
“Well, should I juggle them so you can make up
your mind?” He fantasized thrusting a diaper down
Michelle’s throat so deep and hard that she could
no longer look at him with her stupid eyes. No,
that would be too good for her. He would think of
something better.
Chapter 4
Michelle’s Discoveries
Rescuers were carefully removing Austin, Michelle,
and Angelica from the damaged car, while a police
officer gathered information from Steve, Chris, and
other witnesses.
“This girl is lucky!” Michelle heard a paramedic
say; she did not open her eyes, but found strength to
respond. “I am okay.”
The teen tried to remember what had happened to
her. A slide show of pictures rolled through her head.
She was simultaneously staring at a dead cat and
watching windshield pieces pop out of her skin. And
the nightmare had returned. It had been absurd, but
not easy to forget. She tried to recall all the details of
her experience, but her thoughts were scattering like
roaches under a spotlight.
The ambulance transported her to a local hospital.
She kept her eyes shut and listened to the sounds
around her. In the intensive care unit, a doctor checked
her pulse and requested an MRI exam. Michelle wasn’t
sure why; she had no discomfort whatsoever.
At first, her heart crumbled with fear. She felt like
she was in a casket being buried alive. However, the
MRI machine made a light tapping sound, which had
a strange hypnotizing effect on the girl. She suddenly
found herself falling and plunging into a cloud of
white, soft marshmallow. A different universe was
kidnapping her consciousness again.
Michelle found herself lying on the hard surface of a
cot with silver belts strapping down her body. She was
in a small and bright room without visible windows,
light fixtures, or doors.
A tennis ball-sized object appeared in front of her
face and slowly got bigger. Michelle did not find
her own reflection in the mirror-like surface, but
recognized Tavy’s familiar features.
A red beam scanned Tavy’s head and then the ball
changed shape into a flat rectangle like a plasma TV. It
then made a whistling noise and said with a metallic
voice, “Tavy from Cassiopeia. Prisoner number
twenty-eight. You are convicted of manslaughter.”
Rocks’s handsome face with green hair appeared on
the mirrored surface.
Tavy clenched his teeth and fists. “Who are you?”
The plasma TV melted back into a ball and
answered with the same metallic voice. “I am your
Sentence Keeper. My duty is to control the quality of
your rehabilitation.”
“Is Alrami dead?”
The ball shifted again into a TV state, and Alrami’s
portrait appeared on the Keeper’s surface. “Your
victim is in a coma. If she and your unborn son survive
your attack, you will not face the death penalty after
your rehabilitation. “
Tavy banged his fists on the cot. “How do you know
my ex-girlfriend carries my child?”
“We ran genetic scans, Tavy. You are aware that the
humans of Cassiopeia suffer infertility, and a natural
conception is rare. Congratulations.”
Alrami’s portrait disappeared from the Keeper’s
surface, and Michelle studied Tavy’s reflection. His
eyes teared up, but he did not say a word. The thoughts
about fatherhood were ripping his jealous soul apart.
If I had known about the pregnancy, would I have let
her be happy with another man? Tavy wondered. The
thoughts spun rapidly like living pulsars in the universe.
Фантастика
С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА № 2 (91) 2016 год
Chapter 5
“My Nightmares Have Me!”
Michelle opened her eyes. The white-popcorn
ceiling of the hospital room welcomed her. The dream
was over. The other reality in which she was an alienmurderer
with amethyst hair and eyes had stepped
aside again.
The girl’s memory flooded her with pictures like an
avalanche. She had caused a car wreck! Everything
flashed through her head: the SUV ramming her
car, the broken windshield, Austin’s scream, and the
ambulance.
Michelle moved her toes and fingers, finding no
discomfort in any part of her body. She touched her
face and eyes, nails and fingers.
Her new world was a small hospital room with a
TV mounted on a beige wall, two wooden chairs, and
a restroom. The art in cheap frames portrayed dull,
boring landscapes. White, vertical blinds shaded the
hot summer from her.
In the corner, Fred sat on a chair and bit his nails.
Michelle had never seen such a habit in him. Someone
knocked on the wooden door of the hospital room.
Fred stood up.
A doctor came in. He was a tall man with gray hair
and a mustache like that of the famous artist, Salvador
Dali, but thicker and snow-white. Michelle thought
to herself that if the doctor grew a beard, he would
look like Santa Claus.
“The sleeping beauty is awake!”
“Hello, Doctor. Hi, Fred. What’s going on?”
“Hello, hello! I am Dr. Smith.”
Fred made a few shy steps toward the surgeon. They
shook hands. “Fred Redmond. I am her stepfather.
How is she?”
Dr. Smith looked at his paperwork and answered.
“Mister Redmond, you should not worry! Michelle
is very lucky. She suffered no broken bones or
concussions.”
“How long will she stay in the hospital?”
“Don’t worry, we should release her tomorrow.”
“What happened?” Michelle propped herself up in
the hospital bed and hugged her pillow.
“You killed your brother! That’s what happened!”
Fred cried, and stormed out of the room.
Thoughts raced through the girl’s head at the speed
of light. Michelle felt as if someone had punched her
in the stomach, or that she had had a tooth pulled
without painkillers. The next breath was a challenge.
The girl could only blink stupidly in her shock.
Little Austin is gone because of me? Oh, God,
our last conversation was so dark and stupid, about
dead cats and maggots! Michelle tried to remember
brother’s last words, his face, but only a memory of
a dark dead cat stuck in her head like a big painful
splinter.
“I will be back soon.” The doctor promised and
followed Fred.
In a few minutes, two nurses came to the room and
introduced themselves. They said aloud what they
were going to do to their patient. The nurses checked
Michelle’s blood pressure, her body temperature, and
her pulse with care and tenderness. Regardless, the
girl found all the procedures annoying. Did they have
any idea she was the murderer of her little brother?
Fred had not said anything about her mom. Why? If
her mom were all right, she would have visited her
daughter already. None of her questions had clear
answers. Michelle’s thoughts were like fat, stupid flies
stuck on a sticky flytrap.
As soon as the nurses left, someone knocked on the
door. It was a familiar knock, a drum roll.
“Steve, come in.”
“Hello, are you all right?”
“How did you find out about the hospital?”
Steve took a seat by her bed, grabbed her hand, and
took a deep breath. “We are the ones who crashed
into your car. I called 911. I am so sorry, Michelle.”
“How is my mom?”
“She is in the ICU. That’s all I know.”
“Oh, God. Steve, this is entirely my fault!”
Steve had never been in the position of comforter,
and he was not sure how to console his girlfriend after
the accident. So, he didn’t.
“…I have to go,” he blurted out awkwardly. “You
rest. I will come visit you at home soon. Bye.” The
boy got up, kissed her forehead, and left hastily. For a
moment, Michelle sat in stunned silence.
“Bye,” Michelle echoed finally, as she got up and went
to her restroom. She turned the water on and broke
into tears. Her ordinary and dull life had broken apart
like her pearl necklace. Life would never be the same
with little Austin gone. She had loved everything
about her little brother. Austin had liked to draw on
her mirror with her lipstick; he had worn her bras on
his head and thrown plush animals from the top bunk
on the floor. He had been the most important link
in the family because he made everyone happier and
closer. How would she live without him? The accident
had probably broken Fred’s heart. She was afraid to
face him again and look into his cold eyes.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
While washing her face, the girl jumped when
familiar features with amethyst hair and eyes appeared
in the mirror. Michelle stared at her hallucination.
The antihero from the bloody nightmares were now
leaking into reality somehow!
Austin’s dead, and now I’m going crazy.
Michelle left the bathroom and opened a window.
The light of the moon brightened the dark sky; bats
were hunting while crickets and cicadas were singing.
How did it get so late? The girl went back to bed and
fell asleep.
Early in the morning, the nurse on duty came to
check Michelle’s pulse, body temperature, and blood
pressure. The nurse warned her every time before
she touched her, did not ask any questions, and left
quietly.
Dr. Smith came in a little later in the morning with
a smile on his Santa Claus face. The girl studied his
smooth youthful skin, which had almost no wrinkles,
no large pores, or dark aging spots. It was a quite
unusual appearance for most people his apparent age.
Michelle wondered how doctors could find the
strength to be friendly and positive. A surgeon’s life
seemed like a steeplechase race with patients, wounds,
woes, and deaths serving as barriers. They must know
the secret of survival in such stressful situations.
“Good morning! Did you have a good rest?”
“No. No, I didn’t,” she answered, and then everything
spilled out of her mouth. “I have nightmares. Actually,
to be precise, my nightmares have me. When I sleep, I
am trapped in a maniac’s body, and I kill people. One
of the victims looks like my twin…” Her voice trailed
off as she realized what she had said. “Do you think I
need to talk to a psychologist?”
Dr. Smith took a seat by her and smiled. His voice
with its aura of wisdom and energy had inexplicable
calming effect on Michelle. “I used to suffer from
nightmares, too. I was afraid to fall asleep and enter
the same crazy world. Sometimes, I would dream
about surgeries I performed; every moment would
match reality. I would wake up tired and sick from
patients chasing me—especially the ones I did not
save. I wish I had power to save every single patient.”
“How are you doing now?”
“I read books by a wonderful author, Carlos
Castaneda. Other authors have written about
managing nightmares, too. One of them is the Russian
mystic and writer, Vadim Zeland. They are unique
minds, bursting with opinions about dream control
and overpowering your nightmares.” The older man
beamed. “Amazing, huh?”
“What do you mean?” Michelle was astonished.
“Well, how can I explain better? Let’s say you are
asleep and you are stuck in a nightmare. Now you
can wake up in your dream, snap your fingers, and
command your nightmare to take on a new scenario.
Maybe you should read Carlos Castaneda or Vadim
Zeland. There are YouTube videos on that subject,
called lucid dreaming.” It was clear that Dr. Smith was
not joking, — his face looked serious and confident.
He checked his wristwatch and got up. “I have signed
your release papers. They are at the nurses’ station.”
There was a knock at the door, and Fred came
in carrying a plastic shopping bag with Michelle’s
clothes. “Hello, doc!”
The doctor shook Fred’s hand and handed a booklet
to him. “You should hire professional caretakers. I
hope your insurance will let you do that. Here is a
brochure with services available in your area.”
“Professional caretakers? What happened to my
mom?” An invisible spring shrunk inside the teen.
“Your mother has a broken back. We diagnosed her
with paralysis of all four limbs. She is also catatonic.”
“Catatonic? What do you mean?”
Doctor Smith sighed. “Well, to be blunt, she’s like a
mannequin. She could remain rigid for hours, being
awake but not responding to anything. She will be
fully at rest. Your mother cannot walk or talk. Why
she suffered such a severe injury is hard to explain.”
“Your mother is a vegetable. An okra, or maybe a
potato. You pick!” Fred crumbled the booklet and
tossed it into a small trashcan and left.
“Her wish came true,” Michelle whispered in awe.
The teen remembered the scene in the living room
before they had left for church. Angelica had wished
“to do absolutely nothing, see absolutely nothing, and
worry about nothing.”
“Never exclude miracles.” Dr. Smith pointed his
finger to the ceiling. His lips moved in a silent prayer
as if he was praising some invisible guardian angels,
and then he left the room. Fred waited in the hall and
nodded to him.
Michelle thought her stepfather might have been
happier with a million-dollar insurance payout for
Angelica’s death rather than having to deal with his
now-disabled wife. The teen pushed those negative
thoughts away and got dressed. Goose bumps covered
her body when she realized that Fred had to enter her
room at home to get her clothes and underwear to
bring to the hospital.
She finished dressing, and her mind was blank.
Michelle could not visualize that her mother became
crippled and her little brother was killed in the car
accident. Her mind seemed empty like tundra. Soon
they were walking down the hospital hall in silence.
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Neutrally painted walls displayed dull reproductions
of boring landscapes, benches by trees, or bridges
over ponds. They were meant to not amuse or bother
patients’ imaginations. Michelle and Fred reached the
elevator and stepped in, and stared at their reflections
in the stainless steel walls without speaking. The teen
could not wait to get out and inhale fresh air.
In a few moments, the hospital was at her back,
and the girl inhaled freedom. The air was not fresh at
all, but hot, as if she had stepped into a heated oven.
Yes, Michelle had almost forgotten which month was
reigning in the subtropics: hot and humid June.
A bus stop by the hospital had a bench with an
advertisement for a disability lawyer’s services. Fred
stopped and checked the time on his cell phone.
“Did I total our car?” Michelle was wondering why
Fred did not drive to pick her up. He did not answer.
The bus did not make them wait long. The ride was
slow with frequent stops, and Michelle fell asleep. As
soon as she began having the same bloody nightmare,
Fred woke her up. They stepped off the bus to face
a one-story building with a brown roof and a brick
exterior. The building looked decent and stern.
Wind was playing with a giant American flag by the
entrance.
“Sleeptight and Sons, Funeral Home and Crematory,”
Michelle read. “What are we doing here?”
“Did you have other plans? Austin’s body arrived
here from the hospital morgue. We have to decide
when and how we will say our last goodbyes.”
Immaculately groomed bushes, blooming pink
oleanders, and unpretentious palms made the funeral
home’s landscape a beautiful sight. Several benches
looked inviting under the spreading crown of a tall
evergreen magnolia tree.
The empty parking lot around the building was clean
and shiny like those by supermarkets or pharmacies.
“Nobody is being buried today,” Michelle assumed.
Fred pushed his stepdaughter slightly because she
stopped and froze by the front door. They entered.
The foyer looked friendly and welcoming. Everything
looked nice: the curtains, the walls, and a large ikebana
arrangement in a giant vase on the floor. A statue of a
crying angel with her face covered was standing in a
corner of the foyer. A small fountain with a blue light
inside had a calming effect, too. The whole design was
inviting and relaxing, as if the place was embracing
people and comforting them. The funeral home had a
very clean linoleum floor.
How practical, the girl thought to herself.
An old, slim woman in a gray business suit with a
silver brooch and well-manicured, wrinkled hands
greeted them. “Mr. Redmond?”
Fred nodded and shook her hand carefully as if he
was afraid he might break it off at her wrist.
“I am Patricia Sleeptight. We spoke this morning.
Follow me, please.”
Patricia was not an ordinary receptionist, but the
owner of the funeral home. Mrs. Sleeptight looked
radiant, as if she enjoyed running the business with
her family members during her golden years. She
looked like one of those elderly folks who read books
like Younger Next Year, did cardio six days a week,
and volunteered at church.
Beyond the foyer, they entered a middle-sized room
with leather sofas and giant ikebana in tall vases.
Wonderful aromas filled the air of the funeral home.
Michelle looked around for candles, but did not spot
any.
Maybe they burn some type of incense to mask the
odor of death, she thought.
An image of the dead cat tickled her memory.
Nausea knocked on the girl’s throat.
A tall, young man in his early twenties, clean-shaven
in a black suit and tie, came out to meet them.
The love-light shined in Patricia’s eyes toward the
young man. Michelle figured he was probably her
grandson. She introduced him. “This is Mr. Sleeptight,
an administrator of the funeral home.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Redmond. Our condolences,
sir.” they shook hands.
“Sleeptight.” The administrator repeated his last
name, offering his hand to Michelle. He looked like
a person who talked and moved slowly and weighed
each of his words carefully.
“Michelle.” The teen shook his very warm hand.
Patricia returned to the foyer. Young Sleeptight
walked them to a different room where Michelle
almost fainted. She leaned against the wall to take a
breath.
The room was spacious with oversized windows
and light curtains, several large folding tables along
the walls and in the middle of the room. The tables
had beige table skirts with coffins displayed on them.
The coffins were different colors and sizes, and all
had price tags. The expensive ones had handcrafted,
pompous marble and metal inlays. Some were two
thousand dollars and higher. The children’s coffins,
some in blue or pink, were cheaper.
The administrator’s voice sounded quiet but
confident, as if he was selling home insurance or newgeneration
vacuum cleaners.
“There are stainless steel, oak, and cherry coffins.”
Fred and Michelle moved slowly through the room,
examining these final homes for human bodies.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
“Some folks like to spend money on expensive
funerals,” Fred muttered. “I wonder what kind of
people would bury six or eight thousand dollars in
the ground. I think saving money for a grandkid’s
college fund or a vacation would be a better choice.
Alternatively, charity funds like Make-A-Wish
deserve money. I don’t care where I rot. Do you?” His
gray eyes were like two drill bits pointed at Michelle’s
face.
“I don’t want to rot,” whispered Michelle as she
lowered her eyes. Mr. Sleeptight came to her rescue.
“Well, competition rules the world. Some people
crave showing off their wealth! They have as much
money to throw a fancy funeral as they would a
fancy wedding. ‘My coffin is better than your coffin!’
An expensive funeral lulls the guilty conscience.”
Sleeptight spoke with calm confidence. “The dead do
not care about the price of their coffins. A man’s selfesteem
sometimes can depend on if their loved ones
are resting in a fancy casket. A jewel sleeping forever
in a fancy jewelry box. Did you have life insurance for
your child?”
“No, I did not plan to bury my son; I never looked
into life insurance plans. How much is a burial plot in
a local cemetery?”
“Two thousand dollars, sir.” Sleeptight had quickly
realized he would not get these new customers to
spend money on an expensive funeral. “Let’s go to my
office.”
Michelle looked around the room with coffins again.
They looked like beds with matching pillows and
interior covers. The teen never thought that words
“elegance,” “design,” and “death” had something in
common.
Michelle wondered why the Christian tradition
allowed people to decompose underground. Those
coffins take up so much space, too! The girl followed
her stepdad and Sleeptight. The office had green
curtains, light-green walls, and green linoleum. The
furniture was elegant and black. Michelle and her
stepfather took seats in front of the administrator’s
large granite desktop. Even the granite had green and
brown swirls.
“Nice desk,” Michelle observed and rubbed her
palm against its smooth, shiny service.
“Thanks. Rainforest design is my favorite.”
The seats were large, comfortable, leather armchairs.
“Chairs like these cost a thousand dollars each,” the
teen said aloud. She could not hide her condemnation
toward the owners of the funeral home. They were
making money on people’s grief and showing it off
with their luxurious style and taste.
“Good furniture can be pricey. However, people
come here for comfort. Everybody deserves to be
comfortable, we believe.” Sleeptight did not show
any acknowledgment of Michelle’s opinion. “I think
it does not matter which chair you sit in when your
loved ones are dead.”
A feeling of shame replaced the disgust Michelle
had been feeling. The shame, as if it was an invisible
ghost, placed its cold fingers on her throat and began
to choke her. She was nothing but a jealous ass who
had never earned a penny in her life, but had the guts
to judge how other people made a living and spent
their money! How could she think about some stupid
black leather armchairs when her brother was dead,
and she was the reason? Michelle coughed.
Sleeptight pulled two water bottles out of a small
black fridge by the desk and placed them in front of
his customers.
“We use formaldehyde for short-term preservation.”
“What is it?” asked Michelle.
“Formaldehyde is an embalming fluid. Nothing else
preserves the body long enough to be presentable for
public viewing. Our specialist injects the embalming
fluid into the arterial system replacing the blood,
and a more concentrated fluid is injected into the
body cavity. The average embalming requires three
gallons of the embalming solution. Embalming and
body preparation cost eight hundred dollars. Funeral
ceremony and viewing cost one thousand dollars.
Each of these is required if you decide to let relatives
and friends view the deceased one and say their
last goodbyes. The grave at a local cemetery costs
one thousand dollars. In addition, to dig the grave
costs one thousand dollars. If the body is buried in
a cemetery, you will have to purchase a headstone
and a grave marker. If you have a thirty percent down
payment, we can finance your son’s funeral.”
Fred’s facial expression changed as he fell into a
trance-like state, staring at the urns in the office.
Sleeptight continued. “Another option is cremation
which costs one thousand dollars. You can purchase
an urn for the ashes and take it home. We have a
website; you can pick any urn you like.”
Michelle could not contain herself any longer. “We
live in a strange time. Funeral homes have websites,
and make money on grief and death!”
“I understand you very well.” Sleeptight did not look
angry or upset. He looked Michelle in the eyes with his
long, calm look. With that stare, he could get a mad
cobra to relax. “When people get struck with the loss of
loved ones, they cannot think clearly. They need help.
We offer professional help. Doctors serve life; we serve
death. It is part of our reality, don’t you think so?”
С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА № 2 (91) 2016 год
Michelle knew he was right. What was wrong with
her? Why was she attacking this man? Sleeptight
seemed to be a man who loved his job, and he could talk
about death and people’s needs as long as he needed.
“In some countries, there are no funeral homes.
Relatives keep the body of a deceased person at their
house for one to three days, depending on their
religion. In the Islamic tradition, for example, relatives
bury a deceased person before sunset. People in some
third world countries keep a corpse at their house
without air conditioning. They invite an embalming
specialist and a pastor to their home. Grieving family
members have to make a feast for all the relatives
and friends who come to say their last goodbyes.
Can you imagine sleeping in the same house with an
open coffin with your loved one inside? To me, such
traditions are mockeries. People are mourning, but
they have to come up with resources and the strength
to cook meals for guests, even wash dishes while their
loved one is dead next room. We are here to make
your life and your loss easier on you.”
“I am sorry,” Michelle mumbled, red-faced.
Sleeptight walked up to a bookshelf with urns that
Fred was staring like a zombie.
All the urns were different sizes. Most of them
looked like vases with lids or like jewelry boxes. Some
were made of marble; some were wooden or metal.
“Why are those six little urns in one blue box?”
Michelle asked.
“It’s an example of a special order. Sometimes,
several children want to have a piece of their mother
with them. Therefore, after a cremation we place one
person’s ashes into several little urns. You know, some
people order pendants, rings, and even Christmas
ornaments with their loved one’s ashes inside.”
“I hope you feel smarter than before, my orchid,”
interrupted Fred. “Thanks for the lecture, sir. She
needed it. You can charge my credit card for a service
and a cremation.”
Michelle’s eyes got teary. She felt as if she was stuck
in the coffin of her own guilt. “Can I see my brother?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me, please.”
The funeral home had a mortuary, which was a large
room with several stainless steel tables. Dead bodies
were awaiting funeral or cremation with indifference
inside the freezer cabinets.
Sleeptight pulled out a tray from the freezer cabinet.
Austin’s body appeared in front of them. Fred started
kissing his son, as if his love alone could bring the boy
to life.
Michelle did not feel brave enough to get closer and
touch her cold brother. Dizziness embraced her limbs
and brain; she squatted and leaned against the cold wall.
“What killed him? Was it blood loss?” Michelle
pressed out questions steadily like toothpaste from a
tube.
“He died from your stupidity,” Fred announced
coldly as he pushed the drawer containing Austin’s
body back into the freezer cell.
Michelle felt as if she was going to lose consciousness,
but a hot inner wave brought the girl her strength
back. She left the mortuary in a daze.
“Again, I am sorry for your loss.” Mr. Sleeptight
stretched out his hand.
Fred ignored the offered handshake and rushed
to the exit. A few minutes later, Michelle and her
stepfather were walking toward a fast-food restaurant.
It was a cheap diner where Steve worked part time.
Hiring team members! Michelle read a flyer on the
diner’s window. She pursed her lips and entered the
restaurant. It seemed funny to her that cashiers and
kitchen cooks called themselves “a team,” as if they
were musketeers or something. One for all and all for
one!
Steve was working as a cashier, and he greeted new
customers. Fred nodded at him and ordered two
sandwiches with fries and colas.
Mr. Redmond took a few bites of his food, and
realized he can’t eat, can’t swallow, and can’t cry. He was
not hungry since yesterday. Fred was sipping his coke,
looking out the window. The colorful playground was
full of children. Austin loved that place, too. Fred did
not realize how his grip broke paper cup. Ice spilled.
Fred started cleaning the table with some napkins.
Michelle took a bit of her food and started chewing.
It was tasteless. Fries and coke were tasteless, too. She
did not share with Fred how her taste buds changed.
“I don’t understand why we don’t have money for a
traditional Christian funeral? Can’t the government
help with funeral expenses?” Michelle dares to ask
questions.
“Yes, it does help. We will receive a check for a
ridiculous two hundred and fifty dollars after we
pay the funeral home for a death certificate. It is
not enough to buy a coffin or a plot at a cemetery.
Two hundred fifty dollars is not even enough for a
cremation.”
Michelle glanced at her boyfriend who was taking
orders from other customers. He looked calm,
friendly, and tidy, but sad.
“Steve crashed into our car, right? Maybe their
insurance should cover all expenses…” the girl’s voice
trailed off and she turned red with shame to be talking
behind her boyfriend’s back.
2016 год № 2 (91) С О В Р ЕМ Е Н НА Я ВСЕМИРНАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА
“Steve and Chris’s insurance will pay for our
wrecked car and for some of Angelica’s hospital stay.
But it’s not going to cover everything.” Fred narrowed
his eyes and seemed to savor every word that came
next. “The town’s prosecutor asked me if I wished
to press charges against you. My son died because
of you. There are witnesses of the accident; they
reported everything to the police. On one hand, what
happened is a tragic accident. On the other hand, it is
homicide by misadventure. That could mean twenty
years of imprisonment, honey cake.”
Michelle imagined herself behind bars. Twenty
years in prison sounded like a death sentence for a
young girl. Maybe she deserved it. Her guilt made her
feel lower than a piece of spit-out gum. She searched
for any feelings of anger, hatred or fear - none came
to the surface. She just felt numb, tired and empty.
Stupid, too.
“However, I asked the prosecutor to close the case.
Our family has suffered enough pain.” He seemed
satisfied to see how terrified Michelle was. He enjoyed
making her dance like blueberry pancakes in a Teflon
frying pan.
“Thank God!”
“You have to get a job immediately.”
“Why? I wanted to focus on studying for college!”
“You can do both. Did you graduate high school?
You sure did. Did you get a scholarship? You sure did
not. You have turned me into a caregiver. You should
become a provider, honey cake.” He spoke without a
shadow of irony.
The teen did not believe her ears. She straightened
her back and looked out the window. Gray squirrels
chased each other from branch to branch on a
giant oak tree. Michelle was mesmerized by their
carelessness. The tree looked almost magical with
hanging gray Spanish moss and bright-green fern.
“Mom should get a disability pension, right?”
“Oh, my silly orchid. To get a disability pension in
this country is like carrying a baby for nine months. It
is a long process. You can read everything for yourself
on the Social Security website. It takes six months to
get your first disability pay check.”
“How do you know?”
“My father suffered liver cirrhosis, became
homeless, and killed himself before any disability
checks arrived.” He pointed his index finger to his
temple as if it was a gun and pulled the trigger. “I
hate this system and its bureaucracy. Only those who
never applied for disability believe our country is the
best in the world!” He hissed in anger, like a cobra
ready to attack.
Michelle’s next question dissolved Fred’s inner
snake. “How much is Mom’s pension is going to be?”
“It would be ridiculously small, honey pie. Less than
a thousand dollars a month. As you know, Angelica
was a homemaker for ten years; she worked less than
five years. We can get food stamps fast because Uncle
Sam helps people with groceries. However, it takes a
month after applying to get free food.”
They cleaned up the table and placed their dirty
napkins and trash into a garbage can. Fred asked
Steve for a job application. Mr. Redmond looked at
the boy who was partially guilty of causing Austin’s
death. He wondered how people who are responsible
for the deaths of children can breathe, live, and love.
They did not have the right to exist!
Angry thoughts were burning his brain like hot
coals. He fantasized shattering Steve’s skull with
the cash register right there in the diner, and he felt
immediate relief. Instead, he hid his feelings and
behaved with business-like ease, as if Steve was a
stranger. Fred had pushed away the dark thoughts,
but promised to return to those coals in his head.
Michelle and her stepdad strolled for an hour back
home because the bus route did not run through their
subdivision.
“It’s like walking barefoot when you don’t have a
car!” the man growled. “I am so tired of this small
town! The buses only run five days a week and only
every two hours!”
They detoured into a small shop. Fred led Michelle
to a shelf with diapers for adults. Both looked with
confusion at the products they had never purchased
before.
“Which kind do we need? We have to pick the right
size, you know. Which color? Blue, white, or pink?
Your mom needs them now.” Mr. Redmond squeezed
irony through his teeth.
Michelle did not know what to say. The girl still
had not accepted her mother’s disability. The adult
diapers made it a reality. Her stepfather could read
uncertainty and confusion in Michelle’s eyes.
“Well, should I juggle them so you can make up
your mind?” He fantasized thrusting a diaper down
Michelle’s throat so deep and hard that she could
no longer look at him with her stupid eyes. No,
that would be too good for her. He would think of
something better.