Ashes by Haunted Computer Books Page B

second door. Faint decay and medicinal smells clung
like a second skin to the fixtures: a stainless steel table, sloped
with a drain at one end; shelves of chemicals in thick glass jars;
rows of silent metal gurneys, eager to offer a final ride; garbage
bins gaping in anticipation of offal and excrescence.
    Here, Gaines practiced the craft of
memory-polishing. Each guest had loved ones counting on Gaines'
skill. The sewing shut of eyelids and lips with the thin,
almost-invisible thread. The removal of uncooperative intestines,
kidneys, and spleens. The draining of viscid blood, that fluid so
vital in life but a sluggish, unsightly mess when settled in death.
The infusing of embalming fluid, siphoned through thin hoses.
Anything that suffered the sin of decay must be cut out and
removed. Otherwise, it would be an affront to the solemn and still
temple of flesh that the loved ones worshipped prior to burial.
    After the eviscerating came the makeup.
Gaines prided himself on the makeup. Of the three generations of
Wadells that had worked in the business, Gaines had been most
praised for his delicate touch. Just a tinge of blush here, some
foundation there, a bit of powder under the eyes to blend out that
depressing black. The right shade of rouge on the lips, so a loved
one might imagine the wan face breaking into a smile.
    Stony Hampton was handsome under his green
sheet. The wrinkles caused by sixty-odd years of gravity and
grimaces were now smoothed. The face, though stiff to the touch,
looked relaxed. Stony might as well have been dreaming of a
three-day drunk or a '57 Chevy.
    Gaines pulled the sheet off the corpse and
rolled the casket to the corner of the room. He pulled back the
pleated vinyl curtain of the service window, then nudged the edge
of the coffin onto the lip of the window. The coffin weighed nearly
eight hundred pounds, but the smooth wooden rollers made the work
easy. Gaines only had to give a gentle push and Stony Hampton was
on the bier, under the soft lights of the viewing parlor.
    Gaines checked himself in one of the mirrors
that lined the wall. He adjusted his tie and joined Stony in the
parlor. Stony was in the spotlight, the star of the show, buffed
and polished and ready to receive tribute. The viewing was even
more important than the actual funeral, because the loved ones
would be examining the guest, and therefore Gaines’ craft, at close
proximity.
    The first loved ones came in the parlor and
signed the memorial book with a brass-plated pen. Gaines watched to
make sure the last signer returned the pen to its holder, then went
over to greet them, putting on his funeral face as he went.
    More loved ones came. Stony had a lot of
friends, relatives, and drinking buddies. Gaines solemnly shook
hands with each. As they began filing past the guest of honor,
Gaines stood against the wall with his hands clasped loosely over
the lowest button on his black suit. His eyebrows furrowed in the
proper mixture of sorrow and reverence, his jaw clenched so that
his smirk of satisfaction wouldn't blossom like the lilies and
tulips that girded the dais.
    Their tears, their joy, their final respect,
all their emotions were due to Gaines' handiwork. This guest, James
Rothrock "Stony" Hampton, was fit for heaven. This was a man they
were all proud to have known. This man was one of God's finest and
most blessed creations. As the organ music fed through the
speakers, not an eye remained dry.
    Afterward, Stony's wife came up and gripped
Gaines' elbow. Her eyes were wet and bright from too much spiritual
uplifting. "He looks mighty fine, Mr. Wadell. Mighty fine."
    Gaines bowed slightly, tilting his head the
way his father had taught him. "Yes, ma'am. We hate to see him go,
but our loss is the Lord's gain."
    "You're so right," she said, dabbing at her
face with a crumpled tissue. "And it won't be long till we're
together again, anyway."
    "That will be a joyful reunion, ma'am,"
Gaines said politely, "but don't you go and rush