Page 4 of Buried Beneath Sin

But it’s not just the color that has my world tilting on its axis.

In that gaze trained on the closet where I hide is a familiar flame. Though slightly glazed over, there’s no softening the utter loathing that shines through. It’s twisted though. She may despise the man fucking her like a stiff mule, but there’s something more there. A poisonous vein of retribution and malice punctures through the hatred and is changing something inside of her.

What that something is, I’m not sure. I’m certain, however, that I’m staring at a woman who has the makings of something incredible.

Maybe thereissomething here worth investing in here after all.

2

BEATRIX

ONE MONTH LATER

“Iknow how hard this is for you, Miss Williamson, but please trust that Bright Starr Funeral Home will take the utmost care of your brother.” The words that fall from my lips are automatic, nearly scripted. Hopefully she can hear the warmth and sincerity in them despite how easy they come to me. “I will make sure I care for Samuel just as I would if he had been my own brother.”

The older woman sitting on the worn leather couch in Bright Starr’s office sobs into her handkerchief. Her shoulders shake as she does. My teeth clench together as I work down a knot threatening to form in my throat. No matter how many times I say these words, no matter how many clients walk through this business’s doors, it doesn’t seem to get any easier handling someone’s grief. I’m thankful though. It’s times like these that remind me I’m human. This is empathy, and despite the ache it brings, I’m just glad to be feeling something in the first place. Otherwise, the numb, near-catatonic state in which I’ve been walking through life lately would feel endless and the misery would be suffocating.

“I just… I don’t understand. You’re going toburnhim? My baby brother?” she manages to gasp out. Her watery gaze meets mine.

“Cremation is a beautiful thing,” I offer with a kind smile. “Rather than set him in the earth, you can always keep a piece of him with you. Or some people mention that it’s a great source of comfort and quite freeing to let the ashes go.”

Sitting beside Miss Williamson, Pastor Michaels leans closer and rubs her back in small, gentle circles. Standing in front of my desk, I lean back, allowing my lower back to rest against the edge. Immediately, I regret the decision. The thick bruise that’s spread across the area screams in protest. But I’ve committed to the move. If I flinch now, I’ll draw unwanted attention to myself. So I accept the pain and reach down to grip the lip of the desk.

“It’s what Samuel wanted, Trudy,” the pastor says, his voice soft and gentle. “We can still hold a service for him.”

My potential client sniffles. “I know… it’s just, I can’t believe he wanted to becremated. It’s just… It feels wrong.”

“Samuel was smart,” Pastor Michaels points out kindly. “He knew about your finances and didn’t want to be any more of a burden on you. This decision was made from love. Knowing what his medical bills were doing to the family was hard enough on him. Give him this concession, Trudy.”

Trudy Williamson sobs again, bending at the waist to hide her swollen, tear-soaked cheeks. I look away, giving her a moment of privacy.

“Al-alright. I’ll do it. I’ll get him cremated,” Trudy mutters, straightening in her seat. She looks from Pastor Michaels to me. “But I don’t want your mother or Patrick anywhere near his body. Those filthy lowlifes don’t deserve to be near Samuel. I needyouto be the one to take care of him. You’re not nearly as wretched as them.”

The venom she directs at Patrick and my mother is well deserved. Unfortunately, the town of Chasm lumps me in with those two. Personally, I don’t believe that’s warranted. But a woman running a business in death is already a difficult field to navigate. The fact that I’ve been helping handle bodies and clients since I was ten is another strike against me. A child interested in death? Therehasto be something wrong with me.

“Of course, Miss Williamson,” I assure her, holding on to my professionalism.

Pastor Michaels shoots me an apologetic glance before standing up. “You and I both know Beatrix has a good head on her shoulders, Trudy. There’s no one better for this job.”

“If this wasn’t the only funeral home in the area, I would go somewhere else. I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” She grimaces before eyeing me up with a flare of disgust in her gaze.

I’ve never slighted Trudy or any of her family members. In fact, I’ve barely spoken to the woman my whole life. I don’t really know her at all. But, apparently, she feels she knows me well enough to judgeme.

I ignore the jab, smile, and straighten. “How about we go look at urns? You can pick out the perfect one for Samuel’s ashes.”

“Fine,” she sighs, resignation ringing from the simple word. “The quicker I can get out of here, the better. I swear it feels like evil is lurking in every shadow.”

Given how it’s felt like my every move has been watched recently, I don’t doubt that there may be a few ghosts about.

“Right,” I smile as I suppress a shiver of unease. “Then let's go.”

Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I stand by the front door of Bright Starr to watch as Pastor Michaels walks Trudy across the small parking lot to her car.

The dull throb between my brows is the start of a headache. Though still in its early stages, I’ll have to grab some medicine later or it could turn into a full migraine. This is what I get for being good at my job. If being able to hold onto a smile and remain polite while listening to someone personally berate your entire existence was an Olympic sport—I might be able to medal in it. But the talent comes with its drawbacks.

Like headaches. Oh, and I can’t forget the self-loathing and loneliness.

All this is my fault though, making it hard to complain. This is what I get for not staying away from my hometown. In a place full of religious zealots, elderly constituents, and bullies that settled down with their high school sweethearts and began making mini bullies, it comes as no surprise that I’ll never get a reprieve from being the town’s pariah. It’s a title no one in my position could avoid. The Starr family has been on the fringes of society for generations thanks to the funeral home they started fifty years ago. No one wants to be close friends with someone who’s as familiar with death as we are. But add that to the fact that I’m child to a mother who’s an addict with a mean streak no one is safe from who marries and divorces deadbeat men like it’s a seasonal requirement, it’s nearly impossible to keep any type of relationship up.

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