Page 97 of Buried Beneath Sin

“It’s my business too, why can’t I be here?” I ask, sauntering around the room. My hands, covered in fresh blisters from my task earlier, slide into my jacket pockets as I come to stand beside the old desk on the far side of the room.

There’s a pause. “It’s yours too?”

“Yup. The twins and I share everything. What’s theirs is mine and what’s mine is theirs.” I glance over at her. “I guess it’s still partially your business too since we’re keeping you around.”

I don’t miss her frown as she looks away while ripping off her gloves and removing her smock.

“What? Does that bother you?” I try hard to keep the taunt out of my voice. For all she knows, I’m here visiting under friendly circumstances.

“No, it’s just… Hard to wrap my head around. It’s insane to think that Bright Starr no longer belongs to a Starr. It’s been in my family for generations. I tried to keep it afloat forfutureStarrs. Now I guess it’ll go to a future Hunt if the twins marry and have kids.”

Her grimace is ignored as her words stun me into silence. Thatcher or Sagan with kids?Kids? My amusement swells, and I open my mouth to laugh.

“Or I suppose it could end up belonging to a future Keele.”

My laughter gets stuck in my throat. Did she just kick me in the chest? It’s suddenly hard to breathe. For a fleeting moment, I try to envision a life with a mini me growing up under the roofof the house up on the hill. I can’t see it. The concept is almost too absurd to entertain. Yet for some reason, this overwhelming urge to be better than my parents, to be better than the world, to a smaller version of me swells up. The stickiness of the idea clings to my mind and soaks into my heart.

Fuck. Now why did she have to go and say a stupid thing like that?

“Kids are about as annoying as fleas. There will be none ofthose thingsaround here,” I manage to spit out after a spiraling moment of existential crisis.

Starr Girl giggles as she throws away her disposable gown in the red waste bin. It’s followed by her gloves and head cap. When she’s done, she turns to face me. Her matriarchal black turtleneck with puffy sleeves and black pants makes it look like she’s about to go to a funeral. I suppose it’s fitting given where we all work.

Looking away, I glance up at the arrangement of pictures on the wall. My eyes barely skim over them, but then I find myself going back over each picture as I don’t recognize a pattern of any sort.

“Who are these people?” I ask.

The soft sound of her footsteps tells me she’s approaching. My stomach clenches as excitement for what’s to come returns. It burns hotter than before now that she’s made me uncomfortableagain. This time with the idea of children. Fuck, she’s annoying. I can’t wait to see her tears.

There’s a short pause as her footsteps falter before coming to a stop. I look over my shoulder to find her looking at the floor. What’s this? Her expression reads almost a bit… guilty.

“I asked you a question.” I turn all the way around to face her. “None of them look like the others, or like you, so they're not family. There's a vast age range too that tells me they probably weren't your friends. So why are they up here?”

Beatrix licks her bottom lip nervously before she forces her gaze up at me. “They’re, ah, my favorites.”

“Favorite what?” I don’t get it. My eyes jump from her to the pictures on the wall then back.

“Um…” There’s a short pause before she lets out an exasperated sigh and throws up her hands. “I don’t know why it's so hard to tellyou. It’s not like you can judge me.”

I raise a brow. “I most certainly can judge you, and I will. But first I need to know why.”

“They’re my favorite corpses.”

If she hadn’t just dropped the Keele two-point-oh bomb on me, I would’ve bet this was the most shocking thing to ever come out of her mouth. As it is, she’s right. I can’t really judge her in this area of her life. Before I can stop it, I laugh.

“Well, Starr Girl, you are just a pot of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask.

She moves closer, then steps around me to look at the people on the wall. My body coils, ready to spring. Still, I keep my breathing calm and my voice under control.

“Whytheseones?” I ask softly, taking a half step closer to her.

“They were some of the hardest to put back together. I was able to make them beautiful again.”

I glance up at the pictures. None of them are what I would consider good looking.

“Beautiful? Starr Girl, I’m afraid I don’t see it.”

“You don’t?” Her voice softens as she continues, “Ms. Penelope killed herself sitting in a running car in the garage. No one knows if it was an accident or done on purpose since she was showing signs of dementia. You'd think that would be the easiest way to go, but it can be ugly, and she was a worst case scenario. When she got here, her face was swollen and discolored... It took me ages to work her back to her normal state. You'd never know what happened to her by looking at her now.”

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