Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease (12 page)

He stumbled down the last three steps when he saw the man sitting in his favorite easy chair in the living room.

Clean-shaven and dressed in a shiny suit that easily cost a month of Simon’s sizeable salary, the man was examining his impeccably manicured fingernails. A roaring fire burned in the fireplace beside him, signifying that he had been there for quite a while. Despite the fire, there was a distinct lack of the scent of burning wood; instead, the whole room smelled like sulfur, as though a match had just been blown out.

When he saw Simon, the man smiled. “Ah, good,” he said, and unfolded the length of his tall body from the recliner. He approached Simon, holding out his hand for Simon to shake. A blue vapor surrounded him, rising in faint trails from his extended fingertips. “You must be Simon Kurst, then. Very pleased to meet you.”

Simon stepped slowly forward. He ignored the intruder’s outstretched hand. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house? How did you get in?”

“Oh, I apologize for my lack of manners. My name is Andrew Smite, of Dieter, Worthem, and Smite, Bereavement Services, LLP.” His smile disappeared and he knitted his dark eyebrows in concern. “You
are
bereaved, aren’t you, Mr. Kurst? I have the understanding that you recently lost your beloved young wife.”

“I don’t know how you got in my house, but you are trespassing. If you leave immediately, I won’t call the authorities,” Simon offered.

“Come now, Mr. Kurst, let us not be hasty.” Smite folded himself into Simon’s easy chair and settled back comfortably. “I
did
knock, after all, and no one answered. The door was left ajar, so I simply let myself in. I can see that you find my presence unnerving. Be that as it may, I don’t think that now is the most prudent time to call the police. Do you?” He looked at Simon with sharp, gray eyes. “I don’t understand why you have no security . . . a man of your means, even if you do reside miles from civilization.”

Simon stared as the blue vapor rose from the surface of the man’s elegant clothing. “I also took the liberty of stoking your fire,” said Smite smoothly, nodding at the fireplace. “It was quite chilly in here, and I wasn’t sure how long I would be required to wait for you to make an appearance.”

Simon suddenly noticed the rivulets of sweat that rolled down his back. “Now is not exactly a very good time, Mr. Smite. I have things to –”

“On the contrary, Mr. Kurst,” Smite interrupted. “I think that now is the very best time. After all, young Mrs. Kurst
has
just recently departed, hasn’t she? We’ve found that the earlier we can intervene to offer our services, the more satisfied our clients are, and the outcome is so much better for everyone, all around.” His bright white smile flashed against his tan face.

Prickles of sweat broke out on Simon’s forehead.
How
did Smite know? Why the hell was he here?

Smite picked up a manila folder from the coffee table beside him. “I think that you might find the contents of this file rather interesting. It would be unfair of me to leave you without giving you the opportunity to peruse them.” He stood and offered Simon the folder.

Simon readied himself to protest, but something in Smite’s demeanor stopped him. He eyed the folder nervously. He reached out and grasped its corner between his thumb and forefinger, as though the paper was something disgusting that he didn’t really want to touch.

“You may want to sit down before you look at what’s inside,” Smite advised.

Shooting the intruder a dirty look, Simon moved to the sofa and sat. He opened the folder and saw one sheet of paper – and one photograph. Viewing the image, Simon cursed.

In the photo, Juniper lay on the living room carpet in the fetal position, her arms raised to protect her face. Simon stood over her, his foot just making contact with her stomach.

Beads of sweat now rolled down from his hairline as he looked up and studied Smite intently for a moment: the slicked-back gray hair, the expensive suit, the sense of money that surrounded the man. He could sense something dark and slithery beneath the surface. “Where did you get this?” Simon demanded.

“I am not at liberty to discuss where the photo came from; however, it exists, as do many others.” The man smiled widely, the carnivorous smile of a shark. “In addition, Mr. Kurst, my partners are aware that I am here and that I’m meeting with you. If you should entertain any bright ideas, it will be all over for you by nightfall.”

“What do you want from me? Money?”

“Come, now, Mr. Kurst. Do I look like I need money? Even more, do I look like the type of man who would stoop to underhanded measures to get it?”

I’m not so sure about that,
Simon thought. “Why are you here, then? You must want
something
from me. Otherwise, you would have taken your photo – oh, excuse me –
photo-zuh
– to the police.”

Smite sighed heavily. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Kurst. My company does not
take
from the grieving; we do everything we can to
give
. I am here to offer you an opportunity to redeem yourself. You
do
feel remorse for what you’ve done, don’t you?

Remorse.
Did
he feel remorse? He supposed he did. After all, Juniper had always taken care of him. She made good food, kept the house and the laundry clean, and was available for sex. If he hadn’t killed her, Simon wouldn’t now be worrying about who was now going to fill her role. Or about going to prison.

“Oh, for Devil’s sake, man!” Simon jumped at Smite’s thundering voice. “That isn’t usually a question that most people have to
think
about! What is wrong with you?” The tall man’s lips turned down at the corners in an ominous frown. His gray eyes bored into Simon’s.

His nervousness giving way to full-fledged fear, Simon replied, “Well, yeah, I feel remorse. It should go without saying, shouldn’t it?”

“Unless you’re a lying psychopath,” Smite retorted. “Just read the paper.”

Simon unfolded the sheet of paper and skimmed it. “I, Simon Kurst, do agree to take Juniper Kurst back into my home as living . . .” he looked at Smite. “What is this? It looks like a contract. And how can I take her back?”

Smite rolled his eyes in exasperation. “My business offers some very special services. We provide grief counseling, re-entry programs for those who need help to get back on their feet after the death of a spouse, and so on. This is one of our more ‘special’ services, which we offer to only a select few. People like you who have lost their loved ones through a negligent accident. We give you a chance to have your loved one with you again, provided you agree to change your habits.”

“But that’s impossible,” Simon said.

“Seeing is believing, Mr. Kurst. This is truly a second chance to have your lovely wife with you again. Wouldn’t you jump at that chance?”

“In a heartbeat,” Simon admitted. He thought how convenient that would be. No more worries about what to do with Juniper’s body; no living in fear that he would end up in prison. He did not want to be locked up, to have his freedom – and almost certainly, his pride and dignity – taken away. Far beyond anything else, Simon feared his inability to survive in a prison environment. He would be eaten alive, and he knew it.

Not to mention that he would lose the enjoyable lifestyle to which he had become accustomed: his massive paychecks, his Country Club membership, all of his perks, and his very sharp investment team, thanks to his position as Vice President of Operations at Gammo Pharmaceuticals.

“What if I won’t do it?” Simon asked.

“If you do not accept the agreement, then all of the photographic evidence in our possession will be released to the authorities; and chances are excellent that you will go to prison. If you decide on that course of action, however, you will still have your money and assets to bargain with, in the event of your incarceration.”

“I don’t see that as much of a choice,” Simon said.

“I must warn you, however. Once you sign this document, there are certain conditions that must be met. If you dishonor those conditions, you will not only lose hour wife and freedom. You will lose everything else, as well. All of your physical and nonphysical possessions will revert to Dieter, Worth, and Smite, LLP: this beautiful home, your lovely Ocean City beach house, your three cars, everything in your bank accounts . . . and more.”

And more?
“So what are these conditions?”

“Keep reading, Mr. Kurst.”

Simon looked back down at the paper in his hand. His lips moved as he read. After a couple of minutes, he said, “I can’t lay a finger on her.”

“That’s right. Not so much as a
fingernail
. No punching, no slapping, no choking, no hair pulling.
Ever
. And you can neither neglect her nor abandon this household. Until you die.”

Simon could do that. He hoped. He was the epitome of self-control in all aspects of his life – except with Juni. She just had a way of rubbing him the wrong way.

He thought of all the old stories he’d read where people made deals with the Devil. Simon didn’t believe in God and the Devil. But this situation was too surreal, too ludicrous, to be anything else. After all, the fact remained – the dead simply did not come back to life. And Smite was too polished, too smooth, and the look in his eyes was dangerously cunning. He looked exactly the way Simon imagined the Devil would look if the Devil actually existed. And what about the sulfur smell that accompanied Smite, and the blue smoke that rose from his person in tendrils? What about the roaring fire that Smite had started in Simon’s fireplace – on an intolerably humid summer morning?

Was this even real? He could be going nuts. Maybe Juniper’s death had triggered this response. Maybe he was feeling guilty, and it had caused hallucinations. In which case, it wouldn’t matter whether or not he signed the agreement.

“Okay,” Simon said. “I’ll do it.”

Smite smiled his wide, white smile. “What a wise decision, Mr. Kurst. I’m sure that, going forward, your new relationship with your wife will be very enlightening.” He reached beneath his suit jacket and brought out a pen. “Go ahead and sign on the line. Don’t forget the date.”

Simon reached out and took the pen. The ink was a dull, brick red against the white paper. It reminded him of the rusty dried blood color in Juni’s blonde hair.

As soon as he had finished writing the date next to his signature, a new queasiness in his stomach told him he had just made a very big mistake.

Smite took the paper and handed him another. “This is exactly the same. One is your copy and the other copy is for our records.”

Simon looked the second copy over to make sure that it was the same thing. Then he signed it.

“You may keep the photograph to remind you, Mr. Kurst,” Smite said as he moved toward the door. “And you should be seeing signs of life within the next twenty-four hours. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.” He held out his smoky hand once again for Simon to shake.

For the second time, Simon ignored the gesture. “I wish I could say the same,” he responded.

Smite shrugged and smiled coolly as he stepped outside. “Don’t forget, we’ve got our eyes on you, Mr. Kurst. Good day.”

Simon closed the door firmly behind the departed trespasser and locked it. He pulled the curtain aside at the front window and peered outside, but didn’t see Smite walking up the drive. He didn’t even see Smite’s car. Where had the man gone?

He opened the door, stepped out on to the front porch, and looked around. Smite was nowhere to be seen. There was only a faint blue cloud hanging above the front walk.

He walked the perimeter of the house in his slippers, seeing nothing save the broad expanse of green lawn on that led to the surrounding woods. The gentle summer breeze stirred the treetops; birds chirped and the sun beamed down. There was no sign of Smite. It was as though the man had vanished into thin air.

He could have just slipped into the woods. He could be watching me right now.
Simon sighed. What did it matter now, anyway?

He gave up and went back inside. After making sure that the door was securely closed and locked, he picked up the bucket beside the hearth and dumped the sand it contained onto Smite’s fire, smothering it.

Simon slumped into his recliner beside the fireplace and wiped sweat from his face. This was one of the few times in his adult life that he had felt shaken. He looked at the paper that lay on the sofa beside the photograph Smite had left behind.

Always sharp when it came to contracts and deals, he cursed himself for making such a colossal error. He should never have signed the paper. It was tantamount to a confession. And what if that was really the only photo?

No, Smite had more photos. He didn’t know how this photo had been managed; but Simon was sure that Smite hadn’t been bluffing. There was no way that Simon was going to risk going to prison. He loved his money and he loved his freedom. But what kind of a price was Simon really going to have to pay to keep them?

And what about Juniper?

For the next couple of hours, Simon’s nerves zinged with agitation. He could barely sit still, and his easy chair had lost its friendliness since Smite had occupied it. He forced himself instead to sit back in the corner of his sofa and replay Smite’s visit in his mind.