Free Last Rites by Kim Paffenroth
Authors: Kim Paffenroth
head. “Terry, Bart—you two get moving. I’m gonna sit here with my new girlfriend while you two take him away. Then we’ll try moving her. Gal’s got almost too much spunk.”
They chuckled and hauled Truman away. Then they got Lucy back on her feet. There was nothing more she could do at this point.
CJ holstered his pistol and brushed himself off. “See, that wasn’t so bad.” He started shoving her forward again.
It was bad enough, but besides the strange device that had incapacitated her, it hadn’t been any worse than she had imagined. They were really pretty ordinary and predictable here, so they didn’t bother Lucy that much. It only worried her a little, that Truman would be more troubled by their behavior. He still believed in silly, sentimental things, and expected all sorts of absurd impossibilities. She hoped he always did, but also worried that belief might make his ordeal too much for him to bear.
Chapter 10: Rachel
It had been years since Rachel had seen a room this clean. When she was little, her mother kept things really tidy in their home, but this was way beyond that. The walls and ceiling were almost impossibly white. The sheets on the bed were softer than she’d felt since childhood: now there, her mother would’ve been able to match the care and cleanliness; the woman must’ve done two loads of laundry a day, every day. And not just throw them in the washer, but the full deal—detergent (a special kind for delicate materials, too), fabric softener, bleach on the whites, dryer sheets; then everything folded and put away. Even when she lived in the city, Rachel barely bothered with such stuff, and certainly not since they’d been on the boat: there, she’d just rinse things out, hang them off the rigging, and call them clean enough. They always dried stiff and had an earthy, grassy smell to them, but what did that matter? Too many other things to worry about, and too many other things to enjoy.
As she slowly drifted up to consciousness, Rachel found herself wondering if her mother had been happy, doing all that work. And if her mother had been fulfilled by those things, what’d that make Rachel, with her lazy, sloppy, hedonistic ways?
Rachel’s head throbbed and she felt a little woozy. Nothing like before, but still nowhere near right. Given how she’d felt the last time she’d been conscious enough to think, it was natural for her now to entertain the idea that this was wherever you went when you died. She toyed with that thought for a minute as her gaze drifted to the half-open window, where the sun was shining in. Rachel remembered something about rain and the ship rocking, remembered thunder and strange voices. So it made a sort of sense that this was some other world: the weather was different, it was so much cleaner than anything in the real world—quieter and calmer, too—and things didn’t hurt anymore. Oh—and she was thinking of her mom so vividly, almost feeling her presence. That part made Rachel feel really glad to be here, and she half expected to see her mother when she turned to the other side.
No—just Will, asleep in a big chair. Rachel’s mind shifted, first to chide herself for being so silly. If she’d died, she would’ve opened her eyes to find the regular old dirty world. She’d probably be seeing it through some cloudy gunk, too, since dead people’s eyes were always so messed up, except Lucy’s. And she’d almost certainly be wracked with the desire to kill everyone around her and tear into their warm flesh with her teeth. God, how could she be so stupid as to think she’d drifted straight to some heaven of clean sheets, bright sunshine, and her mother’s love? That wasn’t even a story you told kids anymore. It was just crazy.
Rachel sighed. It was nice to be alive, too. She’d fought so hard and rebelled against death for days when she was sick, it made her feel good and proud to know she’d won. But what was this place? She tried
They chuckled and hauled Truman away. Then they got Lucy back on her feet. There was nothing more she could do at this point.
CJ holstered his pistol and brushed himself off. “See, that wasn’t so bad.” He started shoving her forward again.
It was bad enough, but besides the strange device that had incapacitated her, it hadn’t been any worse than she had imagined. They were really pretty ordinary and predictable here, so they didn’t bother Lucy that much. It only worried her a little, that Truman would be more troubled by their behavior. He still believed in silly, sentimental things, and expected all sorts of absurd impossibilities. She hoped he always did, but also worried that belief might make his ordeal too much for him to bear.
Chapter 10: Rachel
It had been years since Rachel had seen a room this clean. When she was little, her mother kept things really tidy in their home, but this was way beyond that. The walls and ceiling were almost impossibly white. The sheets on the bed were softer than she’d felt since childhood: now there, her mother would’ve been able to match the care and cleanliness; the woman must’ve done two loads of laundry a day, every day. And not just throw them in the washer, but the full deal—detergent (a special kind for delicate materials, too), fabric softener, bleach on the whites, dryer sheets; then everything folded and put away. Even when she lived in the city, Rachel barely bothered with such stuff, and certainly not since they’d been on the boat: there, she’d just rinse things out, hang them off the rigging, and call them clean enough. They always dried stiff and had an earthy, grassy smell to them, but what did that matter? Too many other things to worry about, and too many other things to enjoy.
As she slowly drifted up to consciousness, Rachel found herself wondering if her mother had been happy, doing all that work. And if her mother had been fulfilled by those things, what’d that make Rachel, with her lazy, sloppy, hedonistic ways?
Rachel’s head throbbed and she felt a little woozy. Nothing like before, but still nowhere near right. Given how she’d felt the last time she’d been conscious enough to think, it was natural for her now to entertain the idea that this was wherever you went when you died. She toyed with that thought for a minute as her gaze drifted to the half-open window, where the sun was shining in. Rachel remembered something about rain and the ship rocking, remembered thunder and strange voices. So it made a sort of sense that this was some other world: the weather was different, it was so much cleaner than anything in the real world—quieter and calmer, too—and things didn’t hurt anymore. Oh—and she was thinking of her mom so vividly, almost feeling her presence. That part made Rachel feel really glad to be here, and she half expected to see her mother when she turned to the other side.
No—just Will, asleep in a big chair. Rachel’s mind shifted, first to chide herself for being so silly. If she’d died, she would’ve opened her eyes to find the regular old dirty world. She’d probably be seeing it through some cloudy gunk, too, since dead people’s eyes were always so messed up, except Lucy’s. And she’d almost certainly be wracked with the desire to kill everyone around her and tear into their warm flesh with her teeth. God, how could she be so stupid as to think she’d drifted straight to some heaven of clean sheets, bright sunshine, and her mother’s love? That wasn’t even a story you told kids anymore. It was just crazy.
Rachel sighed. It was nice to be alive, too. She’d fought so hard and rebelled against death for days when she was sick, it made her feel good and proud to know she’d won. But what was this place? She tried