Free 13 Drops of Blood by James Roy Daley

say that he looked like a goddamn stiff but instead she asked: “What happened? I was at the funeral, you know… I was there!”
    Richard coughed. Greenish-brown pus-like drool dribbled along the place his bottom lip should have been. He said, “Me too. I was inside that fucking box, Kate. Inside the coffin, unable to move, unable to scream.” Richard paused. His thoughts twisted this way and that. Suddenly he wanted to explain everything. He wanted to tell her that he was alive when they scraped him off the road, and when they brought him into the morgue and embalmed him. He wanted her to know that he was alive when they boxed him up and covered him in dirt. He wanted her to understand what type of man he really was, and that he couldn’t be killed in traditional ways. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to explain. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “They thought I was dead, and I might have looked dead, but a car accident can’t kill me. Not ever. And in time I get better. I always get better.”
    Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was impossible. It was insane . But she knew what she was seeing , and what she was seeing had to be some type of sick joke. She asked, “How can this be happening?”
“Doesn’t matter. What happened to Steven?”
“Who?”
“Steve, the––”
Kate realized what Richard was asking. She said, “Oh. He died in the accident.” As an after-thought, she added, “With you.”
    Richard’s thoughts turned a corner. He wondered if Steven was still trapped in his coffin, scratching the silk, trying to get out. He pushed the thoughts aside and said, “You’ve got to call Jennifer… tell her to come home right away. Can you do that for me?”
    “Of course, I’ll call her right now. But Richard, what in God’s name should I tell her?”
    “Tell her to come home. If she wants to know why, say I need to talk with her. It’s very important.”
     
    * * *
     
    When Jennifer hung up the phone her face had become pale. Richard was back. He was alive. He wanted her to come home. It was important.
    She couldn’t believe it.
    Alone in her hospital room, she pulled herself from bed and dressed quickly. She ran her fingers through hair that no longer looked stylishly brave, but messy and without a hint of fashion sense. She made for the exit with her shoes untied, her skirt on sideways, and her travel bag hanging wide open. A car-ride later she shuffled through the front door of her home, sun setting in the west, moon rising in the east, clutching her belly with her fingers.
    The child was kicking; the pain was getting worse. If it didn’t soon subside she was going to find herself buckled over on the floor, screaming bloody murder. Again.
    As she staggered down the hallway towards (her late husband) Richard, the bedroom door blasted open and Kate stepped into view. Her eyes were entirely different now. They looked swollen and red, like she had been screwing her fists into her sockets for the last five years.
    She grabbed Jennifer by the shoulders and said, “You need to brace yourself.”
    “Let me see him.”
    “No! Listen to me Jenn; you need to prepare for what you’re about to see. Richard is back, but he looks bad. He looks really fucking bad.”
    Jennifer cringed. She hadn’t heard her sister use the F word since she was fourteen years old. She said, “I’ll be alright.”
    “Brace yourself! I’m not kidding about this.”
    Jennifer pushed Kate away forcefully and plowed into the room. She figured she’d be able to handle it. No problem. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. Besides, how bad could it be?
    Richard was on the bed. His body was angled unnaturally and his suit was covered in dirt. Chunks of brain were resting on the pillow. A large bug ran across the sheets as another scurried up the wall. To summarize, he looked like an embalmed corpse that had been smashed to pieces with a sledgehammer and pulled from the earth he’d