Funeral Games - Chapter 4

Sherry got home late that evening. Jake had whipped up a pretty good eggplant parmesan from a recipe he'd gotten watching the food channel, but by the time Sherry walked through the door at a quarter to nine, it had gotten cold sitting on top of the stove and the red sauce had congealed into slime.

Jake heard her take off her boots at the door, stumbling a few times when she had to stand on one foot to pull down the zippers. She came into the kitchen looking pale, with dark circles under her eyes that Jake swore had not been there the last time her. There was a run in one of the legs of her stockings.

He'd been all set to be annoyed that she hadn't called, but when he saw her, Jake paused. "Long day, babe?"

"Longest day ever," Sherry said. She spotted the eggplant parmesan and all but threw herself at it.

Jake sat with her while she ate ravenously, but she didn't have much to say. After she had finished the eggplant, and the rest of the garlic bread Jake had made to go with it, and an extra grilled cheese that he made for her because she was still hungry, she sat back in her chair and laughed a little.

"I'm so embarrassed that you just saw me eat all that."

"It's okay," Jake said. "I guess it means you trust me. Next thing you know, you'll be leaving the door open while you pee and farting in front of me."

"Don't be silly. I've never farted in my life."

Jake laughed. "Why don't I clean this stuff up?"

"But you already did all the cooking…"

"And you had the longest day ever, right? I'll clean up, you take a shower, and we'll rendezvous on the couch in 20 so I can make sympathetic noises while you tell me all about it."

"You're the best," Sherry said, and when she kissed him before she ran out of the kitchen she made sure to make it count.

Jake sat at the table and sipped a glass of wine. He heard the shower come on and listened to it hum through the walls. He'd been all ready to talk about his feelings and all that other relationship shit, just like a good little boyfriend, but it seemed like Sherry didn't really feel up for it. Maybe when you stayed home all day like he did you didn't get to have real problems anymore.

He got up and washed the dishes in the sink, then he loaded up the dishwasher and set the timer so it wouldn't start until Sherry was out of the shower. He poured himself another glass of wine, and headed into the living room to wait. Sherry came out and joined him a little while later. She was dressed in her pajamas, wrapped up in a thick belted cardigan sweater. Her hair was in damp curls around her face. She'd always liked to let it air dry.

"You didn't even turn on the TV," she said as she flopped down next to him.

"I was waiting for you. I thought you wanted to talk."

"I just have a lot of stuff going on at work," Sherry said, cuddling up so her head was on his shoulder. She seemed on the verge of falling asleep again.

"You can tell me about work, you know."

"Jake…" Sherry sighed, looking up at him. "I really can't. A lot of it is confidential."

"It's not like I'm going to sell your secrets to the Russians or something."

"I know. But I don't feel right talking about it. I'm working on a big project right now, but I can't tell you the details. I'm sorry."

"Sure," Jake said. "I understand. I won't bring it up again."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I was thinking, why don't we have Leon over on Sunday for dinner?"

"Sunday…" Sherry echoed vaguely, as if she could not remember what the word meant. "Sure, I think that would be nice. Are you starting to like Leon, Jake?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Leon's a solid bro."

"He likes you."

"He likes everybody."

"So?"

"So, I'm not special." He bent his head and kissed her, and then he switched on the TV. Some blond detectives out on the other coast were grilling a murder suspect. Everyone was wearing suits they couldn't possibly afford on a cop's salary, and it made Jake think about those little red numbers in the budget again.

When the commercial came on, he turned down the volume and said, "I'm thinking about canceling my gym membership."

"Really?" Sherry said, startled. "But you always talk about how much you like it…"

"It's not really that great."

"Last week you told me it was the one thing you look forward to every day."

"But we can't afford it," Jake said. His mouth felt dry as he spoke, but he thought he got the words off all right. "I can just start running around the neighborhood or something."

Sherry leaned back to look him in the face. She was scowling, and it made a little V appear between her pale eyebrows. "What makes you think we can't afford it?"

"I had a look at the budget today." This time, there was a little tremor in his voice. Jake heard it, and he wondered if Sherry had. "It's not a big deal or anything…"

"Oh, Jake," Sherry sighed. "Those are old numbers. I haven't updated them since you moved in. We're not about to get evicted or anything, I promise."

"Still," Jake said. "97 dollars is a lot of money."

"I didn't think you'd memorize the exact amount…" Sherry frowned.

"I could go get a job. There's got to be something I can do to pull my weight around here."

Sherry surprised him by planting a kiss on his mouth. "Jake, you're already the best thing that's ever happened around here. You don't have to do anything except keep being wonderful."

Jake felt his cheeks grow hot, and he realized he was blushing. "I guess that settles that," he muttered, embarrassed.

"You're right. It's all settled now." Sherry relaxed beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. The commercials were already over, and the show with the cops was back on. Jake turned the volume back up.

After a few minutes, Sherry looked up at him. "I think the brother-in-law did it."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I figured that."

"Guess you know everything, huh?"

"Guess I do."

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" Sherry said, and before Jake could answer, he felt the small and insistent pressure of her hand on his thigh, edging up until her hand was cupped around the bulge in the crotch of his pajama pants.

"I'm starting to get an idea," Jake said. He gave her a squeeze with the arm he had around her waist. "How about another hint?"

"It's not Twenty Questions, Jake."

"It is if all the answers are yes." Her grip on him shifted, and his cock hopped to attention in her hand, zero to sixty in about a millisecond.

"Why Miss Birkin, I'm starting to think you like me."

She slipped her hand back into his pajamas, exploring his erection with the pads of her fingers. "Not as much as your little friend here likes me."

Jake decided he'd had about all of that he could handle. He tightened his grip on Sherry's waist and stood up abruptly, dragging her along and slinging her over his shoulder.

"Jake!" she squeaked, kicking her legs awkwardly below where he was gripping her across the thighs. "This is an illegal move!"

"You want me to put you down…?"

"No!" She brought her palm down hard on his ass. "Put me down in the bedroom."

Jake started down the hall, and she slapped him again. "Faster!"

"Ow, babe, that actually kind of hurts…"

They made it back to the bedroom, and Jake unshouldered her, setting her down on the edge of the bed. Sherry shook her messy hair back and looked up at him. Her cardigan had come unbelted and fallen away from her shoulders.

Jake leaned forward, over her, and she bent one leg up between them, setting her toes against his chest and stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait," she said. "I want to fool around, but only on one condition."

"That you get to be on top?"

"Nice try," Sherry said. "But actually, I don't want to hear even one more word about money, or work, or the budget."

"Doesn't give us much to discuss, does it?"

"We should try to stick to more intellectual topics."

"You mean like food trucks? Because there's this amazing one that usually parks downtown by the library that has bahn mi…"

Sherry laughed. "Talking is overrated. Just get over here already."

"Yes, ma'am," Jake said. He leaned over her, and she kneeled up to meet him in a kiss. Her fists clutched in the front of his tee-shirt, drawing him close. But when he looped an arm around her waist, he felt that old familiar tension, muscles clenching beneath the palm of his hand.

For the record, Sherry had never actually pulled away from him, and she had never given him any indication – save that winding up as if in preparation of flight – that she didn't want to be touched. Still, tonight, Jake paused.

"Babe, you're sure you want this, right?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She sounded hurt. Jake had known even before it was out that it was going to be the wrong thing to say, but he hadn't anticipated how badly she was going to take it.

"I don't know. I guess what I'm saying is, I think it would be pretty hot if you, you know, told me what I should do."

"What do you mean? Like, I want you to have intercourse with me?"

Jake laughed. "You could make it sound a little sexier than that."

She pursed her lips and lowered her upper eyelids, making a face that just missed sultry and landed in the neighborhood of drunk. "I want you to have intercourse with me," she purred.

"Try not calling it intercourse?"

"What about coitus?"

"You know what?" Jake said. "Let's work it out later."

Sherry squeaked as he toppled her back on the bed, and as he crawled over her he felt her body arch up against his. "Fornication?" she said.

"Gross."

"Congress? Dalliance?"

"That last one's not bad," Jake said.

"You're really sweet, Jake," she replied. He felt her tugging at the hem of his shirt and he slipped it off for her. She drew the tip of one finger down his chest, and he wound up in anticipation, expecting the bite of her fingernail cutting into his skin. Instead, he felt only the soft cushions that crowned her finger. She had, he realized, bitten the nail down to the quick without him ever realizing it.

"What's wrong?" Sherry murmured.

"Nothing," Jake said. His face felt hot, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

"Really?" She curled her hand around the bulge in the front of his pajama pants, making his stomach turn over weightlessly. "Then this isn't a problem?"

"That's a big problem, babe."

The corners of Sherry's eyes creased with amusement, a smile that did not appear on her lips. "Are you sure it's all the big?"

"Huge."

"We'll just have to see about that." She set her palm in the center of his chest and toppled him onto his back. Swinging one leg over, she straddled his hips. He could feel how wet she was, even through two layers of clothes.

She pulled her shirt off over her head, and Jake's hands settled on her hips automatically, not knowing, even as he moved, that he was going to do it. He felt her shiver, but it was different this time, not a shudder of anxiety but rather a tremor in response to the calluses that webbed Jake's fingers.

Once she had told him that she liked that he was still a little bit rough. He hadn't told her that it was only the constant chafing of the world that had made him that way.


Eventually, he got healthy enough to feel sick, and he knew that he was quite unwell indeed. His head throbbed like it had been cleaved in two, a big black fissure looming in the darkness in which he was physically and mentally suspended. His stomach was clenched and knotted like a fist, and when he tried to move his limbs the slightest effort made his heart race and his throat constrict. He thought he had lost consciousness a few times, but he couldn't be sure. He no longer knew when he was awake and thinking and when he was asleep and dreaming.

But he wasn't sick, he thought. This was no illness. He was hurt. He was hurt very badly, far beyond what a body ought to have been able to endure.

He remembered the fire, remembered burning. For a brief, irrational moment he thought that he must be there even now. Burning beneath the earth. Somehow still alive, dying forever.

The process of dying didn't frighten him. It was a simple chemical formula, the transference of matter, a procedure by which nothing was gained or lost. But this limbo, this uncertainty, scared him very badly. He tried to fight against it, to claw his way free, but he ran up against a wall of agony that slapped him back down into oblivion.

A cool hand came out of the darkness and stroked his brow, and he felt a sharp and unfamiliar pain in the ruined sockets where his eyes had been. That was how he knew that he was still dreaming. If he had been awake, he never would have come so close to tears.

When he had been six years old, he had come down with a fever. He remembered a dark room with a heavy shade drawn across the window. A little ribbon of sunlight had come in around the edge of the curtain, and as he had watched it crawl across the wall.

He was burning, and he would never go out. He had always been in the fire.

Beneath his cheek, he recalled now, the pillow had been damp with sweat. Sometimes he felt impersonal hands on him. Moving him, changing the sheets, placing an IV in one of his small veins. Then one day the fever broke, and he was all alone. Before, there had been other children here; now, they were gone. It never occurred to him to ask to where they had vanished. He understood that they were dead and that he had lived. There was no point getting sentimental about it. The fire had not gone out, but he had learned to beat it back with his reason, put it out of sight.

"Look at this," the woman said. Her voice brought him out of unconsciousness, worrying him back into the dark and motionless waking world. He loathed her for it, but he clung to her voice all the same. It was the only way to be sure he was really here.

Her fingers moved over his face, prying open the flaps of skin that had fused over his desiccated eye sockets. For a moment, the shadows that covered him broke and he could see light, dull gray as if filtered through a cataract. Then a shade passed in front of him and the light was gone, as if it had been no more than optical illusion cobbled into place by a damaged and panicked mind.

"That white thing in there is the optical nerve. It's starting to regenerate."

He heard the man's voice now. "Thanks, Jessica. I was just thinking to myself how much I wanted to see the grossest thing ever."

"You're the one with red chest hair. You don't get a say in what's gross."

The woman's thumb stroked a slow, thoughtful circle around the inner ridge of his eye socket. It was an awful, intimate sensation, and it reminded him of Excella. He detested most things about her. Her hands, her voice, the way she acted as if the two of them were not just biding time until it was advantageous to turn on each other.

He'd never asked her to touch him, but sometimes she had. He remembered her fingers combing through his hair, pressing his temples, digging into the backs of his shoulders. It had all been so strange, so unwelcome, that it had taken him a long time to realize that, in her own chilly way, she was trying to make him feel good.

Maybe she would come for him soon… No, no, she was dead. He knew that. It wasn't like him to lose track of something important like that.

"His fingers are twitching," the man announced.

"He doesn't have fingers."

"His stubs are twitching."

The hand on his brow withdrew. For an instant, he saw gray light, light so faint and diffuse that it could hardly be called light at all. Then darkness descended once more.

"They are twitching," the woman said. Her name was Jessica. That's what the other had called her. He'd do well to remember that.

"What do you make of it?" the man said.

"It's icky."

"Astounding powers of observation."

"Are you getting scared, Raymond darling?"

"Scared of a guy like that getting loose in the world again? Is this a trick question?"

"Relax," Jessica said. "Nothing's going to happen. There's nothing he can do like this, and if he tries, I'm here to show him who's boss."