Incubus Kiss

 

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Chapter 1

In Leesborough, a tiny city in a small slice of northern Louisiana, the local funeral home director had been appointed as Lee Parish's coroner. Anthony McAllen was summoned by our hospice nurse and had arrived not long after my husband drew his very last gasp of air. Someone had met McAllen at the door, brought him through my house to the master bedroom.

The undertaker was tall and muscular, coal black hair, ivory skin unmottled by sun or age, and his eyes were an unnatural color blue. The palest blue I ever saw in humans. His voice was a rich baritone and hushed. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. McTernan.” He held my hand lightly, and it was pleasantly warm, a comforting warm, unlike my husband’s skin.

I looked into his eyes, which were seemingly the height of compassion and consideration and was struck dumb for words. We’d never crossed paths other than a nod or two at wakes or funerals. I was just enough superstitious Irish to avoid people in the funeral trade like Mr. McAllen.

He was beyond the word handsome, which was a generic adjective, so overused and abused. No, there was something almost nonhuman-like beautiful about his eyes, his face. A momentary pause. He waited patiently, still holding my hand, and I slowly withdrew it, suddenly aware of how much time had passed.

“Thank you.” I managed that much and glanced back at the hospital bed where my husband’s mortal remains lay.

“If you would just give us a little time.” McAllen studied the hospital bed, then turned his attention to my brother-in-law Thom. “So very sorry for your loss, Mr. McTernan." He shook hands with Thom and Freddie, Thom's partner, and his hand straightened his tie ever so briefly.

If your could take your sister-in-law into the living room or kitchen for a while. Just a short time so I can attend to my coroner duties." Thom nodded, his grey-green eyes filled with tears again, and he grasped my hand a little too hard. Freddie stopped briefly to exchange a few words with McAllen, then turned to us.

“Come on, Mili. I think you need a cup of coffee. Maybe a glass of wine.” He led us to the kitchen where various relatives gathered around the kitchen island, drank coffee and cast looks at a store bought red velvet cake past its prime. I looked around at all the swollen eyes from crying. The kitchen garbage can, shit, every trashcan in our house overflowed with discarded tissues soaked with relief, loss, and resignation. Freddie pulled a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from my refrigerator and found glasses in the cabinets. I watched silently as he expertly removed the foil wrapper, uncorked the bottle, and poured me an oversized serving of the pale yellow wine. He kept pouring until all the wine was gone, then pulled another bottle out and repeated.

“To Terry. He fought the good fight. The bravest man I’ve ever known, and my brother.” Thom looked about us and We raised our glasses in salute. Numbly I drained my glass and held it out for more. 

In the corner of my eye, I saw a movement and turned. McAllen filled the doorway with his height and build, and he had an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you can come back in now.”

“Would you like a glass, Anthony?” Freddie held up the bottle.
McAllen shook his head. “No, but thank you. The parish frowns on me drinking on duty.”

“Of course.” Freddie put the bottle down and exchanged a glance with Thom. They followed me back into my bedroom, and we looked down at the ravaged man. I don’t know what McAllen had done, but there was a look of peace on Terry’s face that hadn’t been there minutes before. It was almost as if he’d fallen asleep, except his chest didn’t rise or his lids twitch in sleep.

“I’ll give you some time to say goodbye before we take him to the funeral home.” He flashed a sad smile and walked out. Thom, Freddie, and I linked arms around each other’s waists and looked down at the man we’d loved so much.

“I’ll take care of you, Bess. You know that. I promised Terry when he got sick, but you knew that.”

“Thank you.” 

I watched as Thom leaned down and put his arms around Terry’s terribly thin and wasted body. Blocked out the whispered goodbye from my brother-in-law to his baby brother. Freddie went next, just a brief touch and words mixed with sobs.

They looked at me expectantly, and I shook my head. “I need a few moments, guys.” Freddie hugged me tightly, and they left me alone to say goodbye to the love of my life, the man I'd never be able to replace. I crawled up alongside Terry, and put my arm around his chest, inhaled his scent, and cried myself to sleep.

 

“What can I do for you, Mrs. McTernan?” McAllen’s deep voice jolted me awake. I sat up quickly, but still held my husband's hand. The contrast of McAllen’s almost hot hand lightly resting on my shoulder contrasted with Terry’s cooling one.

Blearily I looked up at him and blinked. He must’ve been outside because his usually perfect hair was tousled by something, almost as if a woman had run her fingers through it during a passionate kiss. He leaned forward slightly, a foot or two from my face, and for the first time I realized this man, our undertaker looked like an older GQ model. From the mussed hair to his perfectly fitted charcoal Armani suit, to the black Italian shoes carefully laced and tied, he looked out of place in my messy bedroom turned hospital room. My out of kilter brain wondered how well the funeral business paid to afford Italian designer suits.

“Should I get Thomas?”

I blinked again. “I fell asleep, and have no idea what time it is.”

He smiled slightly again. “Understandable under the circumstances.” He paused. “I’m afraid we need to move your husband to the funeral home. I’ll call you as soon as possible for the wake details.” He reached out and helped me stand. My eyes came up to him mid-chest because I’m not a tall person, not quite 5’4”. For some weird reason, I had the urge to touch his gray silk tie where the antique clasp held it in place. Instead, I was led to out into the kitchen again, and released to Freddie, who held out his arms. Thom handed me another glass of wine and thanked the undertaker, and McAllen went off to do his business.


“I have some people coming in to clean the house and take away the hospital bed and supplies.” Thom looked around at the group of men and women clustered in my kitchen. “The café from town’s bringing in soup and sandwiches, and the Martha Guild from St. Dunstan’s is coming by later with more food and beverages. I’d like everyone to take a break and join us in a few minutes in the living room.” Muttered agreement, excuses for bathroom breaks, and we adjourned to the living room situated in the front of my rambling old Victorian home. Pocket doors separated the enormous dining room from the living room, and there was plenty of seating among the comfortable couches and chairs. I’d not redecorated for authentic Victorian décor, but for a cozy place where our bed and breakfast guests could congregate and relax after hours of hiking and fishing.

Except we’d not had guests for two years during Terry’s illness. It was oddly nice to have this many people in the expansive room.

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