"Steve's dad killed himself."
"What?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
"Steve found him about an hour ago. He shot himself in the embalming room."
A silence settled over my bedroom. I scratched my head as I looked from Shannie to the floor to Ellie and back to Shannie again. "At least they didn't have to take him far."
"You're such a prick! Our friend's father killed himself and your making jokes! What the Hell is your problem?"
"Jesus Shannie, lighten up."
"I don't take death lightly."
"You know…"I hesitated. If ever I had a chance to share my near-death experience it was now. I missed the best opportunity to share the most intimate detail of my life with the person I wished to be the most intimate with.
"You know what?" Shannie asked.
"Nothing."
"Geezus Pete James. Who cares about the bastard. But Steve is a friend, Marcy and Janice are friends. What about them? Their world's been thrown into flux."
"Life is constant flux," I stabbed.
Shannie walked out of my room, down the stairs and out the front door.
I pulled my covers over my head. I was safe in their embrace. Krista once said not making a decision is making a decision, by that logic I decided to hibernate. Hibernation was easier; there weren't decisions to make. Sleep evaded me, in the warmth of my cocoon I remembered learning of Count's death.
I fell into the habit of sleeping on the couch, I'd fall asleep to CNN's round the clock coverage. The war was two days old when we learned of Count's fate. I was nodding off to the sound of jet engines when the phone rang. I rolled over and buried my face against the back of the couch. I had a cold thanks to my midnight tunnel run.
My cheerful voice came on with the answering machine. "Morrison's Mortuary, you stab 'em we slab 'em. Leave a message and we'll get back to ya. Late."
A foreboding silence answered my salutation. "Joe, James, this is Leroy. Listen," the voice paused, gathering strength. "Junior's been killed; I don't know what, how it happened. Still trying to find out. Flossy ain't taking it too well. Diane knows. He's a good boy. Pray for him."
The phone went silent. I bolted upright. Trembling, I stared at the answering machine as it clicked off. I struggled to my feet and hobbled across the living room. I replayed the message.