Vidal Funeral Home and Crematorium

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange wasn't feeling better, really, but somehow it sort of helped to know that she was not the only one felt the way she did. Tristan seemed to understand that a part of you got changed when you dated another person. Or at least that's how it felt. She just really hoped it wouldn't take her as long as it had last time to get back to being herself. Last time it had been over a year before she'd started to feel remotely normal again.

She suddenly felt the need to apologize to Tristan for dumping all of her pathetic romance issues on him when she felt certain he couldn't have cared less. She also felt the need to thank him for actually being being rather understanding about the situation and giving some fairly good insight for which she was grateful.

“Yeah. Don’t mention it.” he said. “But if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Solange nodded with a faint smile. She slowly got to her feet and smoothed out her skirt. She turned to the side as a group of somber looking people came in and walked into the room where the service was to be held. Apparently it was time for people to start arriving.

"Um...I'm just going to go to the bathroom and make sure I don't look like the mess I am," she said with a scoffing sort of laugh. "I'll be back in just a minute...thanks again." And with that she headed off to check herself in the mirror and finish pulling herself back together.

She felt certain it would be a little easier now.

End Scene

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange was not at her desk this morning. She couldn't sit still for the life of her at this moment. How could she when she could very well be about to lose her job? At one point that had been what she'd wanted. She'd wanted to forget about this menial desk job and just move to use her degree and education to do bigger things! But surprisingly she'd found she had come to truly care about this place. She'd found an odd sort of joy in bringing comfort to those who were grieving. And it could be about to fall apart.

This was the first year that they were being required to have national licensing...or something like that. Tristan knew the details. All Solange knew was that if this inspection failed that the funeral home would be shut down. Like she had said before, she could certainly move on to put her degree to use, but she wasn't really sure where to go with it. The career planning part and possible graduate school had been cut short when she'd come back to take care of her grandmother in her final few months. She had promised to take this job....She had no plan from here.

She paced the lobby nervously back and forth. She was glad that there were currently no services going on. She doubted she could handle that at the moment. She glanced up though when Tristan came back into the room. He had been taking the inspector on a run through of the building, but currently the inspector was no where to be seen. Her mind quickly race through all of the possibilities of what that could mean while also try to understand the look on Tristan's face. What was going on.

She quickly rushed up to him, grabbing his arm. "What's going on?! What did he say," she said urgently, using a voice that was almost a whisper and not quiet sure why she felt the need to keep her voice so low.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan walked into the lobby numbly. He couldn’t feel his legs, his arms, his face. The only thing he could feel was a shuddery tingling in his stomach that left him unsteady on his feet. He’d signed up for one of the first inspections of the year, determined to get this over with as soon as possible. Last May, when he got the news that inspectors were checking all funeral homes in the country for the first time, he hadn’t thought twice about having Vidal Funeral Home and Crematorium looked at top-to-bottom. The way he’d figured then, was that he was 100 percent up to scratch, and if he wasn’t, he’d take an early retirement and pursue his art until something better came along.

Last May, however, Tristan had been a confident and dumb twenty-seven year old, looking out only for himself. Now, he had a staff. A small, two person staff, but a staff nonetheless, whose livelihoods depended on this place. And as great as bravado was in the first moments of a crisis, when the sh*t hit the fan, Tristan couldn’t just put on his game face. This was his home. More than any apartment he’d lived in, more than any other place on earth. This was his life, not just his livelihood. He wasn’t Tristan Vidal the artist. He was Tristan Vidal, funeral director. And he was damn proud of that. This place wasn’t just his home; it was his baby and his other half. He’d bought the property, poured his money into setting it up, and cultivated a business. Carved a niche in the community that not many wanted to inhabit. And now there was a man in a grey suit with a clipboard holding all of that in his hands. Holding Tristan’s fate, Solange’s fate, and the fate of this place in his hands.

“When did you last have your combustion chamber looked at?” the inspector asked, while standing the crematorium with Tristan.

“Three weeks ago,” Tristan said. “But I double-checked it before you came. Didn’t want to be caught accidentally leaving the stove on.”

“Hmm,” said the inspector, writing something on his clipboard. Tristan groaned. He made jokes when nervous – bad jokes – and that probably wasn’t helping.

“Is that everything, monsieur?” Tristan asked.

“I need to call my supervisor,” the inspector said. They walked from the crematorium to the hallway. “And you said you graduated from McAllister--?”

“The American Academy McAllister Institute of Funeral Service,” Tristan said, nodding eagerly. “I graduated in May 2005. Do you need to see my diploma? Again?”

He’d shown the inspector his office already. He’d spent a long time examining the glossy diploma in its frame. Tristan would gladly take it out and let the inspector hold it up to the light to check authenticity.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just step outside to make my phone call. Then I will let you know.”

Tristan didn’t know what that meant. And now he couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes or anything. Now, he waited. In a few minutes, he would know whether or not he had to refinance his entire life. God, what would he do without this place?

Tristan barely felt Solange’s hand clasp his arm when she noticed him. In fact, it wasn’t until she spoke that he noticed she was there, clutching to him like a life preserver. He didn’t have the energy to pry her off; he didn’t have the desire to grab her back. Instead, he stared at her shapely nails as the scratched at his sleeve; her fingertips were white and stood out starkly against the black.

"What's going on?!” Solange demanded, her voice little more than a whisper. “What did he say?"

“He said he has to call his supervisor. He’s outside right now,” Tristan said hoarsely. And then, realization – and sensation – crept back into Tristan. “F*ck. That can’t be good, can it? Calling his supervisor? F*ck. I knew we should have had the mercury levels checked again in the crematorium…”

He looked up at Solange’s face and studied her, surprised to see a reflection of his own worry in her blue eyes. He’d always kind of thought she hated this place, would be glad to be free of it and of him. But right now, she looked as sick, as concerned as Tristan felt. He took her hands in his unthinkingly.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, sounding less certain than he wanted to. “We’ve gotta be fine. We’ve worked too hard to not be fine.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Where on earth was the inspector?! Had he already seen enough and shut the place down? Was that why Tristan looked so dazed and out of it?! She needed answers and soon! Her knuckles were going white she was clutching his arm so hard. She was surprised to find that she cared so much about what happened to this place. It was making a little angry that she felt so invested only to have the government shove the possibility of shutting it down right in their faces. She pleaded for Tristan to tell what was going on.

For a long moment he just stared numbly at her hand clutching his arm before finally looking up at her to answer her question. “He said he has to call his supervisor. He’s outside right now,” he told her and she felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. “F*ck. That can’t be good, can it? Calling his supervisor? F*ck. I knew we should have had the mercury levels checked again in the crematorium…”

She was still clutching his arm but found herself looking off into space. What was going to happen? She wasn't sure. Would she go back to Cambridge for graduate school? Would she look around Paris for a psychology job? Was there even a job that would take using only a basic 4 year degree, Cambridge or not? And what would happen to Tristan? Where would he go without the funeral home? She had promised to watch out for him after all.

Tristan's hands suddenly took her own, bringing her back to her senses. She looked up at him, wide eyed and a little scared. “We’ll be fine,” he said slightly unconvincingly. “We’ve gotta be fine. We’ve worked too hard to not be fine.”

Slowly she nodded and took a deep breath. "No. You're right...we've done everything right," she agreed. "We've followed all the regulations. There isn't any reason we should be worried. This is all just a formality." She nodded again and gave his hands a squeeze without even realizing it at the moment. "We're going to be fine," she repeated.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange met his gaze. Tristan wished he could say he drew strength from that alone. It made him feel a little better, but Solange still looked worried, just as unconvinced as he was. They really had done everything right, everything that Tristan could think of, anyways. And so what if there were traces of mercury in the crematorium? There were traces of mercury in all crematoriums. So what if Tristan’s degree came from another continent? At least he had credentials. So what if Solange’s degree had nothing to do with mortuary science or secretary-ing? She was the best thing to happen to this place in the eight years since Vidal Funeral Home had opened its doors.

"No. You're right...” said Solange. “We've done everything right. We've followed all the regulations. There isn't any reason we should be worried. This is all just a formality."

And then she gave Tristan’s hands a little squeeze that brought a skeptical smile to his lips, if not to his eyes. Any other day, he’d be too busy thrilling at the way her fingers felt holding his. But right now, it was just good to have something to hold onto, someone who was holding back.

God, if they were wrong, what was going to happen? He’d never see her ever again. She’d be on the next train back to Cambridge, back to Caleb, and he’d have a useless degree and a failed business and a paper trail of misdemeanors from being a young, stupid tagger. He’d have to move back in with Laurence or to a sh*t apartment.

At least if this was their last day of work together, he and Solange weren’t spending it locked in a fight.

"We're going to be fine," Solange repeated. Tristan squeezed her hands back.

“When you say it like that, I almost believe you,” he told her. “You know, if things… If things don’t work out… you know I’ll write you the best damn character reference for any job you want.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Honestly, she didn't know who she was trying harder to convince with her words. Tristan or herself? She believed her words to a point but there was that annoying part of her brain that kept telling her that she couldn't be sure. That she didn't didn't know for certain that this was all going to turn out okay. That she had no right getting Tristan's hope up or her own. Yet as Tristan squeezed her hands in return, she knew she had said the right thing. They needed to at least try and stay positive until they knew the results for sure.

“When you say it like that, I almost believe you,” he said with a hint of a smile. “You know, if things… If things don’t work out… you know I’ll write you the best damn character reference for any job you want.”

Solange let go with one hand pointed her finger in his face like she had many times before. "Don't! You stop it," she commanded. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you need to stop talking like that! Nothing has been made certain yet. Don't go there just yet."

The door to the funeral home opened again and the inspector walked through. She let go of Tristan's hand and exchanged glances with him as the man approached them, ready to give the final verdict.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange dropped one of Tristan’s hands and her finger flew up into his face, pointing between his eyes. He went cross-eyed staring at it for a second. So much for not spending their last day together fighting.

"Don't!” Solange ordered. “You stop it. I appreciate the sentiment, but you need to stop talking like that! Nothing has been made certain yet. Don't go there just yet."

“Right. Sorry. But, Solange, if--” Tristan started.

He’d promised Jacqui that he’d take care of Solange and he’d do his best to uphold his promise as long as he could. Never mind that he really, really would write her the best character reference anyone could ask for. If she needed it. If. She was right, of course, that nothing was certain.

At least she appreciated the sentiment.


But Tristan didn’t get to reiterate his point. The inspector was back with that same, neutral expression he’d worn during the inspection. Tristan had always thought a neutral expression was worse than palpable anger, worse than an inappropriate smile. Because at least with any other expression, you could get a read on the person. Or try to. But not on this guy. When Solange dropped his hand, Tristan’s stomach dropped, too.

“Well,” the inspector said. “That was my supervisor.”

Tristan wondered if this guy had been part of the Spanish Inquisition in a past life. He seemed to be getting a kick out of the suspense; out of the palpable fear in the room. And then the man extended a manila folder to Tristan.

“And these are your results,” he said when Tristan took the folder.

Tristan opened it up and read over the comments, lips moving as he did. At the bottom of the page, in big, black letters was the word “Pass”.

“We passed,” Tristan said out loud. Then, looking up at Solange, he pointed to the bottom of the page. “We passed!”

“You sound surprised,” the inspector said, a little suspiciously.

“Just happy,” Tristan said quickly. Then, for good measure, “Sir.”

“There are some things that need tending to,” the inspector said. “That hearse of yours has seen better days.”

Tristan nodded, red flooding his ears. There’d be a told-you-so from Solange sooner or later. But that didn’t matter. They’d passed. Life hadn’t fundamentally changed. The inspector said some other things – offered some eco-friendly solutions, gave Tristan a business card and a pamphlet about some funeral industry conference in Marseilles that Tristan probably wouldn’t go to – before leaving. When the inspector finally left, Tristan put the paperwork on the hall table and looked at Solange, face practically split in half with a grin.

“We passed!” he said for the third time. Then laughing, he threw his arms around her. “You were right! You were so, so right.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She hovered behind Tristan as the man approached. She wasn't quite sure she was even suppose to still be there to hear this, but she needed to know. The man's expression was completely unreadable. Nothing gave any indication whatsoever of the results that were more than likely inside of that folder he had in his hand.

“Well,” the inspector said. “That was my supervisor.”

"Oh, will you just get on with it," Solange hissed in her mind. If she didn't know better she might think he was drawing this out on purpose to get a rise out of them. She watched as he handed the folder over to Tristan

“And these are your results,” he said and a few anxious moments passed as Tristan opened the folder and studied the contents. He lips moved slightly as he read the contents and paused when he seemed to get to the main point.

“We passed,” he said and their gazes met for a moment. He showed her the page and pointed to the bottom of the page where it was clearly written "Pass". “We passed!” Tristan exclaimed.

Hand on her chest, Solange let out a relieved sigh and a nervously happy giggle escaped her lips as she smiled. It was okay. They'd passed. There was no need to start making alternate plans or go job searching else where. They had passed.

“You sound surprised,” the inspector said with clear suspicion.

“Just happy,” Tristan quickly covered. There was a pause. “Sir.”

“There are some things that need tending to,” the inspector said. “That hearse of yours has seen better days.”

Solange couldn't help but smirk slightly behind Tristan's back, but said nothing. Soon the inspector handed over a bunch of paperwork. She wasn't sure what it was about and honestly it didn't really matter. At this point she was just relieved and happy that they passed. Whatever paperwork Tristan was handed paled in comparison to that. The inspector said a few parting words and left.

Tristan tossed the paperwork on the hall table before he turned to her with a smile wide smile. “We passed!” he declared yet again. “You were right! You were so, so right.” His arms circled around her in a tight bear hug.

She laughed with relief again and hugged him back, hands resting on his back. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder as her own shoulders sagged with emotional exhaustion. "Right or not, that was absolutely terrible," she said with a groan. "I am just so ridiculously happy to have that done and over with!"

A moment later she realized it...they were hugging. She and Tristan were hugging. It wasn't quite as strange as she thought a hug between the two of them would be. Still, she found herself clearing her throat a bit and stepping back. "All right. Now that's out of the way. Time to go back to work," she said with a small smile.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange’s arms reached up and circled around Tristan. Now that he didn’t have to pin her to him for the embrace to exist, Tristan’s grip slackened just a bit. He would have sworn that she could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, flapping around like a caged bird trying to get out. He didn’t know if that was because they’d passed and he’d been scared or because they’d passed and Solange was hugging him back. She slumped against his shoulder, pressed her cheek to him, and Tristan shut his eyes. He breathed a sigh of what he hoped sounded like relief. Truthfully, he was happy. Happier than he had any right to be. They’d passed. Solange was staying. And she was letting him hug her.

She was softer than Tristan had expected, too, when he took her into his arms. He’d held her once before – out on the dance floor at Batofar – but that had been pseudo-flirtatious and actually kind of pathetic. This was different, better. Because this was real.

"Right or not, that was absolutely terrible," Solange groaned. She was still leaning into him. "I am just so ridiculously happy to have that done and over with!"

“Mmhmm,” Tristan agreed, unable to find an actual word. Ridiculously happy just about summed him up right now, too.

The world was still turning, the sun would still rise. He would still have his job – and his secretary – tomorrow morning. And who said the only things certain in life were death and taxes?

And then the air went still. They were hugging each other and neither was speaking. And maybe they’d been hugging for a second too long – or even a fraction of a second too long – because now Solange was pulling away and Tristan put his arms to the side and opened his eyes. She cleared her throat; he rubbed the back of his neck.

"All right. Now that's out of the way. Time to go back to work," Solange said, with a small smile.

“Right,” Tristan said. His own smile was decidedly lopsided and now that they weren’t hugging, he felt unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. Of course Tristan had work. He’d just… ensured that today would be left free for inspection. Who could have known it would go so well? Or be over so quickly? Tristan couldn’t just hang around Solange’s desk. Although the thought did cross his mind. He shook his head, as if trying to get water out of his ears and reached into his pocket for his car keys. “I think I’ll finally take your advice and drive the hearse in for a check-up. Should have listened to you before inspection.”

He cast one last look at her over his shoulder before walking out the front door. Solange was still there; and she wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet, at least. And that might have been the best part about passing inspection.

OOC: End Scene?

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

It had been a long day. 3 services and 2 viewings had managed to be crammed into the schedule and it had led to her and Tristan pretty much working non stop all day. Thankfully it was all done now. The last of the mourners had finally left and they shut the doors for the night. Normally Solange didn't stay late. She tended to want to just go home and relax as soon as the last service of the day was through. But it didn't look like that was going to happen today.

She sat at her desk and gave a weary sigh, head in hand. Because of this having been such a tight schedule today, she had not been able to finish a lot of the work she would typically be able to get done in between services. She had elected to stay late for probably the first time she could remember so that she could get caught up on her work. There had been a few people calling to set up appointments to discuss arrangements with Tristan and schedule times to have services. She needed to get all of that sorted out so she could get back to them with answers.

Opening the scheduling program she set to work. She glanced at the notes she had scribbled down in between consoling the bereaved. "If I can move Madame Bartowski to a little later on Friday, I might be able to work Mademoiselle Dashkov in to talk to Tristan about her mother. I'll have to call her back and see if-"

CRASH!!

She glanced up quickly at the loud commotion that had come from the direction of the embalming room. She shook her head. She figured Tristan must have knocked something over while he was working in there. Surely that's where he had to be. He'd been backed up on his work as well after so many services.

But then she saw Tristan come into the lobby...from the opposite direction from the embalming room. Her eyes went a bit wide and she paled ever so slightly. She tried to not panic. Perhaps something just fell over on its own. "You-you weren't in the embalming room?" she asked quietly.

CRASH!!

Okay...that was not a coincidence. Her eyes widened even more as she looked at Tristan. What was going on?!

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

After a long day of funeral services and wakes, Tristan was pumped. Most people would be physically and emotionally drained; Tristan was not most people. He’d spent his daytime hours bustling about to comfort mourners, taking down and resetting the viewing room to suit individual requests, and driving back and forth from the cemetery. With no clients to impress except the dead ones, Tristan switched out of his suit and into a pair of slouchy jeans and a black t-shirt that said “Not a Mourning Person” in white letters. He had a couple bodies to tend to before he could actually call it a night. The busy workday put him behind in the embalming room. And he was excited to finally find a pocket of time to get his job done.

But before he could get started, Tristan had to find something else: a hair tie. His long hair was forever falling in his eyes and when working with somebody’s deceased mother and an arsenal of chemical cosmetics, that was never a good thing. Tristan had just about torn up his entire office looking for a hair tie. He could have sworn he’d just stocked up on them. But… Well. Maybe this was the reason other guys in the trade kept their hair so short. Tristan slammed his desk shut and walked out into the lobby in search of rubber bands.

And that was when he saw Solange sitting at her desk. She looked as shocked to see him as he was to see her. She never stayed late. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. And then Tristan smiled. He’d forgotten she mentioned something about staying late. There was something suddenly comforting about having her here after hours. It wasn’t scary in a funeral home at night, but it sure was lonely.

“Oh, good,” he said. “You’re still here.”

"You-you weren't in the embalming room?" Solange asked.

“No…” Tristan said. “Just about to get started. Do you have a rubber band?”

But before Solange could answer, a loud crash came from the direction of the embalming room and supply closet. Tristan peered down the dark hallway and then looked back at Solange. He chuckled weakly.

“That wasn’t me,” he said. “What was that?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange was the sort of person that said she was a skeptic and didn't believe in ghosts or things that go bump in the night...but who freaked out whenever there was something creepy going on that couldn't be explained. Upon realizing that the crash in the embalming room couldn't have possibly been Tristan, her mind went in to overdrive. She asked if he hadn't been in the embalming room, hoping he might say he had been and had left something teetering that might have fallen. She knew it was ridiculous. He'd come from the complete opposite direction.

“No…” Tristan confirmed. “Just about to get started. Do you have a rubber band?”

Solange didn't get answer because suddenly there was another crash. She looked at Tristan to make sure he had heard it too. Suddenly she was quite certain the crashes hadn't been caused by something falling over on accident. “That wasn’t me,” Tristan said with a nervous sounding laugh. “What was that?”

"How am I suppose to know," she said indignantly, coming around her desk to glance down the hall with him. "Until you came walking in from the other direction, I thought it was you!" She frowned and looked at him, eyebrows creased. "Is there anything in there that would even make a noise like that?! Nothing should be making noise in there right now!"

Suddenly there was a loud, mournful sounding howl that from that same direction, accompanied by an insistent scratching sound. Solange gave a terrified shriek, covering her mouth as she leapt behind Tristan and clutched the back of his shirt with her other hand. "Oh God! Make it stop," she pleaded shakily.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

If Tristan was a superhero, he would be Captain Obvious, with the power to ask stupid questions at the worst moments possible. Solange shot him an indignant look and came to stand beside him.

"How am I supposed to know?" she asked, craning her neck, trying to see down the dark hallway. "Until you came walking in from the other direction, I thought it was you!"

Tristan thought about this. He was usually a lot quieter in his embalming room. Well. That wasn’t true, strictly speaking. Usually, by this point in the night, he’d found a hair tie and synced his iPod up to the speaker system intended for Solange to communicate with him when he was restoring bodies and she was in the lobby, so she didn’t have to go in there. But he was certainly not clumsy enough to make that kind of crashing noise. He had precise, steady hands, thank you very much. But before he could take offense and get angry, Solange asked: "Is there anything in there that would even make a noise like that?! Nothing should be making noise in there right now!"

“I know,” he said. “I’m trying to think. Maybe I left one the duotronic on?”

He knew he hadn’t and that no embalming machine should make that sound. But it was the kind of hopeful question to ask at a time like this. But the next noise to come from the embalming room was so eerie that Tristan knew there was no way to be “hopeful” about the situation. A mournful wail cut through the air and made the hair on Tristan’s arms go prickly. Solange screamed and suddenly, Tristan felt her hands twist the back of his t-shirt. He could feel her fingers press against his back. She was clinging to him.

Now was really not the time for this.

Tristan was so glad she couldn’t see the smile on his face. He had no idea what was making noises in his embalming room; he wanted to be scared, call the cops. But Solange was hiding behind him like he was bigger and badder than whatever could possibly be in there. Tristan stood up a little straighter.

"Oh God! Make it stop," Solange pleaded.

Tristan turned around. She looked totally terrified; Tristan could only imagine what was running through her mind. Ghosts, zombies, a robber…

Who the hell robbed a funeral home? Probably the descendants of Doctor Frankenstein or something. Tristan took Solange’s hands in his and gave them a squeeze.

“I’ll go check it out,” he said in his best superhero voice. Not his Captain Obvious voice. “There’s nothing in there that can hurt you.”

Except scalpels. If it’s a robber, you are so f*cked, Tristan.

He released her hands and inched down the hallway. The thought crossed his mind that maybe the morgue made a mistake. That kind of stuff wasn’t supposed to happen in twenty-first century medicine, but, well… What if it did? Just this once? What if there was a living person in there? A living person with thoughts of a lawsuit? Tristan took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the embalming room. There was only one way to find out.

And something shot out of the darkness between Tristan’s legs and skittered off further down the hallway, towards the garage. Tristan yelled, cussing and jumping as he did. And then he reached for the light. When he flicked it on, nothing was there. He panted, looking around wildly. And then he saw his embalming room. This time, when he swore, it came out in a groan.

“I don’t know what that was,” he said. “But whatever it was did a number on my embalming room.”

His cosmetic kit was overturned. Flesh-colored streams of makeup ran across the floor. The mason jar he’d been using as a canister for his scalpels and brushes had been knocked over and the glass shards on the floor made him hesitant to walk in.

And then, remembering the warm sensation that had brushed past his leg, Tristan thought of something that made him sick to his stomach.

“Rats,” he said suddenly, looking down the hallway back at her. “Solange. What if we have rats?”

Rats were scavengers. They were pests. And they were the quickest way to lose credibility in their line of work. Well, second quickest. One funeral director had lost his license for stealing gold fillings from decedents. But other than that, vermin was one of the most surefire ways to ruin your reputation. They’d just passed inspection a few days ago; how could they have rats?!

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange liked to think she was a strong and capable woman. She could handle herself just fine and defend herself if needed. But right not she was scared out of her wits. Almost instinctively she found herself cowering behind Tristan, clutching at him. She couldn't help it! Somehow it did make her feel just a little safer. Tristan was a big guy. He was strong. She felt certain that he could handle whatever was down there far better than her "strong and capable" ways could, in any case.

Her turned and looked down at her, taking her hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I’ll go check it out,” he told her reassuringly. “There’s nothing in there that can hurt you.”

She gave a weak nod and followed him as far as the edge of the hallway, watching as he made his way to the embalming room door. He pushed it open and in the dark, Solange saw something dart out between his legs and she heard scream at the same time she did. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing again and when she looked back, Tristan was gone, disappeared into the room.

"Tristan?! Are you okay," she called out after him.

“I don’t know what that was,” he called back. “But whatever it was did a number on my embalming room.” A moment later his face appeared in the doorway of the embalming room, looking back at her. “Rats,” he declared. “Solange. What if we have rats?”

While she was relieved to have a much more logical explanation that the paranormal, she was a little angry and embarrassed that rats hadn't been her next reasonable conclusion after something falling over by itself. But it didn't make any sense. How could they possibly have rats?! They had just had inspection!

"It can't be rats," she tried to reason. "We just had an exterminator here to check the premises before we had the licensing inspection!" She sighed and glanced down the hallway in the direction the blur had gone. Slowly she made her way towards Tristan. "Whatever it was headed into the garage. It's probably trapped there. We need to see if it's a rat or not so we can know for sure and take care of the problem," she said, trying to be calm and reasonable now after the scare.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan didn’t know the first thing about getting rid of rats. Or even how a rat could have gotten into his funeral home. The foundation was solid; the doors and windows were closed tightly and locked every night. The only way a rat could have possibly found a way in was through the chimney of the crematorium and Tristan couldn’t imagine even the most intrepid piece of vermin would be willing to take its chances with the blazing oven below. He kicked at the glass with the toe of his shoe. However it had gotten in, whatever it was had cost him a pricey cosmetics kit. And set him behind at least an hour for cleanup. Probably longer.

"It can't be rats," Solange said, which Tristan found both comforting and irritating at the same time. "We just had an exterminator here to check the premises before we had the licensing inspection!"

That was true. The exterminator had come to check for bugs, for rats, for everything and anything that could possibly infest a building. He’d found a wasp nest out back, unoccupied thanks to the cold weather, but nothing more insidious than that. But that didn’t account for something scampering around on the floor now. Tristan really didn’t want to switch pest control companies, since he’d gotten a good price, but if there were corners being cut, Tristan would happily take his business elsewhere. And soon because he could not afford to have rats. Or whatever.

The sound of Solange’s footsteps startled him; he lurched forward a little and then when she was near, looked over his shoulder at her. She looked calmer, sounded calmer, too. His chance to fight off the things going bump in the night was long gone. Solange as he recognized her – the cool, calm, collected woman he’d hired – was back.

It had been a little nice, though, while it lasted.

“Whatever it was headed into the garage,” Solange said. Tristan nodded. “It's probably trapped there. We need to see if it's a rat or not so we can know for sure and take care of the problem."

Tristan stepped over the broken glass and spilled make up. Carefully, he picked up one of his fallen scalpels and held it in his hand. It was cold to the touch and it felt less reassuring than Tristan had hoped.

“Just in case,” he said with a shrug.

Thinking about rats had him thinking about ROUSes – rodents of unsual size – and other late night horror creatures. That rat or whatever that had run between his legs was not small. It had been pretty big and if Tristan caught it, it would be pretty dead. He’d never killed anything in his life. He spent so much time around death without squashing bugs or running over squirrels. Even as a kid, he’d preferred to let bugs go to needlessly murdering them. He’d set a whole fleet of cockroaches loose in his uncle’s apartment building when he was ten. When he was twelve, he got into a fist fight with an older boy who had killed a spider in the art room. But this rat wasn’t just minding its own business. It was interfering with Tristan and Solange’s business. It had cost them well over a hundred euros in damaged equipment. And it had scared them both silly.

Well, maybe Tristan owed it a thank you card for that one, since being scared silly had gotten Solange to hide behind him in the first place.

No. You don’t owe a rat anything, Tristan thought.

He opened up his wheeled filing cabinet and pulled out his penlight from the top drawer. It was the closest thing to a flashlight he had in here. He offered it to Solange.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go check this out.”

And thus armed, they walked towards the garage together.