Read Online The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlie Huston
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down her face, gasping, waving a hand at me, trying to kill the laughter forcing its way up her throat.
…
—Oh, man, so completely inappropriate.
—I said I was sorry.
She shook out her match and dropped it off the deck to the sand below, watching it get caught in the wind and tumble into some rocks.
—No, it was just so perfect. Totally inappropriate. Exactly the kind of thing he would have said.
She pushed her glasses a little higher on her nose.
—Except he wouldn't have apologized.
I looked over my shoulder through the open sliding glass door and caught a glimpse of Gabe coming back into the house with another pack of scrapers.
I looked down at the tide as it washed over the rocks.
—Well, left to my own devices, I wouldn't have apologized either.
She choked on a lungful of smoke, more laughter combining with a few hacks.
I watched for a second then gave her a couple light pats on the back.
—You OK?
She coughed into her fist.
—Oh, sure, I'm fine.
She wiped the damp corners of her eyes with one of the Kleenexes Po Sin gave her.
—My dad killed himself in one of the more deliberate and grotesque manners imaginable and I'm laughing about it with one of the guys I'm paying to clean his brains off the wall. I'm doing great.
I turned and leaned my back on the deck rail and shrugged.
—Well, as long as you're OK then.
She smiled.
—Totally inappropriate.
—At least he left a note.
I didn't say anything, too occupied at the moment with working my Scotch-Brite pad over the speckles of blood on the surface of her dad's desk.
She picked another almond from the large bowl of them on the table next to the wingback chair near the hallway door.
—I mean, I knew he was sick. But. But I'm glad he left the note anyway. So I know for sure why he did it. Sort of.
She dropped the almond back in the bowl, picked out another.
—You think anyone would lie about that? I mean, no one would lie on their suicide note, would they?
I replaced the lamp I'd taken from the desk, minus the silk shade that had been sprayed, and looked over at her.
—You want to be a little more enigmatic with your questions? Seriously, if you try a little harder I might get curious or something.
She studied the almond between her fingers, rotating it.
—No. I don't mean anything. He was sick. He was going to die. Soon. Painfully. I know why he did it. I just never read a suicide note before. It made me wonder. I guess. But no. It all makes sense.
I adjusted the silver pen-and-pencil set on the desk and lined it up with the antique in-and-out box and an absurdly detailed model of a freight vessel, its deck stacked with tiny cargo containers, Chinese characters on their sides.
She tossed the almond in her mouth and chewed.
—Makes sense as only a person making their head explode can make sense, I mean.
I walked to the section of bookcase that was in line with the open bathroom door.
—He had some nice books.
She watched me.
—Yeah. He loved his books. Well, he loved having a den with lots of books on the walls anyway. He never actually read them. He loved how they looked, but if it wasn't business-related or on the topic of fishing, Dad didn't have time to read much.
She dropped her voice an octave.
—Too much to do, sweetheart. Why bother reading about some made-up life when you can live it yourself?
She brushed curly dark hair from her forehead, bit her lip.
—Is that bad, that it kind of makes sense to me? What he did? Should I be worried?
I misted the spines of the books and watched white speckles appear over dozens of them.
—Fuck do I know. I just work here.
—Right, I forgot, you're the retard who doesn't know how to say the right thing.
She picked up another almond, moved it toward her mouth, stopped.
—Should I be eating these things?
I looked at the bowl of nuts, well out of line with the bathroom door.
—Um. Truth?
—No, lie to me, that would make me feel so much better.
I wiped my
…
—Oh, man, so completely inappropriate.
—I said I was sorry.
She shook out her match and dropped it off the deck to the sand below, watching it get caught in the wind and tumble into some rocks.
—No, it was just so perfect. Totally inappropriate. Exactly the kind of thing he would have said.
She pushed her glasses a little higher on her nose.
—Except he wouldn't have apologized.
I looked over my shoulder through the open sliding glass door and caught a glimpse of Gabe coming back into the house with another pack of scrapers.
I looked down at the tide as it washed over the rocks.
—Well, left to my own devices, I wouldn't have apologized either.
She choked on a lungful of smoke, more laughter combining with a few hacks.
I watched for a second then gave her a couple light pats on the back.
—You OK?
She coughed into her fist.
—Oh, sure, I'm fine.
She wiped the damp corners of her eyes with one of the Kleenexes Po Sin gave her.
—My dad killed himself in one of the more deliberate and grotesque manners imaginable and I'm laughing about it with one of the guys I'm paying to clean his brains off the wall. I'm doing great.
I turned and leaned my back on the deck rail and shrugged.
—Well, as long as you're OK then.
She smiled.
—Totally inappropriate.
—At least he left a note.
I didn't say anything, too occupied at the moment with working my Scotch-Brite pad over the speckles of blood on the surface of her dad's desk.
She picked another almond from the large bowl of them on the table next to the wingback chair near the hallway door.
—I mean, I knew he was sick. But. But I'm glad he left the note anyway. So I know for sure why he did it. Sort of.
She dropped the almond back in the bowl, picked out another.
—You think anyone would lie about that? I mean, no one would lie on their suicide note, would they?
I replaced the lamp I'd taken from the desk, minus the silk shade that had been sprayed, and looked over at her.
—You want to be a little more enigmatic with your questions? Seriously, if you try a little harder I might get curious or something.
She studied the almond between her fingers, rotating it.
—No. I don't mean anything. He was sick. He was going to die. Soon. Painfully. I know why he did it. I just never read a suicide note before. It made me wonder. I guess. But no. It all makes sense.
I adjusted the silver pen-and-pencil set on the desk and lined it up with the antique in-and-out box and an absurdly detailed model of a freight vessel, its deck stacked with tiny cargo containers, Chinese characters on their sides.
She tossed the almond in her mouth and chewed.
—Makes sense as only a person making their head explode can make sense, I mean.
I walked to the section of bookcase that was in line with the open bathroom door.
—He had some nice books.
She watched me.
—Yeah. He loved his books. Well, he loved having a den with lots of books on the walls anyway. He never actually read them. He loved how they looked, but if it wasn't business-related or on the topic of fishing, Dad didn't have time to read much.
She dropped her voice an octave.
—Too much to do, sweetheart. Why bother reading about some made-up life when you can live it yourself?
She brushed curly dark hair from her forehead, bit her lip.
—Is that bad, that it kind of makes sense to me? What he did? Should I be worried?
I misted the spines of the books and watched white speckles appear over dozens of them.
—Fuck do I know. I just work here.
—Right, I forgot, you're the retard who doesn't know how to say the right thing.
She picked up another almond, moved it toward her mouth, stopped.
—Should I be eating these things?
I looked at the bowl of nuts, well out of line with the bathroom door.
—Um. Truth?
—No, lie to me, that would make me feel so much better.
I wiped my
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