The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.49 Tuilla

June 6, 4:30 pm

It was easier than he expected.

All Richard had to do was keep picturing Keith and keep the warm tug firmly in the center of his forehead. If his attention wavered, the tug faded, but all it took was a moment to refocus his mind on the face of the man he loved and it came back.

Twice the glow crept toward his right eyebrow, and each time it did, he would jog west one block and then head south again. He was on one of these jogs, down 7th South, when suddenly the glow zipped around to the back of his head as he passed a gray building on his right. The feeling stopped him in his tracks, and he whipped around to look up at the building.

The sign read "Deseret Serenity Mortuary."

And there, in the parking lot to the left, was Big Bird—Michelle and Pil's big yellow Chevy Tahoe.

Richard's senses were incredibly sharp now, and the tug that pointed him toward Keith had become painfully, almost erotically, insistent. He stepped back and looked up at the building. It was mostly gray concrete with some turrets and spires on the upper floor that made it look somewhat out of place in the neighborhood. The mortuary's name was in flowing script on a wall made of decorative cinder blocks, painted a light tan. Like many funeral homes, he suspected this one had been an actual home for someone, long before it had been converted for such a somber purpose. And looking at the turrets and the size, it had been a large and luxurious home, in its day.

The parking lot was half-full, with maybe a dozen cars. There was a reception or other event at the mortuary today. Some mourners lingered around their cars; the women in dark dresses, and the men in wrinkled suits that looked as if they hadn't been out of the closet since the last wedding or funeral.

But in one way, all the activity was a bit of luck. Although Richard now felt confident that he could find his way through any locked door or wall, getting into the building would be much easier if he could just tag along behind some group as they entered, sliding through the door behind them like an errant gust of wind.

The tug told him exactly where Keith was. It drew his eye to a second-floor window, just above and to the left of the main entry to the building. That area had to be the business suite for the funeral parlor. It made sense, as they would reserve the downstairs for meeting rooms, receptions, and viewings. The more ghoulish facilities would be in the basement. All the windows were covered with thick, and closed, venetian blinds. Perhaps to stop neighborhood children from trying to get a glimpse of a dead body, or maybe just to keep the atmosphere inside properly dim and somber.

The tug was incredibly specific. As he looked up at a row of six windows, he knew instantly which one held the office where Keith was. The upstairs blinds were closed and there was no sign of movement. But the tug was unmistakable.

Richard stared at the window, and the tug gave a shimmer that he hadn't felt before.

Something in there is wrong.

The emotional envelope he sensed around his lover was chaotic, and the impression he got was that Keith was isolated, or maybe just numb with weariness. The sensations he was receiving were of someone forlorn and lost, and fear for Keith's well-being drove Richard to action.

He had to get inside. Now.

Luckily, at that moment, a small group from the parking lot was making their way toward the front of the funeral home. It looked to be a single mother with a son and two daughters. The woman herded her brood like a mother duck toward the building. The youngest daughter seemed the most reluctant. She was maybe six, and Richard didn't need any second sight to tell from her body language that she would rather be anywhere in the world than this horrible place.