Alluring Passion: A MM Contemporary Bundle Read online

  Chance grimaced a little as he held out his hand to accept the phone and drop it into his pocket, making a mental note to be careful taking it out again later on if he didn’t want to be the one sliced open. “I’m sorry, Rocky,” he said, staring down at his feet. His shoes were splashed with mud, streaked with errant trails where moisture had long since dried. His throat felt tight from nervousness as he answered, shuffling slightly.

  There was a moment of silence and then Rocky sighed, shaking his head. Chance’s shoulders slumped with relief. After five years of working together, he knew that Rocky never sighed unless he was giving up on something. It was as if he was literally letting off steam or something.

  He really shouldn’t have been so worried. He knew that. The thing was, Rocky was just an employee. A senior employee, but he wasn’t a supervisor or anything. He had no hiring or firing power, and no authority to make changes to pay or even to dole out tasks once Chance’s training had been finished. They were technically on the same page, with their representative—who was in charge of the entire county—being the one who made such decisions. And the union regulated those decisions. Chance had nothing to be afraid of, but he worried anyway. This wasn’t even really about money. It was about disappointing someone.

  “You’re just lucky no one came back there ‘fore I did,” Rocky grumbled, looking down at his boots. “Lucky the rep didn’t see it, neither.”

  “I know,” Chance said truthfully. “I’m sorry. Really.”

  Rocky just shook his head for a moment. Chance winced and looked off into the distance, running through the coming events of the day in his mind even though he knew them by heart already.

  The parking lot was packed full of mourners come to send off a loved one to the beyond. From inside the church, muffled by the thick walls and heavy door, could be heard the typical sounds of a funeral service. At the moment, that sound was the gentle droning of a priest’s voice as they talked on subjects that Chance really didn’t think humans should ever try to understand. Life after death and what happened there…that was something no one could ever hope to fathom, no matter what the real answer was. It was something that shouldn’t be messed with. He knew it gave comfort to the people left behind, but still.

  The droning voice faded away and became a melancholy blur of organ and piano notes, the former deep and the latter dancing slightly higher. Chance could picture it all in his mind’s eye as the mourners shuffled and rose, looking up high over the altar where the lyrics to some song or another would be projected. Just as voices started to rise to meet the piano music, Rocky gave a little grunt and Chance focused back on him.

  “I guess I can’t be too hard on you. After all, you’ve never done a bad job before. But, see, Chance, that kinda confuses me. Never done a bad job before…why now? What happened?”

  I sure as hell am not telling him I saw a ghost.

  Rocky tapped at his pocket with one finger, like he always did when he was aching for a smoke. “If you was anyone else, it might not be so weird to me, I guess. But you’ve never let me down before.”

  Chance didn’t think that was quite fair. After all, he had done the majority of the job and had only faltered in an area where they probably wouldn’t get any visitors today. If they did, it would most likely be bored children who ran off during the service, who were too young to understand why they were here.

  “I’m sorry,” Chance said again.

  Rocky kept tapping at his pocket but now the motion increased slightly in speed. “And there’s that apology again. The Chance I know would never just make excuses and not tell me what he’s done—with detail.” A thought seemed to occur to the old man and he straightened up slightly, no longer leaning against the dark red church brick. “Wait. Did you see something? Someone do something to you?”

  Great. This wasn’t what he wanted either. He opened his mouth to say everything was fine, that he’d been stressed lately with bills and other adult things that the old guy would surely understand. Instead, what came out was, “I saw a ghost.”

  For a moment, Rocky’s eyes stayed narrowed and intense with unspoken concern. Then, they widened as what Chance had said fully registered in his brain. His lip curled, and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Now, that’s a bullshit excuse if I’ve ever heard one.”

  Chance looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling curls of his hair grab at his fingers. “Maybe it wasn’t a ghost,” he said, grudgingly. “I mean, I know it wasn’t a ghost.”

  Rocky kept that half-sneer on his twisted mouth. “This gets better by the second. You ain’t a good liar if you immediately back up on what you just said.”

  “But I’m not lying! I’m just not saying it right. I saw someone in the graveyard last night, Rocky.”

  The sneer faded slightly, like a stain reluctant to lose its hold. “Did you?”

  “I did!” Chance spread his hands. “Some dumb kid. I could hear them walking around and then they started throwing rocks at me.”

  “Well, shit.” Rocky tilted his head, giving him a once-over. “You okay?”

  “They didn’t hit me,” Chance said. “Got close, though. I threatened to call the police and then they chased me.”

  “Shit,” Rocky repeated. He shook his head, shoulders slumping slightly. “Sorry for…uh…doubting you. I can tell you aren’t lying to me. Did you go to the police?”

  “No. I didn’t really see who it was.”

  “Probably for the best, anyway. For someone like you.”

  Rocky relaxed while Chance tensed up slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re telling me that you haven’t figured it out yet?”

  Chance let out a sigh. “No. I have.”

  “Well, then it’s best to avoid trouble. I know you but I would be careful about others.”

  And that was the closest Rocky had ever come to acknowledging that Chance was gay, and probably the closest he would ever come to giving his support. In a small town like Astoria, time always seemed a decade or two behind the rest of the modern world. Maybe it was the farming community lifestyle. People rose with the crack of dawn, drank as they breathed, married young, and popped out kids as fast as they could. Anything outside of that wasn’t generally accepted. Chance knew that. He’d come from a town even smaller than this one.

  It wasn’t even so much that the people could be downright abusive, as it was that they simply pretended you didn’t exist.

  The two cemetery caretakers stood there in front of the church for a few more minutes as the service continued inside. Songs came and went, and now there were new voices speaking up at the podium as the priest called up relatives and friends to give words on the deceased. Voices quavered or shook or else rang out numbly, with some speeches interspersed with tearful laughter as better times were recalled.

  Finally, Rocky straightened up. “Getting to be about that time,” he said, voice lowering.

  Chance nodded and they both moved away, heading out to the back of the church where no one would see them. This was their job, to be as ghosts themselves and ensure that they were as unobtrusive as possible. The last thing a grieving widow wanted to see was a couple of scruffy men hanging around, clearly the ones who were going to cover her love with dirt. Sure, they would be the ones to lower the casket and bury it but that would be after the very last mourner was gone.

  Pressing back into the cool shadows behind the building, Chance looked out at the graveyard. Somehow, in broad daylight, it was sadder than it had been even at night. Rows and rows of labeled dead interred in the earth, beneath carefully maintained grass that was mowed every few days in the summer. Even from here, this distant vantage point on the hill, he could see small bouquets of flowers here and there. Some were fresh, clearly roses, while others were rotting and bareheaded by this point.

  He could see into the trees beyond the maintenance shed, catching just a bare glimpse of bright yellow that was the hidden backhoe.

  T
he man whose funeral was being held today was named George Grover, an uninventive and boring moniker if Chance had ever heard one. The man was six-foot-one and two hundred and five pounds, both of which were important details always given to caretakers in chart form so that they could make modifications to the normal grave layout if necessary. Other than that, Chance didn’t know anything about him and it didn’t matter anymore. Whoever George Grover had been once, whether he was a teacher or farmer or a lying deadbeat who never worked an honest day in his life, he was that no longer. He was only a name, a stiff face, and a handful of numbers.

  Everyone was a handful of the same numbers, just arranged in different orders.

  I guess we’re more equal in death than we are in life. God, that’s sad.

  After a time, the front church doors opened and people spilled outside in a meandering stream that took about half an hour to become organized again. Rocky smoked, watching the clouds. He’d seen enough of this in his days. Chance had seen a lot now too, but he still couldn’t help but to listen to the din slowly grow quieter. Then nothing but a steady thrum that might have been footsteps and might have been a trick of the wind. The procession appeared slowly, led by the pallbearers with the casket. Those who came behind walked in pairs, supporting each other with clasped hands or arms wrapped about each other.

  Clearly, then, George Grover had not been a deadbeat if people were so upset over him. Then again, death had a way of making people forget all the things they disliked in life.

  Ever so gradually, the procession made its way to the open grave and the casket was placed down. The priest took his place, the mourners gathered around, and the world held still as the very final words for the deceased were spoken.

  I hope we did a good enough job.

  The grave was lined with concrete, to hide the appearance of earth. Fresh mats of fake sod had been placed down to cover the little patches and piles of dirt that hadn’t been scooped up and placed in the bin attached to the backhoe. So much trouble, such lengths gone to hide the truth. Every single person down there knew what was happening, and yet they just didn’t want to face it.

  Chance shivered a little. Rocky glanced over at him, cigarette wobbling in the corner of his mouth. “Cold?”

  “Not really.” Summer was pushing spring away, which meant that the shade behind the church was more welcoming than uncomfortable. “Just thinking.”

  “You think too much. You always have.”

  Rocky referred to only the time they had worked together, but Chance thought bitterly how that statement was still true when applied to the rest of his whole entire life. He was Chance, the worrywart and the paranoid, who over-thought everything long after other people were done and moved on. That was his curse. It always had been.

  The service officially ended. This was the time Chance disliked the most. Everyone was free to go off and do their own thing for as long as they wanted, whether that was staying out to talk, wandering the graveyard, or heading out to where the reception was being held. Luckily, the reception wasn’t in the church this time. Then again, that also wasn’t lucky because the priest tended to gather up leftovers and give it to the caretakers as his way of saying thanks. The only real benefit to this was that the job would be started sooner, and therefore done sooner.

  An hour passed, perhaps an hour and a half. And still they had to wait, out of sight. They couldn’t go home, or simply wait until later in the day to show up. That would be disrespectful, for one. Why should they get time to relax when all the others were here for just as long? Another reason was that these things were just too hard to judge. It had to be played by ear every single time. As much as they didn’t want to think about their dead being buried, mourners also didn’t like the idea of having the deceased sitting out in the open for a long time. It had to be taken care of immediately, whenever the moment arose.

  “Hey, who’s that? Rocky?”

  The old man grunted, starting slightly. He’d been almost dozing, and now he staggered over to where Chance stood. A sour expression crossed his face like a mask. “Who’s who?”

  “Him.”

  Chance pointed out towards the rear of the graveyard, very near to where the events of the previous night had taken place. It was too far away to make out any features of course, but the figure walked like a man and was dressed all in blue: blue jeans, blue shirt, blue hat.

  Rocky grunted. “Probably a relative.”

  Chance shook his head, something worming around in the back of his mind. Something about a dream he’d had, or something. “He doesn’t really look dressed for it.”

  “So? Small town. Disproportionate amount of fools. You and me included.”

  There was no use going on about it any further, but something still nagged at Chance. He didn’t think he’d seen that guy in the crowd. He would have noticed. The guy stuck out like a blue thumb. And he wasn’t acting like someone who was incredibly sad. He seemed almost to be searching for something, the brim of his hat tipped down like he was scanning the grass, or the gravestones.

  Oh well.

  There wasn’t anything to be done for it, not really. Still, he couldn’t resist taking another peek at the mystery man.

  He wasn’t there. Gone, just like that.

  Now he knew he was going crazy, for sure.

  Cars left the parking lot, slowly emptying away until there were only three left: the priest’s van, Rocky’s truck, and Chance’s car.

  “Time to get to work,” Rocky grunted and started off down the slope of the hill.

  Chance nodded and followed along after him. While the older man went to fetch the backhoe and the cart of dirt hitched up behind it, Chance went to the maintenance shed and fetched a pair of shovels. Laying those down respectfully next to the grave, he then went back to the shed and started fetching the components of the lowering device and setting them up. For a time, he felt better as he focused on his hands and the proper positioning of the device. It was a system of straps that straddled the grave, strung between two rolling cylinders that could be slowly unwound to lower the casket into the hole.

  The ground rumbled as Rocky approached with the heavy machinery, and the two of them set about getting to work. The casket was lowered, and then the straps were wriggled free from beneath it. Chance wound them back up by hand, careful to ensure that the next use would be just as flawless. Then, he set about dismantling the device again and carrying it all back to the shed while Rocky began to fill in the hole with dirt. While they were both qualified, this arrangement suited them. Rocky was an old man. Chance figured it was only fair that he be the one to sit and operate the machine.

  The work was tedious and grueling on the mind as Rocky carefully operated the backhoe’s flexible cart and dropped in precise load after load of earth. Dirt pattered on the casket lid, and then there was nothing else to be seen but concrete walling as the grave was filling. Chance gave directions, and soon enough the bulk of the work was done.

  When no more earth could be scraped from the cart, Rocky turned the backhoe off and looked down at Chance. “You mind taking over for me with the shoveling?”

  Chance blinked a little. “Of course I don’t mind. Is something wrong, though?”

  To his credit, Rocky looked embarrassed. His wrinkled face creased up as he made a face, gesturing with one gnarled hand. “I just ain’t as young as I used to be, kid. Sometimes my bones ache and they’re sure givin’ me hell right now.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Chance forced cheer into his voice. His heart hurt with sympathy for the aging man. It couldn’t be fun to watch your ability to do something slowly fade away, leaving you with next to nothing. “You go home. I’ll finish up here.”

  “Thank you.” For a moment, teasing entered Rocky’s normally expressionless voice. “Don’t go seeing anymore ghosts, now. I don’t wanna come back tomorrow and find this grave half-finished.”

  Despite the fact that it was clearly a joke, Chance still felt terrible. “It w
on’t happen again. I promise.”

  Rocky nodded and touched his forehead, tipping an imaginary hat before moving off. He left the backhoe where it was, not because Chance would need it but because he would need the dirt still at the bottom of the cart that the big scoop couldn’t reach.

  Grabbing onto the rear of the backhoe, Chance swung his leg up and over and was just about to step into the cart when a low chuckle came from behind him.

  “Forget something?” he said, turning around.

  His heart leapt up in his throat, jamming his breath. It was the man in blue, the brim of his hat dipping down in front of his eyes.

  “Boo,” the man said and grinned.

  Chapter 3

  Angel Frost grinned as he looked up into the kid’s face, loving the play of emotions that tugged his eyes wide and pressed his mouth into a grimace of disgust. The kid was smart, or observant, he had to give him that. Oh, he’d seen them up on that hill behind the church, pointing at him as he walked around. The kid had put some puzzle pieces together, or at the very least had all the colors grouped in the same place. If they weren’t connected yet, they would be.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Angel said. His grin stretched even wider as embarrassment was added to the mix on the kid’s face. He really hadn’t expected things to turn out this way, when he stumbled into town in the dead of night and realized he was accidentally trespassing in a graveyard. To be fair about it, he’d walked through plenty of tree lines and ended up in places far worse before. That there would be someone actually out working in the dead of night was beyond his foresight. Well, not anymore.

  “Uh…” the kid stammered. He bit his lip and then pressed both lips together again hard. Color rose up in his cheeks, signaling that he was starting to get angry. The color looked good on him, Angel noted. A little scrawny, a little nerdy for his usual tastes, but bookish and cute nonetheless. The pink in his cheeks gave him life, otherwise Angel could have mistaken him for that dead guy in the coffin: both equally pallid and stiff.