Page 7 of Grave Beginnings

I didn’t want to tell him. Eighteen years and my parents’ rejection still burned deep. “They think I can control dead people,” I said, my voice cracking in the middle.

A heartbeat of silence stretched over the line.

“Grandpa?”

“Processing, my boy.”

“I can’t. They think I can. Put me in lockdown and tested me.”

The memory of being locked in the morgue during my variant testing chilled me to the bone. Not just because of the cold—standard for preserving bodies—or the sharp scent of disinfectant trying to mask the underlying sourness and rot. That was normal. Expected. As a Homicide Detective I’d spent a lot of time in morgues. They all had their own feel; some heavy and tense, others sterile and lifeless.

But this, the whispering? It was probably the hum of the refrigeration units, the creak of old pipes, or movement from other rooms trickling through the thick walls. After hours left alone, I’d curled up in the corner, shivering, mind playing tricks on me. Exhaustion and temperature deregulation due to stress. Nothing more.

“Nothing happened.”

Whatever I thought I’d heard was all in my head. The morgue was just a room. A sterile, ugly, ordinary room.

“Okay,” Grandpa said.

“I’m marked now. Glowing armband and all.”

He cursed.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. I’m okay. Since I don’t start the new job till next week, that gives me the weekend free. Maybe we can hang out, watch some History Channel or something.”

“It’s all aliens now,” Grandpa said.

“Does that mean you don’t want to see me?”

“My boy, if I still had a license, I’d be on my way over right now.”

“And everyone in the state of Minnesota is grateful you don’t. We’d have to issue a citywide safety alert.”

“Brat.” He sighed. “I need to look at you.”

I sighed back, needing sleep. “Tomorrow, okay? Can I sleep in my own bed first?”

“Of course, but if I don’t see you bright and early, I’ll find a way to show up on your doorstep.”

“Scary,” I teased. “Your neighbors drive worse than you. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“All right,” he agreed.

3

Grandpa huggedme hard the second I arrived at seven in the morning, and I fought not to break down into tears. How did the strongest person I know happen to be a frail, 89 year-old man?

“Hey, Grandpa.”

He squished my face between his hands. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine. No zombies breaking down my door.” My sleep had been shit, despite being in my own bed with Peanut Butter curled up next to me. The nightmares were rampant.

He glared at the armband. “I knew folks who barely made it out of Germany before…”

“Shush, Grandpa. It’s okay.” It wasn’t really. I felt like I’d been branded, and everyone stared at me wherever I went. I changed the subject to save us both mental energy. “I brought Peanut Butter to hang with us. Hope that’s okay.”

The cat jolted out of the carrier the second I opened it and pawed at Grandpa’s leg to be picked up. Grandpa scooped him up and set him on his shoulder, carrying him like the big baby he was. “How’s my great grandbaby?” Grandpa asked. “Did daddy leave you?”