Page 41 of The Sin Eater
“Huh.” So he does have manners. I text him some version of okay, along withI’ll let you know if I get held up. It wouldn’t take a whole lot of drama for me to get stuck working late. I pocket my phone and get off the elevator. It’s late enough in the day that this lap through the units should give me some idea whether I’ll get off on time.
At a guess, I’d say he wants me to be there so he doesn’t get into trouble for messing around with a body, though I’m not entirely sure we both won’t get in trouble for it. He’s not the type to ask for help, though. Hell, he’s not the type to bring me a latte and my favorite cookie, either.
If that cookie was Ezra’s way of apologizing, I guess I can give him another chance.
The end of my shift is way more reasonable than I expected, and at eight o’clock, I’m jogging down the stairs, winter coat flapping over my uniform, keys still clipped to my belt. Ezra’s not at the door to the morgue. “Now what?”
Just that quickly, he comes striding down the hall in a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Sorry.” The word comes out on a gasp and he starts to cough. “Watching for you from the loading dock.”
I unlock the door to the morgue and hold it open for him. He looks rough; there are shadows under his eyes and he’s taken off his headband, so his hair is hanging around his face, lank and not too clean. On his way in, I don’t catch his usual hint of lavender under the smoke. There’s nothing floral, and no lightness in his step, either.
“This woman’s been driving me crazy,” he mutters, and while the logical response would be to ask what the hell he’s talking about, I stay quiet.
“She’s here.” He opens one of the coolers and pulls out the tray. “Grab a seat. I’m going to do my thing and you’re just here in case Geneva—”
I grab one of the rolling chairs, unsure how close is too close. “I get it.”
His answering nod is more of a jerk. The harsh fluorescents give his skin a grey cast, like one of the bodies he prays over. He reaches for the zipper, his hand shaking. The urge to ask what’s really going on almost overpowers me. Only his grim determination keeps me quiet.
Ezra starts to mumble. I catch “our father” and “kingdom come,” I think. Something else about peace and pawning his soul. My shoulders tighten while the tremor in his hand has spread to his whole body. He folds forward, hands pressed to his face, and keeps talking, the words muffled, indistinct.
The pain that they hold, though, is pretty fucking clear.
Some kind of weird energy sets my teeth on edge. I want it to stop. I wanthimto stop. “Hey, Ezra, come on, man.”
He tips his face to the ceiling. Holds up a hand at me. Silence falls and his body jerks once. Hard. “Amen.”
His anguished cry drags me out of my chair. He’s still got his hand up, so I don’t get close enough to touch him. I’m frozen, struggling to make sense of what he’s doing. This wasn’t justpraying over a corpse, or whatever he claimed.
I’m stuck in indecision when he reaches into the zipper bag, pulls something out, and stuffs it in his mouth.
“What was that?”
His jaw’s working and then he swallows. “Sorry,” he says. “We should head out.”
I can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t look like he can stand, let alone head anywhere. He does, though, gripping the side of the gurney like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He gets the bag zipped up, though when he tries to slide the gurney back into the cooler, his legs come close to giving out. I shove a chair under his ass, push the corpse into the cabinet, and fix him with as steady a look as I can manage.
“We’re going back to your apartment, and you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
His eyes slide shut. His head bows. “Only after some Jack,” he says.
“Great.” I don’t try to hide my eye roll.
He struggles to his feet. “May as well get drunk,” he says in an undertone, “since it ain’t like we can have sex.”
Right at this point, I can hear my sister’s voice telling me to leave this dude to his fate.There’s gotta be a limit, Damon Jeraldo. Even for you. I don’t entirely ignore her but he’s weaving on his feet. I get a hand under his elbow to keep him upright. He shakes me off and, steadier than I would have thought, goes to the door.
My head is a mess of thoughts and feelings when he flicks the lights off. Grabbing hold oflisten to your sister, dumbassI follow him out, ready to keep right on going. I lock the door behind me, turn around, and have to brace myself on his shoulders to keep from running him down.
He’s as hard as stone.
“Ezra?”
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He gives a little cough, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You are going to take your hot body home—your home, not mine—and I’m going to drink myself into a coma.”
I’m pretty sure he’s not joking. He hasn’t moved out of my grasp, and though he may need his own space, I’m perversely reluctant to let him go.
“I know what you’re thinking, Damon Clemens. You’re basically a decent man, and I’m an asshole.”