The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

Holden’s head snapped up with such force that Clifford broke out laughing.

“I got two eyes, young Davis. I can see that you got aspirations on her.”

The younger man dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I’ve really stepped in it this time, Clifford. I can’t express my feelings for her without seeming like a letch."

“Yeah…you was better off hiring them cranky old women with the bunions.” Clifford shrugged. “Except for the fact that they used to turn off customers with them nasty attitudes and couldn’t do the work, them was alright.”

Holden glared at him. He wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. “No need to rub it in.” He looked at Clifford, his eyes pleading. “Should I tell Eileen how I feel?”

Clifford stood up and clapped Holden on the shoulder. “Life is short. As your father used to say: a moment of discomfort or a lifetime of discontent.”

In spite of himself, a weak smile crept across Holden’s face. His father truly did have a saying for everything.

The phone rang and Holden let out a breath before he answered. It was Dr Thorpe calling them to collect a decedent whose autopsy was finished. The pathologist’s office was only five minutes away so by the time Clifford returned with the old lady’s remains, Eileen was walking through the front door and greeting them in her usual cheery tone. Holden knew it wouldn’t do to profess his feelings for Eileen over a corpse. He would talk to her later. For now, he’d keep it casual.

* * *

“I BET YOU WERE A PREFECT at school, weren’t you?”

They were attired in their usual white frocks in the chilly prep room, deftly handing each other tools and liquids without prompting as they worked. It had taken a few weeks, but they had developed a seamless preparation routine since the day Eileen had almost brought up her lunch on the spotless floor tiles. Now, instead of enquiries about embalming and requests to hand Holden a syringe, their conversations had become more casual.

Eileen grinned. “Of course I wasn’t. I’m too short and I always look like I’m up to no good. They only give badges to the tall, serious-looking children — like you. I imagine that’s the same reason the police force has a height requirement; it’s society’s way of saying that height means authority.”

Holden considered her theory as he pushed cotton inside Mrs Holmes’ mouth. “So they didn’t make me a prefect because of my roguish good looks?”

Eileen laughed. “Probably not.”

Holden tutted and sighed as though deeply affronted by this new knowledge. “My father's donation to the library fund probably helped to shore up my appointment as well, didn’t it?”

Eileen smiled benignly and raised a shoulder. They both knew it did.

“You know…” Holden said as he massaged Mrs Holmes’ face to set her features. “… back then, I really did believe that I was rewarded for following the rules.” He frowned. “Which makes no sense because Paul was head-boy.”

Eileen giggled and asked, “Was he brighter than you?”

Holden scoffed. “Brighter? Paul barely flickers.” He shook his head in amusement as Eileen broke down laughing. They were polar opposites in that way. Holden’s humour simmered below the surface while Eileen’s bubbled over.

She wiped tears from her eyes and said, “But if we’re being honest, life isn’t set up to be fair.”

Holden took a small sponge from Eileen as he replied, “You’re right. My father used to say, ‘Son, rule lovers get a pat on the head. Rule breakers get a pat on the back.’”

Eileen broke into another fit of giggles. It was hilarious the way Holden would drop the timbre of his already deep voice to mimic his father.

“What does that even mean?” she asked through giggly hiccups.

Holden’s gloved hands moved deftly, almost robotically as he started to embalm Mrs Holmes. He didn’t answer until he had finished the internal embalming. He never spoke while doing that part. When Eileen had first started working there, she thought he was ignoring her, but she soon realized that he always picked up their conversation as soon as he closed the veins. “Look at history: average citizens go to their graves as ‘nice people’. It’s the renegades and pioneers whose memories live forever.”

That was the thing Eileen liked best about Holden. The most gruesome day spent filling people’s veins with chemicals could turn into hours that were wiled away in laughter and wisdom. But she quickly sobered when his statement about average citizens triggered a thought she had the night before.

“About what I said last night…” she bit her lip. “It’s not that I don’t like working here. I appreciate having a stable job and I like learning from you and Clifford. But what you said just now about average people…it pretty much sums up how I feel about where my life is right now.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s my dream to do something creative, something that will transcend my lifetime and exist forever. Something that I’ll be known for.” Eileen opened her hands apologetically as she gestured at the equipment in the sterile room. “I can’t do that here.”

“You are quite good with the make-up and the floral arrangements.” He looked up at Eileen and said, “Far be it from me to stop you from your heart’s desires. You’re ambitious, even a daft person can see that.”

She reached for the stainless steel tray next to him. “Thank you,” she said as she started sterilizing the tools. “I’m glad you’re not offended.”

“No…why would I be? I don’t imagine that everyone desires to spend their lives surrounded by the dead.”

His face was a mixture of sadness and acceptance as he shrugged. "I understand."

Eileen had grown accustomed to working with Holden. Despite it not being her dream job, her stomach sank at the idea of never seeing him again.

Chapter 15

Dead Ends

Eileen’s life was in limbo. It had been three days since their trip to the cane ground and two days since Holden had handed over the evidence