Chapter 6

Suzi woke to her alarm, groggy, with a thick fog from lack of sleep, and the sleep she did get was fitful. What a dream. So surreal. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. As she pulled her hands away, she saw the tiny scratches and redness on her arm, beyond her tattoos.

She heard a tiny, growling voice in her head repeating the phrase, “Azailkahbil tonta pey.”

A sickness settled in her gut. Was that real? That was REAL! That was real.

“Holy Fuck. That was real,” she convinced herself as if saying it aloud made it more real.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” the tiny voice pleaded in her head.

She jumped to her feet, wobbled for half a second, and ran to the bathroom. Her head felt odd, lopsided. Heavy. She looked in the mirror, but she could not see anything wrong. She stared into her eyes in the mirror, willing herself to see deeper and deeper, but the repeated cry in her head kept bringing her back to reality. She could not focus long enough to get to that place where her personas resided.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” the whine persisted.

Suzi tried repeatedly to concentrate but finally gave up.

“I have to get ready for work.”

She quickly showered, trying to ignore the voice as best as possible. She applied her make-up and put on her skirt and formal top. At the last minute, she remembered that her clothes from last Monday had been destroyed, so she put another set of formal wear in a garment bag to leave at the funeral home. You never know when you need a change, and on Monday afternoon, she used her emergency change to meet with a grieving family. That was the reason she was late to meet with Dr. Adamson.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” the voice cried out again.

“Shut up, you whiney, little bitch!” James had finally lost his cool.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” the voice whimpered.

Suzi grabbed a leftover blueberry scone and bolted out the door several minutes late.

As she got to her car, she realized she had forgotten to take her daily medications.

“Wait a sec. I did not take them yesterday either,” she mumbled to herself. “Or the day before. Did they give it to me while I was asleep?”

“Unconscious,” her J persona added.

“In a trance,” the Judith personality corrected.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” the voice droned on.

“What the actual fuck?” Judith exclaimed, becoming frustrated.

Suzi sighed. She had not had her meds in a few days at least, but she’s not had any panic attacks or bouts of depression, so another day should not hurt anything. She needed some time to think. She needed to get to work.

She sped to the funeral home. When she arrived, she was glad to see only the cars she recognized in the parking lot, meaning there were no families or visitations yet. She carried her garment bag through the back service entrance. The smell of the place instantly relaxed her. Embalming fluid fumes are toxic, but mixed with the calmness, and the sterility of the environment, brings her to a level of calm that only Aiden could otherwise accomplish.

“Well, hey there, gorgeous!”

The voice came from behind her. She did not have to turn to know who it was, although the pungent aroma of overpriced cologne would have also given him away.

“Hello, Doyle,” she said without turning.

She hung her garment bag in her designated closet.

“We’ve been so worried about you. Things have not been the same around here without you. How are you holding up?” He saddled up next to her.

“Well, let me try to summarize it in small words for you. In the last week, I’ve seen a man get shot -his blood was thrown all over me. I was in a coma for three days….”

“Trance,” Judith corrected.

“…I found out that my soon-to-be son-in-law is getting deployed to a hostile area in the Middle East for three months; I saw my HUSBAND, who I have not seen in over two years…”

She had hoped that reminding him, again for the umpteen-hundredth time, that she was married might magically derail him from thinking she was the least bit interested in him.

“Had some of the best sex in a very long time. Maybe ever!” Annie added, giggling.

“….I slept like shit last night,” Suzi continued, “and Azailkahbil tonta pey.”

Doyle was taken aback and looked confused as he furrowed his brow but his perfectly positioned hair never moved. “Azial…tonta… what now?”

Suzi couldn’t believe what came out of her mouth. She tried to hide the surprise in her eyes.

“Nothing. It’s been a long week. I want to focus on work if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, babe. If you need anything, just let me know, ya know? We’ll ease back into things. We just picked up Mr. McGillicuddy from Lone Pine if you want to work with him. He’s got a pre-need. I was about to do it, but I’ll put your name on the board instead. He’s in fridge four. Probably not even cold yet.”

Lone Pine Nursing Home and Assisted Living Facility—a place Suzi knew well. She moonlighted there as an End-of-Life Companion, offering support to families with loved ones in hospice or facing terminal illness. Her role extended beyond embalming and funeral services; she safeguarded families from undue pressure during funeral home meetings.

But it was the residents—their stories—that captivated her. The forgotten ones, their narratives etched in wrinkles and memories. Military veterans held a special place in her heart. Among them, Quarter Master John Q. McGillicuddy, a man who’d seen Vietnam, weathered three marriages, raised six children, and toiled as a mechanic. His life, a patchwork of experiences, now woven into Suzi’s own.

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Doyle’s persistence grated on her.

“That would be lovely. Thank you,” she replied, exasperated.

His salesman smile and flattery—predictable. Suzi left the room, heading toward the embalming area. The door yielded to her code, and just as she stepped through, Nick appeared, eyes alight.

“Suzi!” His warmth enveloped her. Nick, older, the legacy of the Eternal Springs Funeral Home, founded by his father. Nick Sr., a loving presence, occasionally graced the scene.

“Hey, Nick.” Suzi’s genuine smile met his.

He hugged her and she half-heartedly hugged him back, holding the door ajar with her foot.

“I was worried when Aiden called me. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m great. We’re still trying to piece together what happened.”

“So, you aren’t hurt or anything then?”

“No. I was witness to an attack and got knocked out and was unconscious—in sort of a trance—“ she quickly added to keep Judith happy, “—for three days. I’m still working with the police, but I’ve really told them all I know or can remember.”

“Wow. You must have been in shock or a fugue state. That is crazy.”

Suzi nodded in uncomfortable silence. She did not like bringing much of her personal life into the office, but Nick was one of those bosses who wanted to blur the lines of authority and friendship with his employees to make a connection.

“So, you got to see Aiden and your daughter, right? Uh, River?” he questioned.

“Rio,” Suzi corrected. Yeah, they stayed at the hospital with me for the four days I was there and then an extra day to hang out with me and, I think, keep an eye on me. They left just yesterday.”

“I bet that was nice.”

Nick’s phone chimed to the tune of ‘Sweet Caroline’ by Neil Diamond. He chuckled, pulling it from his pocket. “Oh, it’s the ol’ ball and chain,” he quipped, nodding down the hall. “I’m glad you’re okay and back.”

Suzi waved as he left, hearing his voice echo down the corridor: “Hello, my Snow Angel…”

She retrieved the folder from the intake box, its contents detailing Mr. McGillicuddy’s cause of death—a cerebrovascular accident, commonly known as a stroke. Dropping the folder on the desk, Suzi donned her protective gear: a plastic suit, shoe-covering booties, and a face shield. The embalming room awaited her.

“Minimum procedure is maximum precaution,” Judith’s astute voice echoed in her head.

The room sprawled, the scent of disinfectant and formaldehyde more pronounced. To the right, a large stainless-steel cabinet stood, its cool interior housing cadavers. Suzi remembered when she first saw it. The largest fridge she’d seen, capable of holding up to 20 bodies—an impressive sight. Nick’s commitment to excellence extended here, with four Frigid embalming machines, all black except one in pink—a perk for Suzi, the first employee in this newly built home.

Above, a body hoist awaited, easing the transfer of bodies from table to table. The Ultimate Lift 1000, a godsend—no more struggling or scratching caskets. The room’s center hosted four embalming stations, each equipped with porcelain tables, 2.5-gallon fluid pumps, and trays of stainless-steel tools.

Opposite, another set of doors led to the dressing room, where bodies received clothing, hairstyling, and makeup. Beyond lay the casket room.

Nitrile gloves secured, Suzi rolled an embalming table to the left of drawer four. She pulled out the tray bearing Mr. McGillicuddy’s remains. His stoic face, unmoving hairline, and unblinking eyes met her gaze. She checked the identification tag, verifying this was John Quincy McGillicuddy, although she did not need to.

“Bath time, John,” she whispered. You should start and end your life being bathed.

She moved his body to the table, rolling it toward the shower head. Antimicrobial soap, scrubbing, disinfectant—all part of the ritual to prevent bacterial growth and delay decomposition. Massaging individual muscle groups eased rigor mortis. Eye caps, mouth formers, sutures—each step, a tender farewell to the departed.

The mortuary room hummed with sterile anticipation, its fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow on the stainless steel table. Suzi, seasoned in the art of preservation, stood poised, her gloved hands steady. The embalming process was both science and ritual—a dance with death that she had performed countless times.

As she prepared to inject the formaldehyde solution, Suzi’s mind shifted into a detached focus. The arterial tube lay before her, a conduit for the embalming fluid. She traced its path mentally, envisioning the crimson river within Mr. McGillicuddy’s veins. The jugular awaited her blade, a necessary incision for the blood’s escape. The aspirator would guide the exodus.

The pump’s mechanical heartbeat echoed in the room as Suzi activated it. The fluid surged, pushing aside the remnants of life. She massaged the muscles, coaxing the stubborn blood from its hiding places. Each stroke was a communion—a farewell whispered to the vessel that had once housed a soul.

Her eyes wandered to the scars on Mr. McGillicuddy’s abdomen. Stories etched in flesh. His bank robbery tale—was it truth or fiction? Suzi wondered. Perhaps both. The trocar needle slid into the incision, and the embalming solution flowed, saturating organs and hollow spaces. She worked with reverence, a silent tribute to mortality.

Yet, amid this solemn choreography, an unexpected dissonance intruded. The voice—the haunting chant of ‘Azailkahbil tonta pey’—had faded. Suzi’s slip of the tongue during a conversation with Doyle had invoked it, but now it lay dormant. The darkness crept in, veiling her vision, and she surrendered to its embrace.

In the void, Suzi’s consciousness fragmented. A kaleidoscope of personas swirled—an intimate voyeur of her own psyche. And there, standing sentinel, was her warrior self. Stripped bare, she radiated power. Platinum and pink hair flowed like a tiger’s stripes, defiance woven into every strand. No possessions, no wants—only purpose.

Judas.

In the once empty room next to her was the imp creature she saw in her dream the night prior, phasing from physical form to a grey gas cloud and moving about the space. In the open ‘doorway’ was a red-gold grid of glowing energy that prevented the creature from leaving. Suzi’s consciousness willed itself to examine this room, and it quickly became the only room she could perceive. The creature was terrified, angry, and confused.

“Who are you?” Suzi’s mind asked.

The creature calmed and stopped phasing.

“Y rayet tir Azailkahbil,” she heard the creature say, but she knew it said ‘My name is Azailkahbil’. How did she know this language? What was this language?

Her consciousness pulled away from the apartment complex of all of her identities. She looked closer at Judas, the warrior. The persona stared right at Suzi’s consciousness. If this version of herself knew how to speak to the creature last night, then at some level, she knew what this creature was and how to communicate with it, albeit unconsciously. This place had no unconscious level, so she could understand the creature.

“What are you?” Suzi addressed the creature.

“Azailkahbil tonta pey,” it began to cry – ‘Azailkahbil wants to live.’

“What manner of creature are you?” Suzi’s mind asked again.

Somewhat confused, the imp stuttered, “Az… Azailkahbil oc e… e kixug.” - ‘Azailkabil is a demon.’

This hit Suzi like a canon.

Like a circuit breaker flipped, reality surged back, jolting her from the ritual’s trance.

The fluid pump, once a steady hum, now screeched in protest. Doyle and Nick, their faces etched with concern, shook her shoulders. Suzi’s consciousness swam to the surface, disoriented yet tethered to the mortuary room.

“Suzi!” Nick’s voice oscillated between anger and worry. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, her gaze flitting between the clock on the wall and Nick’s furrowed brow. Two hours—two hours lost in the embalming process. Mr. McGillicuddy’s abdomen, once a canvas for her art, now bulged, discolored by the embalming fluid.

Doyle’s chair nudged her, grounding her further. “Babe? You okay?”

Suzi sat, her mind churned. She needed clarity.

“Was I breathing?” she asked, her voice hollow.

“What do you mean?” Nick’s confusion mirrored her own.

“Breathing,” Suzi insisted, locking eyes with him. “Was I?”

“Well… yeah,” Nick stammered. “You were breathing. You were standing here. It looked like you were working on his body.”

Progress, Suzi mused. No collapse, no surrender.

But then her Suzanne persona chimed in, irreverent and unfiltered. “Thank God Doyle didn’t give us mouth-to-mouth,” it quipped, recoiling from the thought of another man’s lips on hers.

“Thank God? God. GOD? Oh, GOD!” Suzi’s mind began to spiral. She started mumbling to herself, whispering a revelation, muttering to herself, caught in a cosmic maelstrom. “There is a demon in my head. Demons are real. Satan must be real. God must be real. Heaven? Real. Hell must be real. Angels must be real too, right?” Her brain was on fire. Her thoughts a wildfire consuming reason.

“Call 9-1-1, boy,” Nick ordered Doyle, urgency slicing through the air.

Doyle obeyed, fingers flying over his phone.

“Nick – I have to go,” she told her boss.

His mouth agape, “Uh, Suzi. No. I think...”

Suzi stood up and shucking her PPE as she stepped to the door.

“Okay. Be careful!” he called out after her, stunned by her abrupt exit.

“I’m sorry,” she turned to tell him after she reached the door and stepped through.