I was alarmed.

In fact, I could not remember the last time I had left the bed so fast. I pushed past my patron, cracking my knee on the side of the cabinet on the way to the door, and then half stumbling down the stairs in my underwear - revolver somehow in my hand along the way.

Pearl stepped out of the kitchen to meet me in the dining room, her face unimpressed but not seemingly in any panic. Not in her battle gear either, just a dressing gown.

“Wight tried to make us breakfast in bed and managed to set fire to half of the kitchen.” She eyed me up and down with her arms crossed. “Not sure why you thought shooting it to death in your underwear would help, but I appreciate the show.”

My patron slunk into the room behind me, looking ashamed.

[I apologize, it looked simple when the Pearl did it.]

I deflated and had nowhere to stow my weapon. Which would be an amusing double entendre to tell if I wasn’t still in a state of panic. “Well, I appreciate the effort. That’s… it was a nice gesture.”

“I, too, admire the sentiment, Wight - but now you can help me clean while Eric gets ready for the funeral.”

Shit. Between the mire of sleep and the sharp awakening, the true cause for a lump to dwell in my throat. I checked my watch. Shit! It would be cutting it close. The one truly important deadline that wasn’t my own flatlining heart and-

“Eric, quit standing around being noir and get your ass ready.” She pointed a narrowed glare along with a taloned finger at me - before relenting and blowing a kiss.

I nodded and ran back upstairs, gradually feeling more ridiculous in my state of undress. Put the revolver on the drawers and into the bathroom to shower. Lukewarm, but it’d do. Avoid thoughts of the two demons cleaning the kitchen together. Left the bathroom to dry myself. Clothes were already on the bed, ready for me. Black slacks, white shirt, black tie. No jacket or hat for this occasion. Combed my hair back and fixed my glasses.

Checked my watch. Time enough to have a coffee before leaving… although I didn’t want to annoy the demons more than I had to. Maybe instead, I’d just be a little calmer. Slow things down and not act so manic. I was nervous, of course - this was a big deal for me. Bigger deal for Rodney, I chastised myself, but I… I exhaled and closed my eyes for a second. I was more torn up over this natural part of human life than I was about delving into Hell.

“Eric?”

“Hmm?” I hadn’t realized I had made my way into the dining room again. Pearl was leaning on the door frame to the kitchen, her arms elbow-deep in rubber gloves. “Sorry, miles away.”

“You will be soon. Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll have some actual food ready for you when you both get back.” She came over, and we briefly hugged. Her hair smelled of lavender and the charcoal remains of whatever Wight had attempted.

“Wight will probably vanish once I get too far. I hope he didn’t cause too much of a problem.”

“Nothing permanent.” She shrugged. “I was thinking we could move somewhere bigger soon, anyway.”

Our own headquarters, I resisted saying it out loud.

“…you know,” she continued, “have our own headquarters.”

“Pearl… I-“ my eyes glanced down at my watch. “-ah, I’m going to be late. I will see you later.” I gave her a kiss.

“Give my regards to Rodney.” She gave a glum smile. “And, you look nice.”

[ALSO GIVE MY REGARDS TO THE RODNEY.]

I winced as Wight yelled from the kitchen. He was about to… return to my pact vessel; I supposed. We hadn’t really gone much further apart than within the house before. We’d always been tethered closely. Everything was novel now, as if each day sought to surpass the previous in terms of how weird my life could get.

The door opened up, and the drab mortal plane lay before me. Some days it was more alien than the Lower Hells. How the weather knew this was a somber occasion and fashioned a gloomy overcast sky over the impending proceedings, I did not know. There were a lot of things I didn’t know, and that ocean grew larger every day.

Traveling over to Rodney was a blur of noir contemplation and wild glares at the places I had to pay attention not to get struck by a moving vehicle. What a way to go that would be for Eric ‘The Last Lantern’ Redd. Sorry humanity, you are screwed because this thirty-two-year-old man forgot how to cross the road safely.

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And then, finally, his door. The house was slim and smaller than mine. Well-maintained plant pots sat along the windowsills, sprouting a mix of greens and flowered heads that were either too shy or also knew it was too somber a day to reveal their coloration. Perhaps I like to read into things too much and believe everything was painting a narrative with me as the miserable focus. I knocked on the door.

It opened quite promptly - he must have been waiting for me. He was dressed similarly to me, even tidied up his hair. About as much as I had mine, anyway. His eyes were tired, though, clearly he had shed his fair share of tears in the early hours.

“Eric, almost didn’t recognize you.” He gave a half smile, and I tipped my not-present hat.

“Sometimes I barely recognize myself too.” I smiled and frowned at the same time, not knowing what was appropriate in this situation.

“Come in; we have a few minutes to kill before the ride gets here.” He gestured within.

I would be quite thankful if it were time to kill. A little bit of wanton violence seemed like a less painful situation to be in rather than hanging around with heavy emotions. With a sigh, I breached the threshold.

Rodney’s house was small but quaint. There was obviously a lot of love shared within the walls - the living room was peppered with photo frames of the pair of them. Some with other people, other relatives, and family friends, I’d assume. A clock in the shape of a circular cat sat atop their mantle, and his eyes looked side to side as it ticked and tocked. Everything felt cozy.

“It wasn’t usually this tidy.” He grinned, hands in pockets to give himself something to do. “But idle hands and all that.”

“I feel bad inviting you to stay at mine when this place is obviously such a home.” I squinted a picture of both of them smiling together. She seemed nice - round rosy cheeks, a wide smile that met her eyes. Always burned me up inside when the good ones were taken.

“It’s fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I… uh, guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Of course, she was killed here. I had the wherewithal not to ask where exactly or probe for any awkward answers. It was a shame my noir outlook didn’t come with the cliche detective slant. Nothing screamed out to me that something was wrong. We were just two somber men in a comfortable casket.

“The divine, but not ghosts?” I tilted my head with a smile.

“I’ll change my mind when I see a ghost, I guess.” He leaned to the side to see out of the window. “Oh, looks like they’re here.”

I turned as he made for the door, briefly wondering if he meant ghosts. A vehicle of drab black was parked up outside. Rather ominous, if I were to be asked. Stepping to the front door, Rodney paused before opening it.

“I just wanted… I know this must be tough for you as well, Eric. I really appreciate it.”

My arms extended, and I brought him in for a hug. It was, and I already knew. Rodney was a few years too old to be a son analog, but he was family to me now. Not blood-related, but if you steep yourself in enough of it, it’ll look the same.

We relented, and he dried his eyes. From the moment the door opened, the day became a blur.

The car ride was short and uncomfortable, despite the plush interior. Gray skies hung over the dark pit a handful of black suits hovered around. A man in religious garb said some words. Rodney said a few. We cried. The body was lowered. That seemed like the end, or at least an end. He didn’t recognize any of the others gathered there. His father or any extended family hadn’t shown up. Disgust had roiled around in my stomach.

Then, the car returned us to my house. And just like that, it was done. Although she had been dead for a few weeks, being put to rest felt like the true finality. Something I hadn’t been able to accept when it had been my turn to drawl out a eulogy behind thick walls of tears and disdain for the cruelty of it.

I pushed open the door and allowed him entrance first. Pearl came into the hall, sympathy in her eyes, and offered up a hug to the Blank. He accepted and reciprocated without hesitation or judgment. My heart grew heavier, the emotional toll of the day draining. After she relinquished him, he went into the dining room. I joined the queue and received a hug of my own.

“How did it go?” She asked, searching my face, but found all the answers she needed painted on my expression.

All I could do was provide a glum smile and brief kiss, any words possibly threatening to burst the dam of my stoic misery. We went through into the dining room to find Rodney slouched on the recliner, staring out of the window.

“Wight appeared as you got closer. I tried to get him to help serve up the food, but he ran off down to the basement.” Pearl shrugged and gave me a pat on the arm before heading for the kitchen.

As if on cue, the light footsteps of the short bird-man pattered up from the hall and into the dining room. In his hands, he had a piece of paper clutched, and after a brief nod to me, he walked up to the Blank.

[I do not have the full range of emotions to express my sympathies, but I have drawn you a picture, the Rodney.]

Brief confusion turned to a smile as he took the page. “Thanks, Wight. That is really thoughtful.” After trying to decipher it, he turned it to me to show off.

Once again, it was an abstract of intersecting straight lines that didn’t seem to form any particular coherent image. Wight pointed a clawed finger at the middle of it.

[This heart is meant to be in red, but Eric has not gotten me color markers yet.]

I shrugged as Pearl came through with food, the smells almost immediately melting the atmosphere in the room.

“Eat up; I made way too much of everything. Apparently, I stress cook now.” She raised her arms in frustration at me.

We laughed, and we ate, and we shared stories. It was pleasant, and it was healing. Something sobering when I thought of how my grieving period was anger and self-destruction.

After a certain amount of time, Rodney had fallen asleep on the recliner. Emotionally exhausted. I had felt the same, but I was sitting opposite Wight at the dining table, trying to teach him how to play poker. Pearl was shuttling plates and leftovers from us to the kitchen.

Wight stopped shuffling his hand and looked up at me with a scowl.

Behind him, a skeletal figure stepped from the hallway and into the dining room doorway.

{Eric, I… oh, I didn’t know you’d have… company.}