i was all over him

3

Hiya. I want to mention that my depictions of the Duns, and for that matter, every character in this story, is fictional. The Duns and the Josephs both seem like awesome families, and I appreciate them all so much. So yeah, in this story I'm gonna paint some of them in a not awesome light, but this isn't about them as people, they're characters in a story. Also, these modern day sequences are in the early 60s for context.

TW this chapter: Implied homophobia, brief violence (just pushing someone over)

Somewhere, there was a hearse parked on the side of a once well-travelled, and now ancient road. Imagine it. The potholes of this road were numerous, so much so that when one is driving, it is more an obstacle course than Sunday morning drive. It's was a long and uncomfortable journey, disliked by many, and thus, few journeyed there. Half those times were those who have never had the displeasure to meeting this road, but they learned quickly enough to turn the other way. But the one who returned, was either a fool, or one who, very much like the hearse on that day, was out of options.

The passenger remained in the seat, while another man, hunched over and aggravated, kicked at a tire repeatedly. They are both in black suits and have familiar faces.

"We should have gotten gas at the last town," The passenger remarked from behind a creased, unfolded map. Out of the side mirror, he can see the twisted, bent shape of the shorter man.

"It isn't the gas, it's the goddamn road! Why would any bastard take this godforsaken road?"

When one drives, you may realize that there are limited options, veins of roads may flow through a city, but very often three or four paths will guide you exactly, to the place that you need. This is different than an old country road. You come from one direction, you exit the other. There is no second option. Life may feel like this sometimes, like you took a wrong turn a while back and now you must travel that road for a while. When one has gas, they can, in the very least, continue driving up a path and see if it connects back to the main road. Terrible tragedy may also strike, the loss of someone or something may feel like a tire getting blown out. But when gas is gone, every possibility is gone, each hope dried up, and you are left knowing that your inaction caused it. I can assure you that at some point in your lifetime you will feel this way as well. And then you're left, only stuck thinking about how great it was to have gas and how you took it for granted.

This was how these two men felt now. They both knew that they caused their own situation, and yet, both would continue to blame the other.

As the passenger's eyes peered over the crudely drawn map, he cast his eyes above, to the rear-view mirror, where through the long and outdrawn plateau a small shining golden vehicle approached.

A plain, polished yellow taxi cab arrived alongside the hearse.

"Need a ride?" Offered the middle-aged driver.

It took great strength and coordination to place the marked and stickered coffin into the back of the hollowed taxi cab, but with a countdown and many shifting of hands, you too, will find that it is possible to move any object with a bit of help. The three men stuffed themselves into the two seats, and with a nod of approval between the three, they continued on down the road.

It was nearly dusk when the scratching began. The thin passenger man heard it first, although the sound was obscured under the soft whine of the car. He heard it nonetheless.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Then the pounding began. Full, panicked fists slamming on wood, the polished mahogany, and no one could deny that the coffin shook violently, as the latches are unclasped, the coffin door swings open, and out of the lined velvet, came a shaking breath. Then a body rocked forward.