The Bimbo in Limbo

Consignments and Assignments

"He who was living is now dead." Timothy murmured. "We who were living are now dying." He rubbed at his eyes. They were dry, and so tired. It felt as though he hadn't slept in days. And he supposed he hadn't - or at least hadn't slept well. Because Jude had cried. She'd wept bitterly and softly, with bouts of soul-wracking sobs. She'd passed out weeping for two nights, leaving his chest wet and sticky for he did naught but hold her.

She wanted nothing to eat. Barely drank save for coffee. She refused his every offer of any comfort he could fathom: food, bath, blanket, music. Even liquor she denied - save for a shot to calm her nerves on the day Johnny died. And that one Timothy had insisted.

It seemed all she wanted was him. Not departed Johnny, though Timothy had no doubt she would have moved mountains to change fate. No, she wanted him - Timothy Howard. The man she'd sworn she would never forgive his wrongdoings.

She'd been his shadow at best these last days and his siamese twin at worst, clinging to him closer than skin. He knew now this woman's body more intimately than any lover had or could. Tears had made them familiar - as blood between vampires. The salt of themselves had mingled and bonded. And while he knew now she was weak with grief as he was...they were stronger together than either was apart. When grief passed in time, he hoped Jude would remember the taste of their salt together; the feel of their skins sticking; the firm strokes of his fingers on her spine; the lazy, delirious songs he hummed over her shallow breaths.

"With a little patience," he whispered.

"What?"

He looked up from the couch to see her standing in the bedroom door. Standing for the first time on her own in two days. He tried a reassuring smile. "Nothing." His knees cracked when he stood. "You're beautiful."

"I hate wearing black."

"I know." She'd bought the dress yesterday. Just for Johnny's funeral. They'd gone into town together - amongst the oblivious dead oblivious to their dead. They'd walked as strangers among strangers, Jude's head on Timothy's shoulder and his arm supporting her. Like zombies they'd walked.

And she'd cried when he zipped the dress up her back. He'd held her in the dressing room, not caring what the saleslady might think.

It was simple. Elegant. Soft cotton and cashmere with a cowl that nearly hid her graceful neck. The skirt flared around her legs well below her knees. She looked down at the chunky black heels. "This is probably the most covered Johnny evah saw me." She laughed ruefully, and Timothy smiled, simply pleased she wasn't crying. "Except far the time I stayed with him..." She trailed off, chewing lip.

There were simply no tears left now. He recognized the feeling: emptiness. Emotion spent to the point the body grew numb. She shook it off admirably. "We should go."

"When you're ready." He followed her to the door. Her curls were tamed, too - captive in the black netting of her snood. She hardly looked like his Jude at all...

She didn't turn on the radio in the Nash. There'd been no music for days now and he found he missed it terribly. "Did I - did I tell ya about the time I stayed with Johnny?"

"You didn't."

She stared out the car's window. He could see snowy branches and bare trees reflected in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse. "I was a fuckin' mess. And this man took me in no questions. He put me up in my own room in his house. Such a perfect house. He fed me. He sobered me up. Got me workin' again. Treated me like a daughter or somethin.'"

"How long did you stay?"

"Only a few weeks." She wiped at her nose. "I shoulda stayed longah. He asked me to. Wanted me to."