I'm so comfortable in his embrace I could fall asleep. I'd probably have good dreams for a change.
I want to stay as we are, but something should be done about our surroundings soon. How the hell are we supposed to cover something like this up?
I lift my head to view our predicament and what we have to work with. There are a bunch of crates, some sacks and that stupid handheld forklift I fell on earlier. There are three good sized dumpsters… I start to feel queasy thinking about dumping a body in one.
Even without the bodies, the ground is stained with slaughter.
So much death. How did it come to this?
Sam lightly caresses my arm, seeming to sense my unease, "I'll take care of this. Don't worry yourself over it."
I tilt my chin to look at him, "What are you going to do?"
He considers me with weary eyes, lids lowering thick lashes down like heavy curtains, exhaling slowly out his nose.
He repeats, "I'll take care of it."
There are few answers Sam keeps from me. He looks so haggard. I shouldn't pester him and let him be this time.
I sit up and swoop my torn sweater over my head. Sam loosens his grip, allowing me to readjust. His fingers hover briefly, returning to my skin. It appears he doesn't want to let go, and I like that. His touch is honestly wonderful.
I drop the shredded garment aside and settle against him.
I take Sam's advice and allow myself to forget, even if it's just for a moment. I trust him. I simply savor his touch and smell, all the tension begins to drain.
That is, until the backdoor abruptly swings out.
I jump with a small yelp, nearly headbutting Sam under his chin, an inch away from slamming his jaw into his top teeth.
Luckily his reflexes are still on point, avoiding it with all the grace and speed as a change in wind. He chuckles softly through his nose, not startled in the least.
"Swee' Jaysus, Maray n' Joseph!" someone exclaims.
Sam shakes with more silent laughter. Is he not concerned with who just came out to greet us? This looks really bad! We're sitting here in a scene that belongs on a crime show. I gawk at the mystery person like a felon in police headlights as they join us.
Oh, what a relief, it's Cooper. I should have known from the accent. Then I remember, it doesn't really matter because Sam has his mind tricks. No wonder he's so poise, that little ability of his is so convenient.
Cooper continues to spout his typical jargon, "What the dickens happened back 'ere?"
He briefly evaluates each corpse, "Well, looks like I missed yer wee partay," he scans the disaster area, mumbling, "Partied a tad too hard from the looks of it."
"Wee earlay for Hallow's Eve, don' ya kno'," he considers us then looks down with a subtle flare of shock, "Wha'? Jaysus! Ya reallay lamped tha' laday muck."
He strolls over to Betsy, his sneakers skim around the edge of the gore puddle. He's like a contractor measuring the circumference of it.
"This one's like a feckin' boomerang, ya can' stay dog wide of 'er!" he exasperates to himself, mildly throwing his hands up.
He crouches down by her untethered head.
"Betsay, Betsay," his head sways as he chides, "Ya crazy bird, ya should've seen this comin'. Stay a nut and ya ought be cracked."
Cooper sure is taking this well. He doesn't find any of this disturbing in the least?
"Aye, Ashy. Ya holdin' up, alright? Ya look shaken. Did she try to have a go wiff ya?"
I notice him peering over his broad shoulder at the two of us. He stands to approach, towering over us with his impressive height.
"Uh, yeah. No, I'm good," I say quickly.
His eyes crinkle and his mouth quirks like he knows something I don't, "Aye doll, yer a tough one."
His massive hand ruffles my messy hair as he snickers faintly. There is a glimmer of something for a fraction of a second, like his real age shining through. It's very old and wise. That's strange. I blink but he's back to Mr. Good looking-young-and-carefree.
He looks over Sam, analyzing him for a moment and regarding his wounds.
"Ya jammy bastard," he shakes his head, "she reallay coulda' done ya in this time."
Sam grunts in response.
Cooper's eyes soften before saying cheerfully, "Oh well, don' fret too hard boyo! If it wasn't ya it'd be anotha. Ya did 'er a favor, I reckon," he twists, evaluating Betsy again, "She was fixin' ta go agro. Tha' broad was on the brink of a crispay suicide, half a mind short of gettin' sunbaked."
I sneak a glance at Sam. He quietly watches Cooper with an agreeable bounce his head. His face isn't giving a lot away but he doesn't necessarily look upset.
Cooper walks straight up to the decapitated body. He stares up at the night sky through the skinny cut out ceiling of the loading supply alley, he glances right then left as if searching for something specific. I realize he's calculating as he scans the high barriers.
He nods to himself and crouches, fiddling with her silky shirt and pulling it over the grisly remnant of her nape.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I exclaim.
Cooper takes the collar of the shirt and covers the headless neck like a hood, "Ima toss 'er on tha roof, wha' else? Tha sun 'ill take care o' tha res'."
"Are you serious? Just like that! Without a word or anything?"
He gives me a strange look boarding on laughter as he gather up her arms and legs, "Wha' xactlay is dere ta say? Do *you* have anythin' ya'd like ta say 'bout this fine laday?"
'Not anything nice…'
"I don't know, it just seems so unceremonious. Just bam! The end… really?"
Cooper lowers the limbs back down, looking thoughtfully to the side. A hand raises to scratch the light scruff on his chin. He straightens his shoulders and clears his throat in silent announcement of his upcoming speech.
"Dear ol' Betsay; Ya were a lovelay thing from afar but stung like a jellayfish when ya got too close. Before ya were turned, ya may have been a fine lass, but as a leech ya were a pain in tha ass."
I scoff, "Cooper, be serious."
He chokes on abrupt giggling, "I'm serious as a heart attack, love!"
Does Cooper do anything in earnest? I mean she literally lost her head and he's acting like it's some big prank. Although, his flippant behavior seems to be doing Sam some good, even getting a few hushed chuckles out of him. I should just let this one go.
"Cut me some slack," Cooper continues, putting his palms out to me, "What are ya wantin' me ta say?"
"Nothing… I guess," I grumble, realizing he has a point. There really is nothing to say.
Sam speaks suddenly, his tone is flat, "She was mourned at her first passing and now there's no one left for the second. Anyone who knew her is long gone."
I turn my head to stare at him. I want to say, 'But you knew her.' But that voice coupled with his far away expression prompts me to keep to myself.
Cooper's quieter this time too, stooping down to finish what he started.
He mutters to the corpse, "I hope they give ya a wee fifty chill pills in the aftalife."
He swings the body then heaves it high, slinging it away as if it were made of nothing more than stuffing and clothes. It lands with a whopping thud right on top of a cooling unit of the flat roof, a limp arm jerks and dangles off the side.
"Ha-HA! Point!" Cooper booms.
He goes for the head next.
Will she really burn up in the sun? How long will it take? This is screwed up.
"Oi! Are ya usin' that thingy next ta ya? If not can ya gimme?"
His hand reaches out, flexing in two air grabs for the leftovers of my sweater.
"Sure," I gather it up and toss it to him with one hand, "All yours."
"Yer a peach."
He tears a long piece then ties it around Betsy's head like a hospital bandage. Gift wrapping her with a cute bow on top. He lifts by the knotted end like those storks do when they deliver babies.
I squirm, I can't believe we're doing this.
Sam holds me against him. Running his hands down my arms to sooth.
Cooper glances at us with a cheeky grin, "If dere are no objections, I'll do tha honors."
We both shake our heads silently.
He takes the head like a wedding bouquet and tosses it playfully over his shoulder, even kicks his foot back like a shy woman going in for her first kiss. His smug expression is the icing on the cake.
I make a noise in my throat in an almost laugh. Talk about silly and demented, you can't make this shit up!
The head lands perfectly on the flat of Betsy's stomach with a bounce. It circles once to a stop.
"Bullseye! That's two for two," Cooper brags, noting his accuracy. He claps his hands together the way one would dust them off after a dirty job, "Man, I'm good."
Sam makes a sound through his teeth and rolls his eyes. He pushes himself off the ground helping me stand.
Cooper's a busy-bee, on to his next task. His finger traces some marking on a few crates as he reads them. He lifts one and sets it aside to get to one near the bottom.
It's so weird watching him do that. Those boxes have got to be incredibly heavy but the way he handles them makes it seem like they're made from paper mache and filled with clouds.
The lid squeals as he pulls the top off of one. The steel nails are long, thick prongs. You'd normally need a crowbar and some serious muscle to get that off. He's got one of those obviously going for him, but it's unnaturally effortless.
He digs through the barrel, riffing around the straw and grassy packing before pulling out a hard liquor bottle.
He reads the label and examines the contents, giving it a little shake next to his ear before shrugging and carelessly chucking it over his shoulder. It shatters spilling vodka and broken glass everywhere.
I curl my lip at the mess as multiple bottles follow after, spraying liquid and layering the floor with crunchy shards of every color.
"Was dere someffin' special 'bout '79, Sammy?" Cooper asks, eyeing Sam as he rolls a wine bottle in his palm.
Sam's shoulders impassively move up and down.
"Eh," he grunts, mimicking Sam's gesture and tossing that one down too.
"Alright, what the hell is going on? Cooper, you're making a mess!"
He smirks, "Am I?"
"He's actually doing the opposite," Sam responds.
"Huh?"
Cooper chimes in before I can get an explanation, "Ashy, what's this back alley smell like?"
"Um, like tons of vodka and strong alcohol! You dumped like a dozen bottles on the floor."
"Right, right. And if ya look aroun' wha' do ya see?"
"Are you kidding me? I see a million tiny glass pieces and spilled liquor and wine all over the fr- Oh."
I get it. It doesn't look like a puddle of blood anymore, it looks like spilled wine and there's an overpowering fragrance of alcohol. OK, that's pretty smart.
Cooper bobs his head once, seeing that I understand.
He collects a few more flasks and heads for the back corner where the other woman is.
"You can leave her. Thanks for the hand but you've done enough," Sam instructs.
"No big deal. I'll take this betty. Where I'm headed is on mi way."
"Coop-"
"Sam," he cuts him off dropping two more bottles to face him, "yer lookin' someffin' brutal. So how 'bouts you take yer *wan* and find someffin' fer boff ya ta drink, yea?"
Cooper kneels down and starts tying the rest of my sweater around the nameless woman's neck like a tight scarf.
"No, I'm fine," Sam breathes, walking to take over the job, "I've got it."
"Away with ya!" Cooper back hands the air shooing away Sam. He smirks up at him, an expression that says 'Don't argue, you know I'm right and you're not foolin',' "The state o' ya yer 'bout as useful as a chocolate teapot."
He slings the dead girl over his shoulder, grinning while wiggling his fingers in a cute sarcastic wave to Sam, "Go on. Buh-bye!"
Sam takes a long breath, nodding once. He heads for the mouth of the alley taking my hand in his to lead me out.
"What's he going to do with her?" I whisper to Sam.
His response is mild and emotionless, "He'll do what he has to."
I glance back as Cooper, he waves me off.
"Be careful," I swallow and wave back.
He nods without a hint of anxiety, "Aye, later doll."