The Bone Bed

anymore. I didn’t get a chance to tell her what she needed to hear. Stupid as hell, such a waste. She never heard a word. Not one.”
    I wiggle my fingers through the net and feel the rough plastic side of another case.
    “She had no idea. Keys out, opening a door in a downpour, the last thing she ever knew or did, and that’s just a waste. A real waste after all the trouble I’d gone to, so I had to make something of it. I mean, I didn’t want it to be a complete waste. I made it interesting, at least. It’s all about timing and I know how to wait. But some things aren’t preventable. See what happens when people interfere?”
    I can’t envision which scene case this is.
    “How did you know it was dear Mother’s birthday? Maybe you didn’t. Did you go to see her? Probably not. Wouldn’t matter. She can’t talk.”
    I’m trying to remember exactly how the cases were arranged back here.
    “You have to admit I made it interesting, sending you what I did. Look what it caused.”
    He says it bitterly.
    “It’s probably best if your boss isn’t in jail unless you’re the one who put him there. But the end result wasn’t the plan. You need to know that, and some of it’s your fault. I never intended for him to win the way he has. He should rot. It was just a really perfect time to get everybody’s attention, and it’s a pity he won’t rot in a stinking cell that he can’t furnish comfortably with all his money.”
    He would have moved things back here to fit me inside.
    “I confess I was a little squeamish at first. I’m not talking about the disgusting old carcass you were all over the news about. An old carcass even when she was still alive, such a Goody Two-shoes teaching Mother to make a collage and other mindless hobbies and not appropriately polite when I’d show up. She was earlier than the bone lady, and I wasn’t as daring because I didn’t need to be. I had plenty of time for our little chat, for her to realize the error of her ways. I’m talking about the other one who was a waste. A damn waste.”
    I’m not sure which plastic case is what. Some are orange, others are black, but it’s too dark back here to make out colors.
    “It actually turned my stomach, the sound of the knife going through cartilage. And I’m thinking, if this doesn’t wake you up, lady, you really are dead.”
    He laughs. It is a quiet chuckle that has no joy in it.
    “Lend me your ear. Play it by ear. Think of all the lame clichés with the word
ear
in them. You never listened. If only you had listened. Why did God give ears to people who don’t listen?”
    I don’t want to open the wrong case.
    “Well, now you have to listen. That’s all you can do. Isn’t it something the way things turn out?”
    Please don’t let me open the wrong one.
    “Are you awake yet!” he yells. “The best part you won’t smell. Well, sort of an ozone smell. You ever heard the old saying about someone sucking all the air out of the room? You’re about to find out it’s true.”
    I’m pretty sure what I want will be in a Pelican transport case, what Marino calls a sixteen-thirty.
    “Are you listening to me? Wake up!”
    I feel a fold-down handle, and that could be a good sign, but it’s hard for me to remember.
    “How good I’ve been to you, and this is what I get. I bring you flowers and hold your disgusting hand.” He continues talking to me, and he’s talking to somebody else.
    Very, very slowly I push up a plastic clasp, working my fingers along the side of the case until I feel another clasp and then another.
    “Dutiful, perfect, really, and put you in the best place when what I really should have done is spit in your face. You know what it’s cost me all these years because you had me late and I was raised by a disgusting old hag? By the grace of no one but me. Fayth House, and you aren’t gracious or grateful. A damn hypocrite, and it’s time you admit it. Well, you will. In a little while, you’re going to apologize.”
    Please don’t let there be nothing but gloves and protective clothing in here.
    But the size seems right. A Pelican case, what feels like a large toolbox. The cases we keep disposable clothing and sheets in are more like utility dry boxes with steel bar latches. I’m pretty sure. I’m trying so hard to think straight. My heart is flying like a terrified bird.
    “You’re a cold-blooded bitch, and I could have let you die, which is what you really wanted. And that’s why I