Tomás Belvittle was an unobservant man. On this particular misty Sunday morning, he had failed to observe three crucial things. First, the used pregnancy test in his bathroom’s trash can. Second, the gradual loosening of his left shoelace as he continued along his run. And third, the hearse that had been following him since he left home.
A large crack appeared in the sidewalk in front of him. Tomás stutter-stepped to avoid it, but in doing so, stepped on his loose lace. He stumbled, and then, slipping on the wet concrete, fell. Crack! His head landed sharply on the sidewalk’s edge. Blood rushed out.
The hearse pulled up beside him silently. Two dark-clad men got out, retrieved a coffin from the back, laid it next to Tomás’s limp form, lifted up its lid, gently placed the body within, closed the lid and returned the coffin to the hearse. One man started the engine, while the other rinsed the blood off the sidewalk with a gallon of spring water. The second man returned again to the hearse and they drove off.
Marie Belvittle, on the other hand, was a very observant woman. She noticed, for example, the slight and recent change in their cat’s mood and appetite. The cat, Susan, was indeed three weeks pregnant, but the test result was negative. Marie didn’t know this, but human pregnancy tests don’t work on cats.
Marie also noticed that her husband was late returning from his run. She logged in to his Strava to see where he was. He had kept a steady pace for the first six miles, but after that, there was no more data. She knew he had charged his watch last night, so the battery couldn’t have died. Besides, why wasn’t he home yet? She grew more worried by the minute.
For ten minutes, she paced patiently near the door. With still no sign of Tomás, she scribbled out a note—
Gone looking for you. Taking Susie Pants with me. If you see this, call me <3.
She wished desperately that he would start running with his phone. She put on her and Susan’s raincoats, unlocked her bike from the front porch, placed Susan in the basket and pedaled away.
Tomás woke up in the dark with a throbbing headache. He was still wet from the sweat and damp air. He shivered. He tried to reach down to pull his blankets back up, but there were no blankets; he was trapped in a coffin in the back of a hearse. His head banged sharply into the coffin’s lid. He fell back into unconsciousness.
The man in the passenger seat of the hearse turned to the driver. “Did you hear that?" he asked.
“Just another pothole, Steve. Nothing to worry about," replied the driver.
Steve was worried, but said nothing. He had a bad feeling about this one.
“You get a bad feeling every time. It’ll be fine. Always is,” said the driver.
Marie and Susan reached the spot where Tomás had fallen. Susan jumped out and began lapping at a puddle on the sidewalk. She had been so thirsty recently. The puddle tasted fresh, but with a slight aftertaste of iron. The cat was unable to explain this to Marie. Fortunately though, Marie noticed something was off about the puddle. It was a misty, foggy morning, but it hadn’t really rained. There were no other puddles in sight. She knelt and tasted it herself.
“Huh. Tastes like spring water. Poland Spring, maybe? Wait, no, it’s Kirkland,” she said to the cat.
She had some more. “And, hmm, can I taste a hint of a Tomás’s Centrum Adult Two-A-Day Gummy Multivitamins for Men-fortified blood?”
She couldn’t. It was Tomás’s blood, but Marie wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between his blood or anyone else's. And she certainly couldn’t taste his multivitamins. Those went in and out without ever getting absorbed into his bloodstream. Regardless, Marie knew something bad had happened.
“Let’s go, darling,” she said. They left, continuing along Tomás’s planned route.
Again, Tomás woke up in the dark. Remembering what happened last time, he wiggled cautiously, trying to get his bearings. The coffin was the perfect size. He could barely move his arms an inch. The lid, as his head had observed, was hard, but the part he lay in was soft and plush.
I was on a run and I fell and now I am trapped in a soft box
, he thought.
I am trapped in a soft box. Someone put me in a soft box. I’m going to die in this soft box and never see Susan again. They stuck me in a soft box and I’m going to die without ever seeing my dear sweet Susie Poo again. Or my wife,
he thought, growing more worried.
The hearse hit a pothole, sending Tomás’s head careening into the hard side of his soft box, knocking him out, again.
In the passenger seat, Steve grimaced.
“Relax,” said the driver. “Just potholes.”
They had reached their destination. The hearse slowed down and pulled into the funeral home’s driveway. The two men got out. The driver went to the back and opened the trunk, but Steve walked past, heading for the cemetery across the street. “I need a smoke,” he called. “We’re ahead of schedule anyway.”
The driver nodded and leaned against the hearse.
He sure did need a smoke. Nervous little bugger,
he thought. He checked his watch. “Ten minutes, Steve. Then we’ve got to start embalming!” he shouted. They couldn’t let the body get too cold.
At that very moment, Marie biked past the funeral home.
she thought.
She shuddered. Susan purred unhappily. At the corner, the light changed to red. Marie coasted to a stop and glanced back at the funeral home. The huge billboard above it caught her eye. In a garish pink, it read: Mack O’Donnell’s Family Funeral Home EXPRESS:
Die tomorrow, get buried today!
Call 467-0311 for appointments.
o
she thought. She hated when companies left out their area code in advertisements, as if everyone was a local.
But wait a minute, that number looks familiar.
She took out her phone and checked the recent calls list. She had three missed calls from a number that ended the same way. The area code wasn’t the standard one for the city, but the newer one that had just been introduced.
. There was a voicemail too.
Ugh. Who leaves voicemails anymore?
The light changed and a car behind her honked. Susan growled menacingly. Marie hopped off her bike and moved to the sidewalk.
In the cemetery, Steve was sitting atop a mausoleum. He had worked his pre-roll down to a roach and was starting to feel like himself again.
Embalming time, embalming time
, he hummed.
Marie couldn’t remember her voicemail passcode. It had been a while. She had one more attempt left before she would be locked out for five minutes. The fog had grown denser and fat drops of rain began to fall noisily. Marie pulled up Susan’s hood to protect her from the rain.
Marie typed in 78726#. “You have one new voicemail,” the machine said. “Press 1 to listen now. Press 2 for more options. Press 3 to repeat this menu.” Marie pressed 1.
Steve flicked the end of the joint into a nearby rosebush and jumped to the ground. He skipped happily across the street.
“Quit skipping,” said the driver. “You’re going to be the director one day and I’ll be goddamned if any son of mine gets a reputation for jollity. Act professional. Frown for once.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Dad. Ease up. This will be a fun one. We haven’t had anyone in such good shape for a while now.”
“One hit of the marijuana and all your worries wash away, huh? I swear that drug’s no good for you.”
“Weren’t you the one complaining about me being too nervous earlier? Make up your mind old man!”
“Don’t ‘old man’ me! I’ll show you what an old man can do!”
“Alright, son. Help me get this out then. We need to keep to schedule.”
“Hello. This is Mack O’Donnell Junior calling on behalf of Mack O’Donnell’s Family Funeral Home EXPRESS:
Die tomorrow, get buried today!
I’m calling today to confirm an express funeral you or a loved one recently scheduled for Thomas Velmittle for this coming Sunday. In order to cancel, please call us back promptly at 467-0311. That’s 467-0311. Have a nice day!”
Marie dropped her phone. “They’ve got the wrong man, Susan!” she cried.
She grabbed her bike in one hand and her cat in the other and raced madly to the funeral home.
Steve and the driver, his father, the funeral director, Mack O’Donnell, Jr., or “Junior” to his friends, had just then maneuvered the coffin out of the hearse. Without slowing down, Marie let go of her bike, propelling it towards Steve. At the same time, she brandished the cat at the older man. Susan growled menacingly, right on cue. Startled, both men dropped the coffin, causing its lid to pop open.
Tomás, awake again, decided that he had died. He began to scream, unintelligibly at first and then more clearly for his dear old cat and dear young wife. Together, Marie and Steve shut the coffin’s lid.
“Listen here,” Marie began. “You’ve got the wrong man. That’s my husband in that box. His name is Tomás Belvittle. You’ve got an appointment for
. I don’t know who this Thomas fellow is, but I’d like my husband back please.”
Mack O’Donnell, Jr. muttered something to himself and pulled out a small black appointment book. He flipped through it slowly, muttering all the while. “Oh,” he said. “Hmm. I see. Well, I’m afraid we made a terrible mistake. That was quite the mix-up. Thomas’s appointment isn’t until next week anyway. My sincerest apologies.”
“We’re terribly sorry for any pain and suffering we may have caused. You have our deepest sympathies,” added Steve with the deadly conviction of a true funeral home director. He winked at his father, who nodded approvingly.
“Well,” said Marie, not entirely convinced. She opened the coffin and helped Tomás out. He stopped screaming; they embraced tenderly.
The rain picked up again. Mack O’Donnell, Jr. glanced upwards.
, he thought,
would have been a great day for a funeral.
He turned to the re-united couple. “Can we at least offer you a ride home?”
Tomás was in no state to take the bus alone, so Marie nodded. They loaded the coffin, bike and cat into the hearse and climbed in.
Marie, Tomás and Susan got out and Marie thanked them for the ride.
“Oh, and,” she said, turning back, “I don’t give a damn how “EXPRESS” your funerals are. You can’t go around murdering people.”
Mack and Steve nodded solemnly.
“And one more thing, too! Put your full phone number on your billboard. There’s certainly enough room for it!”
Epilogue
Moved by her love, aided by her excellent observational skills, helped by her dear cat and assisted by no small amount of luck, Marie Belvittle was able to rescue her husband from a gruesome and painful death at the hands of Mack and Steve O’Donnell of Mack O’Donnell’s Family Funeral Home EXPRESS. Yet not all endings are as happy.
Mary Velmittle, Thomas’s sister, was of no help whatsoever when Thomas was kidnapped, embalmed and buried alive the following week.
Two weeks later, Susan miscarried. The veterinarian thought it might have been caused by too much stress.
Steve O’Donnell was caught smoking pot in the cemetery and sentenced to life in prison. Mack, distraught over the fact that no one would be able to continue the family business, hung himself. His daughter, Jessica, continued the family business anyway. She went on to arrange the express funerals of hundreds more people, whether they were ready for it or not.
Tomás, perhaps shaken by his near-death experience, started to notice the little details of life, like his wife’s stockpile of pregnancy tests. Tomás was infertile ever since an operation years prior and he knew they didn’t work on cats, so why would Marie need to know if she was pregnant? There were other details, too: the lack of a wedding ring on Marie’s finger, boxers that weren’t his in the laundry, a strange man in their bed. He filed for divorce. A judge granted Marie joint-custody of Susan, whose once peaceful life was upended by constantly moving back and forth between homes. She was never the same.