Aftermirth Read Online Free

standing there in a horned helmet and chain mail waving a battle axe. I’d never felt whiter in all my life.
    A guy about my age with a face like a clenched fist detached himself from a clump of people near the coffin and strode toward me. “Get out,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. You’re not welcome here.”
    â€œLook,” I said, bewildered by his hostility, “I just came to pay my respects.”
    He stepped closer, angling his head forward. His face was so close to mine I could smell his wintergreen breath mints. “You think by showing up here and proving how much you respect us , we’re gonna sue your gringo asses for any less, huh? Now get the fuck out.”
    He was almost a foot shorter than me, but he was coiled and wiry and full of enough rage to quail even my strapping, pillaging ancestors. I held my hands up and started to back away.
    â€œI’m not mugging you, asshole,” he said contemptuously. “Just turn around and walk out the door like a normal human being.”
    â€œWait.” A woman wove through the crowd and came over to us, placing a hand on my antagonist’s arm. She was in her late twenties, petite and slender, with large, almond-shaped eyes that were swollen from crying and a prominent nose I recognized from the photo of the deceased. I guessed this was the daughter, Elena. Her expression was appraising but not unfriendly.
    â€œHe’s not from the company, Esteban. Don’t you recognize him?”
    Esteban squinted at me, and his scowl got deeper and, if possible, even more menacing. “You a TV reporter?”
    â€œNo, I, I’m a—” I fell silent, unable to think of a single word or phrase that would complete the sentence, and then it came to me: I was a nothing, a no one. And had been ever since the day Jess died.
    â€œHe’s an actor,” Elena said. “He was in that show Trainers, remember?”
    â€œYeah, I remember you,” Esteban said finally. “Funny guy who turned out not to be so funny. That why you came here today, huh? You looking for some laughs?”
    I felt like I was falling—into whiteness, nothingness, into a vat of dough. What had I hoped to find here, among these total strangers? Kinship? Some sort of communion of the damned that would make me feel less alone?
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come.”
    â€œYou got that right,” said Esteban.
    I knew an exit cue when I heard one, but I couldn’t move, because Elena’s grave, considering gaze held me in place. Her brows were furrowed, like something was niggling at her. And then her expression changed, and her eyes widened and softened, and I saw Jess slide into place behind them.
    â€œShe died,” Elena said. “Your wife.”
    â€œYes,” I said. My own eyes were burning.
    â€œI remember, I saw it on the news. It was horrible.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow did she die?” asked Esteban.
    I shook my head, unable to speak the words.
    â€œTell him,” Elena said.
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œYou can,” she said.
    I started to say, You don’t understand, but of course she did. They all did.
    As if she were reading my thoughts, Elena gestured at the watching crowd. “Tell them. How you lost your wife.”
    I looked past her at the roomful of mourners, their faces now a swimming brown blur. “She was killed by a lightning strike because . . .” My voice cracked.
    â€œSay it,” Elena said.
    â€œBecause she was wearing an underwire bra. It electrocuted her.”
    There were some murmurs, and then Esteban’s hand came down on my shoulder. “Shit, man,” he said. “That really sucks.”
    His eloquence undid me, and I started crying like I hadn’t cried since Jess’s funeral. Esteban raised his voice and translated (I didn’t speak Spanish, but I could make out the words