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From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 7 Aug 2004 02:15:14 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Good Sports II (F/F, Necro, Suicide, Romance)
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Date: Sat,  7 Aug 2004 05:10:06 -0400
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F/F, Necro, Suicide, Romance

Author's note: This is a continuation of something written previously
called "Good Sports" although I think the main scene can stand alone
just fine for people interested solely in necrophilia themes. There is
a part 3 and even a part 4, someplace in my head. Maybe I'll write
them someday, for now...this is the end.


Copyright 2004 by Rachael Ross. Please distribute freely, this story
is not for sale. You can have it gratis. Please include my name and
email in any reposting or distribution. If you see this story in a
`Pay' section of a website (not a free section, which many pay sites
have available) please drop me a line. I will not be able to do
anything about it, really, except have a witch doctor to inflict the
owner/operators with dysentery. Hopefully that will be sufficient.
Thank you. -rr. 3/14/04 Bacolod



Good Sports II (Matters of the Heart)
Fiction by rache


Lisa Thomas dressed slowly in front of the mirror. Her sunny blonde
hair was pulled back severely. Her eyes had too much shadow as she'd
tried to hide the puffy redness from too many hours spent crying.
She'd also spent 75 dollars she didn't really have to buy a black
dress that she'd only wear once in her life. But that wouldn't be
until tomorrow. Today she wore something white, something pure and
innocent and pretty. It was silk and satin and she knew Barbara had
loved seeing her in it.

The 20-year-old college sophomore dressed slowly, because the person
she was dressing for was in no hurry at all. Barbara Welch was resting
in the Garden of Saints Mortuary.

=== 

"Ethan, I don't know what to tell you." Coach Riles stood in the
smallish office of the college president drinking from a glass of
bourbon. "Far as I know it was an accident, that's what Floyd told
me."

"Floyd Peterson hasn't told me anything, now why do you think that
is?" Ethan Moore looked across his own, smaller glass. "His
investigation is ongoing, that's what his secretary tells me."

"Yeah, so?" Coach Riles took another drink and put the glass down with
a heavy thud on Moore's desk. "So what's your point, Ethan?"

"How come the Chief Medical Examiner is talking to you, Coach? Talking
about what's what and who's who, while I'm sitting here in the goddamn
dark!"

Coach Riles wasn't used to the skinny old man talking to him that way
and he started pointing a finger, but the college president cut him
off.

"You listen up, ol' hoss, I find out somethin's cookin' round here and
I'm just liable to take a big ol' bite. All the way up to Austin, you
get me, Buck?" It wasn't often Ethan let his voice slip back into that
East Texas drawl he'd worked so hard to lose, but when he was angry it
reared up like a thunderhead and Coach Riles knew it.

"I hear ya, Ethan." The college president had just threatened to go to
the State Police if something wasn't cleared up in a hurry. Coach
Riles cursed himself for talking too much. He forgot sometimes that
Ethan Moore was pretty darn smart.

A half of an hour later Coach Riles was at the Silver Corral, buying
Lone Stars for Floyd and Owen Fiddler, the Sheriff, who were the two
men most responsible for finding out what had happened to one Barbara
Welch.

"You gonna call it, Floyd?" Riles looked at the county Medical
Examiner.

"Accidental?" Floyd was older, in his 50's and had a thin white beard
that he liked to scratch at. He was scratching now and looking at
Sheriff Fiddler.

"All I got on my desk is death by drowning." Owen took a drink. He was
a large florid man, balding and slow, and he couldn't do anything
without the official ME finding. A fact that relieved him mightily.

Floyd looked at Riles. "I don't like it. I don't like it one tiny bit,
you understand me? This ain't fixing some little drug test for one of
your boys, this here's a body." He took a drink and looked around,
lowering his voice. "A goddamn body on my table and she sure as shit
didn't die of a heart attack!"

"Says drowning on my desk." Fiddler repeated, just because it made him
feel better. Like every time he said it he was washing his hands a
little cleaner.

"Shut up, Owen. This here's man talk." Floyd looked back at Riles.
"I'll bury this, bury it goddamn deeper `n Davy Crocket, but you fuck
me and I'll bury you too. I'll bury you and your boys, and your whole
goddamn program."

Coach Riles nodded. "Ain't nobody gonna fuck you on this one, you just
make sure you and Owen sell it. Ethan ain't stupid." He paused and
looked down. "How much?"

"Ten thousand." Floyd stood up. "And that ain't negotiable, Coach."

Fiddler stood up as well, following the ME out of the bar. They were
going to pay a visit to the college president and then release their
investigation findings to the press.

...Careful examination of the scene, witnesses, and Miss Welch's remains
leave no doubt that her death was caused by accidental drowning. There
is no evidence to suggest any foul play...

That was the heart of it.

=== 


The Garden of Saints was not particularly large, as far as Funeral
Parlors went, but it was nice enough. Barbara Welch was lying in a
gleaming casket of blonde oak, the top half opened for viewing, with
flowers all around. She didn't have any family, so for next of kin
she'd listed the college president, Ethan Moore. That made him feel
the awful weight of his suspicions even more, but there was little he
could do about them, even if he wanted to, and he wasn't even certain
about that.

The Board of Trustees who governed the college had made it clear that
quick and painless closure for all involved was for the best. The
college did not need anything that might tarnish its good name. Miss
Welch had been an Olympian, and that carried some weight around the
country. She'd been a classmate and student of certain influential
women in her days a Vassar, including a former Vice-President's wife.
Her swim team had recently gained notice for overachieving and was
ranked 3rd in the nation. All of these things meant that the press
would be interested if anything irregular turned up. So it wouldn't.

Ethan stood there, looking at Barbara. He'd made all the arrangements.
The college was paying for everything and he'd done his best, he was
trying to tell her, done his very best. She was so beautiful, he
thought, even lying there lifeless. She looked far closer to 28 years
of age, than the 38 that she was. Her black hair was brushed neatly,
framing her lovely face. The morticians had done a good job; she
looked asleep, perhaps even dreaming something sweet. Her face was
relaxed, composed and at peace.

Ethan's secretary, Laura, had gone to Barbara's house and found
suitable clothes, a pale blue gown that the Thomas girl had said was
one of Barbara's favorites. It was a bit of a surprise to learn that a
sophomore was living with Barbara, but there was no need to bring that
up, he thought. His secretary, who was a practical woman with a
generous heart, agreed completely. How strange that death had a way of
making the little things right. If Barbara had still been alive and
someone had found out, she'd have been run out of town on a rail. The
Thomas girl too, probably. But now...

Ethan sighed.

It was late for viewing, but Lisa didn't care. She'd come in that
morning and left when she couldn't cry any more. Then come back after
lunch and wept again. Now, after dinner, she felt the need again. She
saw the college president standing there, with Barbara, and she walked
over to him. The 20 year old tried to smile bravely, but her lower lip
trembled even so.

"Hello Lisa, how are you doing, dear?" Ethan felt a little awkward,
wanting to comfort the girl, but not really knowing how. He'd never
had children, never even been married. He suddenly felt very lonely.

"I'm...good, sir. Thank you." She wiped her eyes and sniffed a little.
"I wanted to thank you for...for this too. I know that Bar...that she
would have liked it."

"Barbara was a good woman Lisa." Ethan said gently, finally reaching
out to touch Lisa's shoulder. "She was a good teacher and a good
friend." He looked down at his shoes for a moment. "And I know she
was...special to you. Its okay to be sad."

Lisa nodded.

"But..." Ethan gave her a soft little squeeze and looked in the young
woman's eyes. "...this is important now. Don't you ever be ashamed.
Never." He hadn't intended to say that, it had just come out.

The girl suddenly hugged him tightly, sobbing weakly and Ethan hugged
her back, patting her shoulder for a good three minutes until she
regained control of herself. Lisa stood up straight and looked
gratefully into Ethan's face. "Thank you." She tried smiling again and
it was a little easier.

"I'm going to go, I think you and Barbara deserve a little time
alone." Ethan gave her a paternal kiss on the cheek and walked away,
flipping a little latch on the door so it would lock behind him. It
wasn't exactly permitted, but the college had paid a lot of money for
this, and he'd talk to the funeral director. He really did think Lisa
and Barbara needed time, the girl was young and seeing her hurting
like that was as much as the old man could bear.

Lisa stood there for a long time, just looking and finally talking.
Starting with how much she missed Barbara already and her how
beautiful she was, how everything was so nice. And then she started
telling Barbara all the things she'd wanted to and had forgotten about
while the woman had been alive. And she told Barbara all the things
she'd wanted to tell her, but had been foolishly afraid of saying. And
finally, Lisa told Barbara all the things she'd dreamt of saying,
someday...And now she never would.

There was the soft rattle of a key in the door and the Funeral
Director, an austere gentleman, peered inside. His eyes were soft and
brown and he smiled at Lisa apologetically. "Dr. Moore told me you'd
be in here, Miss Thomas. I usually close up about this time..."

"Oh," Lisa frowned and wiped her eyes, taking a deep ragged breath She
looked at Barbara and prepared to say goodbye again, for the third
time that day.

"Oh, no ma'am. What I mean to say is, you can...you can stay if you'd
like. Dr. Moore, well he told me you were like sisters and we...we don't
have anyone else here so..." He didn't tell her about the extra 300
dollars Dr. Moore had promised, just to give the girl some time alone.
It would be included in the final bill as miscellaneous charges. "Just
close the doors behind you, they'll lock okay. Goodnight Miss Thomas."

Lisa didn't say anything; she just watched the door shut again. She
walked to it, finding the door was indeed locked again, and she turned
the lights down a little, using a small round dimmer switch. It was so
quiet. Lisa moved a chair close and just sat there a long time,
leaning against the casket as though she might sleep, but she didn't.
She was remembering.

"The first time I saw you, Barbara," Lisa spoke softly, gazing down at
the woman. "I wanted to be your friend. You were so...different...so
special. I only joined the swim team because of you, just so I could
meet you. So I could talk to you." She smiled as she recalled those
feelings from over a year previously. "I wasn't very good, was I? But
you..." Lisa sighed. "You kept pushing me and helping me and...you taught
me so much, Barbara."

Lisa wept a little then before she could continue. "And then when
we...we went to see that play, in Abilene. You told me that you
wouldn't...that you couldn't love me the way you wanted to. The way I
wanted you to. Do you remember? And I cried, Barbara. I never told
you, but that night when I got home I cried so much. I didn't
understand. It hurt so much." Lisa felt her heart aching.

"And then, later when we were alone and you told me that...that you
couldn't help it. You touched me and I cried again, but I was so
happy, my love. When you finally touched me. When you kissed me. I
felt so...perfect. I miss you so much, please don't leave me, Barbara.
Don't go, please. I love you too much, let me trade with you, oh God
don't leave me here. Take me instead, please God!" And Lisa cried
bitterly then because she knew it was selfish. What if it had been
her, what would Barbara have done or said. Lisa couldn't bear the
thought of hurting her that way, of imagining Barbara feeling the way
she did.

"I'm so sorry, Barbara, so sorry my darling love." She blinked hard,
but didn't bother anymore with wiping at her tears. "Sleep now,
just...sleep. I will see you again. I'll love you again, forever and
ever. I swear it, my sweet love."

Lisa felt so tired, physically and emotionally. The girl was exhausted
and running on the negative energy of her depression. She hadn't
eaten, hadn't slept. She'd wept and paced and lain awake, filled with
pain and sadness and guilt at being left behind. And anger, at God for
doing this. For letting it happen. Lisa wanted to lie down again,
cradled in Barbara's strong arms, held and loved forever.

Lisa lifted the bottom half of the coffin and ran her hands along her
friend's body. She wasn't fully conscious of what she intended, but
aware enough to understand the need. And the thoughts had been forming
all day long, although she dared not let her mind wander into those
dark paces. She couldn't say goodbye again; it was impossible and Lisa
refused to do it.

Barbara's dress buttoned in the front. It was a simple thing, but
beautiful and traditional in design. Lisa undid the buttons slowly,
from Barbara's breasts down to the loose garter around her waist. Lisa
opened her small purse and found the thin steel razor blade, tucked in
its stiff paper sheath. Lisa looked at it briefly, not really
remembering when she'd put it there. Was it before, or after Barbara
had died? It seemed an important question for some reason, but no
answer would come.

The girl used it to slice carefully through the skirt of her lover's
dress. Barbara wasn't wearing shoes, which made Lisa smile for some
odd reason. Nor was the woman wearing underwear, just a plain white
silky slip, and Lisa cut that as well, spreading the garments around
Barbara's still form. The body was soft and cool to the touch,
slightly pale and smelling of some sweet fragrance, the soap perhaps,
or a lotion that had been applied. And just below that, something more
clinical, a disinfectant smell that the girl barely noticed.

Contrary to the ME's report, there had been no autopsy performed.
Barbara had been examined and cleaned, and that was all. Most of her
fluids had been drained, her vagina and rectum and throat stuffed
deeply with cotton gauze, but there was no formaldehyde, no
preservation of the body. It was unnecessary and not required by the
state, the mortuary could do it, but only if a family specifically
requested it. She'd been refrigerated, and would have been once again
this night, but in the morning she would be cremated anyway, so even
that was not really necessary. Barbara had left no instructions to the
method of her body's final rest, but everyone concerned seemed to feel
that was for the best. At least the Board had thought so and Ethan had
reluctantly agreed. The ashes at least could be given to Lisa, Ethan
had decided, but it would be little consolation to either of them.

Lisa didn't know any of this and didn't worry herself about it as she
removed her own clothes. She had not given thought about what would
happen the next day. She supposed there would be a funeral, a burial,
and had purchased a dress for it, but only because that had seemed a
necessary ritual for some reason. But had Lisa been of a clear mind
she might have wondered that Dr. Moore hadn't spoken to her of the
arrangements. Certainly she'd been overwhelmed and relied upon the
college president and his secretary to take care of everything,
perhaps that might have explained it. In the meanwhile she'd relied on
her college friends to take care of her during those two terrible and
long lonely days.

The young woman climbed a little awkwardly into the casket so she
could lie with her friend. She moved slowly, gently as if she might
wake Barbara from her sleep. There was just enough room for Lisa to
spread her legs, straddling Barbara's thighs with her own. She felt
her sex against the soft tangle of Barbara's pubic hair. Their breasts
touched and finally their cheeks. Lisa pulled her dress over them,
like a too small blanket of an odd shape and size. It covered their
backs and thighs, and little else, but that was enough. Lisa could
keep them both warm.

The girl kissed Barbara's face gently, feeling herself blushing
warmly. She was no longer crying, there was a lightness in her heart
that she'd missed these past few days. She felt her nipples hardening
against Barbara's breasts beneath her and imagined her lover's doing
the same. She rocked her hips slightly, feeling the slight pressure on
the mound of her sex as it met the pelvis below.

Lisa was whispering now, recalling episodes of their lovemaking. The
first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd shared their breasts,
their fingers and mouths to each other's sex. The excitement of
discovery that came with every little touch. Lisa remembered it all
and whispered it in Barbara's ears as she began making love to the
woman one last time. She used her hands, touching and holding her
lover. She pulled at Barbara's leg, bending the knee so she could get
her sex lower, increasing the friction between them. Her labia became
plump with excitement and they rubbed playfully across Barbara's
folds. Lisa's clit awakened with a delicate throb, an ache that was
only fed by the lightest contact with Barbara's cool skin.

Down Lisa's mouth moved, kissing Barbara's neck and shoulders. The
breathless blonde slid her body languidly along, rubbing her sex wetly
across the woman's thigh as she kissed to the tops of Barbara's
breasts and then found her nipples. Lisa moaned contentedly, nursing
gently on the soft little nubs, recalling so many wonderful hours in
Barbara's arms doing just exactly that. She sucked each of them in
turn, licking from one to the other and back, squeezing the firm flesh
with her hands while she rocked her pussy up and down Barbara's bare
leg.

There was precious little room in the casket, even for a smallish
young woman like Lisa trying to make love with Barbara. But she
managed, with patience and tenderness, and the girl found herself
turned with her sex over Barbara's resting face and her own pretty
face between the dead woman's thighs. She remembered the many times
they had lain thus, in a sensual 69 with their arms wrapped tightly
around each other, making passionate love with their mouths. She'd
learned what Barbara liked, how she enjoyed Lisa's kisses in the soft
hollows of her thighs. The soft teasing bites and long deliberate
licks.

Lisa did all of those things now; making love to Barbara the way the
older woman liked it. Slow and tender. She pushed her own damp sex to
Barbara's mouth, imagining the way her friend had sucked softly at her
labia, taking them one at a time between her pursed lips, pulling and
sucking, even biting so sweetly it only felt good. Barbara would run
tiny circles around her young lover's clitoris, stroking it with just
the tip of her tongue until it came fruitfully to life, throbbing and
hard so Barbara could suck at it.

Soft sighs and throaty moans of pleasure filled the quiet room. Lisa
was so close to cumming now, finally one last time with Barbara. She
rocked her hips back and forth, squeezing just a little with her
creamy thighs around the older woman's head. She licked and sucked at
Barbara's dead slit. The woman could not respond. Her clit did not
harden, her vaginal lips did not swell with excitement, Barbara hips
did not lift and her arms did not pull Lisa tightly against her. But
in the young college student's mind all of these things happened, just
as they always had. Lisa's body shook and she lifted her mouth with a
sweet cry of adoration. She was cumming and Barbara's mouth was once
more alive, if only in Lisa's mind, drinking her passion, slipping her
tongue inside to taste that sweet cascade of love.

When it was over, when Lisa had recovered her senses, calmed her
straining heart and kissed Barbara's sex for the last time, the girl
turned round again. To lie once more with Barbara, face to face,
breast to breast. Her legs spread so her juices leaked down on the
dead woman's cold flesh. Lisa found her razor blade and wept as she
apologized, kissing Barbara tenderly and begging her understanding and
forgiveness.

"I can't live without you, my love. I won't spend the rest of my life
dying a second at a time, just waiting to see you again. I love you so
much, Barbara. Please, don't be angry with me. Don't...hate me for this.
For being weak. I love you..."

Lisa made several deep cuts across each wrist. There was no
hesitation, none of the timid little cuts that cried for help and left
guilt scars that would-be suicides carried for the rest of their
lives. Lisa was not doing this for anyone but herself, selfish though
it was. She felt no pain, no sadness now as she held Barbara in her
bloody hands. Lisa put her head on Barbara's chest, painfully aware of
the awful silence. She'd slept like that a hundred times, falling
asleep as she listened to the older woman's strong heart beating
effortlessly against her own. Barbara's soft breathing as her breasts
would rise and fall beneath her, but now... It was quiet and still and
Lisa closed her eyes, falling peacefully asleep while waiting for her
own heart to mercifully cease it's tortured lonely labor.

===

His bedside phone awakened Ethan at 5:30 am. It took him 6 minutes to
dress, putting on his wrinkled suit that he'd been wearing the day
before. Another 14 minutes to reach the Garden of Saints and then...

Ethan Moore sat in his car, shutting off the engine and staring east,
at the pleasant glow of the imminent sunrise. He closed his eyes,
praying softly although he was not a religious man by nature. He
prayed this was all a dream. That he'd imagined the phone call. That
he'd wake up. Shaking and sweating with fear, the way he sometimes did
when he dreamt of his year in Vietnam. He'd been 18 and patriotic,
like all good Texas boys. And for 365 days he'd been a walking dead
man. Now, sitting in his car, Ethan felt the same way again. He was
dead, inside his heart there was the great black abyss and it was
staring back at him.

The Sheriff was already there, of course, along with the Medical
Examiner's station wagon. But no ambulance. Ethan took a deep breath
and got out, walking slowly across the parking lot and into the
building. He found Floyd Peterson, Owen Fiddler, and the funeral
director in the foyer.

"Ethan." Floyd took a deep breath. It was almost impossible to know
where to start and none of the men wanted to say anything.

Ethan walked past them, into the viewing room where Barbara Welch's
body was. He walked to the casket and looked inside, seeing Lisa and
Barbara together. The younger woman seemingly cradled in the arms of
the older. There were large and still wet bloodstains all along the
white satin bed of the casket. The pillow too was stained with it.
Lisa looked pale and still as a statue, beautiful and placid. She'd
felt no pain, Ethan realized, no fear or doubt. She'd done it and been
content with it.

The other three men walked in silently. "Suicide." Sheriff Fiddler
said needlessly.

"Did you know about that, Ethan?" Floyd looked at the disheveled man.
"That they were lovers?"

Ethan nodded. "I had suspicions."

"Well, this is pretty straight forward. Little dyke tyke just couldn't
get enough muff! She come sneaking in round midnight, get her clothes
off, do a little of that Necro-feel-my-maniac business and played
doctor with a razor blade. Hell, Ethan, this gonna make ol' WAT
famous!" Fiddler grinned

And Ethan hit him solidly in the jaw, knocking the big sheriff down.
Fiddler rubbed his face and started getting up. "I'd stay down, Owen."
Floyd said softly. But Fiddler ignored him and Ethan hit him again,
even harder this time and the Sheriff's head bounced on the soft thick
carpet.

Ethan massaged his hand, feeling a little pain from his arthritis
flair up beneath his bruised knuckles. "You think Riles is satisfied
yet?" His voice was edged with accusation. "This girl didn't do
anything to anyone." He pointed at Lisa's body without looking at her.
"And you know what Floyd? I'm going to get a call from the Board,
because they already know, don't they? Don't they?" He shouted at
Peterson and the ME nodded. "And they're gonna say to bury it. That we
don't need the problems. That we have a good school. A good community.
And 1400 good students to protect."

Ethan backed away. "What have we done?" He whispered to himself.

"We're in it, Ethan." Floyd said softly looked at the girl. Then he
spoke a little louder. "Did she have family?"

"I don't know." Ethan felt exhausted. 

"Find out." The county ME walked past the Sheriff, still sitting on
the floor amidst some scattered chairs, Floyd ignored him and started
talking to the funeral director.

"Anybody else know about this?" Floyd asked him. The funeral director
was Peterson's brother-in-law, which hadn't really meant much to
either of them over the years, but it did now.

"No. I found her myself, my boys don't come in until eight. I didn't
call anyone except you, Floyd."

"Good. You keep this one quiet, you understand me J.B.? Nobody knows
anything. Ever. Except what I decide." Peterson rubbed his beard. "You
got any business coming in today?"

The mortician shook his head no. "Not unless something turns up."

"Okay, you go call your sons, tell them to take the day off. Tell `em
to go fishing or something, just keep `em away from here." He stared
at the man hard. "And you don't say anything about this."

"I heard you Floyd. I got it." The man walked off to use the phone in
his office, not feeling too awfully happy.

Ethan had been on his cellular phone, waking up his secretary and they
were still talking when Floyd walked back over. The Sheriff had gotten
up, looking warily at the college president, and now sat sulking and
nursing his sore jaw.

"...I need to know if Lisa Thomas had any family...That's right...Get her
student records...I need next of kin, yeah...and call the Board...I know
what time it is, Laura, I know...Call the Board and set up a meeting...as
soon as possible...No, I don't know what's going on...Lisa? She's..." He
glanced at Floyd. "...Lisa is missing...yeah, just disappeared... probably...
yeah, I'm sure you're right...she needs some time...okay... Call me when you
find her records... Right. Bye Laura."

"Owen, come here." Floyd called over his shoulder. "You did good
Ethan." He patted the college president's shoulder, but the older man
drew back. "We have to do what's best now. For all of us."

"You hit me again Ethan, and I'm liable to get angry." Sheriff Fiddler
fingered the revolver on his hip.

"Shut-up, Owen." Floyd stared at Fiddler and the Sheriff looked down.
"You got a missing person, reported by the college president. One Lisa
Thomas, missing for 12 hours, no reason to assume she's in danger.
Just a college kid who left for Hollywood, or New York maybe. You talk
to her friends, teachers, neighbors. Ethan's concerned because she was
close to her coach." Floyd looked at Moore, making sure he was
listening. "So you're doing the neighborly thing and checking, even
though she technically ain't missing for 72 hours. You got all that?
You do it the right way, don't put too many people on it. Don't talk
about it, no bullshit. One deputy, send the Hansen kid, he's dumb as
dirt anyway."

The funeral director had come back in, but knew enough that he didn't
want to hear any of what Floyd was saying. He had a feeling he knew
too much already. The girl had killed herself, what was the big deal,
he wondered. The Necro thing? It happened, wasn't the first and wasn't
the last he'd hear about, or probably see in his own parlor. Ordinary
folks just didn't understand, he sighed. He gazed at the two women,
wondering how Lisa had managed to get her lover's dead arms around
her. It seemed impossible, especially since the fingers of Barbara's
right hand were tight around the back of Lisa's neck, as if the dead
woman had pulled the girl as close as possible while Lisa lay dying.
The mortician shrugged and turned away, he'd seen a lot of strange
things in his line of work.

"J.B. come here." The funeral director walked over to Floyd. "You get
this body cremated, right away."

"You mean both..." The mortician started to ask, but Floyd shushed him.

"There's only one body in that coffin, J.B., Barbara Welch's. Nobody
here saw anything different." He looked at the other men meaningfully.
"You cremate her body, just like you're supposed to. Give Ethan with
the remains and get on with business." He walked over and closed the
coffin lid over Barbara and Lisa forever. "Lisa Thomas is a missing
person and we haven't seen her." He said finally.

Ethan took phone calls from both his secretary and from the Chairman
of the Board of Trustees. He'd learned that Lisa had only a surviving
sister, who lived in Dallas. He took the woman's name and phone
number, scribbling it on a bit of paper from his wallet. He promised
his secretary he'd be in the office shortly and hung up. Then came the
call from the Board.

It was as Ethan had predicted. Nobody wanted their school to be known
as a haven for necrophiliac lesbians, suicidal or not. That the girl
was dead made it even worse. Ethan would do everything he could to
keep it quiet; the Board had already forgotten the matter. They'd be
referring any and all enquiries to the college president. Somehow all
of that had been expressed without mentioning the name of the girl in
question, not even once. It was as though the chairman was speaking
hypothetically, but then he was a lawyer and they were known for being
able to talk around...things.

The chairman asked Ethan if he had any ideas, now that he knew the
Board's position

"Lisa Thomas is..." He swallowed hard. "A missing person."

"Hmmmm...Lisa Thomas? I don't recall a Lisa Thomas." The lawyer's voice
said. And that was when Ethan made his decision that sometimes the
greater good of the majority was not worth the sacrifice of the
individual. He just didn't know what to do about it yet.

===

the end
rache696@yahoo.com

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