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It wasn't until Jerry's funeral ended that Aesop realized that he was completely alone.
Not alone in a melodramatic way. He had been alone all of his life and liked it. No, now he was alone at the job. The literal only employer (and boss?) of the small Carl Funeral Home.
How was he going to do all the bureaucracy, counseling and socialization that came with handling a business? Jerry used to take care of those tasks, if only he was there...
Maybe Aesop had really messed up. Maybe Jerry could have lived a couple more years if he had took him to the hospital to get treated, then he wouldn't have to-
No, no. Those were excuses. His mentor was severely wounded after coming back from that suspicious manor. He was meant to die and find peace, and Aesop had made sure of that by embalming him and giving him a proper burial.
The fact he didn't know how to manage a business was something he would have to learn.
Regrettably.
The young embalmer put on his white gloves and took a deep breath. As a man of habits who always adhered to a precise routine, this big change was going to agitate him for a while, but complaining wouldn’t solve anything. He could do it. He had seen Jerry do it all of his life.
It couldn't be that difficult.
After a week of hard work and being forced to talk more than he had ever done in his twenty one years of life, Aesop decided that he would rather die of influenza than deal with another living person ever again.
"My poor sextuplets were everything to me!" a weeping mother told him in reception, her smudged mascara making a mess of her wrinkled face. "I can't believe I lost them all at the same time."
"Was it an illness?" Aesop asked, genuinely curious.
"No, it was the horses!" the woman cried, without elaborating at all, for Aesop’s frustration. "How much do your post-mortem photography services cost? I would like to immortalize my beautiful daughters before the ceremony."
"I'm sorry, Ms Blackwood, we don't offer that service."
The woman's weeping stopped as fast as her droopy eyebrows changed into a frown. "Why wouldn't you? I said I will pay for it."
Aesop gulped and tried to ignore his sweaty palms. Even if he didn't particularly mind, Jerry wasn't a big fan of memento mori photography, he believed that taking pictures of corpses would steal their souls.
Of course, he couldn't say such a thing to that sad (and scary) mother.
"Currently we don't work with any photographer who specializes in that area, I'm very sorry," he said instead, praying for the woman to accept it and change to a more important topic, like setting up an hour for the ceremony.
Her frown didn't deepen, which made Aesop naively believe that he had said the right thing. Unfortunately, he might as well made it worse.
"If that's the only problem, you don't need to worry! There's a new photographer in the city. He is a highly regarded count who is said to bring light to the eyes of anyone who appears in his pictures. I will immediately contact him and tell him to work with you today."
Photographer? Count? Today?! The string of unwanted information in such a short amount of time made Aesop panic, to the point he just nodded and agreed, like a fool.
He really wasn’t fit for the living world, wasn’t he?
And so, before he found a good excuse to prevent it, said 'talented' count arrived in Jerr- his funeral home.
In preparation for the photography session, Aesop had done his best to arrange the six girls' outfits, hair and makeup, and then move them to a white guest room with a long sofa. Placing all of them in a way that looked peaceful and natural had been a nightmare for his poor, untrained muscles.
"Why did it have to be sextuplets? Why couldn't it be twins?" He wondered out loud, breathless.
"Twins?" Someone said behind him.
When Aesop turned around and saw the photographer, he froze in place.
Ms Blackwood had said that Count Joseph Desaulniers was very popular among the townspeople, but Aesop assumed it was because the man was rich and new, so it was natural for the rumor loving middle-low class to feel attracted to him, but that hadn’t been the only reason. Aesop certainly didn’t expect…
That .
Simply put, Joseph looked like someone who should be in front of a camera, not behind it.
"Welcome to the Carl Funeral Home," he said, professional as always despite realizing he had stared at him for too long. "I’m Aesop Carl. Are you the photographer?"
The man, who was holding a camera and tripod the size of a bar stool, was polite enough to nod with a playful smile.
Aesop realized his mistake and cringed inside. He asked Joseph to follow him to the main room, and used that small amount of time to observe him a bit more: It was obvious that he was a count, the way he carried himself screamed high status and natural charisma.
Aesop felt a bit nervous. Since Jerry died, he had been forced to talk with many people, but most if not all of them were extremely serious, sad or hurried to get business done and leave that ‘dark and depressing building’.
Compared to those short and dry interactions, this photographer didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
"Are you the only person working here?” Joseph asked conversationally.
“Yes, the previous owner left us not too long ago.”
“‘Left us’ as in retired or dead?”
“He died. Sorry for not being more clear."
“It’s fine. I find it fascinating how words can have such contrasting meanings depending on the context, although I’m sure you perceive them similar, working here and all.”
He smiled as he talked, clearly entertained, and Aesop had no choice but to believe he was a strange one. Still, everything about the man was suspiciously alluring, and he couldn’t help but think that Joseph was the living image of the handsome and elegant gentleman his mom wanted him to become a long time ago.
Yet there he stood, sweaty, awkward, with the unmistakable scent of formaldehyde and out of breath because he had to manhandle six teenagers.
When they reached their destination, he pointed at the girls. "I got them ready. I have more flowers in the back and other props in case they are needed for the composition."
Joseph walked towards the sofa and observed his work with a hand on his chin.
Aesop had dressed them in youthful, elegant clothes, and added a touch of color with a sweet and modest posy of pink and blue flowers. The makeup was modest as well, and with their eyes closed it gave the entire scene a false sense of lovely girls who fell asleep after a long party.
"They look perfect like this, my job will be easy today thanks to you.”
"It’s no problem," he said awkwardly, the praise making his pale cheeks get a bit hot.
Joseph studied him for a while with an expression Aesop couldn’t pinpoint, and then started the preparations for the session. The embalmer observed the whole process in silence from a safe distance.
"It's fine if you want to leave," Joseph said while adjusting the position of the lenses.
Aesop struggled to guess if he said that because he was being considerate or wanted him gone. Joseph was right, words could have too many interpretations.
"It's part of the protocol, we can't leave the deceased unattended during photography sessions," he lied.
There was no photography protocol -nor services, for that matter- he simply felt too curious about the man to leave him alone. There was something strange, otherworldly about Joseph.
He had never felt this level of interest towards people, so it made him wonder if this whole situation was a sign.
After embalming Jerry, Aesop knew that he had to continue their secret duty and guide lost people from darkness. That’s what his adoptive father had taught him all of his life, so he felt the responsibility of maintaining their mission.
It’s just that… he had been lost on how to go about it.
How was he supposed to know what person was in need of help? Jerry had always possessed a sixth sense, an extrasensory perception. He could always tell who was the most suitable candidate for his embalming: His mother, Elisa...
He had called it intuition, but Aesop had never been good at it.
“My child, look at that little girl, why don’t you help her?” Jerry used to whisper in his ear.
Aesop always felt a knot in his stomach when this happened. “She looks happy, are you su-”
“You don’t get it,” Jerry would cut him, upset. “She pretends to be happy, but she is miserable inside. Deep down she is asking for help, and only we can offer it to her.”
Aesop had always felt inadequate because he couldn’t tell at first sight who was happy and who wasn’t, not in the same way Jerry did, always so precise and convinced, as if he could see their souls.
In the end, that special ‘intuition’ came to him when he saw Jerry enter the funeral home extremely wounded. That was the first time he knew what he had to do, but it had been an obvious case.
Aesop looked at Joseph. He had also made him feel something indefinable at first sight… Could it be a sign? His own sixth sense?
From the dark corner of the room, Aesop quietly wondered if Joseph also needed his help.
"Why can't they be left unattended? What could happen if I stayed alone with these ladies?" Joseph asked, grabbing the embalmer's attention and looking at him with inquisitive, blue eyes.
Aesop couldn't help but fidget with his hands. "I- Well... It's in the rules."
"The rules," Joseph repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Do you think I could steal their souls with my camera?"
He used a joking tone that Aesop didn't quite register.
"Could you do that? Take their souls?"
Joseph looked surprised for a second and then laughed. "No, no, of course not. I was merely jesting."
Aesop felt his cheeks burn and pouted. For some reason, he didn't want to disappoint this stranger, but now he must think he was slow-witted. He could communicate fairly well through written letters, but spoken conversations were a whole different -and terrible- matter.
"Why do you take pictures?" he changed the subject. A safe, harmless question.
'Get to know them, my child, uncover their deepest fears and desires, convince them, and if that still doesn't work...'
"Why did I choose this profession? It's my passion. It allows me to travel and meet new, interesting people."
An extrovert's dream for sure. It sounded like an awful job.
"They are interesting," Aesop agreed, glancing at the sextuplets. "Their fate was unexpected."
"May I ask how they met their end?"
"Death by horse."
"That's a new one. What does it mean?"
"I wish I knew."
Two seconds of silence and then Joseph let out an honest laugh that made Aesop feel butterflies in his stomach. He even forgot about the camera and turned completely towards him.
"You are interesting too, Mr. Carl. Why do you work in such a morbid place at your young age?"
Morbid? That was a strange thing to say, considering Joseph also looked young and took post-mortem pictures, which could be considered an even more sinister endeavor.
Still, Aesop would have to answer him cordially. Jerry always said that people wouldn't tell him their secrets if he didn't open up to them first. It was a two way street, a sacrifice he had to do in order to help them.
And so, Aesop told Joseph a little about himself.
Nothing explicit enough to make him wary of him, but also not so boring that it could be considered disposable, small talk.
"I don't think it's a morbid job. Death isn't supposed to be scary," he said, expecting Joseph to feel the same.
"You don't think it is?" The photographer asked, his blue eyes transfixed on him in a way that sent shivers down his spine. "What do you think when you look at these girls if not repulsiveness?"
Aesop was confused. He thought Joseph liked his composition, he even said so earlier. His gray eyes observed the girls’ pale skins and closed eyes. "They look as if they were sleeping peacefully. There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, a bit defensive.
"But they will never wake up," Joseph pointed out, and Aesop realized that under his calm facade, the man was unusually passionate about the topic. "Their parents will lie to themselves and believe they are sleeping when they look at the lovely photos I took today, but the truth is that they are dead. Isn't that ludicrous?"
Aesop wanted to tell him that there wasn't any difference between being asleep or dead, but he felt the man would get mad at him if he said so.
The conversation wasn't going where he wanted it to go, and he faulted himself for it. He was supposed to learn more about Joseph so he could help him, but instead they were arguing.
‘Take a deep breath. Be decisive. Follow the steps, follow the protocol…’
"When we sleep, we forget about all of our worries. Death is similar, an eternal rest without pain," he tried to get his point across. “It’s unfortunate that they died, but it’s not something to feel sad or repulsed about.”
Joseph seemed surprised at his reply. Aesop wondered if his words finally made an impact on him. Was Joseph also suffering behind that charming smile?
Could he guide him to salvation?
"It sounds very nice when you put it that way, but what about those who are left behind?" Joseph asked instead. His lips were tight, contained, as if he was repressing a painful memory. "How are they supposed to feel when their loved ones abandon them?"
"Happy ," Aesop said, so fast he was sure it made him look strange, so unquestioning he wondered if he wasn't just repeating someone else's words.
'Don't cry, my child, they were meant to die. You should be happy they can finally rest'
That's what Jerry always said, but was he happy when his mom...?
His expression must have shown a slight contradiction, because Joseph gave him a smug smile and said:
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't disagree more with you."
After that tense, nerve-wrecking exchange, Joseph started taking pictures of the sextuplets and ignored him for the rest of the session.
Aesop stood in a corner of the room while he waited, surrounded by shadows and bad, ugly thoughts. His legs and hands were shaking, out of shame, impotence or lack of control, he couldn’t say.
He hated how this conversation made him feel. He despised Joseph.
And of course Jerry would have been very disappointed in his poor performance.
Maybe he had been wrong about the photographer. He looked like a beautiful rose, kind and alluring at first, someone who might understand him, but the more he talked, the more he reminded Aesop of a snake.
He had no idea why the man seemed to harbor such a profound hate towards the concept of death. If that was the case, why did he specialize in post-mortem photography of all things? Was he what people called a masochist?
Someone who hated death yet was obsessed with it. Aesop couldn't conceive such a contradictory feeling.
Still, not everything was lost. Their talk, even if awkward, had implicitly shown Aesop a new side of Joseph: That he was unhappy because he lost someone dear to him. He didn't outright say it, but it was written all over his face.
'What about those who are left behind? How are they supposed to feel when their loved ones abandon them?’
Did he feel abandoned? Who died that made Joseph think that way?
Aesop was starting to understand him. Joseph hated death because it took someone dear to him, and now he was obsessed with it.
Despite his initial discomfort, the embalmer smiled slightly. He could help him meet that person in the afterlife. Then, Joseph wouldn't need to suffer or partake in activities that harmed him anymore. His intuition had been right in the end.
Joseph was a fitting candidate, and he would look perfect surrounded by white roses.
That's why Aesop stood patiently in the corner, a syringe of bromide hydrate deftly hidden behind his back.
Joseph was gazing into the viewfinder of the camera with absorbed attention. His neck would have been exposed if it weren't for his long hair, but that shouldn't be a problem if he approached him from behind.
Aesop walked slowly, his steps steady and silent, the opposite of his heartbeat, which was throbbing high and loud inside his ribcage. He stood right behind Joseph for a few seconds, holding his breath, and when he was about to rise his right hand, Joseph suddenly turned around and asked:
"Would you like to become my model?"
Aesop felt his soul leave his body and almost jumped in shock. "W-What?"
He almost dropped the syringe to the floor with the speed he retrieved his hand behind his back.
"Sorry for my bluntness, but I keep thinking about how your face would suit my personal collection," Joseph praised with a smile, as if their previous argument had never happened. "I'm already done with this session and have time so, what do you say?"
"No," Aesop replied, so fast, exasperated and annoyed it was almost funny. "I mean- No, sorry."
"Are you perhaps the shy type?" Joseph looked amused.
Aesop was many things, but right now he was mostly confused. Flabbergasted. Bewildered. How did the mood change so quickly!? Why was Joseph proposing that all of a sudden after their previous disagreement?
"I don't think my face is fitting for your work, I would ruin it," he sincerely said.
His face was hot and red, he could feel it. Not due to any sort of shyness, but because of how close he had been to messing up monumentally.
"This is not about conventional beauty, Mr. Carl. My work is about the soul and unique expressions, such as yours. Although in your case, you are beautiful as well."
Aesop's brain stopped working and his face became even more red, this time due to actual shyness.
The embalming. His mission. An attractive man called him beautiful. The bromide syringe hidden behind his back. Why would he call him pretty?
He couldn't focus at all.
"Are you alright?" Joseph asked, seemingly unaware of his internal debate. "I met a sad, circus clown who was also surprised when I asked him to become my model, but I promise you that he loved the experience," he chuckled, as if he recalled an amusing memory.
A circus clown? That's how Aesop felt right now.
"I can't..."
"Why not? I will pay you. Plus, I think you would look perfect surrounded by yellow roses," Joseph insisted with a charming, inviting voice that poked holes through his defense. Was that the power of nobility? Extreme persuasion? "What do you think, Aesop?"
Yellow roses...?
“I-I guess it can’t be helped.”
Just like how he was unable to utter a simple 'No' to the sextuplet's mother, he ended up sitting in the -now empty- sofa, surrounded by yellow roses and posing for a man he just tried to embalm a few minutes ago.
Today wasn't his day.
Maybe the stress of taking care of the funeral home all alone was finally taking a toll on himself, pushing him to make awful, illogical decisions. While Joseph was placing the flowers on his lap and hair, Aesop wished once again that he hadn’t embalmed Jerry so soon.
"Do I need to take off my mask?" He asked, nervous.
"No, I think it suits you." As he said that, Joseph fixed his bangs, pushing them away with a soft, almost imperceptible touch.
Aesop had to do a herculean effort not to flinch -or blush-. Their faces were very close and, from that distance, he could see just how perfect the photographer's skin was.
Once again he felt bad for failing. Joseph should be the one surrounded by roses, not him.
"Why me?" he asked, sheepish. "You talked about souls, but I don't think mine is special nor beautiful. The ladies who live across the street would be better subjects for your collection, they are considered very-"
"Yeah, yeah, I bet they are beautiful, and boring too," Joseph cut him unceremoniously and grabbed his chin, searching for the right angle. "I prefer you."
Happy with the composition, the photographer stood and admired his work. Then, he walked behind the camera and started fixing the plates and other gears Aesop wasn’t knowledgeable about.
“I thought you only specialized in post-mortem photography,” he commented, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.
"Do you want to know a secret?" Joseph asked with an unexpected cold smile. "I never do post-mortem photography. I find it tasteless and quite vulgar, to be honest."
He didn't?
"Why did you accept this job, then?"
"It’s a fun anecdote, really,” Joseph started, in a tone that told Aesop it wasn’t fun at all. “There is a flower shop in front of the family estate I’m currently staying at. It’s called ‘Lisa's House’ you might have heard of it. It's renowned for its exclusive supply of thistles.”
“I know that place.” He often bought flowers there since the manager and service weren’t too bad.
“I’m aware. I have seen you a few times from my window. You looked so sad, grey and quiet, like a little mouse," Joseph recalled, joyful. "I asked around, got told that you worked at a funeral home and I laughed to myself, thinking that of course you did."
Joseph told the story as if it was something hilarious, but it made Aesop feel very uneasy.
"My apologies. It's not my intention to scare you. What I mean to say is that you caught my attention and curiosity as an artist, so I took the chance once it presented itself."
Aesop blinked several times. Did that mean Joseph came here for him and not the sextuplets? Because he found it funny that he looked like an embalmer?
What?
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, just look at the camera.”
How could he pay attention to the session after being told that? Was he supposed to feel flattered that someone as important and talented as Joseph chose him as a model for his collection, or belittled for being treated like a fool? A sad clown indeed.
He wasn’t new to this. He remembered the laughs at his old school, the whispers, the insults… He was being made fun of for being different, wasn't he?
Giving Joseph a look that clearly expressed how fed up with all of this he was, Aesop asked, "And what is the theme of these pictures?”
‘The creepy undertaker’ or something like that, he bitterly thought.
Joseph smiled, yet his gaze was freezing cold when he answered:
"An embalmer who is scared of living."
Aesop felt his fists clench and his blood boil at how unfair that was. Who was Joseph to judge him like that? He didn't know him at all.
"At least I'm not scared of dying," he retorted before he could stop himself.
Joseph laughed, satisfied. "Ah, now we are being honest!" he was shameless enough to use that tense moment to take the first picture.
Aesop closed his eyes slightly at the sudden flash. He was very annoyed, yet for some reason he hadn't dared to move from the position Joseph had put him in.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, frustrated.
"I already told you. I wanted to see the real you, your soul. That’s what my personal collection is all about."
As he said that, he took another picture, and Aesop started to feel strange, drowsy. It was impossible to explain, but every time Joseph's camera flashed, it was as if his very being was getting sucked out of his body.
He thought it was his imagination playing tricks due to how overstimulated he was, but then he remembered Joseph’s ‘innocent’ joke from moments ago and his eyes widened.
"When you said that your camera could steal souls…"
"You are a perceptive one," Joseph nodded, confirming his suspicions with chilling ease. "Those who model for me give me their souls and, in exchange, they get to live eternally inside of my pictures.”
Eternal life? Aesop’s breath picked up and he panicked. He didn’t want that!
“You don't need to worry,” Joseph quickly reassured, observing his reaction without pity. “After talking with you today, I realized that you don’t belong in my collection. Someone who treats life as if it was nothing, as if it was as good as death, doesn't deserve my help.”
"I never asked for your help."
"Neither did I, yet you foolishly thought I didn't notice the syringe behind your back. How hypocrite. "
Aesop's entire face went red. "I-I am not-"
Another flash.
"Ah, your caught-red-handed expression is so lovely. Maybe I should have asked you to take off your mask after all," Joseph lamented.
Aesop was too stunned to speak for the rest of the shoot, and once the agonizing session was finally over -without any death nor souls stolen- Joseph dared to ask:
"Did you enjoy the experience?"
"No."
Joseph laughed nonchalantly, and the embalmer wished that he had injected bromide in his veins. Someone like him, who tried so hard to achieve an unnatural, eternal life needed his help more than anyone else. If only Joseph could see that death would free him from his suffering.
But more importantly, he knew Jerry’s secret, his secret. Aesop shouldn’t let him go alive, and yet Joseph had also disclosed his supernatural activities to him, so maybe that meant they were accomplices, in a way.
"Why did you take pictures of me if you didn't plan on stealing my soul?" Aesop asked.
Joseph pretended to think about it. "I guess I liked your looks."
Oh, what a liar. And to think he only survived because Joseph detested a life with nothing to live for. How wrong he was. Joseph had a completely skewed perception of life and death that he forced on others with the excuse of helping them.
And the worst thing was that Joseph probably thought the same about him.
"You are welcome to my mansion in case you want to see how the pictures turned out. They will be ready in a couple of days," Joseph offered, putting on his coat.
Aesop had accompanied him outside of the funeral home out of politeness, where a fancy carriage with an heraldic coat of arms on the door was already waiting.
"I will think about it," he replied, even though both of them knew the answer.
Joseph nodded, then seemed to notice something stuck in his hair. He raised his hand and took out a rose petal.
"Yellow suits you," he commented, without apparent malice this time.
Aesop rolled his eyes and sighed, he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived again.
"I am being sincere. You should try more colors other than gray. Life doesn't need to be dull if you don't want to. That’s what I thought when I saw you at the flower shop, and the reason I decided to do this photo session."
He did sound sincere this time, and Aesop didn’t know what to make of it. More importantly, his words reminded him of something he had forgotten a long time ago.
"Why don't you wear pretty dresses anymore, mom? Yellow suited you.”
He had told the same thing to his mother when he was a kid. It had been a painful process to see her become a husk of the beautiful woman she used to be. After his father left them, she started crying every night, stopped caring about her appearance, forgot how to eat and laugh, dressed in gray colors and…
A sorrow and yearning too immense and heartbreaking for words suddenly overcame him, and he felt as lost as all the people he wished to help.
"Carl...?"
"I don't agree with your views but... I would like to apologize," Aesop muttered with a distant tone. "What I said earlier… I- Happy wasn't the right word."
It took a second for Joseph to understand what he meant, and when he finally did, he gave him a small, compassionate smile. "I know."
The carriage disappeared through London’s foggy streets, and Aesop spent the rest of the night awake, thinking that, for the first time, he had reached a deep understanding with another living human being.
Maybe he wasn't doing such an awful job without Jerry, maybe he could navigate through this scary world.
Two days later, Joseph heard a knock on his door. Curiously, his guest smelled of formaldehyde and wore a charming yellow hair tie.
It was a start.