All Roads Lead to Ruin

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine. I got to get a couple other things- I need you to go to the funeral home. Tell them you're the daughter of one of those out-of-towners, and find out where they're buried. Think you can handle that?" He asked, dropping his jug in the cart and taking it from her.

Layla nodded, darting out the door.

When she got to the funeral home, it looked rather dark, with tinted windows accentuating the weathered brown color of the brick building. There weren't any cars out front except for a single hearse, though on closer inspection there was a BMW parked in the back, parallel to the building and by a door. Inside, there was a fine layer of dust on everything except the front desk, which was mostly bare besides a small book, a vase of purple wilted flowers, and a bell. A "Ring for Service" sign hung on the wall behind the desk from a thumbtack, and the faintest of clattering noises could be heard from some room in the back.

Layla looked around curiously, ringing the bell after a minute.

After waiting a few moments, the clattering in the back stopped. A lanky, pale man entered the lobby from the room in the back, his body clad in a suit of bland colors. When he entered, her birthmark began to itch and tingle. His eyes were hidden behind glasses that looked like the lenses on a camera, especially with the way he looked about, observing the room. His hair was white and looked like it had the texture of hay, his receding hairline seeming to begin just shy of the top of his head. He took a moment to regard Layla, before finally speaking up in a deep voice straight out of The Addams Family. "Yes?" He said, drawing out the one syllable word as much as it seemed he could.

"Hey," she spoke slowly, a bit unnerved by the man. "I'm John Henderson's daughter." she recalled the name from an obituary like it was nothing, "I was hoping to see where he's been buried?"

The man's smile was polite and empathetic, his tone carrying a very generic tone of condolence, as if it were rehearsed, or programmed into him. "I'm sorry for you loss, ma'am; however, I regret to inform you that on his deathbed, your father requested that his remains be cremated." He told her, the comfort of his words ending after "Ma'am." After that... it just seemed creepy.

"Oh..." she frowned, letting a look of pained sadness cross her face, "So, there's no where I can go to pay my respects?"

The man gave her another fake smile, nodding his head as he spoke. "We cast the ashes into the stream beneath Benjamin's Bridge, just out of town. Many find closure when visiting there."

Layla nodded, "Thank you. I'm sorry for the trouble." she waved a bit, heading out and back to the camper.

"Have a blessed day." The man nodded and turned around, walking back into the depths of the funeral home, the faint clattering noise resuming as Layla walked out the door. The strange tingle in her birthmark eased as she left the mortuary.

As Layla opened the door of the camper she was greeted with the smell of stale smoke, gray, ghostly wisps wafting past her as the stagnant air was disturbed. Seth was sitting in the flimsy plastic chair next to his cluttered table, one of his legs crossed over his knee to act as a makeshift table for the weathered trapper keeper in his lap. Next to him was a crumpled bag of chips and the greasy sleeve of a Slim Jim, along with a Mountain Dew bottle with just enough left in the bottle to drown half a dozen cigarette butts. As Layla entered, he looked up from the binder, moving his hand to flick a tower of ash into the bottle next to him. "How was your errand?"

"Cremated, and tossed over a bridge," she sighed, plopping onto the nearest surface suitable for sitting.

Seth furrowed his brow slightly, frowning. "What bridge? That funeral home looked small. Did it even have a crematorium?" He asked.

She shrugged, "That's all he would say. And he said it was Benjamin's bridge." she sighed again, brushing back her hair, "Oh, and I don't know if it matters or is just a fluke or what... But my back kinda... buzzed. Like, tingly."

He sighed, sitting forward a bit. "We'll check out the bridge. There's no way that little ass building has a crematorium, though. I think he's bullshitting." He said, before she mentioned her back. He sat back in his seat, looking at her. "When? Like you're whole back?"

She shook her head, "No, just the freckles."

He paused for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her, thinking. "Let me see." He asked.

"My back..?" she asked with a raised brow.

"No, your tits. Yes, your back. Show me the mark. That's not exactly normal. Unless you're getting cancer, or some shit." He replied.

She sighed, trying awkwardly to work her shirt up enough to expose the mark between her shoulder blades without taking it all the way off, coming very close to flashing him several times. She turned her back to him, just taking her shirt off and covering her chest with it where he couldn't see, "There. Happy?"

Seth sat waiting as she fumbled awkwardly with her shirt, either not exactly trying to avoid sneaking a peak at her bra or not caring if she saw him. When she turned around he placed his rough hand against her waist, leaning in as he traced a finger along her freckles. He leaned in close, and she could feel his hot breath washing over her back. "Huh... nothing too out-of-the-ordinary."

Goosebumps raised on Layla's arms. "Yeah. Just your usual moon-freckles..." she muttered.

"Yeah, yeah.... it's not usual if weird shit happens to it. Its whatever. Probably nothing." He said, sitting back in his chair, fingers leaving her skin. "It's probably nothing. Anyway. Bridge or funeral home? We're double checking that shit."

She paused, thinking, "Wait, are you wanting to split up?"

"Nah. You didn't even check for a crematorium. Come with me. You need pointers." He said, closing his trapper keeper under one of the counters. He then turned towards the door, moving towards it. "C'mon."