Part 2: Marijuana Mixup

For all you potheads out there!

Terence didn’t know how to respond to Jaune’s statement.  Did she really just accuse him of doing marijuana?! He set the syringe on the lip of the steel table and stared at her.

“I’m sorry. I think I misheard you,” he said. Jaune raised her needle-thin eyebrows. The old woman's dark features errupted into a wrinkled snarl of disaproval.

“Then let me say it for you louder," she shouted.  "You got marijuana in your pee! You do drugs, Terence! That’s why you goin crazy!”

“No!” Terence shook his head. He stripped the gloves from his hands. “There’s been a mistake. That idiot psychiatrist, O'reilly,  probably labeled his pee bottles incorrectly.” Jaune didn’t believe him. She never believed him.

“Long term exposure to marijuana can cause paranoia and false memories," Jaune stated.

"Says the psychiatrist, with whom you're frequently collaborating. Are you paying him to discredit me?!" Terence shouted. There was a silence. Jaune glared at him through weepy eyes.

 "Get some help, Terry,” she said, quietly. She then turned and walked away slowly. The sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor faded as she left.

“Melinda was a real person!” Terence yelled after her. An onslaught of paranoid anxiety spiked colour in his cheeks. Jaune was a control freak. Since Terence was made the owner of the Amigone Funeral Home business, she had been coercing him to see a psychiatrist about his paranoid behaviour. Terence often suspected that she sercretly coveted his title. She was probably in cahoots with this psychiatrist clown he'd been seeing.

"She's trying to make me look crazy so she can have me locked away in an institution!" Terence thought as he nervously swept his hand through his thick black hair. "With me out of the way she'd finally get to be the big bad boss." If she got Terence out of the way, she also wouldn't have to fess up to the mistake she made with Melinda's family. Terence's mind was ablaze. So much so, that he almost ran into Miss Fairweather on his way out of the prep room. She stumbled out of his way, her round pixie-like face frowning with concern.

“Where are you going?!” she asked.

“To confront my psychiatrist about a mutinal collaboration involving a tainted bottle of pee,” Terence snapped before stomping up to the main level of the funeral home and out the doors to the parking lot. Each moody step he took toward his car produced a jingle from the keys in his pocket: a sound that made him feel like a Christmas Clydsdale. Terence drove onto the scenic road, so shaken, he was barely able to concentrate on his driving. He took in a long breath, focusing on the soothing hum of his car's engine. During his drive to the office of Mr. O’reilly, Terence experienced a flashback.

 A tired looking senior with a scraggly yellowing beard and dark skin had entered the funeral home for the second time in one week. When Terence saw the familiar man's image aglow on the security camera, he immediately knew something was awry. This man had shown his face twice without making a funeral arrangement. An inspection was in order. Terence was on his way down the stairs from his area of surveillance, when he caught the man stealing fistfuls of candies from one of the glass dishes situated throughout the funeral home.

“Those candies are only free to people stupid enough to pay thousands of dollars for a fancy box. We don’t cater to charity cases,” he informed the man. That’s when Jaune had arrived with her black patronizing stare. The ‘charity case’ turned out to be her demented father. The next day she told Terence that his overly tense and paranoid behavior concerned her. Terence tried telling her he was fine, but she didn’t listen. Instead, she phoned a psychiatrist named Bancock O’reilly, who diagnosed Terence with a borderline paranoid personality disorder.

Now, thinking back on this incident,Terence figured Jaune had probably bribed Bancock to make the diagnosis. She wasn’t really concerned for his mental well being, she just wanted to discredit him enough to take over his business.

Terence bounded up the stairs to the main level of the St. Louis Health Centre. His long legs allowed him to skip three stairs at a time. The saggy faced receptionists scribbled obsolete words in fading newspapers; they remained unblinking behind their glass boxes as Terence’s form swooped by. Terence entered the office of Mr. O’reilly without so much as a knock. The psychiatrist’s squinty eyes blinked in surprise at Terence’s spasmodic entrance.

“Mr.Coon?! What are you doing? Please, make an appointment before―”

“Oh, shut-up!” The man’s nasally undertone made Terence’s head throb. A black haired, white faced youth sat across from Mr. O’reilly. He turned nonchalantly and nodded in acknowledgement of Terence’s presence.

“Cool suit,” the kid said. Terence had no idea how to respond to the compliment. Bancock rubbed his knobby hands through his hair; it was obvious that he was adjusting his toupee.

“Mr. Coon, I’m here with a patient. Can’t this wait?” he droned. Terence took a seat beside the heavily pierced youth.

“No, it most certainly cannot!” he declared. Terence shuffled uncomfortably in the chair; he could feel the eyes of the tattoo laced teen staring him down. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Either your pee test was wrong or you deliberately fudged it to make me look bad!” he hissed. “I do not do marijuana!” Bancock licked his thin purple lips.

“Christopher, can you give us a moment?” he asked the youth. Christopher shrugged and slouched out of the room.

“The name’s Reaper,” he mumbled. The chains on his tattered jacket jingled as he walked. The psychiatrist then began to talk to Terence as though he was five.

“Remember when we discussed those trust issues of yours?” Terence wanted to murder the man with his own expensive stapler.

“Of course I remember,” he growled.

“Then I'm assuming you also remember the anti-psychotics I prescribed you. You need to take them," Bancock said sternly.  Terence pressed his bony fingers to his forehead in frustration.

"I don't need your pills and I don't do marijuana," he articulated through gritted teeth. Bancock picked a piece of lint from the drab sweater he adorned. He leaned forward in his desk, so close  Terence could smell the sour scent of coffee in his breath.

"I know this is hard for you, Mr. Coon," his voice was low and calm, " I can see you’re clearly in denial about your substance abuse. But you need to trust―”

“How much is she paying you?” Terence cut in.

“Pardon?” Mr. O’reilly laughed uncertainly.

“Jaune. How much is she paying you to discredit me?!” Terence yelled. “The last time we met the top of your head could have been used as a mirror. I’m not stupid. You paid good money for that fancy patch of hay on top of your head. So until you tell me what’s really going on here, I’m holding your hair as hostage.” Terence stripped the toupee from Mr. O’reilly’s noggin. The psychiatrist’s face was a wrinkled stew of horror and contempt. His fingers immediately flew to his naked head. “See you around, baldy,” Terence said before exiting the stunned man’s office. He slammed the door behind him, the hair dangling in his hand. As he turned to leave, he almost impaled himself on one of the spike’s protruding from Reaper’s coat.

“Wow,” the goth exclaimed, his eyes fixated on the hair. “Did you just scalp that guy?” Terence huffed. He didn’t have time to explain himself to the troubled youth.

“Totally,” he answered. The youth nodded in approval.

“Righteous.”

-

 

                Terence drove back to the funeral home, no closer to solving the marijuana mixup than when he had left. All Terence gained were Mr. O'reilly's hair cap and the admiration of a goth boy. Hungry, Terence sat down in the staff lounge for his lunch. He was picking away at a piece of salmon he had poached for himself the other day, when Ash waltzed in with the same old perky bounce to his step. He was also humming to himself.

“That looks like a healthy lunch,” he stated, pouring himself a glass of water. Terence trickled the soy sauce over his rice. He wondered if Jaune had sent Ash to see Mr. O’reilly as well. The sight of blood caused Ash, a funeral director, to faint and become ill on a regular basis. His fear made him useless when it came to embalming. Lucky for Ash, he excelled at making arrangements and dealing with distraught families. His hemophobia had to constitute a trip to the psychiatrist.

Ash interrupted Terence's train of thought, “Uh, Terence, that’s kind of a lot of soy sauce.”

“Hmmm?” Terence looked down to see his rice saturated with soy sauce. His salmon was floating in a small puddle of it. He shrugged and continued to eat his lunch despite its overall brown display. The soy sauce had been in the fridge so long its flavor had diminished. Terence required more of it to make his rice appropriately salty anyway.

“Has Jaune ever sent you to Mr. O’reilly?” Terence asked, suddenly.  Ash choked on a sip of water. The question appeared to make him uncomfortable.

“Yes, she did. He ran a group therapy session for people with severe phobias. Jaune thought he could help me.” When Terence didn’t respond, Ash continued. “ During the sessions, I fainted and vomited so many times, he had to call an ambulance. But, on the plus side, I met my girlfriend, Carina.” Terence’s elbows were resting on the table; his long fingers were intertwined. He raised an eyebrow at his co-worker.

“Thank-you for that highly personal information, Wilson,” he said. Terence found Ash to be hyperhonest, which is why he tended to trust Wilson more over his other staff members. Jaune also trusted him. In fact, she loved Wilson; she was smitten by his perfectly aligned teeth and square jaw. The only ulterior motive she’d have for sending him to Mr. O’reilly would be to get a hug in return. Now that Terence thought about it, she did seem to have a thing for handsome ailed men.

"Do you think Jaune approves of me as her employer," Terence asked. If anyone knew Jaune best, it was Ash.

"I doubt she likes being told what to do by anyone, let alone a younger man. That's just the way she is. That being said, she cares about people like you and me as she would care for her own children. She'd never do anything to hurt anyone." Terence didn't like this response one bit. If Jaune wasn't out to get him, then Terence had to accept the possibility that Melinda was a false memory brought on by the effects of THC; he had to accept the possibilty that he had been injesting marijuana without knowing it; and, he had to accept the possibility that he had threatened a psychiatrist for no reason. Worst of all, he would have to apologize to Jaune for falsley accusing her.

“Wilson,” Terence sighed, “I think I may have stolen a man’s hair to no avail.” Ash laughed. He must have thought Terence was joking. "Yes, it's all very funny if your name isn't Mr. O'reilly," Terence said. Ash choked on his own laughter and looked to Terence, mortified.

-

That evening, a visitation for Ming, the young woman who had committed suicide, began at 5:00pm. Terence was pleased with the appearance of the girl. Her hair had been expertly twisted into a braid, which sat alongside her shoulder. Her cheeks were pink and blossoming, and her lips were turned up in a slight relaxed smile. The bruises on her face had been concealed beautifully. Behind Terence, Miss Fairweather bit her lip anxiously.

“Does she look okay?” she asked. Miss Fairweather had applied the cosmetics as well as done the hair in accordance to the family’s wishes. Terence was speechless. He had no idea how to express his pride in his intern. He cleared his throat.

“Very impressive work, Jodie,” he said before awkwardly patting her on the back. Terence had never seen Miss Fairweather blush so heavily.

“Y-you just called me Jodie!” she gasped.

“That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Yes!” Miss Fairweather smiled so intensely, the corners of her eyes crinkled. Terence laughed. For some reason he found Miss Fairweather’s flushed face and intense joy amusing.

The family arrived late. They hobbled slowly into the funeral home in single file; their eyes were fixed to the ground and their mouths were unmoving. Terence had made sure to contact his Chinese consultant, Henrietta Cho, to help communicate with the family as well as serve the needs specific to their culture.The short, swift moving woman bustled about with the family’s trays of durian and dragon fruit as well as their cases of sweet buns. Terence found the way she moved funny. He also felt funny. His confusion, paranoia, and sickening apprehension regarding the marijuana mixup had magically vanished. These feelings had been replaced with a sense of giddiness, a trait that was very atypcial of his usual character. At one point Jaune caught Terence chuckling and asked if he was feeling alright. Before Terence could respond, Ming’s family approached him with a tray of homemade dumplings. The eldest of the entourage, a shriveled silver-haired woman, took the tray and held it out before Terence.

"You have made my daughter look at peace. Please accept this offering as a token of our gratitude," she said.

"Why thank-you." Terence accepted the dumplings with a triumphant laugh. The family was a little taken aback by his inappropriately jolly countenance. Smiling, they hurriedly filed back into the visitation room. Terence threw his arms around both Ash and Jaune. Ash studied him curiously.

"Don't you have some paranoid theory about the method in which those dumplings were prepared?" Ash questioned. Terence laughed his sonorous laugh.

“Don't be silly! This has been a most successful night,” he smiled. “I want you both to know that I appreciate all of your hard work. I love you both.” Before Ash and Jaune had a chance to respond to Terence’s bizarre sentiment, Henrietta came to announce the family’s readiness to close the casket. Funilly enough, neither of them acknowledged her presence. Terence enthusiastically took Miss Fairweather by the shoulders and steered her into the visitation room to assist him with the closing of the casket. The two of them bowed as they approached the casket.

“Before we proceed, I would like to invite the family to say their last goodbyes,” Terence proclaimed. The mother stepped forward, her face shining with tears. She bent forward and kissed her daughter lightly with her quivering lips. At that moment, the ornate scenery of the visitation room faded to a colorful whirlwind of nothingness. A pair of warm lips pecked Terence on the cheek.

“Hi, Terence.” It was Melinda Marvolo. Terence inhaled sharply. Was this another memory? “Shhh.” Her eyes were impossibly beautiful: deep brown and flecked with gold. Her hands were all over him, stroking his chin, and clutching his waist.Terence felt like he was standing on a cloud in zero gravity space. Melinda wrapped her strong fingers around the knot of his tie and pulled his mouth to hers. The union between their lips seemed to trigger the opening of a worm hole into another cosmic dimension. Curtains of light beamed from the unfolding space as Melinda wrapped her leg around his pelvis and―

“You're high!” Jaune cried in outrage. Terence startled. Her mouth was in his ear, whispering berogatory remarks. She had a painfully firm grip around his wrist and was dragging him from the visitation room. The relatives and friends of Ming stared at him, agast.

" Ladies and gentlemen. Please forgive Mr.Coon. I'm afraid he's suffering from a high fever and delerium," Jaune lied. "We assure you, everything is under control. Feel free to stay as long as you like." Terence's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. His head was fuzzy. Terence didn’t know why, but he began to laugh uncontrollably.

“Get him out of here!” Jaune ordered Ash. As Terence walked by the doors of the side entrance, he caught sight of his reflection in the dark glass; his eyes were bloodshot.

“I was closing the casket with Miss Fairweather,” Terence said to Ash, on their way to the staff lounge.  Ash shook his head.

“No, Terence. You were hallucinating. You threw your arms around us, told us you loved us, and then waltzed into the visitation room to close a casket that wasn't supposed to be closed. You've been acting strange this entire night." Terence’s stomach roared. He felt as though he was digesting his own proteins.

“I’m starving,” he groaned. Ash watched as Terence devoured everything in the fridge, including the dumplings, which had been previously brought to the lounge by Henreitta. He then passed out on the lounge table.

-

Terence awoke the next morning in the same place. His employees had obviously chosen to abandon him. One thing was for sure: Terence had been higher than the CN tower!  Melinda Marvolo had never been a real woman. She was a false memory; a weed induced hallucination.  Someone was slipping cannabis into his food and drink and it wasn't Jaune. She had made her stand against drugs quite clear in the past. She also couldn't have been holding back a file for a woman who never existed. Terence owed her an apology. When he stood, the entire room flipped and his face ended up plastered to the floor. Managing to sit upright, he leaned his head against the counter below the sink. He had a migraine; a throbbing, skull splitting migraine. Ash’s blurry form floated toward him― at least he thought it was Ash. A hand took his and the next thing Terence knew, he was staring into a sink drain filled with his own vomit.

“You look horrible!” Ash gasped. Terence clutched his head and groggily slumped into a chair. He could barely open his eyes; the light was so piercingly painful.“ Jaune told me about the marijuna Mr. O'reilly found in your system. Just how much did you do yesterday?!” he asked.

“I didn’t do this to myself, Wilson,” Terence whispered. There was a disgusting film lining the roof of his mouth. Desperate for a mouthful of cool water,Terence stumbled out of his chair toward the sink. Ash stopped him.

“I’ll get it,” he offered.

“Someone’s drugging me.” Terence lowered himself back into the chair and closed his eyes, resting his pounding head on his forearms. His brain was going to explode.

“Who would do that?”The sound of the glass thumping against the wood of the table made Terence jump. Terence sniffed and looked up at Ash’s hazy features. He took the glass of water and drank it down in one thirsty gulp.

“A man who would go to any lengths to get his revenge against me,” he stated.

"Are you suggesting Melvin Bowinkle?" Ash gaped.

"Yes." 

 

Ash gave Terence a loaded ice pouch for his head and drove him home. On his way out of the car, Terence managed to coat his neighbor’s petunias in a layer of stomach bile. Finally in bed, he took as many Advils as his liver could handle, rested the ice pouch on his feverish forehead and slept through the rest of the day.

His eyes shot open at the sound of a thump on his door. Still dizzy, Terence maneuvered his way toward the source of the knocking.

“Terence, I think you're on to something with this Bowinkle guy.” Ash was at the door. He was dressed for work and his hands were in his pockets. He teetered back and forth on his feet.

“What? What time is it?!” Terence looked to his left wrist only to find that he had taken his watch off before slipping into bed the other day. The sun was up and the air was brisk.

“It’s 7:30am. Did I wake you?” Terence grunted in response and beckoned for Ash to come in. His curly haired associate strolled into his living room. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the seat of a straight-backed chair. Terence nodded. Ash undid the bottom button of his suit and sat down. He looked at Terence, his legs crossed. “You’re looking better,” he said. Terence rolled his eyes and flopped into a chair across from Wilson.

“What are you doing here, Wilson?” he demanded. Ash sat forward.

“Terence,” he began, “I think you’re a bizarre man―”

“Okay―”

“ And I think that lately your paranoia has been getting a little out of hand. And yes, I think the marijuana definetly has something to do with it. But at the same time, I know you to be a proud man who is passionate about his career. You would never throw everything away for drugs. I think you’re right. I think Bowinkle is behind this.” There was a silence in which Terence’s sphinx cat, Anubis, came purring to his side.

“How do you know for sure?” Terence asked, stroking the creature’s warm bald head.

“Remember how he and Jaune used to tease you about that old soy sauce in the fridge? You’re the only one who uses it,” Ash said. How could Terence forget. Melvin used to tell him if he continued to consume it, he would get gut rot. Terence would, in turn, tell Melvin that there was only a trace amount of alcohol in soy sauce, which was no where near potent enough to give him gut rot.

“You're more likely to get gut rot from that crap you're brewing in your bathtub,” Terence would say. He had always suspected Melvin of having an alcohol problem. His suspicion turned out to be correct. Terence discovered Melvin eneibriated one day at work and dismissed him. Though he eventually admitted to being under the influence, Melvin hadn't thought his dismissal to be fair. This he told Terence when he returned to the funeral home, accompanied by two old widows adorning a perfume to which Terence was extremely sensitive. The man was an egotistic hypocrite. He took short cuts when preparing bodies, leaving them in a putrid state, buttered up old people as a way of holding a good social status, and treated everyone else with an air of apathy. He didn't deserve to be a funeral director, and yet he believed himself to be the best there was.

Ash continued, “When he came to Amigone Funeral Home several weeks ago with those strong smelling women, there was a moment―after you lost consciousness―where he could have snuck something into that soy sauce. " Upon hearing this postulation, Terence’s eyes widened.

“Oh lord,” Terence mumbled, massaging his temples. Terence had thought Melvin’s form of revenge had been the grannies and their toxic perfume. But What if Melvin had only brought them there to distract Terence from the real source of biological warfare―marijuana. “ I think it's time we had a little chat with Melvin. Where does that conniving little puke work these days?” Terence asked Ash.

“Tinkie and Tots Funeral Home.”

"Excellent. We'll go there during lunch," Terence said.

 

-

It was noon when Terence pulled into the parking lot of Tinkie and Tots Funeral Home.  In comparison to Amigone Funeral Home, the property was miniscule. The building itself was an odd spectacle. Tall and triangular, it was built into the side of a lopsided hill. Lace-like wooden deckles adorned the edges of the roof, giving it an eerie countenance. Everything about it was angular and narrow.

“What a snake house,” Terence snickered. Beside him, Ash was wringing his hands uncomfortably.

“I don’t know about this, Terence. I don’t like that we had to lie to Jaune about going to lunch,” Ash said.Terence ignored Ash and rang the doorbell. A craggy old woman and her ashen faced husband emerged from behind the door.

“Well howdy! I’m Tinkie and this is my husband, Tot. What can we do for y’all on this fine day?” The woman, Tinkie, had hair so thin it was transparent. Tot looked like a vegetable. It was no wonder Melvin worked at this place.

“We were just wondering if we could have a visit with Melvin. He’s an old friend of ours,” Terence explained in his sweetest most innocent voice.

“Why of course!” Tinkie beamed. Her smile was hideous. Her lashes were encrusted with layers of mascara.“Ya’ll head down to the basement. Good ol’ Melvin’s workin away on a body. Don’t hesitate to holler if ya’ll need something.” The woman winked at Terence. He stifled a gag before making his way down the creaking steps to the basement. The click-click of a duotonic injector grew louder as the two of them neared the prep room.

“Whatever you do, Wilson, don’t faint. You’ll make me look bad,” Terence told him. Ash took a deep breath and nodded. The prep room was an absolute dump. Splatters of red and yellow gunk coated the sink and cupboards, the floor was amuck with dirt, and the garbage was overflowing with soiled gloves and bloodied cotton.

“Look who it is,” Melvin said, switching off the embalming machine. “Terence, I dare say you’ve lost weight. I bet you’re about the same size as my client on the table over there. Perhaps you’d like the clothes he came in. He certainly won’t be needing them anymore!” Terence grabbed Melvin by his bloodstained smock.

“Listen to me, you little weasel, I know you spiked my soy sauce with marijuana. Your attempt at revenge was about as sloppy as the condition of this prep room. I fired you for being a chronic drunk and a disgusting human being. Do me a favor and grow some!” Terence dropped the man on his butt. Melvin chuckled.

“Funny you should say that,” he said, picking himself off of the ground. Behind his glasses, the man’s eyes glinted smugly. “Tell me, Terence, when was the last time you checked the garden in your backyard? I think you’ll find something very interesting growing there.” Terence stood gaping. The man couldn’t be serious. “Of course,” Melvin continued, “the cops won’t find it until after they’ve trashed your house.” Before Melvin could utter another haughty laugh, Ash pounced the man like a feral cat, socking him in the face. Blood burst from his lip, smearing his face and staining the pale tuft of hair on his head.Terence grabbed his snarling colleague by the collar, and together they fled the building.

“What got into you?!” Terence yelled. The two of them were breathing heavily in the parking lot. Ash shrugged and coughed violently. Melvin’s blood was all over his knuckles. He looked at his red-spotted hands in horror.

“That’s a lot of―” Ash crumpled to the concrete, unconscious.

 

Terence returned Ash to the funeral home before returning to his own house. It was as Melvin said. His house was in ruins. The tables were turned over and the cabinet doors were open and gutted. It looked as though a tornado had devastated the interior of his house. Anubis mewed in the corner of the kitchen. If she had fur it would have been standing on end. Two cop cars sat angled on his lawn in piles of disheveled turf. Terence picked up his quivering cat, stroking her until she settled down.

“Anubis,” he whispered in her disproportionately large ears, “I think daddy might be going away for a while.”

 

To be continued….

Author's Note

This is a continuation of Melinda Marvolo. Telll me what you think of the plot, the characters...I need your input!

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

Fantastic as usual. Only one thing stuck out for me... it is Clydesdale, not clidsdale. Otherwise, this is more of your wonderful crazy comedy that always makes me laugh. You've got a very interesting mind.

[ANM]

Terence is wonderful as always this was one of your funniest chapters well done Margo!!

[Margo Seuss]

Thanks so much! I always appreciate your encouraging comments.

[ANM]

You are welcome.

[jjwilbourne]

This was great. I'm stoked to see where it goes.
A few notes.
When Terence is walking to the car, you mention his jingling keys. Maybe if you went somewhere with that, it would feel a little less out of place. It's working a bit to show how determined he's walking, but I think you can turn it to be a tad more humorous.
When Terence is talking to Ash about Juane after the visit to the psychiatrist office, I think it might be better to end with Ash's reaction to Terence's statement about stealing his toupee.

The goth kid was awesome. so was the name of the funeral home Melvin worked at.
I love that you brought Melvin back.

[Margo Seuss]

I'm thrilled you've been following these stories. Be sure to read the finale! As for your key comment, how does this sound:"Each moody step he took toward his car produced a jingle from the keys in his pocket: a sound that made him feel like a Christmas clidesdale." Also, hows about this for Ash's reaction:“Wilson,” Terence sighed, “I think I may have stolen a man’s hair to no avail.” Ash laughed. He must have thought Terence was joking. "Yes, it's all very funny if your name isn't Mr. O'reilly," Terence said. Ash choked on his own laughter and looked to Terence, mortified.

Let me know if these added bits will help. I appreciate your review.

[jjwilbourne]

I like the additions.