Generally speaking, there are three rules to follow when speaking with the Dead.  Much like the famed wise men or the stars in Orion’s Belt, you, yourself are made up of threes.  Your body.  Your mind.  And your soul. While one is not particularly more important than the other, together they create an unwavering bond. So, it only makes sense that you must follow the rule of three, or the Triangulum Mortis as most death talkers call it, when speaking with the Dead.

Firstly, it’s not some sort of social club that you can just approach a dead bloke at the bar.  You must ask for permission to speak to them, and if they so see fit, they will answer you so long as they’re no more than three hours deceased.  You see, much like a desperate teenager searching for cellular service off the edge of a cruise ship while their parents down another piña colada, the further the Dead get from their departure, the weaker the signal until it is completely gone. 

Similarly speaking, whether you’re the one guzzling coconut cocktails or sulking over solitude in the afterlife might say a lot about the life you lived.

If you do have the fortune to speak with the recently deceased, you will only have three minutes to speak with them.  There is no reason to bother with pleasantries because when you’re dead, you don’t really care how the other person is doing or care to say ‘not much, you?’ one more time in your life.  That’s rule number two.

In fact, naturally born death talkers, the Necroquen, believe their gift was given to provide closure for the Dead, not for the benefit of the living, so don’t bother asking if there is a god or if they’ve been reborn into a sunflower or Labrador puppy, they really just need someone to talk to.

The third, and most important of the rules for chatty Necroquen is that you can only ask up to three questions, so choose wisely.

These rules may sound oddly specific, but just as a toddler instinctively knows a fart noise is funny, the rule of three is known by all Dead and passed on through generations of the Necroquen, much like Guadalupe Lasconsanes did by carefully watching her Abuela.

Now Guadalupe, or Lupe as she goes by now, clutched to the side door of a fifteen-year-old minivan wondering where her life went wrong.

“Lupe, are you done yet? They just called in another pick-up.” Riz called back into the cab of the minivan.  His finger’s continuously tapping the steering wheel, filled to the brim with caffeine. 

“Aye, carajo, yes.” The sliding door behind Lupe rattled, worn from one-too-many uses.  “Oh, sorry, no, estaba hablando con mi irritante amigo.”

Riz glanced back in the rear-view mirror.  He heard no respond but could see a grin creep onto Lupe’s face.  She looked tired, and he certainly felt it, but that was the life of a mortuary transporter.  Death did not have a nine to five schedule.

“Yes, I’m sure your family is proud, it doesn’t matter what you did but who you were, or at least that’s what my Abuelita would tell me.” 

Lupe, her black hoodie fading into the nighttime sky, adjusted from one knee to another. 

“You know my father was a lawyer before he came to America?  He moved not knowing his degree would be worthless here in the States, so he got a job picking up trash, and then, as the family grew he picked up a night janitorial shift for extra cash, and then when my baby sister was born he added a third job.  A weekend landscaper, mowing grass for our neighborhood.  He took pride in it.  As much pride as when he was back in Mexico defending his clientele.”

Lupe’s eyes glanced down at a stopwatch in her hand.  The flickering numbers glowed a red hue onto her face.  “And now, may find peace in your rest.” 

All zeroes now reflected in the dark pools of her eyes.

The two sat in silence for a moment, in memoriam of their deceased passenger before Lupe zippered back up the black body-bag.

“So, your father was a lawyer and a doctor?” Riz scratched in his head in fake confusion.  “He should have stayed in Mexico, he’d be rich.”

“Oh, shut it.” Lupe said, slapping Riz’s shoulder. 

One by one, her black Doc Martens climbed back over into the passenger seat.  “These people need to hear what they need to hear.  Wouldn’t you want that?”

“You mean not the truth?”

“Uh, yeah, the man was living alone.  No sign of family or any contact from anyone in years.  The only pictures he had up in his apartment were from when his kids were children.”

“So?” Riz’s eyes danced between the winding interstate and his phone’s screen.

Lupe pulled one foot up onto the seat, tugging her knee into her chest.  “So? They’re all in the 40s now, or that’s what he said, who knows if he even remembers what their actual ages are.”

Riz glanced at his phone again, checking the time.  “Are you good for one more after this?  I know it’s getting late.”

“Yeah, my parents are out of town this weekend.  It’s just Abuelita at home and she’s probably asleep already.”

“Are you ever going to tell them about this job?” Riz’s thick eyebrows crinkled together to form a hairy catepillar.  “This way I don’t have to keep picking you up from the train station any more.”  He looked back at the dead body behind him.  “It’s not a terrible job, you know?”

She rolled her window down, letting out the slow building stench of death. 

“Yeah, I know, but no.  It’s not worth it.”

The van’s front light blinked at the oncoming traffic as Riz pulled off the highway.

Lupe let her hand hang out of the open window, gliding in the air.  She thought back to the first time her abuela took her to see a dead body.  It was, of course, to see if Lupe had the gift that her and her mother shared.

Although she was only six-years-old at the time, it was then that Lupe began to understand the importance of comfort and in turn realize that people prayed because they too needed the comfort. 

Her family took great pride in being Necroquen – a term she was certain one of her great-grand-ancestors made up.

When old man Lopez peered up at six-year-old Lupe she shook with fear.  Despite not wanting to, she heard him speak, faintly glowing.

But what type of child would want that responsibility?  She certainly did not, which is why she hid her Necrobilities from her family and why she now hid this job from them too.

“All for the better.”  She told the wind.

The wind whipped through the sun kissed the Western horizon. An amalgamation of oranges and purples pierced through the droves of black spruces that crowded the nearby hillsides. The hovering black sky looming overhead. 

“Is the next one a road or roof?” Lupe turned to find Riz staring over at her. 

His eyes flickered and his head shook and shot back towards the open road.  “Looks like a residential.  Should be fast.” He promptly said.

Lupe watched as Riz backed the caravan-turned-hearse into one of their regular funeral homes.  This gave her lanky friend some more time to ignore that he’d be caught watching her again.

She playfully called his name “Riz?”

He kept his eyes on the funeral home’s garage. 

“Have you ever wondered if I was making all of this up? You know, the talking to the Dead thing?”

Riz unlocked the van, and two porters began to pull the dead body onto a gurney. 

“What? No…no.”  He was now in what Lupe referred to as Professional Riz mode.  Much like everything else he did, he took this job seriously, at least more seriously than Lupe did.  He’d sit more upright, focus on the current job at hand, and even speak a little more properly.  Fact of the matter was, he could be a complete ass sometimes when he fell into this version of himself, so Lupe treasured every chance she got to mess with him.

“What if I were just crazy? Like clinically insane and was just making this shit up to get closer to the Dead?  Maybe I just like the attention all those dead eyes give me?”

She smiled as Riz, clearly flustered now, struggled to hand the paperwork over to one of the home’s assistants.  “I mean, it could just be as simple as me being a straight up whack-o.  No reason behind it.”

Riz frantically closed the window shut and finally looked back over.  Lupe leaned up against her door, grinning from ear to ear.  He imagined Lupe’s mother saw a lot of her in this exact pose growing up.

He suppressed the ‘this is professional work’ lecture attempting to burst out from inside of him, no, from that smug look he knew that’s what she was trying to do. 

“No, I never have thought you were lying. I’ve seen you enough times to know you’re not, even if you lie to them, you care about what you’re doing.”

The mole that sat on top of the corner of her mouth slowly dropped as her smile faded into a blush. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Riz always liked the way it followed her expressions, the way an orchestra followed its conductor.

Lupe tucked a piece of non-existent hair behind her ear.  “Well way to ruin the fun.”

She decided to undo her ponytail and pull it back up to, giving her hands something to do.  “But thanks.”

Riz was the only person Lupe had ever told about her gift.  That’s what her family called it, but he always wondered what the difference was between a gift and curse besides the perspective you viewed it from? 

Riz of course immediately equated her to one of those comic book superheroes, but what he didn’t do was judge her and believed her right off the bat, something she never thought would happen, because well why would you?

Glistening in the moon light, the midnight blue van cruised to its next destination.

It can certainly be a weird sensation, knowing you’re headed directly towards death.  Wondering if a mourning family will be around or the body would be alone with no one else besides their twenty cats.  It’s the part of the job as a mortuary transporter that you’re never prepared for and the type of job, when you’re on the other side of things, that you wonder how someone even came across the career. 

The work is done long after the worst part of things and most people tend to stand in shock, watching two black-clad strangers drag the Dead to a modified Dodge Caravan or Toyota Sienna, never seeing the couriers again.

This particular pick-up was a fast one. A grab ‘n’ go as Riz, in all his mortuary transport experience, would call it.  Most of the time in this situation they’d find out the Dead were either like their previous pick-up, estranged from their family, or an out-of-towner.

Lupe waited for them to be around the corner before climbing back and unzipping the plastic bag.  A young, blond woman was revealed, maybe in her late-20’s or early-30’s staring back at Lupe. 

It was not a comforting feeling when the body you were looking at was around the same age as you.  Fresh bruises lined the side of the woman’s face.  Blood splattered through her clothes like a forged Picasso. 

Grasping to a half-moon pendant that dangled off a leather necklace, Lupe closed her eyes and asked for permission to speak with the recently deceased.

“Gone you are, at long last to rest.

Questions still linger for this unspoken guest.

Through the darkness, it’s the light we now seek.

And so I now must ask if we may speak.”

Riz mouthed the phrase along with Lupe until she finished and waited for her to start talking.

A flicker of white light began to trace around the woman’s eyes until they opened up wide.  Lupe started her three-minute stop watch as the trace of light continued to flow down to her nose, then her mouth, and on to the rest of her body before the light-traced imprint sat up to face her.

“Ugh, no, I’m dead, aren’t I?” She eyed Lupe up and down.  “You didn’t kidnap and kill me, right? I mean, with that outfit who knows.”

Not flustered by the questioning, Lupe answered succinctly.  “Yes and no.” 

She weighed what to say next.  “You don’t know how you died, do you?”  That’s one, Lupe thought to herself.

“No, clearly not.” The woman scoffed at Lupe.  “Oh, my god, what happened to me?” Finally, the imprint of the woman glanced down at herself.

A bell rung out from Riz’s phone.  “Lup, we’ve got another one in the next town over, I’m going to head over there, and we’ll double up.” 

“Got it – this one doesn’t have much to say anyway.” Lupe watched on as one version of the woman inspected the other.

“Excuse me, I might now have much to say because I’m in shock – I’m dead! Wait…” An idea popped into the woman’s mind. “Do you think Terrence killed me?  He was always lurking around the hallway whenever I’d get home.  I knew he like me liked me, but was he like a Dexter-type of psycho? Oh my god, that must be it! You need to go to the police, that creep killed me!”

Lupe let the woman continue on as she reminded herself of one very tough lesson she learned early on as a Necroquen: The Dead must tell what they believe to be the truth, not what necessarily is the truth.

“Quick, tell your friend up there to go back!  I’ll haunt that sonovabitch for the rest of his life for doing this to me!”

Nodding along, Lupe decided to play along.  “I know, I can’t believe he’d do that do you!”  She exasperated.  “I live like in the next town over and can’t imagine living so close to a serial killer. 

“Hey!  Can I write a book about this?”  That’s number two, she thought.  A waste of a question but oh well.  “I’m sort of an aspiring writer and this would just shoot up the bestseller list!”

The white outline of the woman shimmered.  “I mean, now that’s fire, who do you think they’d cast as me in the movie?”

Already thinking of an adaptation, huh?  Lupe thought.  She kept an eye on the stopwatch.  “That’s tough to tell, you have such a unique look…blond…white…beautiful, I mean so little choices to pick from.  Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”  Third and final but worth it.

“Oh sure.”

“Actually…” Lupe held up a finger.  “I think that’s time.  May you find happiness in your next life.”

“Wait…what….” The woman’s voice trailed off as the imprint dissipated away into the night.

“That, uh, sounded interesting.” Riz grunted as Lupe began to climb back to her second seat.

“She deserved it.  Nothing to talk about but herself and I’m sure it was like that prior to death too.” 

She looked back at the zippered bag.  “The first thing most people ask about are their loved ones.  This one probably tripped in her stilettos while triple-checking her make-up on her phone and fell down the apartment stairs.”

“You are just a ray of sunshine tonight, aren’t you?”

Riz wound the van from one street to another. 

“Hey, what are we doing here?”  Lupe inspected the nearby street sign.

“The next pick-up is right down that block.” Riz pointed ahead.

Lupe’s heart skipped a beat.  “Wait…”  She scrambled to pull her phone out of her jean pocket but couldn’t find it.

“Shit.”  She slid the seat back as far as it could go, rummaging underneath the seat until her fingers felt the familiarity of her phone.

A faint blue light blinked at the top of the phone. Seven missed calls, the first nearly three hours ago, it was now three minutes past midnight.

“No, no, no…”

Riz hurried to come to a complete stop as Lupe flung her door open, running out towards her house.

The wide-eyed moon shined down on Lupe like a spotlight as she ran hurdled towards the two-story house. 

A police officer stood, leaning up against the screen door. “Woah, where are you running to missy?”

The policeman held an arm out but Lupe shoved the unsuspecting officer out of the way, running past to find her abuela lying motionless on the floor. 

“Abuelita…” She whispered.  “No, please, no.”

A tiny, motionless woman rested on the floor.  Behind her, the telephone laid askew on the floor and a chair tipped over. 

She looked peaceful, her short curls floating above the carpet and her floral bata tucked up against her frail bones. 

Lupe knelt next to her abuela and quickly went through the ritualistic incantation.  Her eyes flashed over to the clock on the wall.  The birds on its face said it was now ten-past-midnight, Lupe only hoped that it hadn’t been more than three hours.

Riz’s lanky shadow appeared on the far wall seemingly explaining the situation to the previously accosted police officer. 

Deep, black bags encircled Lupe’s abuela’s eyes.  She could only imagine what Abuelita would say if strangers saw her not made up and in her pajamas.  Lupe couldn’t help but smile, and then, finally, a hint of white light pierced through. 

It wasn’t the abuela that was lying next to her that appeared though, it was the abuela that she always saw in old photos. 

Long, thick hair pulled back, revealing pearl earrings.  Thick cat-eye make-up and lipstick that popped even in shades of gray.

“Nieta.” Abuelita reached out to Lupe, her translucent hand sweeping through her granddaughter’s chin.  “My little wolf…you are…”

Lupe shook her head, unable to answer.

Despite the age difference, Lupe could easily see her Abuela’s disappointment in her.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want it.  I didn’t want the responsibility.”

Lupe had thought about this moment for a very long time.  Rehearsed the words over and over again until she couldn’t think about it any long.  “How could you just take your granddaughter and show her a freshly dead man?  I could barely tie my shoes.”

“The responsibilities of a Necroquen are larger than one person, Lupe.  It is more than speaking to the Dead, there is so much you must learn that it is essential to start at a young age.  The same age that I stated at.”  She poked her glowing chest.  “And your mother too.  We could have helped you.”

She didn’t look mad, though, it was an unfamiliar look that Lupe saw on her Abuela’s face.  She looked upset.  Upset that Lupe had to go through the growing pains of being a death talker on her own.

Lupe twirled her silver half-moon between her fingers.  “I still learned from you, by just watching.  You and mom talk a lot, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I do, and do you know you just wasted your second question?”  Abuela raised an eyebrow.

“You know, I always wished that I used my gift for more than just community work.  We have only scratched the surface of what we could accomplish as a Necroquen.” 

She turned to Lupe as if just considering the possibilities.  “There are some of us out there solving murder cases you know?  There is so much to do, yet I stayed at home and took after my family.  I guess that’s just who I am.”  Abuela pulled on her braid of hair. 

“Where do the years go?” She asked herself.  “I was this beautiful once upon a time, you know? But I didn’t think it at the time.  I was an idiota.  Don’t throw your younger years away mi nieta.”

“I won’t Abuelita.” 

Lupe intertwined her fingers into her dead Abuela’s fingers, younger Abuela laying her hand on top of theirs.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.  I didn’t feel like part of the family after that day.  I felt like I didn’t belong.  If I couldn’t accept my gift like you and mom did then how could I be one of you? I was just Lupe, the Lasconsanes failure.  I guess I didn’t appreciate what I had back then, and now I have less than a minute to try and make up for all the years of disappointment.  Where do I even begin?”

A dahlia began to bloom in her Abuela’s hair.  “You see, and that’s where you needed training little wolf.  You see, the way Necroquen learn are through other Necroquen, not only living but the Dead as well.  Even when we pass, we are able to access the material plane, to pass on the word of the Necroquen, so you can say this is only the beginning.”  

Lupe wants to ask how that was possible, but no words would exit her mouth when it opened.

“You see, again…wasteful questions.”  Abuelita smiled brightly, a mole dancing over her upper lip, and for the first time Lupe could clearly see herself in her Abuela.

“I love you, Abuela.”  Lupe felt drained, mentally, and physically.  She didn’t know what to do next.  How will she tell her mom, not only about Abuela, but about herself too.

“I love you too, Guadalupe, but it’s time for me to rest, and you too.”

“But…” Lupe objected.  She wished there were no stupid rules for talking to the Dead.

“It is fine my dear.”  Abuela’s voice began to fade away and the once shimmering light was now a low glow. 

Her hand reached up to Lupe’s necklace before the hand vanished away.  “I gave this too you on that day when we went to visit Señor Lopez.  I knew one day I’d be gone, and one day I’d want to see you again, even passed this life.  That’s what this is for.  Whenever you need me, use this as a focus to call on me when asking for permission and I’ll be there.” 

Younger Abuela, now just a glint of light, laid back down on top of her present self, a shimmer of light peeking out from behind her collar.  Lupe reached down, revealing a mirrored version of her pendant.  The half-moon, a perfect pair to hers. 

“So that we can always be one.” Abuela’s one last breath called out.

Lupe steadied herself before getting back up.  She felt like she’d been kneeling for three days, not three minutes. 

Riz waited, alone at the front door, not saying anything, just watching, waiting to see if Lupe needed anything. But she didn’t.  She knew what she wanted to do now, or at least had a general idea. A spark of inspiration.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like an outcast.  She had a purpose, and she’d learn as much as she could about being a Necroquen, from her Abuela, and yes, maybe even her mother too, before she too was prepared to pass on her knowledge.

She had a clear path ahead, she just needed to forge on.  And yeah, maybe she’d let Riz help her out too.

Copyright William Meier Jr. 2022 ©