“Here.”

Mandy huffs, reluctantly letting Sean take her keys. She just wants to get inside, damn it—wants to lock her door and-and fucking bury her head in a pillow and scream—

“Do you need anything?” Sean asks quietly.

Twenty shots and a do-over. “No. No, I’m—thanks for picking me up.”

Well, technically Sean had led her gangly body home from a crime scene via subway and a gentle hand. Mandy couldn’t impose on him further. He had a job too, one that didn’t involve horror movie masks.

Sean’s brow furrows. “You sure?”

Mandy sighs, scrubbing her face with both hands. “Y’know what? If-if you could just. Spare ten minutes?” I need somebody with a heartbeat.

Sean’s already leading her through her door. Kitchenette’s a mess of dishes she keeps telling herself she’ll get to after work. Mandy wants to make an excuse, but there’s her bedroom. She’s done talking tonight.

Should probably get a shower, too. But again, bed.

Sean sits at her hip. “Anything else? I can get tea from my place.”

Mandy shakes her head. Just hearing somebody breathe is good right now.

Fuck, that was so fucked up. Is that always what happens when people die? Do actual reapers come in and hug your soul? Sounds like a stoner writing a comic book. Mandy’s never touched a joint in her life but she really wishes she was high.

Sean gets a text. He scoffs quietly at it. Mandy wants to roll over, but she figures it’d be impolite. So she watches Sean’s light brown fingers jab his phone instead, wondering how he got the name Sean. Is one of his parents Irish? Looks like he’s got a white parent. Shit, is thinking about this racist?

Sean’s looking frustrated. Ugh, Mandy doesn’t want to talk. If she talks again, her voice might echo and turn into an ethereal orb thing. Sean’s different. Mandy knows he is, because he wasn’t there, no matter how cold his hands were when he’d walked her home.

It’s not dread, exactly. More like a distant anger at something. Either way, Mandy has to force her voice to crawl back up.

“Something wrong?” she murmurs.

Sean shoots her a sympathetic glance. “Just work stuff. I told them the situation, but.” He shrugs.

“If I’m keeping you—”

“You’re not,” Sean replies firmly. “I haven’t taken a day off in forever. Trust me, they owe me.”

Mandy’s pretty sure that’s not how employment works, even in a morgue. But her voice won’t work anymore, so she lets it be.

After another minute, Sean rolls his eyes and puts his phone away. He softens again when he looks at Mandy.

“I’ll get you some tea,” he says, “Ma’s recipe.”

Mandy nods.

“I’ll be right back. Five minutes tops.”

Mandy nods.

As soon as the door closes, Mandy switches her bedside lamp on. The lights Sean turned on in the rest of the apartment suddenly aren’t cutting it. She can’t look at it, though. It might turn blue.

Mandy rolls over and closes her eyes.

Five minutes pass.

Sean doesn’t come back.