Recapitulation: Barry has knocked Jenna unconscious by pulling her headfirst into Gertrude Wilborough’s grave. In the process of getting them out, an old man sees them. Barry attempts to force the man’s will to his own, not realizing that this particular man was little better than a sick child.
The well-worn wallet demonstrated deep depressions outlining a series of credit cards cascading downward. Barry imagined the old man’s face felt just like this dead cow skin. Brown as the dirt below. He slid this into his back pocket, along with the papers already stuffed in there. Lowered himself into the coffin, threw the shovel out, and hefted it back out. They continued their grimy work. The caked dirt on Barry’s face developed shiny ruts as sweat droplets gathered up the soil on its way down his face.
Around this time, Jenna woke up and stumbled over to their anti-archaeological dig. Her drunken weaving made Barry dizzy.
“What happened?” She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation.
The old man took a step back, then dropped his shovel on the firm ground. “You’re not dead.”
“Neither are you, maybe we should wait a little longer. What happened?” She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation.
“You fell on your head pretty bad. Go sit down. And you, pick that shovel up and keep shoveling.” Barry’s arms scorched from within. The shovel handle pricked at his fingers. They threatened to straighten out with each passing second. Holding the shovel got almost as bad as filling the hole.
“Hey, what happened?” She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation.
Barry looked at her. “You didn’t hear me just now?”
“I heard you just now.” Jenna looked around, processing the graveyard. “Who’s he?”
“One question at a time. You fell down, hit your head. Go sit down over there.” He brandished the shovel towards a solid gravestone.
“Ok.” She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation. Jenna weaved through to the gravestone, spun in a tight circle as if caught in a stirred drink, then slumped to the ground. A few seconds later, she wobbled back to Barry on her hands and knees. “I might have already asked this, but what happened?”
“You hit your head. I think you might have a concussion.”
She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation. “Please, I didn’t hit my head, what are you talking about. What happened? Who’s he?”
This day just kept getting better and better.
Barry set the shovel down as he would a child, then walked over to Jenna. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and walked her back to the grave. “Listen, you fell on your head when we were trying to finish the job, alright? I’ll take you to the hospital, but first me and him have to fill the hole back up. So, can you wait here and just sit here for another half hour or so? Remember that one thing, just wait right here.”
She nodded back at him, staring hard at him, her eyes slitted. Her mind was coated in teflon at this point, nothing he said would stick. “Who’s he?”
“Just a helper. Now, please, just wait here, and don’t do anything, don’t wander away, just sit her quietly, alright?”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
“I will tell you what happened later, alright? I’ve got to finish this.”
“Alright.” She sat down, her back to the gravestone, staring up at the sky. Barry walked back to Ms. Wilborough’s resting place and started shoveling. A few seconds later, Jenna popped up behind him. Barry turned around. She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation. “What happened?”
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