Introducing Slade Mortimer: The Roaming Mortician

He lay on the couch, semiconscious and unmoving. If he wanted to, he could probably open his eyes. If he wanted to, he could probably sit up and find out where he was. But he didn’t want to.

He heard his name whispered softly and earnestly, “Slade Mortimer.” Barely cracking his eyes open, he saw two shaking hands holding a piece of paper near him.

When the face leaned close he saw that it was an old woman. He held his breath, tightened his lids and drifted. It was good to lie there, good to hav...