A rough hand touched him, manipulating his hands a bit and pushing his cheeks around. Then something was laid on his chest. It smelled like a bouquet of flowers so that's probably what it was. He heard some clattering and shuffling for a few minutes and then a different, older voice said, "The doors open in five minutes. I want the window sills dusted and one of you needs to vacuum the front hall. I'll greet the guests today so you guys can get a quick lunch. Be back by two for the next showing." The two younger men must've nodded because Brett didn't hear a reply. Then there was nothing but silence for what felt like a very long time. It gave him time to reflect on his life and his choices. He wasn't surprised that most of his memories were laced with regrets. Suicides generally don't have rosy pasts. He thought of poor Sarah. They'd been together for almost two years and they'd been living together for the better part of a year. She was a nurse at the hospital. She'd saved his life every single time he'd attempted suicide; well, every time except this last time.
