Chapter 47 Him
Him
Then
Today I’m at a funeral. Well, sort of. I’m standing alone under a sheltering copse of trees several hundred feet from the gravesite, dressed all in black—it is standard garb for the occasion, after all—and observing the proceedings.
A minister is droning on, imparting the usual mumbo jumbo that comforts the grieving in their darkest hours.
He’s taking his sweet time, and I wish he would finish already, because I have other places to be.
Like the hospital. I’m scheduled for a twelve-hour shift this afternoon, even though I’ve already worked fifty hours this week.
Between that and my time with you, my sweet Raven, I’ve hardly gotten a wink of sleep.
I would really love to go home, lay my head on a pillow for a while before my shift. But you need me right now.
And there you are, dabbing your eyes with a tissue and looking suitably sad, even though deep down you are happy that I saved you from what would have been a disastrous entanglement.
I could tell he wasn’t good for you from the moment I walked up behind him.
He would have used you, then tossed you aside like so much trash, because that’s what men do.
At least, most of them. Not me. I’m in it with you until the end.
Honestly, realizing what he would have done if I had left him alive made killing the guy that much easier, even if I didn’t particularly enjoy doing it.
But I’ll say this for him—your suitor was popular.
There must be at least thirty people clustered around the grave.
I shift my gaze from you to his parents.
They are easy to spot. Next to them is a young man who looks positively distraught.
A brother, perhaps? And there’s a sister, too.
A slender long-haired girl of maybe eighteen years, who stands looking down at the coffin as it is lowered into the ground.
I watch with fascination, wondering how my actions will shape her life yet to come.
One day, a few years from now, I might check in on her, just to find out.
And who knows, maybe I’ll see in her some nuance of character, some small detail that sucks me in, just like the tattoo that drew me to you.
And wouldn’t that be ironic, if killing that guy to save you becomes the catalyst for a new love in the future?
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to focus, because the minister has finished up, and the casket has slipped from view.
The mourners are turning to each other and talking in hushed tones as they file away from the grave.
I watch them go and watch you go, too, walking next to his parents and sister, and I can see that you are commiserating with them.
I should leave as well. The sky is overcast, and it looks like rain—a fittingly somber day—and I only came here for you.
But I don’t leave. I stay in the shadow of the trees and watch the cemetery crew fill the grave using a small backhoe.
There is something weirdly fascinating about the process, like peeking behind the curtain at a theater and seeing the wings and the lights and the rigging and all the mundane stuff that creates the illusion.
Because once the mourners have departed, the pretense of somber respect gives way to the reality of sticking a person down in a hole.
The men who do this job wear hard hats and fluorescent jackets.
They use noisy, dirty machinery. They might as well be repairing a broken water main or filling a ditch.
There isn’t even a headstone yet. That won’t come for at least six months.
In the meantime, they might put a temporary plaque on the grave, but he doesn’t even have that yet.
Just a bunch of sodden dirt and fading memories.
Yet once the workers are done, I’m compelled to visit that small mound of earth.
I step out from beneath the trees and make my way across the grass.
I don’t know what I’m doing, or even why I’m doing it.
I never visit the graves of those I have helped from this world.
I want to remember them as they were in life .
. . as they were on that last special night we spent together.
Memories that will stay with me forever.
But this one is different. I have no attachment to him. Quite the opposite. I look down at his grave and wish he had possessed the good sense to stay away from you, because then I wouldn’t have been forced to put him here.
A phrase rattles through my mind. Slightly misquoted, but a fitting eulogy to my actions.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, from whence you came, so I have returned you.
And I would do it again, although I hope it won’t be necessary. In fact, I know that it won’t, because—
“I didn’t think anyone would still be here.”
The voice startles me, and for a moment, panic sets in until I pull it under control and turn to face you, standing there with a stuffed toy in your arms. A pink fluffy . . . something. My gaze drops briefly to the raven tattoo peeking out from under the cuff of your black dress. “Me either.”
You hold up the toy. “I meant to bring this to the funeral, but I forgot. He gave it to me for my birthday a couple of years ago. It was a joke, but I don’t know .
. . It kind of summed up our relationship in a weird way.
I went back home and got it because I couldn’t stand the thought of him being down there all alone.
I wanted a piece of me to be here with him. ”
“That’s so thoughtful.”
“Thanks.” You lean down and place the stuffed fluffy pink thing among the flowers and wreaths that the workers put over the grave once they were done filling it in. “You look familiar. I’m sure we’ve met before.” A moment of uneasy silence. “Wait. I’ve got it. You came into the store.”
I nod, my mind going a mile a minute.
“I figured you might come in again, but you didn’t.”
“It wasn’t my cup of tea.”
“And now you’re here. It’s so weird.”
I shrug. “Just paying my respects.”
“I didn’t see you at the funeral.”
“I’m a private person.” This much is true.
You look into my eyes, and it’s like you are searching for some hidden truth. “How did you know Alex?”
Stop. Think. This could turn into a trap, and I haven’t prepared a suitable story. I wasn’t intending for us to meet like this, at the grave of the person I killed for you, but now that we have, I’m backed into a corner.
I need to say something, anything, or it’s going to look weird. I take a gamble. “College.”
You nod thoughtfully and I breathe a sigh of relief. But you aren’t done yet. “You must have known Lucas, then.”
I stare at her, hoping she will be more forthcoming about who Lucas might be, because this really could trip me up. When she does not say anything else, I shake my head, hoping it will put an end to the conversation.
“Really? That surprises me. They met in college, and they’ve been together ever since. At least until a couple of weeks ago, when they broke up.”
Wait. What the actual fuck? The guy I killed had a boyfriend?
How could I have gotten this all so wrong?
He wasn’t interested in you, at least not like that, because he wasn’t interested in any woman.
I think back to the funeral and the brother who looked so distraught, except that it probably wasn’t his brother, and I’ve messed up big-time.
I need to say something and salvage this mess. “Oh. Right. Lucas. I must have misheard you.”
You wipe away a tear. “I still can’t believe what happened. I was the last person to see Alex alive. He was murdered right after he left my place. Like, that very morning. At least that’s what the police tell me.”
“The police?” Finally, something useful. “Do they have any leads?”
“I don’t think so. At least not yet. They asked a lot of questions about Lucas and why Alex was at my apartment.”
“Why was he at your apartment?” I might as well find out, since I killed him for it.
“He was upset. He texted me and asked if we could meet up. I guess he needed a shoulder to cry on. We went out for drinks, and then I took him back to my place, because I didn’t think he should be alone.
God, if I had known this would happen, I wouldn’t have suggested it.
Or I would have stopped him from leaving so early.
Or . . .” Your bottom lip is trembling. “They think someone followed him off the train. That he was targeted. It might even have been a hate crime.”
Shit. So much for the cops not knowing anything, even if they did jump to conclusions on the motive. But it’s fine. I was smart. Careful. And honestly, it was to be expected. But I’m pushing my luck staying here. The more we talk, the more chance I have of slipping up. This has gone on long enough.
I glance at my watch. “Well, it was really great meeting you, but I have places to be.”
“Oh, okay.” You nod, and I get the sense that you would rather be alone, anyway. Then you say, “See you again sometime?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.” Wow! Are you flirting with me at the grave of your dead friend?
“Good. You know where to find me.”
“Sure do.” I turn to leave, but you call after me.
“Wait. I don’t know your name.”
And you never will. At least, not my real one. “It’s Jarod.”
“Jarod. I like that.” It’s a lie, because no one likes the name Jarod, but you pull it off. “I’m Luna.”