The Halloween Angel
By: A. E. Roberts

Exiting the church after the funeral, a young man clutching his coat close to his chest quickly strode across the walkway and up the hill of the cemetery on the churchgrounds. Behind him, a small group lead by a coffin being carried by pallbearers proceeded down the hill and in the opposite direction of the young man. At one point, the man stopped walking and immediately fell to his knees onto the cold ground. He remained there, looking off into the distance, for some unknown amount of time.

"Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor of memory?" He asked himself. "When single frames of one magic night forever flicker in close-up on the 3-D IMAX of my mind?" Removing the glasses from his face, he wiped his eyes with the end of his scarf. Eventually, with a sigh, he replaced the spectacles on his face and stood from the spot he had been kneeling.

"That's poetic."

The sudden presence of a second voice, meaning the presence of a second individual, caused the young filmmaker to jump in place. Turning around, he found he was now standing before a young woman dressed in long jean skirt and a simple black blouse. The brightly colored scarf around her neck was a contrast to her otherwise conservative appearance.

"That's pathetic." He corrected, shaking his head and turning away from the speaker.

"Are you visiting someone?" The woman asked after a silent moment between the two, the man slowly nodded.

"Leaving someone here." He replied, his voice shaky as he fought to hold back the emotions that came flooding back to him. "A friend."

"I'm sorry." The woman said. "What was his name?" Her voice was soft.

"His…her… name was…Angel." Just speaking the name broke his heart all over again.

"And yours?" She asked, taking a small step forward and placing a hand on his forearm. Surprisingly, he didn't object to the touch.

"Mark." He answered in a whisper. "Mark." Turning around again, he faced the young woman but kept his eyes down. "I'm Mark."

"Mark." She repeated. Across the cemetery, the church bells chimed, singing the praises of the day. Both Mark and the young woman looked up and panned left to the glance at the steeple of the church. The sound of the great brass bells seemed to bring Mark Cohen back to the reality that he desired to hide from.

"I'm sorry." He said softly.

"For what?" The woman asked, with more curiosity than confusion in her voice.

"For your loss." Mark replied. The woman remained quiet for a moment before answering.

"How do you know I lost someone?"

"Because you're here too." Again, she remained silent for a time.

"My brother." She said finally. At this, Mark looked up, for the first time, at the face of the woman he had been conversing with. She was only slightly shorter than him, with naturally olive completed skin, thick brown hair and blue-green eyes.

"What was his name?" Mark inquired.

"Aaron." She replied.

"And yours?"

"Maria." She said softly. It sounded almost like praying.

"Maria." Mark repeated. At this point, Maria turned and walked a few paces to her right, stopping in front of a small, polished headstone. Crouching down, she brushed off a few stray leaves that had blown onto the marker, exposing a name and two dates.

Aaron Michael D'Angeli
March 12th, 1979October 31st, 1996

"He would have been 20 this year." Maria explained. "I told him, when he got sick, that I'd come visit him whenever I could. That I wouldn't leave him." Reaching into her pocket, she carefully pulled out a small handkerchief which contained a beaded rosary with black and white alternating beads. In the middle was a medallion with a picture of the Virgin Mary on it and at the end hung a silver crucifix. Maria then positioned herself on her knees and closed her eyes, holding the prayer beads between her hands on her lap.

Mark, not wanting intrude during such a sacred ceremony, looked at Maria once more before turning and beginning his walk down the slope towards the freshly dug grave surrounded by his companions. Before he had gotten very far, however, he heard a soft voice call out.

"Please don't leave." Looking back, he saw Maria, still kneeling before the grave of her brother but looking over her shoulder back at him. "Mark? Would you mind staying for a few minutes?" Her voice, previously calm and collected was now sorrowful and somewhat shaken. Not being able to just walk away from her, Mark turned around and knelt down beside Maria, mimicking her position save for the rosary. Together, the pair prayed in their own way for a time. Eventually, Maria opened her eyes, crossed herself and whispered an 'amen'. Looking to her right, she found Mark rocking slightly and whispering under his breath before he too opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I'm Jewish." He explained somewhat sheepishly. Maria simply nodded in understanding. After helping Maria to her feet, the two gazed at the headstone once more before turning to face each other.

"It's so hard, isn't it?" Maria asked with a soft sigh. "Saying goodbye?"

"Yes, it is." Mark agreed. "I know so many people who will…" But then he fell silent. He couldn't bring himself to complete this sentence. Instead, he simply added,
glancing over his shoulder at his waiting group. "Perhaps it's because I'm the one to survive."

"Thank you," she said, "for the prayer. I know Aaron appreciates it too."

"You're welcome." Mark replied. Glancing down the hill, he noticed the group he had come with was slowly starting to disperse, only leaving his close colleagues standing around the grave of their friend and lover.

"I'm sorry but I really should be going now." Mark confessed, turning back to Maria.

"No, it's alright. I understand." She said, nodding meaningfully.

"It was…nice to meet you." Mark reached out somewhat awkwardly to shake her hand. Maria accepted the gesture and took his hand with her own. When they had released their grasp, Mark noticed something in his palm. Glancing down, he found the black and white rosary Maria had been praying with hanging from his fingers. Looking up, he saw Maria starting to walk back down the hill and towards the church.

"Maria. Wait." He quickly jogged over to where she had stopped and turned to look at him at the sound of her name. "You forgot this." He explained, holding out the rosary to her. But Maria simply shook her head.

"No I didn't." Mark couldn't understand. "It's for you. It was meant for you." She added, reaching out and tugging slightly on the similarly patterned scarf that hung around his neck.

"Maria, I can't accept this." Mark protested.

"It's yours." She said, pushing his hands back towards his body.

"But…why?" He asked, unable to understand what was happening.

"I think you'll need this more than I do." She explained. "Aaron told me once, just before he died, that I would never be alone. As long as there were people on earth to remember them and our loved ones in Heaven to look out for us, we would never truly be alone." Mark was speechless.

"Thank you, Maria." Mark finally said, carefully putting the rosary around his neck and tucking it inside his shirt. Maria gave him a small smile and a slight squeeze of his hand before turning around to make her way back towards the church.

Mark stood for a few more moments watching both Maria's fading figure and the group still gathered around Angel's grave. Looking around, half wishing he had his camera with him, Mark couldn't help but ask himself one last question.

"Why am I the witness? And when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone?"

Reaching up, Mark gently touched the bumps in his shirt where the black and white beads rested against his chest. No. He would never be alone. As he walked down towards his friends, he suddenly realized that, yes, he might be the only one to survive but his friends would never truly leave him and he would never forget them.

: End :

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