The rain continued at a relentless pace. With their larger than normal drops cascading from the sky, the rim of his cap, which was, at the start of this horrible day, perfectly shined, but was now splattered with the remnants of the rain that refused to ease. It was now running down the sides and back of his hat, soaking his back and shoulders in the dress uniform he despised; especially today.
His white-gloved hands were also drenched, as he adjusted his grip on the slippery metal handle he carried. He blinked furiously to clear his eyes, as the rain that was pelting his face obstructed his vision, along with his own grief. It had, however, mingled with his tears, making it easier not to have to keep control. At least the rain was good for something.
John shook his head to clear it. He couldn't think. He was numb. Someone somewhere was talking, but he was only hearing fragments of what was being said.
"Follow the person…stay in step..stand at attention…gloves on casket…quarter turn to the right…"
Johnny felt a hand on his shoulder.
"John, are you alright?"
Shaking his head 'no' was his answer. He didn't know if he would be alright again. He felt sick to his stomach. His knees wanted to buckle. He looked out at the sea of blue uniforms. The bile in his throat began to rise and burn as he pushed it back down as he swallowed. His chest hurt. The ringing in his ears and his wavering vision was starting again. He took a deep breath to regain himself. He wanted to get out of there.
He glanced to his left at the motorcade of black; the steady line of darkness he had reluctantly agreed to be a part of. It had felt like entering a black hole. He had wanted to be there for her; for the children. She would have to face life without him now, and the children without their father. The Department would do what they could, along with her family and friends. It would be a long road. He would try to help. It was his duty, as a friend, as a "brother."
John jumped as a pat on the shoulder from a fellow pallbearer behind him brought him back to reality. The familiar trumpet rendition of "Taps" playing somewhere in the distance told him that it was time. The men slowly straightened, stood at attention and removed their rain-sodden gloves, and placed them on the casket, and departed.
John was the last. As he lingered with his hand resting on the casket, He lowered his head in saddened defeat. The woman wearing black arose from the metal chairs and met John at the casket and hugged him tightly, and they cried together for a few moments. She turned and took the children, and retreated to the awaiting black Cadillac, leaving Johnny to have some quiet time with his departed friend.
After a few minutes, John felt an arm around his shoulder, a comfort he longed for and needed.
"Hey, Junior." Roy stood along side his grieving friend.
Grateful, John turned to his best friend.
"Glad you're here, Pally. Don't think I could do this without you."
Roy pulled John into a hug, knowing that losing his friend from the police department had been rough on him, especially since it was a call they had been on together.
John's friend had been depressed, leaving people close to him question what had happened. John and Roy had been the ones to answer the call, and had surmised that it wasn't an "accidental" shooting that happened while Officer Trent Jennings was cleaning his revolver. Roy watched as his best friend tried frantically to save him. He watched his friend work like a madman doing CPR in the ER, even after Brackett decided to call 'Time of Death,' and Roy had been the one to pull his best friend out of the treatment room in sullen defeat.
Reports were filed, and the department had determined that it was "inconclusive," and ruled the shooting accidental. John had known Trent was down, and they had talked about it at length, and now John was left to wonder what really happened. John shared this information with the detective, and had spent the past week leading up to the funeral making himself sick worrying about it. Trent's wife Linda had even called John about her husband. She had talked about leaving him because he wouldn't get help. It had bothered John that she had taken his death so calmly. Perhaps it was the shock of it all. He had also felt that the investigation was too rushed. The detective didn't seem interested.
"Come on, Johnny. Let's go home. I think there's a couple beers with our names on 'em."
John nodded, and Roy put his arm around Johnny once again and led him to his car. He was going to help his friend through this.
As they made their way across the cemetery, an unsettling grin crossed the lips of Mrs. Linda Jennings as she watched the men leave. She reached down and hit the button, and raised the tinted window slowly of the black Cadillac. Ever so slowly it departed…