Prologue
After the death of his brother and sister-in-law some ten years earlier, Special Agent Don Eppes had thought he could never feel such overwhelming pain again. He was deadly wrong…
Sitting now with his father's cold lifeless hand in his warm one, Don knew what it meant to truly be alone. Tears speckled his cheeks as his throat closed tight around his strangled sobs. Desperately he gulped for air that would not come and shook violently as he slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth…openly weeping for the loss of his father.
Hours passed or perhaps a mere few minutes, Don couldn't tell…time was irrelevant to him now, as he sat frozen, the tips of his father's icy fingers pressed tightly against his lips. The room was eerily silent as the sun's first ray's tickled Don's skin, and bathed the room in amber light. For sound, like his many other senses, were numb to him right now, as he sat and remembered the dead.
"Don," Robin whispered softly as she squeezed her husband's rigid shoulder, "honey…Rabbi Berkhoff's ready to start the cleansing…when you're ready, of course." She told him doubtfully as she took in the motionless remains of her father-in-law. "If you need more time…" she wavered uncertainly as she took in her husband's frozen profile and blank stare, uncertain of what to say next and unsure if Don had even heard her.
More time passed as the silence grew around them. Together, hand in hand, husband and wife considered the prospects of their future together. Both knew, although never spoke of it, that everything had changed. The damage that Alan's death would inflict upon their lives would be irreparable, but only time could tell by how much.
"Don…" Robin whispered again, breaking the silence in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension in the room. As she leant into her husband's firm embrace and rubbed his hand for warmth she said, "Dylan asked if he could pay his respects before the cleansing…I didn't know how to tell him no…"
At the mention of his nephew's name, Don's whole body contorted with pain, for it was Dylan that was to throw their lives into total chaos. After Charlie and Amita had died when Dylan was only five years old, his care had fallen to Don and Robin, neither of whom had felt prepared nor wanted the task of raising a young child.
It had been Alan who had eventually stepped in and relieved his grieving son of the burden. However, with the death of his own father, Dylan's grandfather, once more the burden of Dylan's care rested upon his uncle's unprepared shoulders…a responsibility that Don still didn't want. He wasn't ready to become a surrogate father, especially to an unreceptive grieving fifteen year old boy.
"Is he outside?" Don croaked his voice hoarse from lack of use.
"Yes," Robin mumbled, folding her hands into her lap, unable to hold Don's impassioned gaze. "He's waiting with Rabbi Berkhoff…" she trailed off, not wanting to rush him.
"Then perhaps it's time…" Don replied, biting his lip uncertainly. He had sat with his father all night and would have sat there longer, refusing to accept his father's death, had he not been bound by ritual. Standing up abruptly, Don drifted over to the window and looked out upon the frenzy of headstones that silhouetted against the sunrise. "He wouldn't want this…" Don spoke roughly, as he forced the words past the lump in his throat.
"Pardon?" Robin asked cautiously, at the waves of raw emotion that were fighting their way across her husband's defeated features.
"After Charlie passed...he renounced what little faith he'd retained after my mother's death," Don tried to explain, "…my father…he was never really a religious man…he only came to the synagogue because mom made him," Don said with the ghost of a smile on his frozen lips. "He was that guy you'd notice with the headphones listening to the game," Don laughed stiltedly, as heavy tears dropped down his long nose and fell upon his rumpled shirt. "I'm sorry," Don laughed harder as he took in Robin's horrified expression and brushed furiously at his cheeks in an attempt to dry his face.
Don hated to appear weak before his wife but he seemed to have lost all control of his body ever since his father first grabbed his chest and collapsed in the middle of his office. Dad…Don cried internally, if only he hadn't yelled at his frail father…then perhaps he wouldn't have had a heart attack, was all Don could think about.
"Don!" Robin cried passionately as her husband began to shiver uncontrollably. "Honey!" She cried again, this time breaking into his troubled thoughts as she got up in an attempt to be closer to him. She hesitated, however, when he threw up an arm to ward her off but decided to ignore him anyway. "Darling, please…" she insisted as she laid a hand upon his brittle shoulder.
"He wouldn't want this…any of it…" Don cursed angrily as he crossed his arms, shrugging her hand off his shoulder defiantly, as his eyes strayed back to the white sheet that was covering his father's naked body. Don glanced away, disgusted with himself for his cowardice.
The only part of Alan on show was his face and the hand that Don had been holding earlier. Don had pulled the sheet back from his father's face when he'd first entered the room the evening before. It had felt wrong somehow to sit with his father smothered beneath the white material whilst he sat there. In the long hours of the night, Don could almost pretend that Alan was merely sleeping in this nightmarish room, had it not been for the familiar blue tinge of death that Don had seen at many crime scenes over the years, now colouring Alan's lips and pale skin.
"Funerals aren't for the dead Don, they're for the living," Robin replied sagely breaking into Don's scattered thoughts once more, her eyes also wandering to her late father-in-law. Picking up his abandoned hand Robin gave it a quick squeeze before meeting her husband's detached stare. "Besides," Robin continued as she rested Alan's hand over his body and kissed his cold forehead, "Alan would have wanted to be buried with Charlie and Amita and the only way was to bury him here at the synagogue, which requires the appropriate ceremony..." Holding out her hand, Robin waited for Don to take it.
"You're right," Don surrendered, ignoring her hand, "It's all my fault," Don told her angrily as he moved to the end of his father's bed. "The only reason Charlie and Amita were even buried here was because of me…and my ridiculous notions of finding faith after the Crystal Hoyle and Buck Winters fiasco…"
"Your father gave you that funeral to help you with your grief…and I think I knew him well enough by now to say that he would gladly give his own funeral to you if it would help you to move on," Robin stated bluntly as she pulled Don back to her and embraced him tightly.
"You're right, except I don't see how it could. They're all dead Robin…my whole family…gone…" Don whispered sadly into her soft brown hair.
"Not everyone," She whispered back as she stepped away and looked into her husband's tortured eyes, "you still have me…and Dylan."
"Yes…Dylan," Don looked away ashamed. The truth was Don didn't really know his nephew very well. When Charlie had been alive, Don had been the cool uncle to him and had often been a frequent guest at his and his brother's old family home. However, after the…incident…and as Dylan got older, Don found it increasingly harder to be around his nephew because the older Dylan got, the more of Charlie Don saw in him.
Call it cowardice, Alan had last night in Don's office, but Don just couldn't be around Dylan. It was too painful. As a result Don had avoided his old family home like the plague and had hardly spoken more than two words to his estranged nephew over the past ten years. He felt guilty as hell for it too, however, despite the guilt he felt, Don couldn't help also feeling relieved when Alan eventually took pity upon his grieving Son and released Don and Robin of their new parenting responsibilities. Free of distractions, Don had devoted every spare minute over the last ten years to his career, not that it had gotten him very far.
Don was the Special Agent in Charge of his division at the FBI and whilst he liked his job because it gave him the perfect excuse for not visiting his nephew, Don couldn't help but smart over his being passed over for promotion when the AD had retired.
Nevertheless, Don soon learnt that the only drawback to cutting Dylan out as much as possible was cutting out his father too. Most of the time Alan had to come to the office to see Don and if he knew the real reason for Don's absence, he'd never let on before, until last night that is…
Don's latest guilt trip was soon cut short, however, by the sudden knocking at the door. Sitting back against the window pane, Don let Robin answer the door for him, resisting the urge to tell who ever it was to go away. Deciding not to be a child about it, Don waited as Robin held the door open for the Rabbi and silently sighed with relief that he hadn't made a scene. Rabbi Berkhoff was ancient and had been Don's Rabbi for as long as Don could remember. "Don," The old man stretched his hands out in welcome and Don raced to embrace his old mentor and confidant.
"Rabbi, is it really time?" Don asked, reluctant to bury his father.
"I'm afraid so my child," Berkhoff answered solemnly as he left Don's embrace to stand beside his diseased friend. "Dylan's in the hall, he wants to say his goodbyes before we start," Berkhoff told Don quietly as he squeezed Alan's stiff shoulder, his eyes glistening with sadness. "He was always such a character, your father…I'd liked to believe that I have been of some comfort to him over the years," Berkhoff sighed compassionately at Don.
"I'll go get Dylan," Don replied uneasily at the Rabbi's mournful gaze and made a b-line for the door.
"Don…he's too young," Robin stated disbelievingly, stopping him in his hasty retreat.
"He's fifteen," Don shrugged indifferently in the doorway. "I was about his age when I said goodbye to my grandfather."
"He's not as prepared for this as we are," She stated lamely.
"When it's someone you love you can never be prepared," Don said as he tried to hold the tears back. How he still had any left was beyond him.
"I know," Robin whispered as she moved to Don's side and turned her back on the bemused Rabbi. "But he's never seen a corpse before. It's going to be a shock for him…"
"People have open caskets all the time," Don tried to reason with her, "besides…I've been with dad all night…."
"That's different, you're the…'shomer'… you wouldn't be here if it hadn't been your duty as a family member to sit all night with the body," Robin retorted harshly.
"I'd have been here anyway!" Don snapped as he shrugged her warm hand off his shoulder, "I wouldn't have left him alone, and if it wasn't my "duty" to go bury my father in a moment then I'd still be here, sitting with him. Besides I don't want Dylan to resent me for not giving him a minute to say goodbye. I haven't given him much over the years…but I'm giving him this," Don opened the door and looked expectantly at his wife, waiting for her to leave first.
Robin stalked out into the hallway and waited for Don to join her before turning her scathing district attorney gaze upon him one last time, "so to ease your own guilt you're going to allow this?" She said gesturing to the gangly teen slouched on a bench down the hall.
"Yes," Don's eyes flashed defiantly causing Robin to shake with repressed anger. "Dylan," Don called out to his nephew before gesturing to the room, "You have a minute whilst I go get the others to start the cleansing." Don informed Dylan, who nodded once before bobbing under the arm Don had leaning on the doorframe and closed the door behind him. "Let's get the others," Don told Robin, abandoning the fight. He felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him at the misery in his nephew's eyes and wanted to put as much distance between them as possible, for he had seen a similar pain once before in Charlie's eyes when they'd found out that their mother was dying of cancer.
It was just before Charlie had locked himself in the garage and refused to leave until he'd finished an unsolvable mathematical equation. Fortunately, as far as Don knew, the mathematical side of Charlie's genius hadn't fallen to his son, so Don was confident that he needn't worry that Dylan would do the same with Alan's body and the Rabbi.
"I'm sorry Don," Robin sighed regretfully. She hated it when Don ruffled her feathers and got her angry. As the district attorney she'd built a reputation for being unflappable. Some called her composure being an "ice bitch", Robin, however, called it winning. Nevertheless, Don knew exactly how to draw her into an argument of which neither would be willing to loose. Accepting defeat this one time, as it was her father-in-law's funeral, Robin took Don's hand in hers and entwined their fingers. "Let's go get the others," She smiled what she hoped was a comforting, let bygones be bygones, smile before leading him down the hall to the waiting room.
*(break)*
Not long after the 'Tahara' ritual of washing the diseased to purify the body, Don found himself watching closely as the other funeral service members wrapped Alan in the 'Tachrichim' burial garments used by Jewish people for over two thousand years. The simple white shroud was supposed to symbolise the equality of man, from the richest to the poorest, with all appearing equal before the eternal. Whilst they did this, Rabbi Berkhoff recited the 'Kaddish' prayer in praise of the eternal. It was now that mourners of the diseased were supposed to render a garment to symbolise the tear in a part of their souls.
It had been a long ten years since Don had last adorned his black suit and tie and wished so badly that it could have been longer. Nevertheless, having worn it to Charlie and Amita's joint funeral, Don found no need to render his jacket as it was already torn around the collar. Instead, Don chose to make the tear bigger to symbolise the gaping hole he had inside himself, empty of everything but guilt and remorse.
In his new suit and tie, Dylan looked as uncomfortable as Don and for the first time Don took pity upon his young nephew and went to him. "You need help?" Don asked referring to the crumpled jacked in Dylan's white knuckled grasp.
"Thanks," Dylan mumbled reluctantly as he surrendered the jacket.
"S'ok," Don replied as he took two fistfuls of the jacket and ripped along the collar. Meanwhile Dylan stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes as he shifted uncomfortably on the spot. Up close Dylan looked so much like Charlie and Amita that Don had to catch his breath for a moment before finishing with the jacket and handing it back.
Although Dylan did mostly resemble Amita with her olive skin and almond shaped eyes, Dylan did have his father's black uncombable curly hair, long nose, strong jaw and full lips. He mostly resembled Charlie, however, in his deep soulful dark brown eyes, the kind of eyes that had seen too much and screamed of a childhood cut short.
Shaking his head, Don tried to put Charlie and Amita out of his mind as he concentrated on the service men attending to his father. When they eventually stepped away from Alan's body Don went to him and grasped his hand so tight that it turned white.
"I love you so much …" Don whispered softly as he leaned down to his father's ear, "…I only wish I'd spent more time telling you that over these past ten years… I'm just so sorry for cutting you out." Gently Don kissed his father's hand as a single tear slowly made its way down the creases in his weathered cheek.
"Don, it's time to close the casket for the funeral service," Rabbi Berkhoff told Don kindly as he stepped up behind him and rested his wrinkled hand upon Don and Alan's entwined fingers. When Don ignored the Rabbi, Berkhoff took it upon himself to separate father and son's hands and pulled the lid over the casket. "We should get the others," Berkhoff said as he reached up and brushed the trickles of tears from Don's rosy cheeks, "It's finally time my child."
"Yes…" Don acknowledged the Rabbi regretfully. "I'd like to start the ceremony personally by saying a few words," Don told the Rabbi without taking his eyes off the closed casket.
"Are you sure?" The Rabbi asked Don concernedly.
"Yes," Don stood up a little straighter as he laid his hand upon the carved wooden lid that separated his father's lifeless body from his own. "Yes I'm sure," He repeated, his voice like steel. It was just hard for Don to absorb that he would never see his father in the flesh again. As if sensing Don's need for space, Rabbi Berkhoff backed off to gather the last of the guests before the ceremony began.
*(break)*
"Hi," Don nervously addressed the restless crowd, "Of those of you here that know me, know that I am not a wordsmith. The only time I ever came close to eloquence in a speech was on my wedding day when my beautiful wife asked if we could write our own vows. They were my own words, however, they were cleverly rephrased to sound fancy by Charlie, my brother and Alan's other son, who also tragically died too young. If he was here with us today I'm sure he would have known the perfect thing to say to sum up our father's life…"
Don rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a small slip of paper. "I thought long and hard all night about what I would say and well…this was all that I could come up with," Don raised the paper in the air for emphasis before resting it back on the small lectern. "They aren't actually my own words…mine were too lame…they are in fact the words of a very good friend of Alan and Charlie's… and of mine too. They are the words of Dr Larry Fleinhardt who after me will read for you," Don said as he gathered all his strength not to break down. "Larry is a professor of physics and half the time I haven't the foggiest what he's saying, however, one day he said something to me which I found quite profound at the time and well it's kind of stuck with me. He was using the universe as a metaphor for death, and it went a little bit like this: 'it leads me back to those stars, when one dies and disappears; the whole cluster feels the loss'."
Turning his back on the modest sized crowd, Don placed his hand upon the carved lid of the coffin. "Dad, as we all cluster here today let it be known that we all feel the loss. There is now a hole in our constellation…and we here…we here… we are all proud to have known you," Don stood still there for some time, the crowd now forgotten as his shoulders began to shake and the tears began to fall once more. Don was a veteran of funerals by now, but even he couldn't believe that he had anymore tears to shed.
"Thank you Don," Rabbi Berkhoff said coming up behind Don before laying a comforting hand on the small of his back. "As you said, Dr Larry Fleinhardt will now read psalm twenty three."
Getting up Larry went to Don and squeezed his shoulder before going to the lectern. For a moment Larry stood frozen to the spot. He had taught in front of many students before and bored most of them to distraction with his philosophy on physics and the universe. Yet here today, Larry found himself rooted to the spot unable to speak. Coughing to clear his throat, Larry scratched at the stubble at his jaw before taking out his passage and placing it on the small podium. "This is a reading that was very important to Alan, he read it at his son's funeral and I shall now read it for you. It's Psalm twenty three," he told the crowd as the Rabbi spoke softly to the openly weeping Don.
"The lord is my shepherd," Larry began, blocking out the Rabbi's hushed words as he tried to address each audience member with his own. "I lack nothing," He continued, "He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the lord forever."
Finishing Larry looked out over the crowd. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. Nodding more to himself, than to anyone else, Larry walked over and stood beside Don. Once there, Larry took a sharp intake of breath as he too placed his hand upon the carved lid of the coffin. "You were always the rational one," Larry told Alan's coffin, "as the last member of our think tank I now find myself thoughtless in the presence of your casket and of your grieving family. I find myself humbled by the love these people have for you and your kin, and in the presence of my own grief I can't think of a single witty or clever thing to say. I will, however, say the only thing I think you would have wanted to hear from me any way. 'I promise to watch over your son and grandson as if they were my own and will try to guide them as you yourself have guided them over the years. Know dear friend, that you will never be forgotten. I love you as if you were my own brother…please rest peacefully now."
"Thank you Larry;" Don told him gratefully, "You were like a brother to him too."
"Does anyone else wish to speak?" The Rabbi asked the forgotten audience. When no one raised their hand he continued, "We shall now move on to Alan's final resting place. Will the pallbearers please come forward to carry the casket and can everyone else please make a procession behind us."
Holding his father's heavy wooden casket upon his shoulder Don, Colby, David and Larry began the short walk from the synagogue to the burial site, stopping the customary seven times as the ceremony dictated.
*(break)*
"I shall now recite the 'Kaddish' prayer in praise of the eternal once more. Those who know it are welcome to join me in the reading of the prayer," The rabbi addressed the crowd around Alan's grave. Once he had everyone's attention the Rabbi began, "God, filled with mercy…"
"Dwelling in the heavens' heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of your 'Shechinah'," Don and Larry joined in, knowing the words from Charlie and Amita's funeral. The only one who didn't join in was Dylan, who instead seemed more interested in the two strong looking men that had joined the funeral procession, two shovels resting upon their large shoulders.
"Amid the ranks of the holy and the pure," The Rabbi continued, ignoring the two men who were doing a horrible job of blending in until the time came to fill the grave. "Illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest. May you who are the source of mercy shelter them beneath your wings eternally, and bind their souls among the living, that they may rest in peace. And let us say: Amen."
"Amen," The crowd repeated solemnly.
"And now," The Rabbi held out his arms as if to hug the crowd, "If you could please form two rows, the family will pass between you all. Giving each of you time to express your own condolences before the wake, which Don informs me is being held at his house. I have the address here for those who need it. God bless you all."
As the crowd slowly shuffled to form two rows, each mourner retrieved a small pebble from the basket that the Rabbi held out for them, and placed it in a bowl in front of Alan's headstone to mark their visit and to show their respect for the dead.
It was only after Don and Robin had heard every condolence and as the crowd began to disperse that Don realised that Dylan had not been with them. Signalling to Robin to go onto the wake without him, Don went in search of his missing nephew, whom he found minutes later by Alan's graveside. The two grave diggers were missing, their shovels abandoned by the open grave that Dylan was now attempting to fill.
He noticed that the grave was half full by now, as Dylan kept up his steady rhythm of scoop and swing, scoop and swing. "Why?" Was all that Don said when Dylan eventually raised his head in acknowledgement of Don's presence.
Instead of answering Dylan continued to fill the grave under the weary gaze of his uncle. Don noticed that the rebellious teens hands were bleeding from the rough handle of the shovel, not that it was slowing his progress any. "Why?" Don repeated louder and more forcefully as he picked up the other shovel and leaned against it.
"Because…" Dylan shrugged stubbornly, nevertheless, when Don crossed his arms, refusing to take 'because' as an answer, Dylan cursed angrily and thrust the heavy shovel forcefully into the dwindling mound of earth, scooping up more dirt than the small shovel could handle. Don noticed that Dylan's suit was stained with blood and sweat from his efforts, his tie abandoned on the ground and his rumpled shirt torn in several places. He looked pathetic and defeated and Don felt a strong tremble of guilt in his gut. At no point that day had Don taken the time to comfort his poor nephew. Even now as he searched for the right thing to say, he felt more lost for words than he had ever felt in his life. He wanted to make it right for his nephew but didn't know how and judging from the resentment in Dylan's eyes he had fallen short once more in the boy's expectations.
"Dylan-"
"-BECAUSE OK!" Dylan shouted angrily, cutting Don off, "…because it's what you did for dad," he eventually spat out, fighting hard to stay in control and failing miserably as his nose began to run and the tears began to fall.
"Who told you that?" Don asked calmly.
"Does it matter?" Dylan replied stubbornly, his voice wavering through the tears.
"No, I suppose it doesn't," Don sighed before taking his jacket off and joining Dylan with the spare shovel. "Move over," was all he said as he too took a large scoop of dirt and began to fling it into his father's grave. Dylan hesitated for a moment before giving Don some room and resuming his work.
It was only when they had finished that Don threw down the shovel, his own suit ruined from the effort-not that Don cared. Copying Don, Dylan threw down his own shovel and followed Don to a small cherry tree nearby. Sitting down, Don took out a small flask that he'd hidden inside his jacket pocket during the service and took a long swig before offering it to his underage nephew. All he said was "Don't tell your aunt," and handed it over.
Dylan took a swig but quickly spat it out as he choked from the scotches strength. "Jesus!" He spluttered and handed the flask back, eyeing his uncle wearily as Don took another big swig, practically draining the flask in one go. "How can you drink that?" Dylan asked naively.
"Trust me, you get used to it," Don rasped as he felt the scotches familiar warmth drowning out the guilt.
After some time, Dylan turned his gaze once more upon his dishevelled uncle. Don's hair was longer than he liked, however, who had time to cut their hair when they spent every possible hour working and every waking moment in denial. Other than the hair and the dark shadow colouring Don's jaw, Dylan realised he didn't really know the man beside him. "What's going to happen to me?" Dylan asked suddenly, before he even realised he'd even been thinking it.
Unsure how to answer, Don played for time by finishing the flask, "Your aunt and I have been talking and we thought it might be best if we moved into the old craftsman home with you. We want to disrupt your life as little as possible," Don replied eventually.
"NO!" Dylan shouted unhappily and turned his head away from his uncle's enquiring gaze, "I…I don't want to go back there."
Don reached out and turned his nephew's head back to face him, it was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood but the defiant glint in his eyes shone through it all. "Ok," Don nodded selfishly, "Don't worry you don't have to go back there, you can come stay with me and Robin."
The relief that passed over Dylan's face mirrored that of his uncle's and was so heart wrenching that Don realised for the first time how frightened his nephew must have been. At the same time Dylan's body sagged with tiredness and for the first time in ten years Don reached out and pulled his nephew into a tight embrace.
Together the two sat in companionable silence for hours as the wind picked up and slowly rustled the branches of the tree above them, sending down a cascade of blossoms, neither one making it to the wake.
