There was always a sort of stillness in the air when he'd go to see her. He stepped onto the bus, bought himself a ticket, greeted the driver with a simple nod and sat in the back. He'd spend the short trip looking down at his feet, or absently gazing into the nearly completely empty bus. The bus driver would signal him when he got to his stop, and he'd exit as numbly as he had gotten on. His back would stab, emptily without his backpack and suit. These moments, these visits, he would make as himself, not as his crime fighting, murdering, alter ego. His steps were heavy, walking up to her grave, like his sneakers were made from lead. He had visited her every day since the funeral. It had become a part of his routine, he'd wake, if he had slept at all, dress himself in the clothes he had worn the day before, and zombiewalk his way to the bus stop and wait.
The cemetery was usually empty, with the exception of one or two, in the distance, bearing flowers. He'd seen the grave-keeper now and again, picking up garbage or tending to the stones, but never had he seen anyone near her grave. This time however, it was different. As he trailed the path to her stone, he saw a young woman seated in front of her, her legs draped casually, her brown hair springing in many directions, she was smiling, giggling even. Peter couldn't place it, but it was irritating to him, and his brow twitched as he approached her. Mid-laugh she whipped her head about, and looked at him, biting her smile into a strait face. "Hi."
"Hello." Peter muttered. And a silence followed him. He stared at her, looking for something, twitching his head slightly to the side, and squinting his eyes now and again. "Do-do I know you? I don't recall seeing you at the funeral." He said, trying to place the girl. "Oh, no no, I didn't know her." She called, placing her hand on the headstone. "I was just asking her a question." She explained, offering a wee smile. Peter answered her with a strange look, tilting his head to signal that that made little sense. The girl picked up the bag lying next to her, slipped its strap over her head and came to a stand, her jeans graced with wet patches and grass stains. She pocketed her hands, and drew up her shoulders, offering another smile. She nudged her head to the right.
"My mom see, buried next to her. I was asking to keep her outa trouble, you know?" She offered, blushing slightly knowing how silly that sounded. Peter's face softened at that, the edge in his chest dulled "I'm sorry, if you didn't want me here." She shrugged as she moved to her mothers headstone, and sat back down. "No, no it's fine.." Peter offered as he stepped closer to Gwen. "You're just the first person I've... people don't come here often I mean." Peter stuttered. The girl shifted and spun on the ground, forcing more grass stains into her jeans no doubt. She was lying down, the top of her scalp just touching the headstone. She crossed her legs and cushioned her head with her hands. "Yeah."
"What was she like?" The girl asked, as she closed her eyes. Peter watched her, wondering if it was even allowed to lie on top of the graves, and if she even cared if it was. As her question hit him, his chest grew warm and tight. Tiny tears stinging behind his eyes, a twinge in his nose. He forced the lump out of his throat, rasping as his breathing changed on its own. "uhmmm..." he started, looking around as if to find the answer lingering there. "She..-" his voice broke after the first word, and failed him. He snorted, trying to keep himself from leaking, and crying right there. "Really?" She said, understanding him perfectly. Peter scratched non-existent itches and breathed "Yeah."
"What's your name?" She asked, peeking through one of her lids. He cleared his throat again, clogged up after a few stray words. "Peter." he answered, short and sharp. "Come lie down with me, Peter." she said, gesturing with a blind smile. "She won't mind." Peter didn't know why he did, but as soon as she had said it, he lowered himself onto the grass. It was damp and cold, but comfortable. He copied the girl's position, positioning himself on top of Gwen's grave. He had imagined that he'd feel guilty, that as soon as he touched upon the grass, that it would feel wrong and bad, but there was nothing. It felt like everything else, it felt...normal. The wet grass seeped through his trousers, chilling his thigh, but he couldn't bring himself to mind it. He closed his eyes, and he felt as if he could fall asleep right there,
whether this was because his body had been denied a decent night's sleep for so long, or that being here, this way, felt so right, he felt his lids becoming heavy. The girl didn't break the feeling when she said his name. He answered her with a hummed sound. "Are you okay?" She said, her voice was kind and genuinely concerned. "No."He breathed, as his eyes began to sting again. "Okay." She whispered. Then before Peter had even realised it, his head fell back and he slipped into a light sleep. It was chilly outside, but the as the sun gently warmed his face, he slept.
He awoke, about half an hour later. The girl he had been talking to seemed to have already left. He shifted and sat up, looking for her.
As he sat up, something fell into his lap. A chocolate bar, with a silver blue wrapper. Had the girl left it for him? He turned it around, finding a small note attached there. "Eat it, it helps." He felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips. Was she quoting professor Lupin? His legs were cold and wet and slightly icky, so was his back, but as he waved Gwen goodbye, he felt lighter...somehow.