"Tha an crodh anns an eadraidh
'S iad ri 'freagairt nan laogh
Cha tig Mòr à Dùn Bheagain
'S cha fhreagairt i an glaodh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean dhachaidh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean ghaoil
Cha tig màthair mo leanabh
Nochd a laighidh ri m'thaobh …"
A man's soft voice sung out into the night, his deep, smooth words the only sound in the FBI-LA's parking lot, though many agents were present at this point. His voice was beautiful in the tradition of folk singers, in the way that it was raw, the lyrics resonating deep from his heart. There was something in his voice that was absent in the world's great vocalists, something you couldn't fake no matter how hard you tried. His words were heavy with sorrow and thick with pain, and every now and then one would be punctuated with a shaky breath.
Matt Flannery sat on the black pavement, feet away from his car, his voice carrying through the parking lot, out to the street. His mother sang him the same Gaelic folk song when he was a baby, the same song he had been singing to his two-year old daughter several nights a week. Though he couldn't speak Gaelic, he knew the lyrics were about a man who lost his wife. The legend told that she woke up when grave robbers tried to steal the ring from her finger, and followed his voice home, as he sang it to their baby. But, tonight he wasn't singing it to his young daughter, wishing for her to sleep.
"Thig bàrr air an iubhar
Thig duilleag air chraoibh
Thig fràs air a' luachair
Ach cha ghluais mo bhean ghaoil
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean dhachaidh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean ghaoil
Cha tig màthair mo leanabh
Nochd a laighidh ri m'thaobh..."
He sang, his legs crossed beneath him, holding his girlfriend in his arms, the mother of his child, as her blood spilled all over him. He had gotten a frantic call, moments after she left, when someone found her laying in the middle of the parking lot, her attacker having run off. She was still conscious when he knelt beside her to examine her wounds: three deep stab punctures in her lower torso. He didn't even realize there were tears in his eyes until they hit one of her hands, but he could feel himself trembling as she asked him to hold her.
Matt couldn't deny her when a tear slipped from her eye, and she asked him to sing the lullaby he used to ease their daughter to sleep. Emily knew she was dying, and if she could pick one last wish, it was this. Lying in the arms of the man she'd only been given four years to love, listening to him sing a memory into her head. His soft voice delivering those sad lyrics would always bring her back two years, to seven nights after they brought Casey home from the hospital. Emily had been sleeping on the couch, when she woke to hear those lyrics. She found Matt in the nursery, newborn Casey cradled in his arms, as he guided the rocking chair back and forth, and sang the lullaby to her. It was at that moment that she realized her life could never get any better than it was, and knew she found what people spend lifetimes hoping to get.
"Ged a dheanainn-sa pòsadh
Mar bu chòir dhomh 'nad dhéidh
Cha togadh mo chridhe
Ri fidhill nan teud
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean dhachaidh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean ghaoil
Cha tig màthair mo leanabh
Nochd a laighidh ri m'thaobh..."
Though they had a child, the couple never married, they never seemed to find the time to get it done, and knew they loved each other, the rest seemed unnecessary. Their friends had never understood this, but as the small group of four looked on the painful scene now, understanding seemed to dawn. Of course the couple, who felt some much, so strongly for each other, wouldn't need gold rings, or a sheet of paper to tell them they would be together until death. However, none could have predicted that death would come to claim one of them so quickly.
Finally sirens could be heard in the distance, screaming toward them, hoping to save the woman who death was coming too quick. This seemed to jolt the passersby on the street, who'd stopped to listen to Matt's singing, and many scattered, while a few actually moved closer to hear him better. His voice was losing some of its volume, just as Emily's life was seeping out of her. But still, the haunting lyrics escaped his lips and continued to enthrall his audience.
"Ged a gheobhainn bean uasal
'S daoin' uaisl' air gach taobh
'S mùr gum b'fheàrr leam Mòr agam
'Dol bhi laighe ri m'thaobh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean dhachaidh
Cha tig Mòr mo bhean ghaoil
Cha tig màthair mo leanabh
Nochd a laighidh ri m'thaobh..."
Emily's eyes had been closed most of the duration of the song as her head rested on Matt's shoulder, but now she opened them to look upon him one final time. His black hair was messier than usual, and tears swarm around in his soulful brown eyes. This was the man she would gladly have spent the next fifty years with, the man's whose child she carried in her womb. She knew the next time she closed her eyes would be the last, and that this would be the last time she felt the warmth and security of his arms. Yes, if she'd been given a choice of how she went, this would be it, pressed as tightly against him as she could get.
"Matt." She rasped, the only volume she could manage as her body continued to weaken.
He finished his note, and shushed her, "save the energy you have, the ambulance is coming.
"I love you." She coughed with the effort of a short sentence.
He kissed her deeply, and resting his cheek against hers begged, "please Em, don't give up. Please, please, please…"
Her breathing caught and shuttered, so reality in his face, Matt took his last opportunity, and whispered to her. "Me too."
He watched her eyes begin to glaze over, before they started to roll back, and her lids dropped over them. And, then he broke. He gathered her closer to him, as the damns that had been holding most of his tears at bay, snapped and allowed the flood to wash down his face. The paramedics stood behind him, realizing they had arrived much too late.
Four days later he sat on a church pew, blending into the sea of black. The only sign of color was the pink dress worn by the little girl in his lap. He'd considered putting the little redhead in black, the mourner's color, but couldn't stomach the thought. Little girls don't belong wearing black, it isn't natural, it's isn't right. They were everything innocent in the world, they were hope and beauty, but mostly they were life. His little girl was his life, his broken heart couldn't handle seeing his last bit of life smothered by the color of death.
Casey sat sideways on his lap, her curly head leaning against his chest, and one of her little hands grabbing a tiny fistful of his suit jacket. She was sleeping, unable to understand what was going on, not yet realizing that her mommy wasn't coming home ever again. He had tried to explain to her what it all meant over the last few days, but she still asked where Mommy was, and when Mommy was coming home.
Cheryl sat on his side, squeezing his hand, perhaps to gain as much comfort as she was giving. Her eyes were red and puffy, from crying and lack of sleep; she'd been helping Matt with Casey the last few days, and the little girl wasn't sleeping well without her mommy around. Lia sat beside Cheryl, squeezing her other hand. Her eyes were red, but not as puffy as they had been a few days earlier. Duff sat with an arm around her, and Frank beside him. Both men had stray tears tracing tracks along their cheeks, grief causing them to abandon their usual tough-guy exteriors.
Across the aisle was an elderly couple, the woman glancing over at Matt and Casey every so often. She had shallow dimples in her cheeks, and seemed intent on keeping her red hair it's natural color with a bottle of dye, as it had obviously greyed sometime ago. The man's hazel eyes bore into the podium where a minister stood, touting the umpteenth prayer of the service. Both looked worn out by life, having given up hope after everything they went through with Ally. Too bad for their younger daughter, who'd fallen by the wayside, and become somewhat estranged from her parents over the years. But, at least the couple had flown in to be at her funeral.
Finally the minister finished his prayer, stepped aside, and bayed Matt to come up to eulogize the woman that had died in his arms. He shifted Casey to Cheryl's lap, the little girl waking only enough to look around in confusion, before resting her head back against her aunt, and resuming her nap. Matt kissed the top of her head, and turned toward to stairs to the podium. Once he arrived at the top, he looked around at all their friends and colleagues gathered, and breathed deeply. It would take all his self control to get through the eulogy without losing it.
"The yew will come in bloom,
The trees will grow leaves,
And seed will appear on the rushes,
But my darling wife will remain lifeless.
My wife Mòr will not return home.
Mòr, my beloved wife will not return.
The mother of my children
Will not come to lie by my side tonight."
He spoke a verse of the lullaby as a poem, choosing not to correct to reference to a wife; they were as close and as in love as any couple, married or not, could ever hope to be. He breathed again, forcing himself to maintain his composure, even as he looked at his daughter, who would never get to know her mother.
"I can say now, that the smartest thing I ever did was blurt a secret four years ago, for the world and my boss to hear. I can say that, because it gave me the push to take the next step with Emily, and it gave her that same push. If we hadn't then, I don't know if we ever would have, and that would be a worse fate than mourning her death now.
"I can't adequately describe who she was, because she was so many things. When I got to know her, she wasn't at all what I had always expected her to be. Brilliant, beautiful, and infuriating. I missed working with her these last few years, because just watching her mind work was amazing. She could stand there, staring off into space and biting her lip for a couple minutes, before turning to you with her dimpled grin and a solution. And she would argue incessantly if she thought an approach was wrong, usually ending it with a string of psychobabble that I could barely understand. But, that was just work. Emily could almost morph into a whole other person off duty. She was stubborn and independent, and would damn sure be the first person to tell you she could do it herself. And, sometimes when we were alone, she'd become shy and maybe a little nervous; in those moments, she'd simply steal my breath straight from me. Just like the first time I saw her hold our daughter, exhausted from labor, but still beaming and looking like she could take on a tribe of gladiators. Nobody can get Casey to laugh as easily as Emily can…could, when she'd get playful and goofy." He took a shaky breath before the last stretch of his eulogy.
"I will never see Emily smile again. I will never be able to hold her close, or watch her think, and that hurts like hell. What's worse is that my…my Casey will never know her mother. She will never know the wonderful, amazing woman that gave her life. And, Emily deserved the chance to see our daughter grow up, she deserved to be there for her child. Nobody will ever hear her voice again, because a man held a grudge against her for doing her job. That isn't fair to any of us." His voice now shaky, Matt breathed in deeply to try and maintain his composure, though surely, no one could expect it of him.
As Matt walked off the platform, he leaned into the opened casket, and kissed Emily's temple. Still leaned in, with his head beside hers, he whispered another lullaby verse to her, "Although I should remarry as I ought to with you gone, my heart will not lift to the sounds of the fiddle."
He walked back to the pew and took his seat, gathering the still sleeping Casey into his lap, and stroking her soft curls. The minister led them in another prayer, before allowing people to rise, and line up to say their goodbyes. Matt remained seated, along with the dozen or so, who would follow the hearse to the graveyard to lay Emily in the ground. Casey woke up from the commotion, and looked up at her daddy with her mother's dimpled smile and hazel eyes. She began to play with his tie, oblivious to the fact that her mother's dead body sat only feet away.
Cheryl began to play with her, all too glad for the distraction, as Matt's gaze wandered. He saw Emily's parents reach the coffin, and take turns saying goodbye to their daughter. He'd seen them come in, but they hadn't said anything to him, and he'd noticed her mother glance over at Casey often during the service, but the couple had yet to acknowledge them. Emily had never said much about her parents over the years, seemingly happy with the family she had. He'd gotten the feeling that as they had given up both on both daughters, after the difficulties with one, Emily had reciprocated fully, giving up on them. Matt had never met the Lehman's, and as he watched them finish at the casket and scurry out the chapel doors, he knew he never would.
Less than an hour later, a dozen handfuls of flowers tossed on the coffin, he watched them lower the love of his life into the ground. Matt squeezed Casey a little tighter in his arms, and her arms tightened around his neck in response, thinking her daddy was playing the game of who could hug tighter. He noticed the tears streaming downs his cheeks when Cheryl rested a hand on his back, trying to offer him some solace. As he watched the first shovel full of dirt land on the casket, the finality of it all hit him, and he had the sudden urge to crumble to his knees. The sick lump in his stomach throbbed with a new level of physical pain, and the lump in his throat seemed to swell. When they continued emptying their shovels over the coffin he had to turn away, unable to handle the image of his love being buried forever.
Don't hate me, I warned you all there was a character death. 'The Widower's Lament' is a real Gaelic folk song, passed down through the tradition of bards, and I certainally don't own it. This has been a relentlessly shitty week, so for various reasons an update on Next Month will take a couple days, consider this my apology for the delays. Thank you for reading, and reviews lessen my current misery.