So I got my first review! Yay! I can't believe how happy it made me, so thank you very much DontCryCrazy because you totally made my day. I'm so glad that you've read and seem to have enjoyed my story so far! You inspired me to upload quicker!
Oh and I've realized that I haven't put a disclaimer in a while (oops). Not sure if I'm meant to for every chapter but I'll throw one in here anyways. I don't own anything created by Bruno Heller, just my original characters and the storyline I guess.
Thanks for reading people and hope you enjoy this chapter!
The funeral was planned for 12 o'clock. Isabella woke early and left the motel temporarily to purchase something to wear, considering the only clothes currently had on her were the ones on her back. She decided on the first item she could see in her size. The day wasn't about her. It was about her family, and she didn't care what she looked like. She returned to the motel to shower quickly and change, before calling for a cab. She knew that she would arrive early, but decided that she needed time alone with Richard and Sammy and Elizabeth before everybody else turned up. She needed to say goodbye before she could brave the flock of people smiling sympathetically and apologizing for her loss.
Issy met with the priest conducting the ceremony and he allowed her access to the coffins, understanding her situation and becoming the first of many to offer their condolences that day. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for their thoughts, it was just that she didn't deserve them. They shouldn't be saying sorry to her, she should be to them.
"Hey." Issy said to her family. Now that she was here she was unsure of what to say. It wasn't as though they could hear her. She was never the religious type like Richard's parents, blatantly stating at her grandmother's funeral when she was a child, "if granny's in heaven, then why would people be sad?" She had since emotionally matured, but was still uncomfortable with the idea of religion. If anything, her bereavement had made her beliefs stronger. If there was a God, why had He not taken her instead? Why were her children not running around, teasing each other? Why were they not, on this cold January day, huddling together by the fire, Lizzie trying on her Christmas clothes and Sam begging to bring some other exotic creature into the house? Why was her husband not sat in his chair, reading the paper and completing the crossword? Instead, they were dead. Lifeless inside tasteless wooden caskets. She sighed, left the room and was directed to the site of the burial. She noticed that Rich's parents had arrived and were walking towards her.
"Isabella." Richard's mother, Helen, said curtly.
"Mr and Mrs Sanders." Issy had never felt comfortable calling Helen or her husband, Thomas, by their first names, and they had never asked her to.
Helen looked Issy up and down before asking, "how are you doing? You look awful."
Issy looked down at herself, knowing that in reality the woman had meant her hollow expression and sunken cheeks.
"Fine, thank you."
Helen looked at Isabella sceptically and walked to the entrance of the cemetery to begin greeting mourners. Thomas smiled at her sadly, with a little more friendliness than his wife had shown, before following Helen. She had gotten on with Tom better than Helen, who seemed to dominate any arguments they had had while her husband stayed in the background. To her understanding, he didn't hold the animosity that his wife did toward her, but, this being the case, she would have appreciated some support from time to time.
She noted that Peter, Richard's older brother, had not yet arrived but hoped that he would. She had always liked Peter, enjoying his dry sense of humour that seemed to pass others by. He had been sporty as a child, set to play at least semi-professionally in numerous different sports, including baseball, football and soccer. He damaged his knee during a bad tackle one game and despite a speedy recovery had never been the same since. He'd relied on a career involving sport, gaining mediocre grades at best, and so when they all dropped him without a second glance he had been distraught, turning to drink and drugs. He wasn't stupid by any means, just not book smart. Peter had gone from Helen and Thomas' dream child to an utter nightmare in the space of a few months and had always been something of an embarrassment of theirs. She and Richard had helped him out where they could, but he had been set on self-destruct for the past decade and there was only so much they could do.
People began to gather around the grave, looking at her oddly, not that Issy particularly noticed. She had her own thoughts to deal with, and cared little if at all about what others thought.
"They think you did it, you know."
Patrick had appeared beside her.
"I did." Issy admitted. "Not directly but it was my fault. I might as well have held the knife."
He nodded at this, his mind elsewhere.
"I know why you feel that way, but you shouldn't. There was no way of knowing that your friend would do this."
So they'd done research on her. She wasn't surprised, she expected it in fact, being in the line of work that she was. Isabella found Patrick's company therapeutic. She wasn't sure why; perhaps it was that he knew what to say and when, or the fact that he had obviously gone through a similar ordeal to her. Maybe it was that when he was around she could forget, even if just for a second, that she was alone in the world. Regardless, she trusted him, and considering her trust was a difficult things to win under these circumstances, this was something of a miracle. They were silent as more people filled the area, nodding or smiling at Isabella to acknowledge her. She appreciated that they didn't come over to talk to her, because what would she say? Not to worry, that she would be fine? The statement would be false and no one would believe it anyway.
"Richard always hated him. I should have taken notice."
The ceremony started and Issy looked around at the gathering. There was an incredible turn out, including people that worked in Rich's office, Lizzie and Sam's friends and parents and some of Issy's colleagues. She particularly appreciated their turn out considering the weather, which was poor with strong winds and a real chill in the air. Issy shivered involuntarily and Patrick wandered off towards the car park. She found this strange, assuming that he had come to ask her more questions and that he would wait until after the ceremony to do so. She tried to focus on the words of the priest but found it difficult. In times of trauma, she remembered, people were supposed to find refuge in religion. This was not the case for her. In fact, she almost wanted to run up to the priest and shout to the people there that in fact her family were not going to Heaven, nor Hell for that matter, and that God would not protect them. God could do nothing more for them now than He could a week ago, when they were healthy and happy and alive. She held her tongue, but couldn't manage to do the same with her tears which had begun to flow freely at the finality of the event.
Patrick returned not long after he had left, coat in hand. She frowned at this, recognizing the coat she had purchased that summer in the sale in anticipation for a bitter winter. He handed it to her, whispering that he'd explain later, and resumed his position next to her. Bewildered, she put the coat on and caught her mother-in-law's eye, whose face had twisted to an angry scowl. Isabella looked away quickly.
The caskets were lowered and the ceremony was drawing to a close, and Issy continued to cry silently as she said her final goodbyes. Never again would she kiss her husband, or hug her children, or tell them she loved them. The gathering began to disperse and Isabella glanced up to see Helen marching towards her.
"You disgusting whore!" She exclaimed, slapping Isabella across the face. She flinched backwards, raising a hand to hold the quickly reddening side of her face. "My son is not yet cold and you're sleeping around with this... this man!"
People had begun to stare and whisper to each other rather than make their way to the car park.
"I... I'm not!"
"Don't lie to me! What would he be doing with your coat if you weren't? You never were good enough for my son. I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who killed him, to make way for your new man." Furious tears now ran down Helen's wrinkled cheeks, and she regarded Isabella with such utter fury that it struck her with even more force than the slap.
"Oh, shut up mom." Peter staggered towards them, slurring and holding a half empty bottle of vodka in his hands. "This so isn't about you, it's about your son. The dead one. The one you said should have been me. Yeah, I heard that. God, you think I'm the embarrassment and look at yourself. Iz has had her life torn apart and you can't even find it within yourself to be nice. You make me sick."
A crowd had gathered, watching the event unfold, and Helen stood shocked, unsure of what to say or do. She hated to be shown up or be a part of anything improper, so this must have been torturous for her. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly away from the trio, Thomas following as quickly as he could behind her.
Issy sighed. "Hey, Peter. How're you doing?"
"Shit. Yourself?"
"Same."
She indicated that she wanted the bottle and he handed it over. She unscrewed the top, held it upside down until she had drained it and handed it back.
"Gee, thanks Iz."
"Don't mention it. Now go sober up." She hugged him forcefully, and he returned it happily, united in grief and sorrow.
"Picked the wrong day for a pep talk." He muttered as he stumbled away.
Issy's eyes followed him, concerned.
"Don't worry about him. Just concentrate on yourself." Patrick told her.
"Easier said than done. And how did you get my coat?" She glanced up at him frowning.
Patrick reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a set of car keys. He handed them to her, and she recognized the plush frog that Sam had bought her one Christmas, a 'worlds best mom' key ring and another from the university she and her husband had attended, that he'd bought her as a cheesy valentines day gift one year.
"I went to your house this morning and collected some of your things so that you wouldn't have to go to the house. I brought your car round too."
"Oh. Thanks." Issy said, confused that anybody would go to so much trouble for her.
Frank and his wife, Sandra, were walking towards them. Sandra pulled Issy into a warm hug and whispered comfortingly into her ear. She felt slight under Issy's arms, much skinnier than she had remembered her being, and spent a second wondering if she'd been dieting recently before the thought left her. She found this happened to her often recently, as though no ideas could manage to latch themselves onto her grieving mind.
"I'm gonna miss you Iz." Frank said, smiling softly.
"Yeah, me too."
She said goodbye to Frank, promising that if she ever need anything that she'd ring or visit, and he and Sandra left the cemetery.
Issy sighed shakily, looking towards the car park.
"You will still have to come onto the office to make a formal statement, but don't feel in any rush." Patrick told Issy.
"I'll just come today. I have nothing else to do." She said it because it was the truth, not because she wanted any sympathy.
Patrick nodded. "Sure. I'll see you later, then."
He left, leaving Issy to her thoughts. She couldn't spend another night in this city, let alone that motel, so she figured she might as well head to Sacramento sooner rather than later. The drive might help to clear her head, anyway. She glanced back at the fresh graves a final time, and made her way to her car. She lifted the trunk and observed the possessions that Patrick had collected for her. There were suitcases worth of stuff, from bundles of clothes to picture frames. The pain was still too fresh to look back over a life that would never be hers again, particularly after she had just buried the subjects of her memories, and so she slammed the trunk shut forcefully.
She got into the drivers seat and just sat, clutching the wheel with tight, white fists. She tried to regulate her breathing which had hitched since observing her things, darkness threatening to envelop her. A weight stood heavy on her chest. Issy held her head in her hands as it started to sway, lightheaded and foggy, and her stomach clenched as she resisted the urge to throw up. She gulped down air and closed her eyes tightly as she waited for the world to right itself. Opening her eyes cautiously, she knew that she had been a little optimistic; the world would never be so kind as to right itself in the way that she wanted it to. Finally, as the panic within her started to subsided and, she realized now, she had come to terms with the death of her family, she starting the long drive to begin her new life.
