Chapter 5
2002 October 21, Overhill Memorial Park
The sun shone brightly over the view, such a beautiful scene for the morbid activities that ensued here. If not for the black shrouded crowds scattered around two or three times a day it would seem to be a place of dreams. Maybe it was, the fallen ones, the rest for every broken life that was no more. The rest, dreams left dreams, like noone could expect any more of them. One figure was sheathed in her own personal misery. The loss not only of her friend but also of a confidante. a person who knew. and of the lack of knowledge, understanding, that must be that this had become. /The bastards. The idiot bastards. What have they done? /
And she stands high, infront Mouth pauses to clear her head, waiting for silence To say what must be said
~
From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust From god and back to him, a new life, he started without us. And the man makes his speech of all the gladness, to belittle our sadness As to say we mean nothing He's far gone now and we are left standing dry by the by, by ourselves
The ropes stretched under the strain of the hardwood coffin, the priest uttering the futile prayers whilst they lowered it gently to the ground. It helped to think of this as it, not him, he wasn't in there, he was in the past, soundly in the past. Somewhere that wasn't as out of reach as it seemed, certainly more attainable than here.
A leaf, singular, drifted down oddly for the season. Still green and fresh, barely wilted.and it falls to earthly soil. Like from the heavens, a starry speckled treetop above. The leaf, it drops from above, from high to low it changes the day.
~~~
A mass of footsteps proceeded on the path, figures of death dressed in black left the fresh grave. A small group was left huddled almost around one side, one person.
His hand gently placed on her shoulder told her he felt it, one more person, a comfort to know that she wasn't the only one and a torture too that there was that bit more pain to the world. Hadn't there been enough the last few days, and weeks. They'd been through enough their lives, all the things they'd seen and none had wanted to bear witness to this day. She'd think couldn't it be, just one reality, that he's alive in millions of others, having the perfect life. And then her morbid mind would turn to know that so too could he have died in billions more, suffered twice as much. All she had was the brief kindness of her old colleagues, Isaac standing by her, the sweet grandfatherly type. She knew he was there for her. And by her stood his dearest friend, mourning the loss of a brother. Donovan quietly slipped away to join his parents, not able to stand this a moment longer than for a thought. Ramsey loitered near them, silent and grimacing. A friend to his enemy, every little trick that he'd pulled on him disappeared infront of today, infront of Frank Parker's resting-place. Finally he accepted him as the fateful friend, who occasionally got the better of him.
"I only wish Andrew was here to pay his respects" Isaac frowned, thinking of the fake democracy suddenly imposed on them. Supposedly fair, supposedly all part of the system, just doing the job. Upholding the law, - whilst barely obeying it. Her eyes coldened, crossing her mind a thought was spoken in grief, not checking for the approval. "I only wish he didn't have to be here to pay his respects" She took a sharp breath of air, realizing she should think before speaking, but it was difficult. Nothing was easy to do now, nothing straightforward, as if even her own body held up the conspiracy she knew was true. "I'm sorry, I should be a little more sensitive. It's hard for all of us. I didn't mean to provoke you, in your state I know it's easy to say things you could regret" he said. As he looked up to her face as she looked away, swore he could see tears forming in her eyes, yet she blinked them away every second, controlling something atleast. Still not letting go of her emotions, when would she learn, that to release was just as powerful.
Belief, all a matter of belief. Could she believe in heaven as much as she could believe in the results of a blood test, as much as she could believe in time travel. Or was it faith, faith in god, in there being something up there. Faith in herself, like how she couldn't let go off her heart, incase she'd shatter completely. That she'd let go and she'd be fine, no, that she could have faith in. only in herself, that she could somehow change things could she believe. Not knowing how just knowing she had to, that if it was possible then there was a way. And she held close the belief that with or without the divine or fate, she'd find it, the way, her way. But only if she could control herself. Only if she could get through today, through the day without emitting a single tear. She'd feel like nothing could win against it, them, if she didn't hold up her head and smile once in anger for what was going on and what she would do when it was tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd start, she'd sort it out. Injustice was not a thing she could suffer to stand. And as she'd once heard the truth was anonymous, lies were from people. If evidence of this could turn up accidentally on the desk of a top journalists or twenty's desk then people would see the truth. That was the plan, but the way, the when, the how. She had to have faith that she'd find out whatever there was to find out. All this went through Olga's mind as she stood a silent vigil at the grave, the minutes passed, the three of them keeping watch as the rest began to leave entirely. One other person stepped up to the group, nodded to them and took his place. Talmadge looked solemnly over the freshly made mound, the brand new stone; letters carved in. just a name and a date. The government had paid, but it didn't say Captain Frank Bartholomew Parker, an honored soldier, a wonderful father, a good friend, a true hero, the saviour of the world. It said only Frank B. Parker 1969-2002. No died in service, no mention of who he was, what he did, what he was like. They made him just another name and another blank tablet with a grave. He felt so enraged, astounded that he wanted to get a chisel and carve out the truth on it. They stood the minutes, more time passing. Taking time to remember the man who saved them all, who they couldn't save anymore.
~~~
He raced up to the wall, staring through the glass. He knew it was there, they were watching him. What the hell were they waiting for? A confession. He knew Kline wanted that. He'd hounded him for days, just jumping at the chance to interrogate a likely suspect. Then they'd given him some shot. He couldn't be sure what it was, the logical answer was a truth shot but he had a nagging feeling Kline wasn't a guy to go by the book and he sure wanted results. Maybe his job depended on it but Kline was bound to get a kick out of torturing him, mentally if nothing else. It was getting to him, he swore he could feel the pull of the drug, feel it coursing through his veins, pumping through body, converging on his mind. Time seemed to slow down; thoughts were sluggish, yet his body moved fast. Everything made no sense, his mind betraying his body. He stumbled towards the screen, trying to holds himself up. Breath ragged, it steamed on the mirror.
Behind it the agent smiled and reached for his cellphone. "Director Kline?" "Yes, its Smith. The drug has taken effect." " Ok, I'll prep him." "Bi"
On the other side, hooter held himself up; his hand supporting his incapacitated body sprawled over the hard tiled floor. He looked up briefly, coincidentally looking right into the eyes of Smith, had he known his name. He only knew someone was there enjoying this victory.
2002 October 21, Overhill Memorial Park
The sun shone brightly over the view, such a beautiful scene for the morbid activities that ensued here. If not for the black shrouded crowds scattered around two or three times a day it would seem to be a place of dreams. Maybe it was, the fallen ones, the rest for every broken life that was no more. The rest, dreams left dreams, like noone could expect any more of them. One figure was sheathed in her own personal misery. The loss not only of her friend but also of a confidante. a person who knew. and of the lack of knowledge, understanding, that must be that this had become. /The bastards. The idiot bastards. What have they done? /
And she stands high, infront Mouth pauses to clear her head, waiting for silence To say what must be said
~
From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust From god and back to him, a new life, he started without us. And the man makes his speech of all the gladness, to belittle our sadness As to say we mean nothing He's far gone now and we are left standing dry by the by, by ourselves
The ropes stretched under the strain of the hardwood coffin, the priest uttering the futile prayers whilst they lowered it gently to the ground. It helped to think of this as it, not him, he wasn't in there, he was in the past, soundly in the past. Somewhere that wasn't as out of reach as it seemed, certainly more attainable than here.
A leaf, singular, drifted down oddly for the season. Still green and fresh, barely wilted.and it falls to earthly soil. Like from the heavens, a starry speckled treetop above. The leaf, it drops from above, from high to low it changes the day.
~~~
A mass of footsteps proceeded on the path, figures of death dressed in black left the fresh grave. A small group was left huddled almost around one side, one person.
His hand gently placed on her shoulder told her he felt it, one more person, a comfort to know that she wasn't the only one and a torture too that there was that bit more pain to the world. Hadn't there been enough the last few days, and weeks. They'd been through enough their lives, all the things they'd seen and none had wanted to bear witness to this day. She'd think couldn't it be, just one reality, that he's alive in millions of others, having the perfect life. And then her morbid mind would turn to know that so too could he have died in billions more, suffered twice as much. All she had was the brief kindness of her old colleagues, Isaac standing by her, the sweet grandfatherly type. She knew he was there for her. And by her stood his dearest friend, mourning the loss of a brother. Donovan quietly slipped away to join his parents, not able to stand this a moment longer than for a thought. Ramsey loitered near them, silent and grimacing. A friend to his enemy, every little trick that he'd pulled on him disappeared infront of today, infront of Frank Parker's resting-place. Finally he accepted him as the fateful friend, who occasionally got the better of him.
"I only wish Andrew was here to pay his respects" Isaac frowned, thinking of the fake democracy suddenly imposed on them. Supposedly fair, supposedly all part of the system, just doing the job. Upholding the law, - whilst barely obeying it. Her eyes coldened, crossing her mind a thought was spoken in grief, not checking for the approval. "I only wish he didn't have to be here to pay his respects" She took a sharp breath of air, realizing she should think before speaking, but it was difficult. Nothing was easy to do now, nothing straightforward, as if even her own body held up the conspiracy she knew was true. "I'm sorry, I should be a little more sensitive. It's hard for all of us. I didn't mean to provoke you, in your state I know it's easy to say things you could regret" he said. As he looked up to her face as she looked away, swore he could see tears forming in her eyes, yet she blinked them away every second, controlling something atleast. Still not letting go of her emotions, when would she learn, that to release was just as powerful.
Belief, all a matter of belief. Could she believe in heaven as much as she could believe in the results of a blood test, as much as she could believe in time travel. Or was it faith, faith in god, in there being something up there. Faith in herself, like how she couldn't let go off her heart, incase she'd shatter completely. That she'd let go and she'd be fine, no, that she could have faith in. only in herself, that she could somehow change things could she believe. Not knowing how just knowing she had to, that if it was possible then there was a way. And she held close the belief that with or without the divine or fate, she'd find it, the way, her way. But only if she could control herself. Only if she could get through today, through the day without emitting a single tear. She'd feel like nothing could win against it, them, if she didn't hold up her head and smile once in anger for what was going on and what she would do when it was tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd start, she'd sort it out. Injustice was not a thing she could suffer to stand. And as she'd once heard the truth was anonymous, lies were from people. If evidence of this could turn up accidentally on the desk of a top journalists or twenty's desk then people would see the truth. That was the plan, but the way, the when, the how. She had to have faith that she'd find out whatever there was to find out. All this went through Olga's mind as she stood a silent vigil at the grave, the minutes passed, the three of them keeping watch as the rest began to leave entirely. One other person stepped up to the group, nodded to them and took his place. Talmadge looked solemnly over the freshly made mound, the brand new stone; letters carved in. just a name and a date. The government had paid, but it didn't say Captain Frank Bartholomew Parker, an honored soldier, a wonderful father, a good friend, a true hero, the saviour of the world. It said only Frank B. Parker 1969-2002. No died in service, no mention of who he was, what he did, what he was like. They made him just another name and another blank tablet with a grave. He felt so enraged, astounded that he wanted to get a chisel and carve out the truth on it. They stood the minutes, more time passing. Taking time to remember the man who saved them all, who they couldn't save anymore.
~~~
He raced up to the wall, staring through the glass. He knew it was there, they were watching him. What the hell were they waiting for? A confession. He knew Kline wanted that. He'd hounded him for days, just jumping at the chance to interrogate a likely suspect. Then they'd given him some shot. He couldn't be sure what it was, the logical answer was a truth shot but he had a nagging feeling Kline wasn't a guy to go by the book and he sure wanted results. Maybe his job depended on it but Kline was bound to get a kick out of torturing him, mentally if nothing else. It was getting to him, he swore he could feel the pull of the drug, feel it coursing through his veins, pumping through body, converging on his mind. Time seemed to slow down; thoughts were sluggish, yet his body moved fast. Everything made no sense, his mind betraying his body. He stumbled towards the screen, trying to holds himself up. Breath ragged, it steamed on the mirror.
Behind it the agent smiled and reached for his cellphone. "Director Kline?" "Yes, its Smith. The drug has taken effect." " Ok, I'll prep him." "Bi"
On the other side, hooter held himself up; his hand supporting his incapacitated body sprawled over the hard tiled floor. He looked up briefly, coincidentally looking right into the eyes of Smith, had he known his name. He only knew someone was there enjoying this victory.