Black isn't white, up isn't down, and I don't own Invader Zim or the main characters Dib, Gaz or Professor Membrane. The honor of creating them belongs to Jhonen Vasquez.

Part Three

Though he had met this man only that day, Dib already felt as if he had known him for a long time. After offering Dib a chair, the Funeral Director gave him some Belgian chocolate covered shortbread cookies from a tin he kept in his desk for just such occasions. Sampling one, Dib found in its center a surprising dollop of sweet, tangy jam. The Funeral Director left the tin within Dib's easy reach and with his hand indicated that Dib was welcome to as many cookies as he wanted. Dib licked his fingers and reached for more. These were by far the best cookies he'd ever tasted... well, except for the ones his mother had made, of course.

The Funeral Director prepared to made the speech he least enjoyed giving, but it was the one he personally made sure that any young child of any client of his would get to hear at least once. He knew that the remaining parent was often so distracted by shock and grief that he or she could easily omit saying these few words, words that could bring a child immeasurable comfort at this time.

Taking a deep breath, he established eye contact and began."First of all, Dib, I am very sorry that you lost your mother. We don't know why this happens to some children. But we do know this." The Funeral Director shook his head with a gentle smile as he continued. "Parents never, ever die because their child did something bad! No little boy can possibly be good all the time, but please, Dib, don't ever think that this was your fault! I know, for a fact I know, that it wasn't."

Dib was listening, so the Funeral Director continued. "Children also wonder sometimes if their mother went away because she didn't love them any more. Well, every day I see somebody's mother who died, and I know that no matter where she is now, your mother still loves you just as much as ever! Now... they're not trying to tell you not to cry, are they? Because it's okay to, you know."

Dib shook his head and started to reply no thanks, because he was a boy he wasn't allowed to cry, but before he could get all the words out he had started crying like he was never going to stop. The Funeral Director came over and held Dib to his shoulder, let him cry, and scream and cry again, said he would never tell anybody Dib cried, told him to go ahead and just pour it all out, because if he didn't cry today, years later he'd still be crying on the inside where it hurts more...

When Dib's torrent finally ebbed, the Funeral Director offered him a tissue and reminded him to blow his nose. To Dib's surprise, he actually felt a little better; at least he no longer feared he would cry any second.

The Funeral Director returned to his own chair. "Now, child, is there anything you would like to talk about? Anything at all?"

Oh, Dib wanted to talk about plenty, all right. So much so, in fact, that he didn't know where to start. He wanted to say he didn't know what to do when Gaz beat him up, which she was doing with impunity every single day now, that he was supposed to take care of her somehow but she would never listen to him. And he wanted to ask how one went about talking to dead people.

Dib thought and thought about where to begin. Finally he decided that after the way the entire room, including the cool relatives and even his own father, had fallen over themselves to think the worst of him the minute Gaz sneak attacked him and tricked everyone, he still wasn't entirely sure he could trust this person either, for all his kindness.

Dib asked the question he figured was the safest, if there was a way he could talk to his mother again somehow. Stifling a snort of surprise, the Funeral Director offered Dib a soft, indulgent smile and told him he'd get his chance someday, but not to rush it, it would happen in plenty of time.

Returning Dib to the parlor, the Funeral Director handed the Professor a business card and told him it was a phone number for a therapist for this very situation, a grief counsellor who specialized in children. The distracted way the Professor tucked the card into his pocket gave Dib cause to doubt his father would remember ever hearing about it.

The Funeral Director told Gaz it was her turn now, but Gaz wasn't the slightest bit interested in anything but her GameSlave. The Funeral Director gave Gaz the same number of cookies Dib had eaten before whispering the same consoling speech to her, inviting her to come and cry in his office if she wasn't comfortable doing so out here, asked if she wanted to talk about anything, said not even death could end a parent's love, and told her that no child was ever to blame with his or her parent died.

At that, Gaz looked up and gave the Funeral Director a wide, glowing grin, one he'd never forget. He walked on air all the way back to his office. This... now THIS is what makes the job for me... I really got through to her!

Dib had been hoping that once he returned from the Funeral Director's office, he could have his chance to sit beside his father as Gaz had just had, but no sooner had he returned to the parlor than the Professor left him in charge of Gaz once again, to strike up a conversation with a man who had just come in and already seemed to be late for an appointment somewhere else.

Sometime later, after Gaz had ascended a few more levels and as Dib was looking around the room carefully for any signs of his mother's ghost, the Professor led a neighbour woman carrying a plate of sandwiches over to the sofa where his children were sitting. "Son, take your sister and follow this nice lady downstairs for dinner!"

Dib licked his lips. He was hungry and the cookies had merely whetted his appetite. "Hey, c'mon, Gaz, let's get away from all these grownups and go downstairs for a while! There's sandwiches. I saw them. They looked good!"

Without even looking up from her GameSlave, Gaz snarled, "Leave me alone."

Dib tried again; he could easily enough imagine the scene that would ensue if he dared go downstairs by himself to eat. "Aren't you hungry, Gaz? I sure am! I bet I can eat more sandwiches than you," Dib tried an appeal to Gaz's competitive drive.

Gaz glanced at the corpse of their mother before staring deep into Dib's eyes. Her eyes narrowed, focussing venom until it seared his very soul. "Do NOT bother me, Dib. I WILL destroy you." While a threat from Gaz was always to be taken seriously, this one made him catch his breath. Dib didn't know why such icy fear clutched his gut, only that he was in no hurry to urge her downstairs again.

When their father came over again to ask Dib, "Why aren't you taking your sister downstairs for sandwiches?" Gaz was careful to put her game on pause before looking up, her eyes soft and wide. "Food? There's food? Nobody told me there was food. Where is it?"

His father glared down at him; Dib whirled in panic and some relative remarked, "Do you see how guilty he looks?"

"I don't envy the Professor. That boy's going to be nothing but trouble."

Her work completed, Gaz hopped off the chair and ran off downstairs. He heard, "Son, don't let her trip and fall!" even though Gaz was a room ahead by now, and if she did stub her toe he wouldn't be able to do much to prevent a fall.

When they came upstairs again to sit in the parlor, Dib stood for an exceptionally fat aunt who wanted the last seat. When a teenage cousin, a fan of horror movies who had heard something to the effect that Dib liked ghost stories, offered to take him out for a break and an ice cream treat, the Professor said no, Dib had to stay and watch Gaz and protect her.

"'Protect' her? 'Protect' her from what??" the cousin wrinkled his nose and waved his arms around the room. "Any one of us here can watch her for one second! AND! We're all family here ANYWAY! Sheesh Dib!" With a pitying shake of his head, the cousin stepped out to a nearby corner store for an ice cream bar for each of them. Dib gratefully ate his, but Gaz set hers on the arm of the sofa, went back to playing, and showed Dib her teeth if he even looked like he was thinking of asking could he have hers before it melted if she didn't want it.

Presently Dib sat down next to the sofa, closer to Gaz than was comfortable, but he was very tired, of standing as well as of watching that delicious ice cream go to waste. Gaz had finally made it to the final level, but once again she was down to her last avatar. Determined though she was to finally finish the game, for the second time that day the screen showed those horrible words "Game Over."

Gaz's teeth showed glowing embers along their gaps as sucked her breath through them, trying... not... to fling... her game... at the wall. No... no. Somehow she doubted she'd receive another GameSlave within the minute. So instead she decided to give Dib another kick, perhaps catch his glasses, to see if her aim was better in real life than it was in the game.

But Dib, intuitively aware of the impending danger, chose that moment to look up, and the edge of her shoe caught his lip, splitting it. Blood. Oh well, even better. Gaz started another game, consoled for the moment as Dib reached for a tissue from the boxes that dotted the room.

Finally the room cleared out as the funeral home was preparing to close its doors for the day. "Yes but Gaz is the one I really feel sorry for"... "lovely flowers"... "what with that bully big brother of hers"... "so many people showed up"... "only in kindergarten, so sad..." "must get together more often, you know what they say about families, only seeing each other at weddings and funerals!"

Finally the Professor came over to collect his children. Dib just looked up at him, too tired after this long day to chatter the way he usually did. What happened to Dad? It's like he just remembered we're even here, Dib thought.

At least the Professor asked Dib how he had cut himself. After thinking he had caught it all, Dib now noticed the stray drops on his shirt; he would need a fresh one tomorrow from somewhere.

"Well? I'm waiting!"

By now Dib had a good idea what would happen if he tried telling the truth. "Uh, I bumped my chin on the coffee table."

The Professor shook his head. "I'm not a complete idiot son! Let's examine the evidence, shall we? Coffee table... no blood. Here... blood! It won't kill you to tell the truth for once, will it, just this one time, hm? I promise, son, I''ll believe you!"

"Actually, Dad," Dib lowered his voice cautiously, "Here is the truth. Gaz kick - But I'm sure it was an accident!" he hastily added upon seeing the exasperation cloud his father's goggles over once again.

"Boy I'm fed up with your lying! How dare you accuse your little sister to cover up your own clumsiness! I should... Oh never mind. Let's get out of here."

Writing the daily report in his log book, the Funeral Director found he was still troubled by one family in particular. His job brought him in constant contact with people under some of the worst stress of their lives, and he knew from long experience that this situation had violent abuse written all over it. True, he hadn't actually seen any, not the father hitting the kids, not the young boy hitting the younger girl, so what could it be? Though the signs were all there, his attempts to get them to open up and talk had led nowhere.

The Funeral Director hoped he had done the right thing by suggesting to the Professor that both the boy and the girl would need to be next to their one remaining parent, so perhaps at the actual funeral the next day, he would like to sit with one child on either side of him. He hoped that this arrangement would alleviate, at least for the duration of the service, whatever the actual problem was.

As the remainder of the Membrane family approached their car, Dib reached for the handle on the front passenger door, expecting to sit in the front seat with his father as he had been promised that morning. When they had set out for the funeral home, Gaz had insisted on getting in the front seat, and they had all agreed that on the return trip, the front seat would go to Dib.

However, Gaz decided that she wanted the front seat now too... and when Dib tried to remind his father about the deal they'd made just that morning, the Professor told him, all glib and jolly, "Just suck it up son! Giving in is the price you pay for being the big brother!"

Dib fought back a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would he always from now on be taking a back seat... literally... to Gaz?

He darted over to pop up in front of his father as he was opening the door. "Dad! Let's do this."

"Yes?"

"Uh, I'm thinking it would be better to put Gaz in the back seat. It's late and she's tired and if she falls asleep, there'd be more room back there for her to stretch out."

"I'm tired too, son, so let's go home."

Dib wondered if his father was hard of hearing or just too tired to listen. The third possibility, that he was deliberately pushing his son away, hurt too much to even consider. He sighed. With a smug smirk, Gaz was now settled in the front seat, next to their father, the one which had been promised to him this time.

Working on their father would get him nowhere, Gaz would do only what she wanted to do, and - Hey...

As his father searched for the key, Dib jumped into the back seat and immediately stretched out fully, then curled up as if he were nestling into the most luxurious canopy bed in the world. He sighed loudly and began soft, fake snoring.

Gaz looked around and began to wiggle uneasily, trying to see what her brother was doing in the back seat that was so good. The Professor chuckled. "What's that? You sure know how to wind me around your little finger, don't you?" To Dib he said, "Sorry to disturb you son, but... we are switching... seats!"

As Gaz scrambled into the back seat, Dib took his place in the front and fastened the seat belt, beside his father at last. The Professor finally found his car keys. Dib watched his father start the car, back out of the parking slot, and wait for a break in traffic before swinging the car out onto the road. He took a deep breath and sat back contentedly. As the night sky whooshed past overhead, Dib pretended his mother was still alive, still in the hospital, and they were all on their way to visit her for one last time.

The End