Tuesday 22nd December
I wake up slowly, first feeling stiff due to my awkward position on the bed, then secondly, painfully aware that I wouldn't be greeted by A or BB today.
Or any other day.
It 's weird that they died yesterday.
The clock tells me it's ten past twelve, and from the light outside I'm guessing it's the morning. Or afternoon. Whatever. I sigh and roll over, pushing my body onto its back and revealing my very dead arm. I tug it closer and leave it on my chest, occasionally wiggling my fingers to regain some feeling. Why did they let me sleep in? I gaze at the ceiling for a while, its blankness seeming to reflect into my mind. There wasn't anything to distract me. Apart from the smell of burnt toast.
Quickly followed by a high pitched wail of complete failure.
I forgot Misa came home yesterday.
I sit up groggily with a sigh. Staring blankly at the door in debate. Do I go down, or stay in the protective bubble of my room? I decide on prolonging the decision and head for the ensuite, going to shower, change and then rethink things.
When I go downstairs, it feels dead.
There's not a loud racket (considering Misa is home), the smell of burnt toast has now faded, but there's a draft from a window that's open – probably to diffuse the smell. I head to the kitchen first off, Rod and Misa working over the countertop.
"Don't we have a chef for this?" I sigh, slipping onto a stool and leaning on the surface.
"Yes, but that's not the point. Here" Misa passes gooey chocolate-looking thing. "Enjoy!"
"If you made it, I doubt it's edible" My eyes widen as I poke the gooey mixture, but she slaps my hand away.
"It's not edible. It's drinkable. It's a chocolate smoothie, for you!" I cringe and ignore it for a while, waiting for Misa to disappear off (after showing her some fake-drinking) in content. Rod passes me a quickly made hot-chocolate and drowns the smoothie in the sink.
"Trust me; don't ever drink it" I smile, my legs moving back and forth childishly under the breakfast bar in the kitchen. It's small, only for quick-chat purposes really. The dining room is meant for, well, dining. "So, how er...how are you?" I shrug. "These next few weeks are going to be tough"
"So much for the 'it'll be alright later' speech I was hoping for" I sip the drink with a faint smile.
"Why lie?" Rod shrugs, leaning on the counter behind him. "They were like family to you Mel" He scoffs, adding – "It takes months for someone to physically look OK after someone that close to you dies. It's gonna' take more than a few comforting words for you to emotionally be ok. I'm not going to lie to you" I shrug. "Unless you want me to..." I smile and shake my head.
"Everyone else will fuel the sympathy they think I need. Your blunt honesty is something I value" He nods and chuckles. Silence floats in, the inevitable topic of 'what to do now?' looming over our shoulders.
"Fuck this" I breathe, frowning. "What happens now?" Rod clears his throat, straightening up and looking like the businessman he isn't.
"Funeral arrangements. Best to do it quickly; no point in dragging it out" I nod in agreement. "You were 'elected' to sort this Mel. If you need help, or if you want to back out-"
"In not backing out" I snap. Rod holds his hands up defensively and I feel guilty in an instant. "Sorry..i don't -... I can't see how-it's just...They wouldn't have wanted anyone else to sort it. Not that I know of"
"S'alright" Rod sighs. "If you need anything..." I nod and sigh, realising something.
"I know nothing about funeral arrangements. What needs to be decided?"
"You need to register the death" He says, matter-of-factly. "Identify the bodies n' whatnot"
"Oh God..." I breathe. "I have to see them?"
"Think of them as sacks of meat. Two bodies the Family launched down. Might help" Rod shrugs and I blanche at the thought. How could I think of them like that? I see the comment as slightly insensitive, but this is Rod. He doesn't do sensitive in the best way possible.
"Uhm...so...what do I do there? At the err..place?"
"Fill in the forms, their date n' place of death, their names-"
"Real?" Rod nods. "...What if it defies their whole life's morals? They've never wanted anyone to know-"
"It's just police Records Mel, and, bluntly, they're dead. No'one can go n' kill 'em" I nod weakly. "Do you know their real names?" I nod again, "So tha' needs to be put down, along with their date and place of birth n' crap, jobs, marriages – I guess that's err...not applicable?"
"Shut up" I groan, rubbing my head in my hands with a small laugh. "Then what?"
"I can sort the rest o' that out for yeh'" He grins. "Uhm...then there's the funeral itself. You get to sort that"
"So...what, like burial or cr-..." The thought of them burning suddenly made me sick. I could feel the fire licking at my skin again, crawling up my body. God.
"Mel?"
"They're being buried. Next to each other - on top of each other, as close as possible. End of. They aren't burning" Rod nods in understanding. He takes some paper from the side and starts writing
"Organs?"
"Eh?"
"Donating them? Just a side thought..."
"No. A's are probably useless and BB's...well...no. No. What else?"
"We'll have to speak to the minister at the church, book it in n' stuff. You'll be good at that, he likes you" I grin.
"He wouldn't like you – even if you did go to church"
"He wouldn't freakin' catch me in a church" Rod rolls his eyes and I feel happier at the light-humour. "Err...so yeah. Talk to him, there's different types of ...ehem...y'know, coffins n' stuff...then there's the headstones..."
"I can do this" I breathe.
"You'll be fine. Think of things then ask the minister-dude how to go about it" Minister-dude? Hell-fire, Rod. "There's the funeral director too...y'can talk to him about colours n' shades n' fucking flowers n' whatnot"
"Yeah...thanks" Rod checks his watch and looks over the paper.
"I'm gonna' take this with me, ok? I'll get it to the right people n' get that sorted, then we can go and do the Hard thing later...the police will want it doing soon" I nod. "I'll check back on you at lunch, k? Gotta' meeting in town; and fuck, it's bloody snowing" Rod leaves, leaving me to look out the kitchen window and see the white flecks falling rapidly. It was a wonder I hadn't noticed. Sighing, I lean onto my arms, folded over the surface of the counter-top. After a few minutes of thinking, I too get a piece of paper and begin writing ideas. So far, I don't want their organs to be donated. I don't want them to be cremated, but I do want them buried together. I don't think they'd care much for how they'd look in the ground, so probably spending the necessary amount only on the coffins and such would be ok. It was all about the spirituality in my mind. My fingers automatically find the rosary and stroke its surface. I really hope they're happy now... With that thought, I begin jotting cheesy ideas of what to put on their headstones, but nothing seems to fit. Eventually, I get one that I think works and take it to my room. I snag a file from my empty-collection and name it 'Funeral Arrangements', sticking my notes in there. After that, I let Skyar know that I'm going to visit the church and that he shouldn't worry. Misa tries to tag along, but I bribe Skyar into taking her shopping.
I take My Lovely, driving the long way to the church simply to clear my head and spend some time with Her. I forgot how sleek she felt and looked, how soft and graceful she moved, but how fiercely she demanded attention and speed. It would probably be much more conventional to turn up to church in nicer vehicle – most times, the Navy BMW was good enough, but I had only ever been to church on My Lovely once before, and that was when I broke down after the Fire Incident. I don't think that Father Smith had been very happy about the noise My Lovely made; She was partly broken and there was something wrong with the nozzle. She had a Cold, in her defence. But she sounded like a permanent Elephant's trumpet. This time, she was quiet and perfect, but I still envisioned Father Smiths disapproved face. I laughed at the thought, pulling into the parking bay and locking her up. I put the helmet in the compartment and put my spare, sensible black hoodie over the leathers; I feel slightly more appropriate for going into church now. Ha.
As I step in, the familiar but stale scent of incense catches my senses and I resist the urge to sneeze. I walk straight up the isle (because I have done so ever since I was a kid, and learned that men don't walk up the isle like women do...) and genuflect at the top. As I rise, I hear Father Smith's chuckle to the right.
"My, my. It's been at least a month" He chuckles again. He isn't an old, fat man in a drab, sack-of-a-robe. He's surprisingly frail, gentle but firm. He's known me since I was a child, since I was old enough to demand that I wanted to go to church. That was a funny story—"How are you keeping, Mello?"
"Um...i've been alright" We move to the front row of pews and sit down. He sighs as he does so, and I'm painfully aware that he's getting much older now. "How about you, Father Smith? How have you been doing?"
"Ah, fairly well, fairly well" I smile and nod.
"That's good" There's a comfortable silence. "I'm sorry I haven't come to your masses for a while; I do try"
"I understand. A young lad such as yourself, with a social life such as your own – and a brain to boot!" I smile a little. "I'm surprised you make it at all" He chuckles. "Ah Mello, you've turned into a fine young man" If only he knew about the Family. I glance over, trying to picture his face if he found out. He was staring right at me. "I was wondering how long it would take you, Mello"
"Take me to...what?" I frown.
"I may be old but I do own a very good Box y'know" He calls his television a Box. Because he's old like that. He takes my hand in his old wrinkly one. They're surprisingly soft. "I saw those two; the pictures of them"
"There's pictures?" My eyes widen.
"They're happy; in their own clothes, a casual image I suppose. But I knew their faces" His spare hand reaches for his nose, and he taps it knowingly. "They've been your friends for a long long time..." I nod, the stinging in the back of my eyes beginning to feel heavier. I wasn't prepared for this; I came to talk about arrangements, not this! He brings my hand up, placing them on my chest. "They'll still be in there y'know" I smile, grateful of the fact that he knows me well enough to know what I need and what I don't need. Any other priest might've given me a lecture on how they committed the ultimate sin by taking their own lives, but they're better off where they are.
"Yeah" There's a nice stillness, a comforting one. He releases my hands with that gentle smile of his and we both stare ahead to the figures of Mary and her baby Jesus, and the large crucifix near it.
"So" He says, brightly. "What is it you need?"
"I've been allocated to sort the funeral arrangements. I have a general idea...i think..." He chuckles and nods, standing up.
"Alrighty Mello, come with me. We'll get this sorted to perfection, eh?"
"Yeah" I laugh along with him, my mood and spirits much lifted from before. I let him loop his arm in mine, he looks ready to fall and the thought concerns me. "Is it still the room on the right?"
"Ah Mello, your brain is a good one. I don't know how you remember these things – I can barely remember to lock everything up!" I laugh at this.
"You're the most safe-cautioned person I know, Father. You wouldn't forget those things" He chuckles again and leads me into the rooms at the back. The one on the right was the grievance one.
"In you go then" He prompts, a gentle hand on my back.
I get the feeling that this won't be as bad as I thought it would be.
We finish the arrangements in two hours, and I even invite him for a cup of coffee at the nearest cafe for his efforts, but he has things to do. I bid him goodbye and he tells me to be careful on that 'monstrosity of an invention'. I hug him and leave him be, heading home feeling much more confident that everything is cleared up.
I park Her up in the garage, packing everything else up and heading into the house with a light step. Skyar makes me jump, attacking me with his fist (and missing!) as I walk in.
"You owe me" He growls. "Forty fucking stores, all for three pairs of shoes!" I laugh. "Oh no, you don't get to laugh. It's another ten more for a top that doesn't exist! Then another three just to find the perfect freakin hair-device! You owe me for this, you little ass" Rod comes in and laughs with me, putting a hand on Skyar's shoulder. He really is fuming.
"Why don't you go for a run?" Rod offers. Skyar shrugs him off, but heads out the door none the less for, presumably, a run. "Did you get it all sorted?" I nod, happily.
"It's tomorrow"
"Eh?" Rod's eyes widen. "Why d'ya go n' do that? Isn't it a bit close to Christmas?"
"Well you said do it quick" I reason. "Plus, it's less time for the media to get a hold of it; less chances of it being sabotaged by Dicks, and anyone that even cared about them would be sure to come or make the effort, thus, ruling out the people that don't give a shit and just want the free buffet after. It's genius. I am a genius. So there"
"...That brain of yours is shit-scary"
"I learned from the best" I grin. "I didn't ask- I assumed it was ok to have the wake here?"
"Wake?" Rod looks confused.
"AKA: the after-party"
"Eh, sure, why not. I'll get one of the guys to put all the less legal things in the safe and make sure the doors are locked n' stuff. Go tell chef, he'll need to know" I nod, resist hugging the man and head to the kitchen.
Before nightfall, we head to the morgue to identify the bodies for tomorrows funeral. I identified A's; he looked perfectly preserved. Due to BB's death-circumstances, they double checked if I wanted to see. First, I said no. I saw him on the roof, there was video footage, there was no real need to identify him. But if I had done A, then it seemed right to do BB. So I did.
I held back the tears all the way home.
All the way up the stairs.
All the way through the shower.
Even after the shower, in my ensuite bathroom whilst brushing my teeth.
I didn't make it out the bathroom and to my bed.
I collapsed.
In a heap on the floor of my ensuite.
And I bawled.
For three hours straight, the door securely locked
Clutching my rosary the entire time.