New chapter! It's about time!

-Keta

Chapter 5

Flug isn't surprised when his mother calls him a few hours later, the shrill shriek of the landline wrenching him from a restless nap. He sits up and rubs his eyes before fixing his sight on the cat-shaped abomination on the kitchen counter; with a bitter, yet wistful smile, he remembers how he and Kayla had fought about the phone when they bought it. Those memories play on repeat in the back of his mind, partially obscured by the haze of anger and sadness that warps his smile into a feral-looking grimace.

On the fourth ring, he grabs the phone and takes a breath as he brings it up to his ear. "Hi, mom," he whispers, his voice horse and tinged with exhaustion.

"Flug!" she cries, and he winces at the hysteria in her tone. "Thank goodness you're alright! I don't know if anyone's gotten ahold of you, but your sister-"

"Mom…" he interrupts, not wanting to delay this any longer. "I know about Kayla."

"Wh-what?" He can hear the way the woman's panic and sorrow wrenches at her heart, and a part of him wishes that he could tell her anything different… But he won't lie, not about this.

He runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that he couldn't break, no matter how much he was admonished for it. "I was with her… I saw her die, mom."

Her voice grows cold, drawing a shiver from the already shaken man. "And who did it?"

"Ice Caster," he admits, but that in itself is partially a lie; it had been Captain Colossus's fault too. "But he's dead now too."

"I see…" Her voice drops off again, and Flug can practically feel the way that she wants to press for more information. He won't give it though, unless she asks… He knows that she'll ask eventually; it's inevitable, but he just can't bring himself to say it now. "The coroner said he was going to release her body next Saturday." He's surprised by how quickly they're going to release her; it's less than a week. "I think we should have her funeral that next week."

Flug finds himself frowning at the detached sort of tone that his mother uses; she rarely talks like that; but he cannot deny that her idea is a good one. "Yeah," he whispers, "we probably should."

"I'm going to make an appointment at Smith and Carlison's." Flug remembers that place from when his Aunt Mary died; the director had been a tall man, one that seemed to be getting on in years, but age hadn't slowed him down, nor had it dampened his smile. But there was another man, Carlison that had a strange look in his eye when he saw the, then, eleven-year-old. He didn't say or do anything to warrant suspicion from the rest of the family, but to Kayla and Flug, he was undeniably creepy. "I think that you should come... You'd probably know what she'd want more than me."

"Yeah..." He leans over the counter and reaches for the rolled-up piece of paper in the penholder beside the receiver; it's a copy of Kayla's will. She'd made quite a few of them and scattered them around the house and in various safety deposit boxes, so that if something were to happen to her, he'd always be able to find one. "Just let me know when... I'll bring her will."

"Her will?"

"Yeah, she finally got around to updating it last month. It's pretty short, but she did say what she wanted done with her body." He unrolls it and frowns down at the paper; it's just seven sentences. "I'm sorry, mom..."

"For what?"

"For everything..." He sighs and drops the paper onto the granite, watching as it rolls up on itself. "I should have done something... Maybe I could have saved her."

"You'd probably be dead too."

"Maybe... but maybe not..." He highly doubts that they would have been able to kill him; Captain Colossus's strength meant nothing when Flug tore him apart, and Ice Caster's magic... it wasn't really effective. "I'll see you later... Love you..."

"I love you too."

Flug hangs up, and the sound echoes in the empty apartment.

His mother calls again later that night to inform him that their appointment is at three the next day.

So Flug wakes up after just after dawn, tired of tossing and turning, and he gets dressed in his second nicest clothes, rights the pictures that he had flipped over the night before, and slips out into the small hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kayla's door, still cracked open from the day before. He remembers how she'd always keep it open in case he had a nightmare and needed to come sleep with her; that hasn't happened in seven years...

Shaking his head to clear it, he turns away from the room and heads to his kitchen. There's a couple bottles of Kayla's blood in the fridge... he stares at them, but he cannot bring himself to drink any of them... He doesn't deserve them right now, and he knows that if he feeds now, he won't be able to stop himself from drinking until every ounce of her is gone...

Instead, he helps himself to the raw hamburger on the bottom shelf; it tastes bland when compared to Kayla's flavor, or really any human's, but that's to be expected when changing the creature that one feeds on. Cattle are like tofu, sustainable but lacking in flavor, and Flug, desiring little finery in his life, cannot deny that his palate requires a richer lifestyle. After he finishes eating, being careful not to get any blood on his shirt, he cleans up in the kitchen sink, scrubbing both his hands and face with a mixture of soap and hydrogen peroxide. Then he sits on the couch and stares out of the window; there's nothing that holds his attention, nothing that demands that he stop lamenting his loss and focus.

He knows that this isn't healthy... but he just can't bring himself to do anything...

He stares out of that window for longer than he would have thought it possible to watch his dismal street as cars pass and people wander to and fro, some gathering in large packs, their laughter seeming to permeate the bricks and glass. Flug finds himself enraptured in the intricate, nearly unnoticeable patterns that the patrons create, his mind latching onto these numbers, these tangible items... They spell out mathematical formulas and ratios that he can practically see in the air before him.

For example, when the light about four streets down turns green, just as it does two minutes after the start of every red light, he notices that between seven and eleven cars will pass by his window. At the same time, between two and six people on the street will pause and line up at the crosswalk, waiting for the cars to pass by, and when they can finally cross, between two and six people will take their place from the other side of the street, the side where his apartment sits; it's a busy morning.

His idle hands write down these numbers, not in pencil but with his fingertips, the information spelled out onto his arms and legs and couch cushions. He doesn't seem to notice the way that his hands move, his eyes remaining locked on the outside window.

That is until one of his nails catches on the fabric of the cushion and tears a hole in it.

It is only then that Flug looks at the clock and realizes with a start that it's nearly one, and so, with a sigh, he stands and grabs Kayla's will from the coffee table before shutting off the kitchen light and leaving his apartment.

As he steps out into the hallway, he notices his elderly neighbor letting out her cat and ducks his head, not wanting to meet her eyes. "Be careful out there deary," she calls when he walks past. "I hear there's a monster on the loose. It killed a couple of heroes yesterday."

"Yeah... I will," he replies, a hot flush starting to build as a wave of embarrassment-laced shame broils in his face. "You should be careful too."

"I will," she replies, and for once, she lets the conversation go; Flug has never felt more grateful.

When he finally steps out onto the street, he debates calling a taxi, simply because he doesn't want to walk past the alleyway where Kayla...

But considering that he'd decided to leave almost two hours early for his appointment, partly because he doesn't want to be late and partly because he feels that he cannot trust himself to pay attention to the time, it would make little sense to shell out the extra money when he could easily walk there in a half hour. With his extra time, he knows that he could take a shortcut through the graveyard and visit the grave marked only by a name... That's where his biological mother's buried.

Meredith Gavilier; that had been her name, and Smith and Carlison's had been the ones to bury her; so, she's buried in the smaller graveyard just a few blocks away from the funeral parlor. Kayla had been the one to find her, and it was only then that Flug finally knew his birth name, not that anything ever came of it. Meredith and Jesus Gavilier had died long before Flug ever started looking for them, and both had been murdered...

Just before he walks into the graveyard at a quarter to two, he sees his adoptive mother's car pull up, and he stops, quite surprised to see her here when he'd never told her about this place.

He doesn't call out to her though, not until she gets out of the car and starts walking over to him, her heels clicking on the asphalt. "What are you doing here?" he inquires.

"Looking for you," she replies, her tone short but not rude. "After the arrangements, we're supposed to meet with John; he's going to meet us at the funeral home."

"I see..."

Lillian Slys looks rather off-put by his emotionless response, but she doesn't immediately try to break the speechlessness that overcomes them. "What are you doing here?" she finally asks, having had enough of the tense silence.

"My birth mother's buried here." He turns his gaze to the southernmost point of the graveyard, where he knows there'll be little black gravestone covered in leaves and dead vines, and he finds himself wanting to share her with someone again. "Do you want to meet her?"

While Lillian finds herself unsure, a part of herself, the part that is first and foremost Flug's mother knows that it would be rude to say no; she'd never get this chance again, of that, she's positive. "O-okay... If you're so sure." Flug holds out his hand, and Lillian after a moment's hesitation grabs ahold of it.

He leads her down a winding path of bricks that branches off several times, leading to other, more elaborate gravestones, but he never once sets down on a branching path, those are well worn by previous travelers. The one that he leads her down is in much better condition the farther they go down, until the only wear is from the creeping plants, and at last, Lillian sees the headstone and the name carved out in nondescript block letters. At the last name, she smiles a little ghost of a smile, because she now has a name, a name for her little boy and for the woman who gave him to her.

As they stand before Meredith's grave, Flug looks at Lillian from the corner of his eye, barely catching her twitch of a smile, and asks, "how did you know I'd be here?"

"Kayla told me that you liked to come here from time to time, and that if I couldn't find you, this would be a good place to look... She just never told me why."

"That doesn't surprise me..." Flug drops to his knees on the earth and reaches out to touch the black stone. "Mother... I know I haven't come by in a while, but I wanted you to meet someone." He gestures to Lillian. "This is the woman who raised me, Lillian Slys. She's really a nice lady, and I thought about introducing you before, but it never felt right... And I..." His eyes burn, forcing him to squeeze them shut to keep the tears from falling. "Kayla died, mother... She died, and I saw it happen..."

"I know you gave me up to protect me, but I really wish you could have stuck around... Maybe then... Maybe then we could have been a family, all of us and you could have really met Kayla and mom... I know that you would have liked them..."

He sits there in silence for a while, until his knees begin to ache and his spine begins to creak; its only then that Lillian looks at her watch and reaches out to touch her son's shoulder. "Flug," Lillian whispers, "it's time to go."

"Yeah..." he breathes, his voice turning raspy and harsh. "We should go..." With that, he quickly stands and dusts off his pants. "B-bye, mother..." He follows Lillian out of the cemetery and back to her car, not bothering to try and fight his way out of a lift.

As the car pulls away from the drive, Flug swears that he can see a tall, black figure with a top hat standing at his mother's grave.

"I, Kayla Slys, being of sound mind and body do hereby proclaim that the following shall be done upon my death, regardless of how my family feels about these requests. If something is not specified, it will be up to Flug to decide what he wants to do with it."

"Lillian Slys and my sisters will receive my jewelry apart from the locket purchased by Flug Slys upon my eighteenth birthday. Lillian Slys will also be allowed to make preparations for my wake; however, the funeral must be held the day after my body is released as I do not wish to be cremated, preserved or modified in any way. I also wish not be buried, so the funeral must be done immediately after visiting hours."

"I want Flug to have my body. He'll know what to do with it."

With the will read, Flug drops the paper onto the table but continues staring down at it, trying his best to avoid the looks being sent his way. He knows that its contents are shocking; he could barely believe it when she first had it written, and he remembers how much John, her lawyer had protested the stipulations about her not being embalmed. But Flug knows why, and he can't bear to look at his adoptive mother while he has that knowledge.

"She doesn't want to be buried?" Mr. Carlison inquires, intrigue coloring his voice. "That peculiar, but not unheard of."

"I... I'm a s-scientist," Flug stutters out, his hands gripping the chair arms so tightly that he swears that it'll break. "Kayla made me promise that I would use her b-body in an experiment, and then after that was done that I would dispose of her George Haigh style." He feels his cheeks flush hotter, no doubt in response to the eyes on him.

"And I'm sure it'll be weirder after you read her addendum." Startled by the familiar voice, Flug looks up to find John at the doorway with two papers in one hand and a briefcase in the other, the latter of which is mostly empty. "Long time, no see, Flug."

"H-hi, John."

"Mr. Arbinsworth," Mr. Smith greets. "How nice of you to join us. What's this about an addendum?"

"Kayla Slys had a second part to her will that she didn't tell Dr. Slys about. She said it was to stop him from trying to change her mind... not from the first part but from the latter part." Lillian makes a hurrying motion with her hands, and John nods, before setting down the briefcase and unfolding one of the two papers.

"I, Kayla Slys, being of sound mind and body, do amend my previous will with the following statements. My parents, Lillian and Richard Slys are to receive ten thousand dollars of my life insurance policy to pay back what remains of my student loans. Also, I wish to change what I want my brother, Dr. Flug Slys to do with my body after my death, and this information is to be included on another letter that is to be delivered in person by John J. Arbinsworth. This letter must be read only by Flug, and after he is finished, the letter is to be burned inside of a cigarette tray with a green disposable lighter. It has to be green because green is my favorite color."

Most of the people in attendance chuckle slightly at the abnormal ending, but Flug cannot find it in his heart to do so; the sense of foreboding brewing in his chest is simply too strong to do so.

"Are you seriously going to go through with whatever she asks of you?" John asks, his hand clenching tightly to the sealed letter in his grip.

"I have to," Flug replies, a bit of stubbornness leaking through. "She's my sister."

"Alright then..." John hands Flug the letter and opens his briefcase, fishing out a black cigarette tray and a disposable lighter.

With shaking hands, Flug opens the letter and starts to read, taking great care not to let the others see. 'Flug,' it reads. 'If you're reading this, then I'm dead, and obviously, you're not... So, you're going to eat me. And because you can be a little dense, I will repeat: YOU WILL EAT MY BODY. When you're done reading this letter, burn it with the lighter and tray that John provides... I love you, little brother... Now be careful. I won't be around to watch out for you anymore. Love, Kayla.'

The moment that he finishes, Flug folds up the paper into a tight little square and places it on the tray on the table, trying not to drop it or the lighter that John passes him. His hands shake even more violently than before as he sets the page aflame and watches as the incriminating words disappear into ashes and behind the veil of unshed tears.

"I need to go," he whispers, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

"Do you want me to drive you?" Lillian asks, but Flug shakes his head.

"I'll catch a cab."

Flug does just that and finds himself staring out of the window as the streets pass by quickly; they never once hit a red light. The moment that the car stops, he bursts from the cab, flinging money at the driver's face and runs up the stairs. Tears flow from his eyes like a torrential flood, obscuring his vision and nearly causing him to trip as he runs to his apartment and locks the door behind him.

Wishing that what he'd read had been a dream, that this had all been a nightmare, he opens Kayla's door and collapses on her bed, crying and clutching to her pillow...

He falls asleep in Kayla's room that night.