The ground crunched under his feet as Paris made his way through the crowded cemetery, crowded with headstones that is…not people…there wasn't another living soul in sight, not even the groundskeepers…it had been over two hours since he had taken off and he was wondering why no one had found him yet. Mr. Galloway certainly knew where he would go, but here he was with no one around. Not that he cared, Paris needed to be alone and what better place than among the dead.
Speaking of dead, Eric was going to kill him when he heard about his taking off, not just taking off, but taking off after attacking his classmates; there was definitely a grounding in his future, not to mention the lip he was going to get from the principal. The words 'how could you be that stupid' and 'what were you thinking' came to mind.
Maybe he'd be expelled, after all, ditchin' school usually earned a detention, and fighting could end in suspension, and Paris had managed both… It didn't matter why he had gone after them, no one would care about that, Jamal and Keith had only used words…Paris had used his fists.
He felt bad…he really did; not about Keith and Jamal, but about how this would affect Eric, who was stressed out enough with that case involving the missing kids; no one knew that Paris was fully aware of the case, and he knew that there was a good chance everyone would think the same thing had happened to him.
He sighed, that figured, even more added onto his screw up, more reason for Eric and Lori to hate him, more reason for everyone to hate him.
Paris wiped a tear away; Leslie probably hated him too, she would be so ashamed of him…but none of this would've happened if she hadn't died, their life was going fine… Quickly Paris shook his head; he couldn't blame Leslie, not ever.
This was his fault, not Leslie's…this would've happened regardless of her death, she had been right…being ashamed of his name was stupid…and Paris realized…it was like being ashamed of her, the words from Keith and Jamal had hurt and had been about her, but that had just been an attack on him through her…they had figured out a way to really hit a nerve and had done so…
Paris had done something far worse, by pretending his name wasn't Paris and constantly mentioning that his name embarrassed him, he had hurt Leslie, she may never had said anything, but he realized now that his entire life he had done nothing, but hurt her, all to protect himself from what he was afraid of something that could easily have been dealt with. The tears came faster, reaching the point where his sight was a just one big blur, he wiped them away as furiously as possible, but stopping them just wasn't happening.
He wasn't even sure how he reached the grave he was looking for, his whole purpose of going to the cemetery…but somehow…he did he always did, he could make the walk from the gate to the grave blindfolded.
Standing over Leslie's headstone, Paris felt his emotions reach the brink…he always tried not to show them, he knew showing emotions was strategically not in his best interest.
He learned that in second grade when one of his friends started crying because he had fallen off the slide and skinned his knee. Now, this was something that anybody could cry over, the cut wasn't deep, but skinned anything hurt, especially knees, but unfortunately no one else seemed to remember that fact as Paris watched, learning that the cruelty of human beings is best played out in the schoolyard.
Before anyone could stop it, his friend was being teased relentlessly for crying and it didn't stop when the bell rang ending recess, nor did it stop for the rest of the school year, in fact it only stopped because his friend took matters into his own hands…he became the same as those who had tormented him, he became one of the meanest kids in the school…Keith was no longer Paris's best friend, but the school bully, someone EVERY kid in the school feared, even the older kids.
Shaking his head, Paris sat down on the grass facing the headstone, despite the heat in the air around him, the ground felt cool and comforting. If he closed his eyes, he could feel Leslie hugging him tight, the heat in the air became the warmth of her arms holding him close, telling him that she loved him and always would, no matter what he did or how old he became or who his birth parents were, he would always be her baby.
Keeping his eyes closed tight, he drifted back to different memories; they're trip to the Grand Canyon, the trip to Disney World when he was seven, a trip that Leslie had literally saved for years for them to take with the Williamsons, or they're summer road-trip to the Soccer Hall of Fame in Oneonta, New York the summer before their world came crashing down around them; it was the longest trip Leslie's poor '98 Chevy Cavalier had ever taken, it was at least a two day trip driving straight, but Leslie had wanted Paris to really see the country and the trip took about five days, Leslie was completely surprised that the car made as far as Colorado, but not only did it make it to New York, it easily made it home, and it was also the best time either one of them had ever had.
Even the memories that were not big trips, stood out in his mind; like watching movies, going out to dinner with other foster families they were friends with, her cheering on his soccer team, a passion he had given up when Leslie died, but his favorite memory…was her reading to him, every night since he could remember and long before that, Leslie would read him to sleep, she would read parts of the Odyssey and the Iliad, sometimes scenes from Shakespeare plays, but mostly…she read the Raven.
Paris couldn't get enough of the poem and even though he could read it pretty well by himself by the time he was 3 ½ and had it memorized word for word by the time he was four, listening to Leslie read it to him as he fell asleep was comforting, and always helped him to drift peacefully to sleep.
Even now, if he thought about it hard enough, Paris could hear her reciting the poem, as the wind rustled the trees, eerily scratching and creaking against one another. If there was one thing that Leslie enjoyed more than classic stories, it was ghost stories, she loved a good scare.
During nights when a rare storm ravaged outside, her and Paris would stay up telling scary stories, seeing who would get scared first; when he was younger, Leslie always went easy on him, trying to avoid the nightmares she was sure would come in the middle of the night, but she quickly learned that Paris's eidetic memory allowed him to be able to recite some of the most frightening stories told throughout history, and by the time he was seven she stopped going easy on him, scaring him was getting difficult because he knew most of the stories and he got a kick out of give his mom a good fright.
Taking a deep breath, Paris knew he should be turning himself into Eric and face the wrath that was coming, but he wasn't ready, instead he wiped his eyes with his arm and adjusted himself so he was sitting Indian style facing Leslie's headstone.
"Ok mom, I've got a good one for you…" he said, forcing out a grin "betcha you haven't heard this one and you can pretend all you want, but I know you'll be scared of this story. 'Cause its true and I can prove this one" he paused and picked a blade of grass, tying it into a tight knot "so this guy checked into the MGM grand for a weekend of gambling, didn't tell anyone he was taking the trip…he was from New Jersey, but he had been kicked out of Atlantic City for counting cards in blackjack. He used a fake name and everything, he was hoping to strike it big at the blackjack table that weekend…So the weekend was going well, he was making the biggest payout MGM had seen in decades. But of course security caught on and realized he was counting the cards. But 'fore they could catch him, he grabbed his winnings and bolted to his room.
"Security was coming fast ready to give this guy the pounding he was asking for. He knew he was trapped; he had all his winnings, almost 900,000 dollars in chips from the MGM and more from other casinos on the strip. He could hear security coming down the hall, stomping their feet loudly as they ran, he had two choices, give up or go over the balcony and try to make it to another room on a lower level…but before he could choice, he felt something grab him and the money and push him over the balcony to the street below. Security heard his screams and kicked the door open…it had been locked from the inside, they had distinctly heard him screaming 'who are you, what do you want, no, no.' but the room was searched and no one was inside." Paris shivered, he was giving himself the chills, but he had seen this story on Haunted Vegas a DVD he had borrowed from the library a week or so back and he knew that local ghost stories were Leslie's favorite…if she could hear him from wherever she was, she would love this story.
"Come to find out, the guy from Jersey wasn't the first cheater to meet his end. No one is sure who the ghost is…but people have reported odd things happening at the MGM, things disappearin, people ending up dead, or people scared into confessing that they didn't win their money honestly. It's been documented mom, you never know…Oh…the money and chips that went over the balcony with the guy? Of course people swarmed to grab some, but each one of them turned it over to the police no more than two days later." Paris grinned wider and cocked his head "how was that one? Probably not as good as your Myrtle Plantation story, but I think that was one of my best…but yeah, definitely not as good as the Myrtle one…remember I had nightmares for a week after you told me that one?" he paused "someday, you said we'd stay at the plantation, maybe someday I will, when I turn eighteen. I've started saving my allowance, 'fore I go to college that'll be my summer trip, all the places in our stories; Myrtles, Winchester Mystery House, maybe even up to Massachusetts, go to Fall River to the Lizzie Borden House and to Salem. I know you wanted me to go to a top college, especially one of the old ones, maybe I'll go to Harvard…or even Brown, some top college like that…I hate the heat. I think I'd be happier up north, New England's cold and I'd finally get to see a real snow storm."
"Paris Smith?" a voice came from behind him, Paris felt his heart jump as he turned around to face the person who had called his name, he hadn't expected anyone to find him or come looking for him for that matter. "Boy, you in a heap of trouble…"