They were really gone. After studying the two caskets for fifteen minutes, this was the conclusion Helena had reached. The caskets were closed so she might be able to fool herself about the bodies in them, but her outfit was a different story. Helena and her mother had spent the past two months perfecting Helena's look for Med School interviews. Anytime she was expected to be dressed a certain way she turned to her mother for advice. No one advised her on her outfit for her parents' funeral. She had dipped into her Med School interview wardrobe, wearing a black top and tailored black pants along with a pair of purple and black tweed heels and her name brand reading glasses. Minimal make-up and bunned hair completed that professional, adult look. She had completely dressed herself and looked the part of a doctor, proving she was an adult who could handle Med School. Her mother had guaranteed the look would be perfect for interviews. Too bad she was just guessing about her funeral attire.
"Miss Troy. May I speak to you for a moment?"
Helena unfolded her arms and turned to face the owner of the nasal voice. Before her parents' deaths Miss Troy was only something she was called when in trouble with the cops. Lately she was more apt to respond to Miss Troy than Helena. "Yes Mr. Levov?"
The funeral director, Martin Levov, had been fretting over every detail. Helena knew it was because of the media coverage the murders had received, but it still annoyed her to be bothered with insignificant details like the best coffin arrangement and oak or mahogany caskets. "Miss Troy, you are the only family correct?"
It didn't help that he seemed unaware of what may be inappropriate to bring up to a young woman whose just lost the only family she had. "Yes. It's just me."
"Well, people will be arriving shortly and you are the greeting line. This just cannot be."
"It'll be fine, Mr. Levov. I can stand by myself. Should be a small group anyway."
He considered this for a moment before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "No, it just cannot be."
"It will be alright, Martin." The man speaking was Father Thompson. He had been a real lifesaver this past couple of days for Helena Troy. The Troys only went to church on Christmas and Easter and Helena was not entirely certain which church they went to. Luckily, the funeral home worked with several different men of faith, so all Helena had to do was check a box. They provided Father Thompson who was extremely kind and understanding without any undertone of pitying. Helena was extremely grateful for his calm handling of everything.
Somewhere a door could be heard opening. Mr. Levov got excited again. "They are here. They are here and we are not prepared."
Father Thompson sighed. "Of course, we are Martin. You go and greet the visitors and I shall remain with Helena until I must prepare for the service."
"Yes, Right."
After he left, Helena leaned over to whisper to the priest. "Thank you."
He smiled. "You"re welcome, my child."
Helena didn't recognize the first group of people paying their respects. Or the second group. Or third. She was beginning to worry she wouldn't recognize anyone until she saw Judy, one of her father's assistants. Judy threw her hefty arms around Helena and sobbed into her shirt. Helena looked at the wet spot left when Judy pulled away wondering if she should clean it off or leave it be. After Judy, the parade of people began to blur and by the time the service began Helena couldn't remember anyone who came except the one who made her right shoulder damp.
Rather than having a funeral and wake over the course of two days, Helena pushed to get it all over and done with in one. Mr. Levov threw a hissy fit but between her insistence and Father Thompson's acceptance of not having a full church service because of the unusual circumstances he assented. They would have the wake, the service, and the burying. The goal was to have it all done within five hours to avoid any unwanted press.
They did not reach this goal.
One unnoticed man watched Helena Troy struggle. First it was with fellow mourners, all of whom were much more exuberant with their tears and sobs then the only child. Her face hardly changed at all. While she greeted, grieved, and sat through the service her face remained blank and strong. Then she battled with the paparazzi. She handled them like a seasoned professional, ducking her head under a ridiculously big hat and sunglasses on the rainy day. Managing to keep them at bay without resorting to physical violence. Despite the sadness he almost smiled.
Helena glared beneath her sunglasses. Though Judy, who had somehow winded up next to her at the burial site, mistook it for crying and grasped her tightly, crying, "There, there, child you must be strong in these sad times."
Helena wasn't crying. That was why she hiding behind dark sunglasses on a day without sun, without them her front-page tomorrow would show her glaring eyes for all the world to judge. What kind of monster doesn't cry at her parents' funeral, after all?
She had been hoping the rain would deter the rats posing as reporters. At least they weren't trying for interviews. If she heard Gina Vale's voice one more time, the sunglasses would be useless because she would have to punch the journalist and might not stop.
Judy finally stopped, releasing Helena to clench in her own sobs. As her oxygen intake resumed Helena recognized that the coffins had been lowered and the crowd was waiting on her. She stepped forward and threw two red roses on her parents' final resting spot, cameras flashed, catching the moment.
With that photo op the press packed up, and people began to leave. Father Thompson approached. "I'm sorry for your loss."
She gave a slight smile at the sincere tone, but her eyes were pulled back to watching the dirt piling.
Judy pulled her into one more bone-crushing hug. "If there is anything at all that you need, don't hesitate."
Helena tried to gasp out a response but settled for a pat on the back. After she let go Judy asked if she had a ride home. Helena nodded. Judy gave her hand one last squeeze before turning away. Helena resumed watching dirt, barely acknowledging the sympathies and platitudes people gave before taking their leave.
She thought she was alone when she heard her gymnastics coach's voice. "I understand what you must be going through."
Helena didn't know he had come. No, wait she vaguely recalled her team's false tears earlier. None of them gave a shit about her or her family before the famous murders. She was only a winner and a name to them, a means for trophies and distinctions. "Really? You found your murdered parents along with a cryptic note written in blood? Could you tell me how you dealt with it? Because I'm struggling."
He took a step back. She didn't know why. She could not have possibly surprised him. Bitch was the only language she spoke to him. "I…I…Of course not but I can imagine."
The dirt just kept piling up. "Then you're one sick bastard."
"Helena, this isn't you."
But it was her, and she knew what she had to do. "Jerry, I quit."
"Helena, you can't quit."
She could barely see any of the mahogany now. "Yes I can. I want to be a doctor not a gymnast."
"You're dealing with a lot right now, I can understand a break…"
Jerry did not understand. He never got it. "I don't want a break. I will not be coming to any practices, any meets, anything, I'm through with it all!"
"It's your senior year, you can't quit now!" Jerry whispers, "Helena you're the best on the team."
Helena was silent. "You are welcome back on the team at any time."
Helena just watched her past go underground.
The others had gone hours ago, but she stayed. He believed she would remain until the bitter end. The gravediggers were sure to get home before her. As would he, cloaked in the shadows he was so familiar with he would watch her say good-bye to the only parents she had ever known.