Emily's funeral was exactly one week after her death.
I stayed in bed for five of those seven terrible days, until eventually I couldn't stay in bed any longer for the sake of my sanity. Even the fact that I now feared for my sanity was an improvement – only a day before I wouldn't have cared. In fact, I would have welcomed a breakdown. I wanted to rip my heart out to stop it from aching, that agonising, empty hurt. I wanted my mind to shut down, to stop thinking about her, picturing her, hearing her voice as it screamed my name in those last few desperate moments before she was gone.
I didn't tell anybody about the dream. I doubt anybody would have believed me if I had, but that wasn't why I kept it to myself. I knew that what I had seen was real: I didn't need anybody else to validate that. Maybe I should have said something. When the police told my parents that they believed my sister had taken her own life, maybe I should have corrected them. But would that have made it better? Would the truth help anybody right now? I wished to God that I hadn't seen her last, terrified seconds as she struggled against…something. No, better that they think she was another tragic teen suicide. Better that they never have to deal with knowing she was murdered.
I don't remember much of the funeral. It was a closed casket, of course. It was always a closed casket when the body was so badly damaged. I doubted that she looked at all like my sister anymore. I shuddered to think about it as I walked down the aisle, trying to make my way to the front pew to be with my family, trying to ignore the muttering and the looks of curiosity and sadness from the congregation. I heard snippets of whispered conversation as I passed.
"…looks just like her…"
"…must be so hard for the family to see her every day…"
"…so sad…her poor mother…"
"…just can't believe she killed herself…"
I stopped, mid-stride, my hands balled into fists of their own accord. I shook with grief and anger, and opened my mouth to say something to the whisperers, but I had no words. I just shook my head and kept walking as the tears fell from my eyes, hot and wet and silent.
The minister spoke for what felt like hours. He didn't even know her. Emily was an atheist, she never went to church. I didn't pay attention to anything he was saying, I wasn't sure I could handle that right now: hearing about my sister's life from a man who had never met her. I heard afterwards that it was a beautiful service. Whatever that means.
Before heading to the cemetery, my mother, father and I were expected to stand by the doors of the church to thank those who had come to mourn, and receive their condolences in turn. It was just a blur of pitying eyes and trite words. "Sorry for your loss." Sure. Thanks. Can I go now?
"Lauren, I'm very sorry for your…" I recognised the voice of the local doctor and my eyes snapped up to meet his, taking him aback with my sudden change of demeanour.
"Dr. Dash…Phillip…you performed Emily's autopsy." My mother whipped her head round and gave me a warning look, but I ignored her. Dr. Dash shifted uncomfortably and nodded, solemnly.
"Er…yes, Lauren, I did. I am truly sorry for your-"
"Did you find anything…unusual in her blood work?" I asked, cutting him off for a second time.
"Lauren!" My dad hissed, quietly, throwing the doctor an apologetic look.
"Ah…perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss…"
"What? So you did find something?"
He sighed, sadly, and shook his head.
"No, Lauren. There was nothing in her blood. I checked for traces of sedatives or…" He lowered his voice and glanced sadly at my parents. "…or narcotics. There was nothing out of the ordinary."
"So…so maybe nothing showed up, but is there any way she could have taken something that maybe wouldn't show up in a normal blood test? Was there anything unusual at all?" I asked, desperately.
"Lauren, I know this must be extremely hard for you, given…given how close you and she were. But please believe me, if there was anything to find, I would have found it." He assured me in that slow, gentle voice that doctors use when dealing with someone fragile.
"But what if-"
"Lauren, that is enough!" My dad yelled, and I whipped round to see that his face was scarlet with anger and embarrassment.
"Please, stop it!" My mum cried, sobbing.
"Are you happy now?" My dad growled, putting his arm around her. I looked around and saw that a crowd had gathered around us, watching our exchange with sad eyes.
"I am…truly sorry for your loss." Dr. Dash said, and I nodded.
"Thank you, Doctor. I'm sorry too." I said, and I meant it. I looked around at all of the faces watching me, pitying me. "My sister didn't kill herself." I insisted, and a few eyes lowered to the ground. My mum started weeping again and my father muttered something that I couldn't hear, but it sounded like he was trying to be comforting. I sighed and strode past my mortified parents and out of the doors, fishing my car keys out of my coat pocket as I went.
"Lauren…Lauren, wait!" My father jogged to catch up with me but I kept walking. "Lauren, where are you going? You can't leave, we haven't even buried her yet."
"Yes, you have." I snapped. "She may not be in the ground yet, but you've buried her."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He demanded, furiously. I stopped and whipped around to face him.
"It's like you've forgotten who she was! Em didn't kill herself, Dad. She would never do that, that is absolutely not who she was. But you're not even questioning it!" I knew it wasn't his fault, but I was angry, and he was there. He seemed to calm down, which wasn't what I wanted. I wanted a fight. But he wasn't going to give me one. He sniffed, and ran a hand through his hair.
"So…so do you think I should go back in there and harass the doctor until he tells me what I want to hear?" he asked, quietly. "I'm trying, Lauren, I really am. Do you think I want to believe that my little girl…took her own life?" His voice cracked on the last word and he shook his head, his eyes swimming with tears. "Your mum's…she's falling apart in there. I am trying to keep this family together, and I don't think the best way of doing that is dwelling on the details. Emily's gone. She's gone, sweetheart. And I'm just trying to keep my head above water here."
I nodded, my anger still bubbling below the surface.
"Okay, dad. You just…go back in there and keep treading water." I held up my car keys and shook them, pointedly. "I'm going to go drown my sorrows. You can pick me up from the Southfield on the way home."
"You're going to the pub instead of saying goodbye to your sister?" My dad asked, shaking his head. His disappointment was evident, and it stung, but I just didn't care.
"Who says I can't do both at the same time?" I asked, shrugging, as I walked away from him.
I knew that I looked like a petulant child, but it didn't matter. Better he be angry with me than worried about me. Of course I wasn't going to the pub. I had to find out what happened to Emily. And I only had one place to start. I had to go back to the scene of the crash, see if there was anything there that the police had missed. I couldn't stay here; I couldn't watch them lower her body into the ground. She wasn't there anymore, anyway. I was respecting her memory more by trying to figure out what had really happened to her.