Don’t think too much. Four words I remember my father telling me before he walked out the door forever, back when Vlad was too young to remember and six months before my sister was born. Mum never said ‘you’re the man of the house now’, because it just wasn't true. In Russia families stick together and when my father walked out, that’s exactly what our family and extended family did, we stuck together and it helped my mother get through the rough patch.
‘You remind me of him.’ The words didn't hurt as they were intended to whenever I upset her. I was my father’s son, every bit as angry, reckless and irresponsible; but I was also hard-working, loyal to family, and boy did I have his appetite. I was always hungry, hungry for more; hungry for life, a better go at things, a nicer car, a bigger house, a life of adventure… And what an adventure this life has been.
‘My wrist hurts.’ I remember I had complained to Dominique when she walked in with that stoic look about her. I could tell instantly that she was thinking hard about something; did she look regretful, relieved, or a mix of both? I asked myself but didn't ask her, my father’s mantra deeply ingrained within my thought process. Dominique didn't ask about my wrist and I put down the tattoo-gun and switched off the machine for the night.
That day as I lay beside her I could feel the tension trapped between her shoulders like a ball of electricity ready to strike at any outstretched hand. It was okay, whatever it was it would go away. Dom and I, we aren't the kind of couple that shared too often. Some might say that helps keep things interesting, others might let it drive them crazy. The world is obsessed with ‘needing to know’, but I didn't need to know and I wouldn't lose sleep that day over it. When a woman answers the question ‘are you okay?’ with a yes, you better believe no amount of detective work or skill will get you any closer to the truth.
I remember that tension, the same tightness in her muscles I had noticed the one time I asked about her killer. To this day she has not told me, she knows me too well, knows I would seek my own justice; for there was a debt left unpaid for taking the life of girl I loved, one that only blood could satisfy. Perhaps she was afraid it would be my blood on her hands dare she reveal his name, perhaps he was stronger than I and she was just protecting me. Was this about him then? Had he done something?
I woke up rather late. It was eight in the evening and Dominique was already out of the house. What took place ten hours later was unplanned, though Dominique might find it strange to learn that I had been to see a lawyer three months ago after purchasing an engagement ring she still didn't know about. Vlad had helped me pick it out, he was so much better at that kind of thing than I was. It was expensive, which was originally why I had gone to see the lawyer and even as I left the building with her name on my updated will; what would take place in the wee hours was unforeseen.
Ten hours from now, I would be rushed to the hospital.
Forty minutes later I would be pronounced dead.
Twenty-four hours after that The Order would steal my body.
Two days later I would be buried.
In a week’s time my body would be stolen again and reburied at home.
The following day my lawyer would issue Dominique with a cheque for almost half a million dollars.
Months later I will be forgotten, though I know she will never forget me.
She can’t forget me… Everything is in that notebook.
The Answer is Always
-
Verne
- Registered User
- Posts: 153
- Joined: 10 Nov 2012, 05:51
The Answer is Always
for her and her alone
-
Vladimir (DELETED 5105)
- Posts: 12
- Joined: 10 Jan 2014, 02:00
Re: The Answer is Always
Two days later.
Vladimir stepped up to the lectern and put his notes down in front of him; the paper had been folded and refolded so many times that a complete sentence was missing from his speech. He had never been a good public speaker, which was why he had opted to wear the sunglasses inside, something it seemed the majority of the crowd sitting down in the giant cathedral had decided to do. People always wear sunglasses at funerals, he thought to himself; the small comfort and slice of confidence they offered, quickly disappearing as he stared out at the sea of people. He swallowed the lump in his throat and put his arm around the woman at his side, his younger sister Veronika.
“Friends, loved ones, family--- It is my privilege to speak to you this morning on behalf of the Berezin family and pay tribute to a very special man, my brother Yavok Verne Berezin.
My name is Arseny Berezine and I am Yavok’s younger brother.”
Vlad felt Veronika suck in a small breath as she sobbed silently at his side.
“My brother was a remarkable man,” he began reading some his notes, glancing down at the crumpled paper through the tint of his shades. His lips felt dry and the words were blurred as he fought to see them through his tears; this was when Vladimir decided to wing it and speak from the heart.
“He was like the sun, everywhere he took this warmth with him that touched so many lives and made them brighter, as evident by all the faces I see here today.”
Vlad looked out at the crowd as he said this to see students and teachers from the university, members from Verne’s tattoo and muscle car clubs, old friends from high school, members of his baseball team, relatives, people from the church, The Order, and so many more.
“As I reach for the right words to express my thoughts about my brother, I remember first and foremost the kind of man he was, a devoted son, brother, and friend. He was always a family man.”
Another quiet sob made his sister tremble, probably at the use of the word ‘was’.
“He was a great comfort to our mother when she was alive and always did his best to provide. From a young age he watched out for my sister and I, and now, just as he did all his life, I know he is watching over us still.
Yavok took his role within the family seriously, always striving to honour, support, guide, but most importantly protect the people he cared about. He was at his happiest when surround by family and more recently, his girlfriend Dominique, who made him smile, laugh, hope, fight, and love again--- something we will always be grateful to you for. Dom, ‘Mini,’” Vladimir smiled at the nickname Verne had always addressed the woman by; “We welcome you to our family and will continue to love and support you now and in the future.”
Vladimir searched the crowd for the not too familiar face and smiled again when he found it.
“During the tough times that life has a way of throwing at us all, Yavok’s devotion to his family and friends was the foundation of his actions--- the anchor that defined and shaped his life and the lives of those around him.
Yavok, you were a wonderful friend, always ready to offer an ear, shoulder, companionable silence, or helping hand. Whether I needed to pass the time or distract myself for a while you were there, ready, steadfast, willing, and always a lot of fun.”
Vlad looked to his sister and gave her a gentle squeeze before looking out at the crowd again.
“As I look out at the faces in this beautiful church, I see friends and family who I know will miss the friendship that Yavok brought to our lives and I know that you will all remember him in your own special way.
My brother, my best friend, we will all miss you, remember you, respect, admire, and love you, always, always…”
Vladimir stopped, he had barely managed to express half of what he had intended to say before emotion hit hard, turning his stomach in knots, blinding him with tears and causing him to lose his voice. He stood there quietly for a minute with his head down before Veronika looked up and put her arms around him. She gave her brother and hug before stepping forward to say her piece.
“I would like to say thank you to everyone who made it here today to celebrate Yavok’s life. I am Veronika Berezin, Yavok and Arseny’s younger sister.
Hawk…” Veronika smiled, pushing her sunglasses closer to her face with one finger as she looked down at the closed coffin. “Everyone at school used to call him Hawk because he could spot a baseball a mile away… Though mum would probably tell you it was because he never failed to miss a meal in his life time.”
The light belt laughter from the crowd made Veronika tear up again and smile.
“Defiant and unwilling to settle for anything less than what he saw was ideal, Yavok lived a principled life underpinned by a strong sense of right and wrong. He spoke out when it counted, never had time to hold a grudge, and when he knew something was wrong, he never let it stand unchallenged; always finding a way to make things right. I can only imagine how much more he might have accomplished had his life not been cut short.
He remained a student of life, never failing to learn life’s lessons, even if he had to repeat his mistakes two of three times before those lessons stuck.” Veronika smiled when she heard Arseny laugh behind her.
“My brother never stopped learning, especially from the people around him, his loved ones, his family, and friends. He never sat back and watched; he led by example and was always ready to take life head on.
He was a keen sportsman who loved nothing more than to sit back with a beer after a hard day, put his feet up and watch the game. I remember how he used to yell at the television and say ‘Boy they are lucky I’m not playing!’. He was such a dedicated athlete, player, team member, and coach.
Yavok… you were a lion the world could not tame.”
Vladimir put his right hand on his sister’s shoulder.
“It isn’t easy for me to say goodbye and so I will just leave it at so-long. We will remember you through the people and memories that you left behind. You may not realise the amazing legacy you left with us, the lives you touched so positively. Through them you leave this world a better place than you found it and for that you should be proud.
I love you; I will remember you, always, always…”
Vladimir stepped up to the lectern and put his notes down in front of him; the paper had been folded and refolded so many times that a complete sentence was missing from his speech. He had never been a good public speaker, which was why he had opted to wear the sunglasses inside, something it seemed the majority of the crowd sitting down in the giant cathedral had decided to do. People always wear sunglasses at funerals, he thought to himself; the small comfort and slice of confidence they offered, quickly disappearing as he stared out at the sea of people. He swallowed the lump in his throat and put his arm around the woman at his side, his younger sister Veronika.
“Friends, loved ones, family--- It is my privilege to speak to you this morning on behalf of the Berezin family and pay tribute to a very special man, my brother Yavok Verne Berezin.
My name is Arseny Berezine and I am Yavok’s younger brother.”
Vlad felt Veronika suck in a small breath as she sobbed silently at his side.
“My brother was a remarkable man,” he began reading some his notes, glancing down at the crumpled paper through the tint of his shades. His lips felt dry and the words were blurred as he fought to see them through his tears; this was when Vladimir decided to wing it and speak from the heart.
“He was like the sun, everywhere he took this warmth with him that touched so many lives and made them brighter, as evident by all the faces I see here today.”
Vlad looked out at the crowd as he said this to see students and teachers from the university, members from Verne’s tattoo and muscle car clubs, old friends from high school, members of his baseball team, relatives, people from the church, The Order, and so many more.
“As I reach for the right words to express my thoughts about my brother, I remember first and foremost the kind of man he was, a devoted son, brother, and friend. He was always a family man.”
Another quiet sob made his sister tremble, probably at the use of the word ‘was’.
“He was a great comfort to our mother when she was alive and always did his best to provide. From a young age he watched out for my sister and I, and now, just as he did all his life, I know he is watching over us still.
Yavok took his role within the family seriously, always striving to honour, support, guide, but most importantly protect the people he cared about. He was at his happiest when surround by family and more recently, his girlfriend Dominique, who made him smile, laugh, hope, fight, and love again--- something we will always be grateful to you for. Dom, ‘Mini,’” Vladimir smiled at the nickname Verne had always addressed the woman by; “We welcome you to our family and will continue to love and support you now and in the future.”
Vladimir searched the crowd for the not too familiar face and smiled again when he found it.
“During the tough times that life has a way of throwing at us all, Yavok’s devotion to his family and friends was the foundation of his actions--- the anchor that defined and shaped his life and the lives of those around him.
Yavok, you were a wonderful friend, always ready to offer an ear, shoulder, companionable silence, or helping hand. Whether I needed to pass the time or distract myself for a while you were there, ready, steadfast, willing, and always a lot of fun.”
Vlad looked to his sister and gave her a gentle squeeze before looking out at the crowd again.
“As I look out at the faces in this beautiful church, I see friends and family who I know will miss the friendship that Yavok brought to our lives and I know that you will all remember him in your own special way.
My brother, my best friend, we will all miss you, remember you, respect, admire, and love you, always, always…”
Vladimir stopped, he had barely managed to express half of what he had intended to say before emotion hit hard, turning his stomach in knots, blinding him with tears and causing him to lose his voice. He stood there quietly for a minute with his head down before Veronika looked up and put her arms around him. She gave her brother and hug before stepping forward to say her piece.
“I would like to say thank you to everyone who made it here today to celebrate Yavok’s life. I am Veronika Berezin, Yavok and Arseny’s younger sister.
Hawk…” Veronika smiled, pushing her sunglasses closer to her face with one finger as she looked down at the closed coffin. “Everyone at school used to call him Hawk because he could spot a baseball a mile away… Though mum would probably tell you it was because he never failed to miss a meal in his life time.”
The light belt laughter from the crowd made Veronika tear up again and smile.
“Defiant and unwilling to settle for anything less than what he saw was ideal, Yavok lived a principled life underpinned by a strong sense of right and wrong. He spoke out when it counted, never had time to hold a grudge, and when he knew something was wrong, he never let it stand unchallenged; always finding a way to make things right. I can only imagine how much more he might have accomplished had his life not been cut short.
He remained a student of life, never failing to learn life’s lessons, even if he had to repeat his mistakes two of three times before those lessons stuck.” Veronika smiled when she heard Arseny laugh behind her.
“My brother never stopped learning, especially from the people around him, his loved ones, his family, and friends. He never sat back and watched; he led by example and was always ready to take life head on.
He was a keen sportsman who loved nothing more than to sit back with a beer after a hard day, put his feet up and watch the game. I remember how he used to yell at the television and say ‘Boy they are lucky I’m not playing!’. He was such a dedicated athlete, player, team member, and coach.
Yavok… you were a lion the world could not tame.”
Vladimir put his right hand on his sister’s shoulder.
“It isn’t easy for me to say goodbye and so I will just leave it at so-long. We will remember you through the people and memories that you left behind. You may not realise the amazing legacy you left with us, the lives you touched so positively. Through them you leave this world a better place than you found it and for that you should be proud.
I love you; I will remember you, always, always…”
T H I S I S A L L I H A V E T O S A Y
-
Dominique
- Registered User
- Posts: 1047
- Joined: 27 Mar 2013, 22:19
- CrowNet Handle: Batgirl
- Location: Vita Bella
- Contact:
Re: The Answer is Always
Dominique sat in the pew of the cathedral. It was so cold. Everything was freezing up. Her heart. Her mind. If she had been cool to the touch before then she was like dry ice. Every single spot on her body was never going to be the same again. All of it was growing hard and distant as the clock and watches wrapped around the warm wrists ticked away with the time that no longer mattered. Eternity could not be enough to see this through for Dominique Jane Doe. What good was having the rest of time if there was no way you could change what had already been done and you were left to see the ruins that only proved there were no second chances? She couldn’t do anything but sit there powerless. There was no giving back what she had taken that was never hers, to go back and make the right choices, to let go where she should have and to say what should have been said. hat she loved him.
The black dress that Dominique put on before she arrived had no special design. It did what it was intended to do and clung to her body. It covered most of the ink that was deep in her skin. She would burn it when she left. She would strip down to nothing but her cursed skin right outside the towering home they shared. Flames would come to life in the fire pit next to her old tent. She wouldn’t look up like she usually did. She would no longer have a reason to discover him there watching her as she started the small fire just after the sun went down. Gone forever was the thrill of discovering the beauty of a man who defied the power of words for a simple description. The windows would not contain the warmth of his presence standing in their frames.
It was so easy to see the golden maned paladin still standing in his t-shirt in his running pants. His hair disheveled sporting that glowing grin that could light up a thousand nights. He took her breath away each time her eyes found him. She would no longer feel the stands slip through her fingers, wear the scent of it...him across her skin and clothes to remind her he was never a dream. He was real. Just like in the story of her childhood, The Velveteen Rabbit. His love made her feel real. She tried to inhale the air around her as if there was some courage left lingering where she could draw from in the masses around her and claim it like a coward to see the hours ahead through. She felt pathetic for the attempt and undesrving.
Even if Dominique had no breath left to surrender she would have given him her last and traded places. Now she knew she would put her hands over the flames of her dress and wish to go up with the ribbons of gray smoke that would rise. She would not find him if she left in such a way. He was somewhere safe. He was. Despite what her catholic upbringing was supposed to ingrain in her. Verne was in a beautiful place because to think otherwise was one more reality her fracturing mind would not be able to absorb. Not now...perhaps never. She would arrive to the hell she had avoided and belonged in. It was calling to her as she sat there too drained to summon the energy to stop the tears that had not stopped since she last held him. Grief was powerful. It gave you a perspective on the truth you were either to weak to see or to scared to admit you already knew.
Nothing in that amount of time could change all that had happened. If Dominique moved it was a struggle and she was sure she would shatter at any moment. That would be comforting. Comfort she didn’t deserve. No one should have to be there. Especially Verne’s family. Not one single living breathing human or those who were dead...like her. There she sat in a row among the others and now it came to her. She was unable to count how many rows of bodies were in front of her. Something simple as a mental 1,2,3 was impossible to do. Her eyes were uncovered despite the mass of sunglasses that seemed to have found their places in the room. She was shaking beneath the black gloves that covered her hands. She couldn’t look at her inked skin and see the words etched permanently across the surfaces of her fingers. The message across her fingers was profound and an now an eternal conviction. She was just as the message said. HOPELESS.
Benny found his way in her head. The sound of his voice broke through and maybe for a moment she had some mercy coming to her. It felt wrong. But she almost hoped for anything to derail what her mind could not otherwsie wrap around.
Unbearable loss. Now she knew what it felt like. Even more wrong than the stillness of the man she loved lifeless, or the blood that dried on her hands when she sat in the emergency room shaking, pacing because they wouldn’t let her go back since she was not ‘family’. She certainly shouldn’t be there among those who were holding each other. She was the last one that should have the nerve to even enter let alone have taken a seat and rested her cold dead frame to the pew beneath it. Under the laws of the church...this very one and every other she should be a pile of ashes.
Instead Dominique was now beneath the eyes of the god she had evaded for too long. If there was one like her grandmother always taught her, or tried to, oeverything up to this point had been witnessed. Beneath the lights her eyes drifted from his brother who was speaking and rolled upward then back down. The dry discomfort never left. They were raw and open for all to see. The burn that had started a week ago had never ended. Perhaps it never would. Her eyes surrendered and finally rested back on her gloved hands in her lap.
“You disgust me, Jane.” Benny’s voice was there for the first time in so long saying words she never heard him say the whole time he was alive. “Can’t even find the courage to look at your own hands because you see his blood. It can dry, be washed off but never will you get rid of the fact you might as well be responsible for putting it there to begin with. And..” there was a pause that was so loud it was silent to all but Dominique’s splintering mind. “you know it. Own it. Take off the gloves. For once own up to something and quit hiding from the truth that surrounds you.” The gloves slid off her hands slowly with her trembling effort and she folded them slowly in her lap. “Yes. Now look at what you have done. It is all there still and you are to blame.”
Dominique’s name echoed in the room and her eyes shot to the front to the source. Vlad. He considered her family. She wanted to believe it but she was everything that would mortify them if they knew. She tired to smile but her eyes fixed on his and his family next to him and let the frown of guilt wash over her instead. Benny was always good for pointing out where she went wrong and now would be the last he would have to remind her.
Perhaps Benny, her grandparents and Tavi were there when Dominique sat in the room where the bloody notebook was after she finally was asked to leave the hospital. It would explain the burning in her gut and the chill she felt then and the one she felt now. Maybe they watched her this whole time. She called Vlad while in the ambulance struggling to look at Verne as he layed on crisp white sheets in a blanket of tubes and wires holding him to machines that should never be needed. She had called everyone she could think of. Every one in The Order. Kenlie. Everyone. She was desperate. What she could do to change what was taking place was nothing. Verne would hate her if she did. He should have long ago but she selfihsly bargained her way out of it by telling him what she felt but never had the courage to say. Courage. Did she ever really possess it?
As much as they had all laughed racing down the back roads in their cars trying to get home first the speed that the ambulance was moving them on this night was frightening. She mis-dialed twice before finally reaching Vlad and pulling him from a sound sleep. She heard the sound of the gun shot all over again and now in the pew her shoulders shook with the reptition of her own voice “No...no...no” escaping her lips. The feeling of that cover crusted and dried to the space below it was in her finger as she looked down at the empty ones in her lap shaking as her tears dropped over them. All the words written in his unmistakable hand passed through her as the words of a brother who paid respect to the man who wrote them. Each one that came to her was replied to with one of her own.
I love the way her hair smells fresh out of the shower.
Verne smells like sunshine. It burst out above the weed, the fumes of a long night with the bottle. You are my sunshine in the darkest spots. Love you, baby.
I swear Rufus is stealing my socks. The washing machine is good, but he is a master.
I am a thief. A selfish one. I took them. I hate socks but wish I could pick up each mismatched one and slide them on your feet instead. How could I be so cold? Rufus is lost without you as am I.
Can’t wait to go home to Harper Rock… How strange is that? Here in Russia and all I can do is think about being there with her instead…
I would stay in bed and hold that bear and never doubt you would come back. You always said you would and you always did. I miss you so damn much.
This car will be the end of me.
I fixed it! I never wanted to succeed at anything more than putting it back together. I will never forget the first time I saw you. I was in the drivers seat trying to connect wires.
Tonight I let Mini finish off my tattoo. She made an absolute mess of it yet… all I see is perfection. It’s perfect… she’s perfect. God I love this girl.
I wish I were the ink under your skin. I am jealous of what gets that deep into you and is allowed to stay.
We are dropping like flies and no closer to findings out how to destroy these monsters.
I failed. I failed.
Leadership is taking its toll… I’m not sleeping well, most night’s I forget to eat. Sometimes I forget what the sun on my skin feels like.
I brought darkenss home to you and chased away the sun.
I’ve been training nonstop for weeks. I don’t know if I feel any stronger, but perhaps a little fitter. I saw one of them feeding tonight and decapitated it. I didn’t tell Mini… I never tell Mini. They make me sick to my stomach. Leeches.
I should have asked for your hand to do the same to me.
I can’t trust anyone it seems… I can see the darkness.
I should have given you the truth, the answers.
Fewer sign ups this month. I don’t blame them… but as long as there is a problem I will dedicate my life to finding a solution.
I should have left after that night in front of The Order. If I only I had...
I forgot my birthday…
Now I know when it is. It makes sense. Your sign.
The supplier in Westwall grows the best weed I have ever smoked in my life. What. The. Hell.
I planted all those seeds and called it my rose garden and you found better. Figures.
I wish the trash would take itself out!
It is okay. I did it. I regret grumbling as I did.
So hungry.
I loved grocery shopping for what I can’t taste. To see you eat was so relaxing.
You rock my world, baby.
Mine has stopped turning.
Meeting number 104. Guest speaker tonight, she was interesting, some good ideas, but I don’t think we can close the rift--- we have been looking into that for months and aren’t any closer to answering the what, where, or how.
So sorry. So so sorry.
I can’t believe she forgave me for that… I don’t deserve her.
I loved you. all of you. Each flaw. I did far worse to you. Your blood is on my hands and I deserve to burn in hell.
I am sneaking cigarettes again. My toothbrush has never seen so much action. I forget how the smell lingers… I can’t really smell it myself but she notices every damn time.
I would watch the racoons play with the wrappers when they tore apart the trash while you slept upstairs at night. I loved the smell of it in your hair mixed with the remnants of the sunshine that had kissed you while I had slept. I should never have slept. It was then that I lost you.
They are so bloody fast…
I am in fear this one may never move again.
Crying was breaking through the reflections of words that would remain with her. Dominique looked briefly towards the front where more were preparing to speak. She was afraid to look anywhere else or to those faces that she knew that came to pay their respects. It was in that moment she felt like the world and all that was in it just slipped away. Words were left. She could still hear those spoken.
The black dress that Dominique put on before she arrived had no special design. It did what it was intended to do and clung to her body. It covered most of the ink that was deep in her skin. She would burn it when she left. She would strip down to nothing but her cursed skin right outside the towering home they shared. Flames would come to life in the fire pit next to her old tent. She wouldn’t look up like she usually did. She would no longer have a reason to discover him there watching her as she started the small fire just after the sun went down. Gone forever was the thrill of discovering the beauty of a man who defied the power of words for a simple description. The windows would not contain the warmth of his presence standing in their frames.
It was so easy to see the golden maned paladin still standing in his t-shirt in his running pants. His hair disheveled sporting that glowing grin that could light up a thousand nights. He took her breath away each time her eyes found him. She would no longer feel the stands slip through her fingers, wear the scent of it...him across her skin and clothes to remind her he was never a dream. He was real. Just like in the story of her childhood, The Velveteen Rabbit. His love made her feel real. She tried to inhale the air around her as if there was some courage left lingering where she could draw from in the masses around her and claim it like a coward to see the hours ahead through. She felt pathetic for the attempt and undesrving.
Even if Dominique had no breath left to surrender she would have given him her last and traded places. Now she knew she would put her hands over the flames of her dress and wish to go up with the ribbons of gray smoke that would rise. She would not find him if she left in such a way. He was somewhere safe. He was. Despite what her catholic upbringing was supposed to ingrain in her. Verne was in a beautiful place because to think otherwise was one more reality her fracturing mind would not be able to absorb. Not now...perhaps never. She would arrive to the hell she had avoided and belonged in. It was calling to her as she sat there too drained to summon the energy to stop the tears that had not stopped since she last held him. Grief was powerful. It gave you a perspective on the truth you were either to weak to see or to scared to admit you already knew.
Nothing in that amount of time could change all that had happened. If Dominique moved it was a struggle and she was sure she would shatter at any moment. That would be comforting. Comfort she didn’t deserve. No one should have to be there. Especially Verne’s family. Not one single living breathing human or those who were dead...like her. There she sat in a row among the others and now it came to her. She was unable to count how many rows of bodies were in front of her. Something simple as a mental 1,2,3 was impossible to do. Her eyes were uncovered despite the mass of sunglasses that seemed to have found their places in the room. She was shaking beneath the black gloves that covered her hands. She couldn’t look at her inked skin and see the words etched permanently across the surfaces of her fingers. The message across her fingers was profound and an now an eternal conviction. She was just as the message said. HOPELESS.
Benny found his way in her head. The sound of his voice broke through and maybe for a moment she had some mercy coming to her. It felt wrong. But she almost hoped for anything to derail what her mind could not otherwsie wrap around.
Unbearable loss. Now she knew what it felt like. Even more wrong than the stillness of the man she loved lifeless, or the blood that dried on her hands when she sat in the emergency room shaking, pacing because they wouldn’t let her go back since she was not ‘family’. She certainly shouldn’t be there among those who were holding each other. She was the last one that should have the nerve to even enter let alone have taken a seat and rested her cold dead frame to the pew beneath it. Under the laws of the church...this very one and every other she should be a pile of ashes.
Instead Dominique was now beneath the eyes of the god she had evaded for too long. If there was one like her grandmother always taught her, or tried to, oeverything up to this point had been witnessed. Beneath the lights her eyes drifted from his brother who was speaking and rolled upward then back down. The dry discomfort never left. They were raw and open for all to see. The burn that had started a week ago had never ended. Perhaps it never would. Her eyes surrendered and finally rested back on her gloved hands in her lap.
“You disgust me, Jane.” Benny’s voice was there for the first time in so long saying words she never heard him say the whole time he was alive. “Can’t even find the courage to look at your own hands because you see his blood. It can dry, be washed off but never will you get rid of the fact you might as well be responsible for putting it there to begin with. And..” there was a pause that was so loud it was silent to all but Dominique’s splintering mind. “you know it. Own it. Take off the gloves. For once own up to something and quit hiding from the truth that surrounds you.” The gloves slid off her hands slowly with her trembling effort and she folded them slowly in her lap. “Yes. Now look at what you have done. It is all there still and you are to blame.”
Dominique’s name echoed in the room and her eyes shot to the front to the source. Vlad. He considered her family. She wanted to believe it but she was everything that would mortify them if they knew. She tired to smile but her eyes fixed on his and his family next to him and let the frown of guilt wash over her instead. Benny was always good for pointing out where she went wrong and now would be the last he would have to remind her.
Perhaps Benny, her grandparents and Tavi were there when Dominique sat in the room where the bloody notebook was after she finally was asked to leave the hospital. It would explain the burning in her gut and the chill she felt then and the one she felt now. Maybe they watched her this whole time. She called Vlad while in the ambulance struggling to look at Verne as he layed on crisp white sheets in a blanket of tubes and wires holding him to machines that should never be needed. She had called everyone she could think of. Every one in The Order. Kenlie. Everyone. She was desperate. What she could do to change what was taking place was nothing. Verne would hate her if she did. He should have long ago but she selfihsly bargained her way out of it by telling him what she felt but never had the courage to say. Courage. Did she ever really possess it?
As much as they had all laughed racing down the back roads in their cars trying to get home first the speed that the ambulance was moving them on this night was frightening. She mis-dialed twice before finally reaching Vlad and pulling him from a sound sleep. She heard the sound of the gun shot all over again and now in the pew her shoulders shook with the reptition of her own voice “No...no...no” escaping her lips. The feeling of that cover crusted and dried to the space below it was in her finger as she looked down at the empty ones in her lap shaking as her tears dropped over them. All the words written in his unmistakable hand passed through her as the words of a brother who paid respect to the man who wrote them. Each one that came to her was replied to with one of her own.
I love the way her hair smells fresh out of the shower.
Verne smells like sunshine. It burst out above the weed, the fumes of a long night with the bottle. You are my sunshine in the darkest spots. Love you, baby.
I swear Rufus is stealing my socks. The washing machine is good, but he is a master.
I am a thief. A selfish one. I took them. I hate socks but wish I could pick up each mismatched one and slide them on your feet instead. How could I be so cold? Rufus is lost without you as am I.
Can’t wait to go home to Harper Rock… How strange is that? Here in Russia and all I can do is think about being there with her instead…
I would stay in bed and hold that bear and never doubt you would come back. You always said you would and you always did. I miss you so damn much.
This car will be the end of me.
I fixed it! I never wanted to succeed at anything more than putting it back together. I will never forget the first time I saw you. I was in the drivers seat trying to connect wires.
Tonight I let Mini finish off my tattoo. She made an absolute mess of it yet… all I see is perfection. It’s perfect… she’s perfect. God I love this girl.
I wish I were the ink under your skin. I am jealous of what gets that deep into you and is allowed to stay.
We are dropping like flies and no closer to findings out how to destroy these monsters.
I failed. I failed.
Leadership is taking its toll… I’m not sleeping well, most night’s I forget to eat. Sometimes I forget what the sun on my skin feels like.
I brought darkenss home to you and chased away the sun.
I’ve been training nonstop for weeks. I don’t know if I feel any stronger, but perhaps a little fitter. I saw one of them feeding tonight and decapitated it. I didn’t tell Mini… I never tell Mini. They make me sick to my stomach. Leeches.
I should have asked for your hand to do the same to me.
I can’t trust anyone it seems… I can see the darkness.
I should have given you the truth, the answers.
Fewer sign ups this month. I don’t blame them… but as long as there is a problem I will dedicate my life to finding a solution.
I should have left after that night in front of The Order. If I only I had...
I forgot my birthday…
Now I know when it is. It makes sense. Your sign.
The supplier in Westwall grows the best weed I have ever smoked in my life. What. The. Hell.
I planted all those seeds and called it my rose garden and you found better. Figures.
I wish the trash would take itself out!
It is okay. I did it. I regret grumbling as I did.
So hungry.
I loved grocery shopping for what I can’t taste. To see you eat was so relaxing.
You rock my world, baby.
Mine has stopped turning.
Meeting number 104. Guest speaker tonight, she was interesting, some good ideas, but I don’t think we can close the rift--- we have been looking into that for months and aren’t any closer to answering the what, where, or how.
So sorry. So so sorry.
I can’t believe she forgave me for that… I don’t deserve her.
I loved you. all of you. Each flaw. I did far worse to you. Your blood is on my hands and I deserve to burn in hell.
I am sneaking cigarettes again. My toothbrush has never seen so much action. I forget how the smell lingers… I can’t really smell it myself but she notices every damn time.
I would watch the racoons play with the wrappers when they tore apart the trash while you slept upstairs at night. I loved the smell of it in your hair mixed with the remnants of the sunshine that had kissed you while I had slept. I should never have slept. It was then that I lost you.
They are so bloody fast…
I am in fear this one may never move again.
Crying was breaking through the reflections of words that would remain with her. Dominique looked briefly towards the front where more were preparing to speak. She was afraid to look anywhere else or to those faces that she knew that came to pay their respects. It was in that moment she felt like the world and all that was in it just slipped away. Words were left. She could still hear those spoken.
-
Katie Mae (DELETED 3987)
- Posts: 92
- Joined: 19 Feb 2013, 04:32
- Contact:
Re: The Answer is Always
Katie Mae sat at the table, tears streaming down her face rereading the obituary. She sat there numb as the daylight turned to shadows and then to darkness. Hours later, she still sat at her table unable to move, to feel or to think. Finally, her emotions were too much and she exploded.
“Damn it Verne, what the hell happened and you better not be one of them or I will ******* kill you myself.” She yelled to the empty apartment.
She slammed her hand on the table as she went to turn the light on. She read it once again willing it to be untrue. A quick glance at the clock told her it was time to get ready or she was going to be late for the funeral. She did not want to go; if she went, it meant it would be true she argued with herself trying her best to talk herself out of the truth.
She stepped out of the shower and looked down at her hip, the tears falling anew as she looked at her Paladin tattoo he himself had done. She cried even harder as she remembered the strain that had settled between them. Katie did not understand how he could go against his nature as a Paladin and be with a vampire and he did not understand why she had doubts. She missed the times they had just hung out but since he had come back there were new people and being shy, it was hard for her to insert herself into an obviously already bonded group. She had become the outsider. She did not fit in because she was quiet and worked behind the scenes but Verne never cared; he had always accepted her.
The black dress looked harsh on her. She pulled the old-fashioned hat and mourning veil from its box. She slid on a pair of flats, grabbed a handkerchief and headed out. She walked the path to the Cathedral quickly trying to pull herself together. She entered quietly seeing some mourners already gathering. The service had not started yet as she forced herself to the casket. She looked down into the face of the man who had brought her such joy and heartache. She longed to caress his face and tell him to wake up. She began to whisper to him, not caring if people thought she was crazy talking to his body.
“Verne, what happened to you? How did this happen? I loved you; you were one of the few friends I had. You accepted me for me even though I did not fit in with your new friends. It’s what I loved about you; you never let anyone tell you what to think or what to do. It’s not going to be the same without you my friend. I love ya; I just wish I‘d told you when you were alive. Friends shouldn’t be afraid to say that but I was.”
Katie found a seat towards the middle not even trying to recognize anyone. She wanted to be alone with her pain of losing a friend. The tears would not stop, dripping leaving dark patterns on her dress. She saw Vlad step up; she closed her eyes and sobbed unable to believe it was real. She thought back to the first time she had ever seen him.
She had been so innocent then coming to him for her Paladin tattoo. Typically, she did not usually go for his type; but there was something about him. He had done his best to help her feel at ease, as she had to lay with her pants off while he worked on the tattoo embarrassed to have her rear in his face. They had talked and laughed and she realized he was nothing like he appeared. He seemed the protective type and never laughed at her when she did not know something or did it the wrong way or was clumsy.
Vlad’s voice continued as Katie was lost deep in her own remembrances. She smiled fondly at their one and only date. No one had been more surprised than she had that he had asked her out. Men like him did not ask girls like her out especially when there were so many others who wanted him. She had accepted and found her super-hero outfit and met him at the party. It was a crazy party, Verne was already drunk, someone pulled some drugs out, and soon he was stoned. They danced, laughed, and got to know one another. She smiled as she remembered they finished cleaning up and Verne had forgotten the key so they had to lock the church from the inside and climb out the window. Verne was in no condition to drive and to be honest she was a little worried to leave him by himself so she took him home. After forcing him to take a shower to try to sober him up. Nothing had happened; he had been the perfect gentleman.
He always had been the perfect gentleman to her, no matter how clumsy she had been, Verne was patient and kind to her.
As the service continued, she thought back to the time he was raising money for some sports team at the college. She went to help support the program. Vlad had been there that day too, it had been the first time they met. Katie sat on the end of the beer table, it upended itself, the beer bottles sliding down hitting her, and crashing to the floor as Vlad tried to save what he could as the table righted itself. Verne had run to her aid and had Vlad take her to the hospital to have the cut stitched in her head. He had not been mad that she had probably ruined things. Instead, he was kind and concerned.
Looking back there were a few things that had hurt her about him. She had found he was not as perfect as she had always thought, but he was her friend and she would always forgive him. They could argue and disagree but in the end, they had never stayed mad at one another.
Verne was Verne. He had been his own man. Right or wrong he stood on his convictions and did what he felt was right. She could tell the weight of leading The Order had weighed heavily on him at times but he had done a good job with it. The city would not be the same without him for her. Verne was one of a kind and had another not entered the picture she would have like to have had a date that did not involve drugs, alcohol, and her taking care of him.
Verne was a good man and she would never forget him.
“Damn it Verne, what the hell happened and you better not be one of them or I will ******* kill you myself.” She yelled to the empty apartment.
She slammed her hand on the table as she went to turn the light on. She read it once again willing it to be untrue. A quick glance at the clock told her it was time to get ready or she was going to be late for the funeral. She did not want to go; if she went, it meant it would be true she argued with herself trying her best to talk herself out of the truth.
She stepped out of the shower and looked down at her hip, the tears falling anew as she looked at her Paladin tattoo he himself had done. She cried even harder as she remembered the strain that had settled between them. Katie did not understand how he could go against his nature as a Paladin and be with a vampire and he did not understand why she had doubts. She missed the times they had just hung out but since he had come back there were new people and being shy, it was hard for her to insert herself into an obviously already bonded group. She had become the outsider. She did not fit in because she was quiet and worked behind the scenes but Verne never cared; he had always accepted her.
The black dress looked harsh on her. She pulled the old-fashioned hat and mourning veil from its box. She slid on a pair of flats, grabbed a handkerchief and headed out. She walked the path to the Cathedral quickly trying to pull herself together. She entered quietly seeing some mourners already gathering. The service had not started yet as she forced herself to the casket. She looked down into the face of the man who had brought her such joy and heartache. She longed to caress his face and tell him to wake up. She began to whisper to him, not caring if people thought she was crazy talking to his body.
“Verne, what happened to you? How did this happen? I loved you; you were one of the few friends I had. You accepted me for me even though I did not fit in with your new friends. It’s what I loved about you; you never let anyone tell you what to think or what to do. It’s not going to be the same without you my friend. I love ya; I just wish I‘d told you when you were alive. Friends shouldn’t be afraid to say that but I was.”
Katie found a seat towards the middle not even trying to recognize anyone. She wanted to be alone with her pain of losing a friend. The tears would not stop, dripping leaving dark patterns on her dress. She saw Vlad step up; she closed her eyes and sobbed unable to believe it was real. She thought back to the first time she had ever seen him.
She had been so innocent then coming to him for her Paladin tattoo. Typically, she did not usually go for his type; but there was something about him. He had done his best to help her feel at ease, as she had to lay with her pants off while he worked on the tattoo embarrassed to have her rear in his face. They had talked and laughed and she realized he was nothing like he appeared. He seemed the protective type and never laughed at her when she did not know something or did it the wrong way or was clumsy.
Vlad’s voice continued as Katie was lost deep in her own remembrances. She smiled fondly at their one and only date. No one had been more surprised than she had that he had asked her out. Men like him did not ask girls like her out especially when there were so many others who wanted him. She had accepted and found her super-hero outfit and met him at the party. It was a crazy party, Verne was already drunk, someone pulled some drugs out, and soon he was stoned. They danced, laughed, and got to know one another. She smiled as she remembered they finished cleaning up and Verne had forgotten the key so they had to lock the church from the inside and climb out the window. Verne was in no condition to drive and to be honest she was a little worried to leave him by himself so she took him home. After forcing him to take a shower to try to sober him up. Nothing had happened; he had been the perfect gentleman.
He always had been the perfect gentleman to her, no matter how clumsy she had been, Verne was patient and kind to her.
As the service continued, she thought back to the time he was raising money for some sports team at the college. She went to help support the program. Vlad had been there that day too, it had been the first time they met. Katie sat on the end of the beer table, it upended itself, the beer bottles sliding down hitting her, and crashing to the floor as Vlad tried to save what he could as the table righted itself. Verne had run to her aid and had Vlad take her to the hospital to have the cut stitched in her head. He had not been mad that she had probably ruined things. Instead, he was kind and concerned.
Looking back there were a few things that had hurt her about him. She had found he was not as perfect as she had always thought, but he was her friend and she would always forgive him. They could argue and disagree but in the end, they had never stayed mad at one another.
Verne was Verne. He had been his own man. Right or wrong he stood on his convictions and did what he felt was right. She could tell the weight of leading The Order had weighed heavily on him at times but he had done a good job with it. The city would not be the same without him for her. Verne was one of a kind and had another not entered the picture she would have like to have had a date that did not involve drugs, alcohol, and her taking care of him.
Verne was a good man and she would never forget him.
The Order~Paladin~University Student~Lost
-
Andrew McGee
- Registered User
- Posts: 43
- Joined: 11 Jun 2013, 15:45
Re: The Answer is Always
He leaned against a tree just outside the Cathedral. The glow of his cigar the only thing active about the man as he occasionally inhaled. Black suit and tie over a dark grey shirt almost made him blend into the color of the tree. He waited calmly as those within grieved for the man.
Andrew personally had nothing against 'Verne'. He was still suspicious if that was even his real name, but in a way he could understand the why of a trick like that. In a city filled with things that were out to kill you, the bliss of such things tracking down a name that did not exist was an advantage. He had met him a couple times. The boy (from Andy's perspective of age and time) looked way older than he should have. Jobs like this took a lot out of people who trained for them, and some how he got the idea that Verne got shoved into the job a lot faster than he had expected to be. Pressure is no ones friend except the one applying the pressure and apparently, it worked.
He adjusted his walking stick over his arm as his eyes took in the building. It wasn't a bad place, he supposed. He never did feel comfortable when he stayed inside. Visions of angry nuns bursting into his room screaming as he sat smoking and drinking made being comfortable there a bit odd. He never saw any penguins, come to think of it. 'Maybe they were ninjas?' he thought. Ninja Nuns. How the hell does that work?
No, it wasn't imaginary nuns that kept him away, it was them. The day he learned Mini had been turned into the very thing they were supposedly fighting, it broke his heart. He liked that girl. Still did. She had more guts than the lot of them put together. Mini, in his view, was veteran who might not be in a spot to fight these things the way they had to.
But, was that stopping her from still being Mini? He didn't think so. He had talked to her several times after that. Been to her new place as a guest. The turtle creeping around was a bit odd, but outside of that it was Mini as always.
No, it was them. The members of the so-called Order. Not all of them, of course, but the ones who once they heard the announcement Dominique had been turned began to finger their blades and look at her like some alien vermin was suddenly sitting among them. In his eyes, that was like someone coming home from a war who had given their all and was now trapped in a wheelchair, and the honor guard who greeted them on their return was ready to shoot them for suddenly being less than they were.
This wasn't a game. This was reality. He knew a few vampires, even worked for one, and slowly he was getting a clue on how the simple edict that a vampire must die was not totally right to the overall picture. Should some of them die? Absolutely. Some of them were total dick heads and douches while others were practically people with something extra.
"Just like us," he exhaled the smoke.
Andrew had decided the day (night) he saw Mini acting like one of those douches, he would kill her himself. Why? Because she he doubted the real her would ever want to be like that. It would be a gesture of respect, sympathy, and not because she was simply a vampire. Too many in that meeting held a different view on the subject. This was fresh meat ready for the kill and everything else was suddenly forgotten.
'Verne' wasn't going to stand for it either. Of course that did not shut up the rumors, Last he had gathered, Verne was some hypnotized toy of Mini's or he was blind to the danger because of what she was now. Sad. So very sad. He would like to think Verne had the same idea he had on the subject of her. The boy seemed smart enough to be keeping track of things. Didn't he?
Andy could not say. He broke ties with the 'Order' after that little scene of opportunistic bitches seeing an easy kill in their ranks. Mini should have been treated with a measure of respect and been considered a warning they were not on the streets playing some fantasy game. The dogs they were fighting with bit back, and hard, and sometimes once you got bit? You stayed bit.
The flask was pulled from his overcoat pocket and he took a small sip as he waited. He would not walk in and find himself bringing up old arguments now. This was a time of mourning and respect, not a forum for his personal views. His own real life child, Mona, was still among their ranks as well. No, he was cut from a higher grade of cloth than to do something like that. Instead, he used a trick he had learned thanks to a person he met recently and aimed his thoughts at his 'niece'.
"I'm just outside if you need me, Mini Butt' He whispered. He was getting better at it. Skippy complained the first time he tried it that it sounded like the voice of God screaming in her mind.
He was here. In silent respect for the boss man, Mona and her.
That was all.
Andrew personally had nothing against 'Verne'. He was still suspicious if that was even his real name, but in a way he could understand the why of a trick like that. In a city filled with things that were out to kill you, the bliss of such things tracking down a name that did not exist was an advantage. He had met him a couple times. The boy (from Andy's perspective of age and time) looked way older than he should have. Jobs like this took a lot out of people who trained for them, and some how he got the idea that Verne got shoved into the job a lot faster than he had expected to be. Pressure is no ones friend except the one applying the pressure and apparently, it worked.
He adjusted his walking stick over his arm as his eyes took in the building. It wasn't a bad place, he supposed. He never did feel comfortable when he stayed inside. Visions of angry nuns bursting into his room screaming as he sat smoking and drinking made being comfortable there a bit odd. He never saw any penguins, come to think of it. 'Maybe they were ninjas?' he thought. Ninja Nuns. How the hell does that work?
No, it wasn't imaginary nuns that kept him away, it was them. The day he learned Mini had been turned into the very thing they were supposedly fighting, it broke his heart. He liked that girl. Still did. She had more guts than the lot of them put together. Mini, in his view, was veteran who might not be in a spot to fight these things the way they had to.
But, was that stopping her from still being Mini? He didn't think so. He had talked to her several times after that. Been to her new place as a guest. The turtle creeping around was a bit odd, but outside of that it was Mini as always.
No, it was them. The members of the so-called Order. Not all of them, of course, but the ones who once they heard the announcement Dominique had been turned began to finger their blades and look at her like some alien vermin was suddenly sitting among them. In his eyes, that was like someone coming home from a war who had given their all and was now trapped in a wheelchair, and the honor guard who greeted them on their return was ready to shoot them for suddenly being less than they were.
This wasn't a game. This was reality. He knew a few vampires, even worked for one, and slowly he was getting a clue on how the simple edict that a vampire must die was not totally right to the overall picture. Should some of them die? Absolutely. Some of them were total dick heads and douches while others were practically people with something extra.
"Just like us," he exhaled the smoke.
Andrew had decided the day (night) he saw Mini acting like one of those douches, he would kill her himself. Why? Because she he doubted the real her would ever want to be like that. It would be a gesture of respect, sympathy, and not because she was simply a vampire. Too many in that meeting held a different view on the subject. This was fresh meat ready for the kill and everything else was suddenly forgotten.
'Verne' wasn't going to stand for it either. Of course that did not shut up the rumors, Last he had gathered, Verne was some hypnotized toy of Mini's or he was blind to the danger because of what she was now. Sad. So very sad. He would like to think Verne had the same idea he had on the subject of her. The boy seemed smart enough to be keeping track of things. Didn't he?
Andy could not say. He broke ties with the 'Order' after that little scene of opportunistic bitches seeing an easy kill in their ranks. Mini should have been treated with a measure of respect and been considered a warning they were not on the streets playing some fantasy game. The dogs they were fighting with bit back, and hard, and sometimes once you got bit? You stayed bit.
The flask was pulled from his overcoat pocket and he took a small sip as he waited. He would not walk in and find himself bringing up old arguments now. This was a time of mourning and respect, not a forum for his personal views. His own real life child, Mona, was still among their ranks as well. No, he was cut from a higher grade of cloth than to do something like that. Instead, he used a trick he had learned thanks to a person he met recently and aimed his thoughts at his 'niece'.
"I'm just outside if you need me, Mini Butt' He whispered. He was getting better at it. Skippy complained the first time he tried it that it sounded like the voice of God screaming in her mind.
He was here. In silent respect for the boss man, Mona and her.
That was all.
-
Verne
- Registered User
- Posts: 153
- Joined: 10 Nov 2012, 05:51
Re: The Answer is Always
Two days, eighteen hours before my funeral.
The prosector stepped into the room with a clipboard and black ballpoint pen. Caleb was a balding man in his mid-sixties who still had all his own teeth and warn smile that suggested he was ready to retire soon. He was a skilled pathologist with more than thirty years’ experience. Caleb made a few notes on a piece of paper that he went through as if it were a check list, cross-referencing information with his diener (assistant), Molly.
The redhead chewed on the end of her own pen, she had seen a few dead bodies in the eight months she had spent working with Caleb, but this one in particular seemed to disturb her. “Twenty-nine year old male, six foot, two inches, weighing in at just under two hundred pounds,” Molly started listing facts in the order she knew Caleb preferred.
“Please be more specific, Miss Kitchen.”
“One hundred and ninety-six pounds exactly, Mr Mason.”
“Thank you, Molly.”
Molly smiled and looked back to the shared checklist. “He has Canadian citizenship and the family, Russian, has requested an autopsy.”
“Why?”
“They don’t think Mr Berezin is the type of man to commit suicide.”
Caleb glanced at the man on the table as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. He touched Verne’s right arm which was cold. “How long has he been refrigerated for?”
“Six hours,” Molly said quickly.
“Miss Kitchen,” Caleb warned.
Molly sighed and blew a strand of red hair from her face which fogged up her mask briefly. “Sorry, five hours, thirty-eight minutes.”
“Suspected cause of death?”
“Ballistic trauma.”
“Thank you. Let’s begin shall we?”
Molly put her clipboard down next to Caleb’s and put on some gloves. She stared through her facemask at the man on the table; the hospital report said his name was Yavok Verne Berezin, no history of depression or mental illness… In fact, looking over the man’s life records showed that he had been to see a nurse or doctor only three in his adult life. First for a small skin infection related to a tattoo that had gone bad, secondly for surgery on his hip and femur, and thirdly a blood test that had come back with some interesting results. “What tools would you like?”
Caleb studied the entrance wound under the jaw and then turned the male’s head to eye the larger exit wound. “Dissecting knife, four inch please. Brain knife, bone saw, skull key… the one with the t-shaped chisel,” he pointed.
“Anything else?” Molly asked.
“Forceps and mallet please, Molly.”
The body block placed under Verne’s back caused his chest to sit higher than it normally would and his arms slumped against the cold, aluminium table. Caleb checked the toe-tag to make sure he had the right person before beginning the autopsy. “Did they send his clothing?”
“Yes.”
“Anything abnormal?”
“Results came back with Mr Berezin’s DNA only.
“Thank you, Molly.”
Caleb checked the man’s fingerprints and skin over the hands for any cuts of abrasions. “His finger-nails are exceptionally clean… what did you say his profession was?”
“I didn’t. He was just a local tattooist, self-employed going by his tax records, other than some community work for the Saint James Cathedral,” Molly explained.
“And how on earth did you get a hold of that information?”
“It was on the police report, Caleb.”
“Ah… My apologies, I forgot to read it.”
Molly frowned, it wasn’t like Caleb to overlook things, or simply ‘forget’ to do something. “You work too hard.”
Caleb laughed and got back to work. “Swab results?”
“Mouth and nails clear of any traces of poison, so we can rule that out; blood work suggests the same.”
“And his eyes?” Caleb leaned over the man on the table and pulled his eyelids open to check for blood sports.
“Closer examination of the conjunctivae on eyes do not indicate asphyxia.”
“They look a little pink?”
Molly leaned forward to check. “Nothing that would suggest carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Caleb started checking for external signs of disease, wounds, and needle marks. “Check between the toes, kids are getting creative these days.”
“I don’t think he’s a junkie, Caleb.”
“You can never be sure until you’re sure,” the old man winked before marking the bullet entrance and exit wounds on the sheet of paper.
He collected samples from the man’s head, scalp, face, and eyebrows. “Start labelling these, Molly. Can I see the x-rays please?”
Molly finished the labelling before collecting the x-rays. She put them up on the light screen and studied them alongside Caleb. “My goodness that is a nasty fracture,” Caleb pointed out. “Look at the healing on the femur.”
Molly looked closely at the x-ray. “An old injury?”
“About three or four years according to his records. Hip surgery, rods, pins, you name it; it looks like he got it all.”
Molly frowned. “That can’t be easy…”
“No, injuries like that see you on light duties for a year or two, and he wouldn’t have been running around that’s for sure.”
“Old before his time,” Molly said quietly to herself. “What kind of dissection will you be making?”
“I think I will go for a V-shape incision and take out the neck.”
“But there is nothing to suggest strangulation,” Molly said a little confused.
“No, but you need the practice.”
The young woman didn’t know how she felt about that… leaving a dead man with that type of incision for her benefit. “All right…”
“I want you to take more blood too, in case they need more testing to be done.”
“Like what? We tested for alcohol, blood type, poisons, glucose…”
“A family orders an autopsy on a man who clearly killed himself… I smell something fishy.”
“You think they were pushed to ask?”
Caleb didn’t answer Molly; instead he got his knife ready for her and set it on the tray. “Ready when you are.”
“Can we do the lumbar puncture first?”
“Sure, help me sit him up.”
Once the cerebo-spinal fluid was collected Molly helped Caleb lower Verne back down onto the table. She then used a syringe to draw liquid from behind the eye and replaced what she had taken with water for cosmetic reasons. “You think this will give us an accurate time of death?”
“The doctor’s notes are quite accurate I’m sure,” Caleb told her.
“Never hurts to be sure,” Molly smiled, repeating the man’s mantra in her own words.
Molly picked up Caleb’s blade and measured where she wanted to make her incision from the man’s collar, using two fingers. She was just around to insert the tip of the blade when the phone rang. “Want me to get it?” Molly asked.
“No, or you’ll have to re-wash and glove up again. Continue, I’ll answer it.”
As Caleb disappeared to answer the phone, Molly pushed the end of the blade into the man’s skin; it was tough where she dragged it over muscle and sunk when it found a soft hollow of fat. She stopped and looked at Verne’s face, as if he would scold her for that. ‘He’s dead,’ she told herself, ‘stop being crazy’.
“Stop!” Caleb screamed at her from across the room.
Molly got such a fright she jumped and almost threw the knife up in the air. “Oh God… what?!” She asked. “Did you really have to yell?”
“Stitch up your work and put him back in the wrap then store him away again.”
“Why? What’s happened? Who was that?”
“That was a phone call all the way from Rome, the Vatican no less.” Caleb seemed almost excited when he announced this.
If Molly hadn’t looked confused before, she did now. “What the hell?”
“He is not to be touched, all samples need to be destroyed and paper work shredded you hear me? One of their representatives will be here in twenty minutes to collect him.”
The prosector stepped into the room with a clipboard and black ballpoint pen. Caleb was a balding man in his mid-sixties who still had all his own teeth and warn smile that suggested he was ready to retire soon. He was a skilled pathologist with more than thirty years’ experience. Caleb made a few notes on a piece of paper that he went through as if it were a check list, cross-referencing information with his diener (assistant), Molly.
The redhead chewed on the end of her own pen, she had seen a few dead bodies in the eight months she had spent working with Caleb, but this one in particular seemed to disturb her. “Twenty-nine year old male, six foot, two inches, weighing in at just under two hundred pounds,” Molly started listing facts in the order she knew Caleb preferred.
“Please be more specific, Miss Kitchen.”
“One hundred and ninety-six pounds exactly, Mr Mason.”
“Thank you, Molly.”
Molly smiled and looked back to the shared checklist. “He has Canadian citizenship and the family, Russian, has requested an autopsy.”
“Why?”
“They don’t think Mr Berezin is the type of man to commit suicide.”
Caleb glanced at the man on the table as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. He touched Verne’s right arm which was cold. “How long has he been refrigerated for?”
“Six hours,” Molly said quickly.
“Miss Kitchen,” Caleb warned.
Molly sighed and blew a strand of red hair from her face which fogged up her mask briefly. “Sorry, five hours, thirty-eight minutes.”
“Suspected cause of death?”
“Ballistic trauma.”
“Thank you. Let’s begin shall we?”
Molly put her clipboard down next to Caleb’s and put on some gloves. She stared through her facemask at the man on the table; the hospital report said his name was Yavok Verne Berezin, no history of depression or mental illness… In fact, looking over the man’s life records showed that he had been to see a nurse or doctor only three in his adult life. First for a small skin infection related to a tattoo that had gone bad, secondly for surgery on his hip and femur, and thirdly a blood test that had come back with some interesting results. “What tools would you like?”
Caleb studied the entrance wound under the jaw and then turned the male’s head to eye the larger exit wound. “Dissecting knife, four inch please. Brain knife, bone saw, skull key… the one with the t-shaped chisel,” he pointed.
“Anything else?” Molly asked.
“Forceps and mallet please, Molly.”
The body block placed under Verne’s back caused his chest to sit higher than it normally would and his arms slumped against the cold, aluminium table. Caleb checked the toe-tag to make sure he had the right person before beginning the autopsy. “Did they send his clothing?”
“Yes.”
“Anything abnormal?”
“Results came back with Mr Berezin’s DNA only.
“Thank you, Molly.”
Caleb checked the man’s fingerprints and skin over the hands for any cuts of abrasions. “His finger-nails are exceptionally clean… what did you say his profession was?”
“I didn’t. He was just a local tattooist, self-employed going by his tax records, other than some community work for the Saint James Cathedral,” Molly explained.
“And how on earth did you get a hold of that information?”
“It was on the police report, Caleb.”
“Ah… My apologies, I forgot to read it.”
Molly frowned, it wasn’t like Caleb to overlook things, or simply ‘forget’ to do something. “You work too hard.”
Caleb laughed and got back to work. “Swab results?”
“Mouth and nails clear of any traces of poison, so we can rule that out; blood work suggests the same.”
“And his eyes?” Caleb leaned over the man on the table and pulled his eyelids open to check for blood sports.
“Closer examination of the conjunctivae on eyes do not indicate asphyxia.”
“They look a little pink?”
Molly leaned forward to check. “Nothing that would suggest carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Caleb started checking for external signs of disease, wounds, and needle marks. “Check between the toes, kids are getting creative these days.”
“I don’t think he’s a junkie, Caleb.”
“You can never be sure until you’re sure,” the old man winked before marking the bullet entrance and exit wounds on the sheet of paper.
He collected samples from the man’s head, scalp, face, and eyebrows. “Start labelling these, Molly. Can I see the x-rays please?”
Molly finished the labelling before collecting the x-rays. She put them up on the light screen and studied them alongside Caleb. “My goodness that is a nasty fracture,” Caleb pointed out. “Look at the healing on the femur.”
Molly looked closely at the x-ray. “An old injury?”
“About three or four years according to his records. Hip surgery, rods, pins, you name it; it looks like he got it all.”
Molly frowned. “That can’t be easy…”
“No, injuries like that see you on light duties for a year or two, and he wouldn’t have been running around that’s for sure.”
“Old before his time,” Molly said quietly to herself. “What kind of dissection will you be making?”
“I think I will go for a V-shape incision and take out the neck.”
“But there is nothing to suggest strangulation,” Molly said a little confused.
“No, but you need the practice.”
The young woman didn’t know how she felt about that… leaving a dead man with that type of incision for her benefit. “All right…”
“I want you to take more blood too, in case they need more testing to be done.”
“Like what? We tested for alcohol, blood type, poisons, glucose…”
“A family orders an autopsy on a man who clearly killed himself… I smell something fishy.”
“You think they were pushed to ask?”
Caleb didn’t answer Molly; instead he got his knife ready for her and set it on the tray. “Ready when you are.”
“Can we do the lumbar puncture first?”
“Sure, help me sit him up.”
Once the cerebo-spinal fluid was collected Molly helped Caleb lower Verne back down onto the table. She then used a syringe to draw liquid from behind the eye and replaced what she had taken with water for cosmetic reasons. “You think this will give us an accurate time of death?”
“The doctor’s notes are quite accurate I’m sure,” Caleb told her.
“Never hurts to be sure,” Molly smiled, repeating the man’s mantra in her own words.
Molly picked up Caleb’s blade and measured where she wanted to make her incision from the man’s collar, using two fingers. She was just around to insert the tip of the blade when the phone rang. “Want me to get it?” Molly asked.
“No, or you’ll have to re-wash and glove up again. Continue, I’ll answer it.”
As Caleb disappeared to answer the phone, Molly pushed the end of the blade into the man’s skin; it was tough where she dragged it over muscle and sunk when it found a soft hollow of fat. She stopped and looked at Verne’s face, as if he would scold her for that. ‘He’s dead,’ she told herself, ‘stop being crazy’.
“Stop!” Caleb screamed at her from across the room.
Molly got such a fright she jumped and almost threw the knife up in the air. “Oh God… what?!” She asked. “Did you really have to yell?”
“Stitch up your work and put him back in the wrap then store him away again.”
“Why? What’s happened? Who was that?”
“That was a phone call all the way from Rome, the Vatican no less.” Caleb seemed almost excited when he announced this.
If Molly hadn’t looked confused before, she did now. “What the hell?”
“He is not to be touched, all samples need to be destroyed and paper work shredded you hear me? One of their representatives will be here in twenty minutes to collect him.”
for her and her alone
-
Mona McGee
- Registered User
- Posts: 254
- Joined: 11 Jan 2014, 02:34
- CrowNet Handle: Mona McGee
Re: The Answer is Always
Mona McGee wasn't a pleasant person she cursed, swore, drank, and smoked... Most would call her White-trash. The closest thing to a dress she owned was a leather mini skirt. Why people dressed for funerals she didn't know. Every day of her life Verne had seen her in rags and leathers, nothing fancy or over the top. She guessed today he wouldn't care if she showed up in a gunny sack or nude, so long as she made an appearance.
She showed up at the Cathedral a bit late it seemed as the service was already underway. Mona hung her head paused at the door, God knows she didn't want to go in there... It was so soon after her mother had died; she remembered all the weeping and crying her aunts and family had done. Her hand wavered at the door. She couldn't make herself Enter. Vern had always accepted her as she was he didn't take any ******** from her either. She wanted to pay her respects...
Mona walked over and sat down on the steps, one boot scuffing side to side. Her thoughts muddled in her mind. She took the flask out of her jacket pocket and took a sip and poured a healthy measure onto the steps of the building Verne had made The Order home. "To you my friend" she whispered and took another sip then slipped the flask back into its hiding spot.
She showed up at the Cathedral a bit late it seemed as the service was already underway. Mona hung her head paused at the door, God knows she didn't want to go in there... It was so soon after her mother had died; she remembered all the weeping and crying her aunts and family had done. Her hand wavered at the door. She couldn't make herself Enter. Vern had always accepted her as she was he didn't take any ******** from her either. She wanted to pay her respects...
Mona walked over and sat down on the steps, one boot scuffing side to side. Her thoughts muddled in her mind. She took the flask out of her jacket pocket and took a sip and poured a healthy measure onto the steps of the building Verne had made The Order home. "To you my friend" she whispered and took another sip then slipped the flask back into its hiding spot.
-
Galahad (DELETED 5802)
- Posts: 12
- Joined: 05 Nov 2014, 07:10
Re: The Answer is Always
To walk into a room without seeing him was difficult, Galahad, a man that stood an inch shy of seven foot, towered over every other being seated within the cathedral. Shrouded in black robs, he watched the crowd trickle in through the doors, each gravitating towards somewhere they could stand, lean or sit, filling the large space with the low hum of distraught chatter. “Father Lionne, did you know the deceased?”
“Ah ken who he is, but ah dinnae ken him, ye ken?” Galahad offered a smile.
Simon replied with his own smile, though it was plain to see he was having trouble making sense of Galahad. “Will you be speaking on anyone’s behalf today?”
“Brother,” Galahad’s smile morphed into a sinister little grin as he placed his hand (“The Hand of God”) on Father Simon’s shoulder, his deep tone of voice soft but sure in each of the words he recited. “Am ur the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Vid ye believe this?" (John, 11:25-26).
“O-of course I do, yes, yes!” Father Simon fumbled.
Galahad squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Is that hesitation ah hear, Da?”
“No, no!” Simon shrugged out of Galahad’s grip and went to relight a few candles that had gone out, his shoulders hunched, as if he were scared Galahad would take hold of them again.
The giant of a man smirked and turned his back on the congregation, the Saint James Cross sewn across the back of his dark robs in gold, each intricate stitch more perfected than the last, as if the symbol had been slaved over for years by the tiny hands of mice. Galahad’s body seemed to disappear beneath the robs and board shoulders, his height making it seem as if he wore a pair of stilts strapped to his leg, disguised, though he was a man of few secrets; the biggest of which lay dead in the closed coffin.
He knocked on the edge of the mahogany casket discreetly three times before he spoke. “Haud yer wheesht… Lang may yer lum reek, or I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug! May The Order and God be with ye. Ah will see ye later.”
Galahad took a seat to the end of the left front row where he would be able to watch who came and went from the church; the loved ones, family members, friends, and Vampires… He could smell two or three of them mixed in with the crowd. There was no hiding what you were from Galahad, he had lived long enough as a Paladin to be able to tell the difference, even if everyone else was oblivious. There were three things Galahad never left his hotel room without, his faith, his cross, and the sword of Saint James.
“Ah ken who he is, but ah dinnae ken him, ye ken?” Galahad offered a smile.
Simon replied with his own smile, though it was plain to see he was having trouble making sense of Galahad. “Will you be speaking on anyone’s behalf today?”
“Brother,” Galahad’s smile morphed into a sinister little grin as he placed his hand (“The Hand of God”) on Father Simon’s shoulder, his deep tone of voice soft but sure in each of the words he recited. “Am ur the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Vid ye believe this?" (John, 11:25-26).
“O-of course I do, yes, yes!” Father Simon fumbled.
Galahad squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Is that hesitation ah hear, Da?”
“No, no!” Simon shrugged out of Galahad’s grip and went to relight a few candles that had gone out, his shoulders hunched, as if he were scared Galahad would take hold of them again.
The giant of a man smirked and turned his back on the congregation, the Saint James Cross sewn across the back of his dark robs in gold, each intricate stitch more perfected than the last, as if the symbol had been slaved over for years by the tiny hands of mice. Galahad’s body seemed to disappear beneath the robs and board shoulders, his height making it seem as if he wore a pair of stilts strapped to his leg, disguised, though he was a man of few secrets; the biggest of which lay dead in the closed coffin.
He knocked on the edge of the mahogany casket discreetly three times before he spoke. “Haud yer wheesht… Lang may yer lum reek, or I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug! May The Order and God be with ye. Ah will see ye later.”
Galahad took a seat to the end of the left front row where he would be able to watch who came and went from the church; the loved ones, family members, friends, and Vampires… He could smell two or three of them mixed in with the crowd. There was no hiding what you were from Galahad, he had lived long enough as a Paladin to be able to tell the difference, even if everyone else was oblivious. There were three things Galahad never left his hotel room without, his faith, his cross, and the sword of Saint James.
| Y O U R ° S O U L ° I S ° I N ° Y O U R ° K E E P I N G ° A L O N E |
G O D 'S ° A S S A S S I N | T H E ° O R D E R ° O F ° S A I N T ° J A M E S | S E C T I O N ° I I I
G O D 'S ° A S S A S S I N | T H E ° O R D E R ° O F ° S A I N T ° J A M E S | S E C T I O N ° I I I
-
Kenlie (DELETED 4989)
- Registered User
- Posts: 334
- Joined: 27 Nov 2013, 20:23
- CrowNet Handle: little_monster
Re: The Answer is Always
It had been three days. Three days since she’d fed, taken a shower, combed her hair. Three days since her big brother, her coach, her best friend had put a bullet through his own head. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. In fact, she refused to even try. Total and utter denial had set in so deep that when it came time for them to leave for the funeral, Dominique had gone alone. Kenlie just wasn’t ready to face it. Not even for her.
She seriously wasn't planning on attending the funeral. When Dom had come downstairs to wake her (as if she could sleep), Kenlie had flat out told her, “I’m not going.” She couldn’t. At least… she felt like she couldn’t. An all-encompassing ache had set in on her, and it was worse than the pain she felt during her heart attack.
Sure enough, an hour after Dominique had already left to help them set up at the cathedral, Kenlie found herself pulling on the only black dress and pair of heels that she owned. It didn't cover the tattoos on her legs, but people didn't have to look at them. Guilt had set in something fierce. There was no way she could let her sister go through this alone; especially not while knowing all the support her sister would have for her in a reverse situation.
On her way out the door of Vita Bella, she remembered one important thing. The word ‘RAIN’, inked into her fingers, curled around the blue beads of her rosary which she draped around her neck. 'DOGS' clutched the cross connected to it, so so tight. Finally, she pressed a kiss to the mother's face and sluggishly went to the elevator.
About fifteen minutes late, Kenlie was entering through the grand doors of the cathedral. It had been weeks since she’d stepped foot inside -- weeks, because it hadn’t felt like ‘home’ anymore. That had been her mindset at the time, at least. But now, being there with his corpse in a box, she truly felt what it was like to have her house no longer be a home. It was the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever experienced since the shooting.
“****,” she whispered beneath her breath. Her eyesight was already becoming blurry as tears threatened to spill. Kenlie could truly say that she had never cried in public before; not when she broke her leg, not when she was stabbed, only when Ray had died. It seemed to be a pattern, that. It was a good thing that she didn’t bother with makeup.
After quickly composing herself, Kenlie (who was totally unashamed at her tardiness) made her way slowly down the middle aisle. She passed a few familiar faces, but she didn’t hold their gaze for even a second. She wasn’t there for their dirty or pitying looks. She wasn’t even there for Verne. She was there for the greatest family she had ever had: Dominique.
Kenlie stopped at the first row, where Dominique was seated towards the edge. Gently, the younger sister cleared her throat to capture her brief attention. “Mind if I sit here?” If the answer was 'no', she wouldn't blame her for being angry.
She seriously wasn't planning on attending the funeral. When Dom had come downstairs to wake her (as if she could sleep), Kenlie had flat out told her, “I’m not going.” She couldn’t. At least… she felt like she couldn’t. An all-encompassing ache had set in on her, and it was worse than the pain she felt during her heart attack.
Sure enough, an hour after Dominique had already left to help them set up at the cathedral, Kenlie found herself pulling on the only black dress and pair of heels that she owned. It didn't cover the tattoos on her legs, but people didn't have to look at them. Guilt had set in something fierce. There was no way she could let her sister go through this alone; especially not while knowing all the support her sister would have for her in a reverse situation.
On her way out the door of Vita Bella, she remembered one important thing. The word ‘RAIN’, inked into her fingers, curled around the blue beads of her rosary which she draped around her neck. 'DOGS' clutched the cross connected to it, so so tight. Finally, she pressed a kiss to the mother's face and sluggishly went to the elevator.
About fifteen minutes late, Kenlie was entering through the grand doors of the cathedral. It had been weeks since she’d stepped foot inside -- weeks, because it hadn’t felt like ‘home’ anymore. That had been her mindset at the time, at least. But now, being there with his corpse in a box, she truly felt what it was like to have her house no longer be a home. It was the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever experienced since the shooting.
“****,” she whispered beneath her breath. Her eyesight was already becoming blurry as tears threatened to spill. Kenlie could truly say that she had never cried in public before; not when she broke her leg, not when she was stabbed, only when Ray had died. It seemed to be a pattern, that. It was a good thing that she didn’t bother with makeup.
After quickly composing herself, Kenlie (who was totally unashamed at her tardiness) made her way slowly down the middle aisle. She passed a few familiar faces, but she didn’t hold their gaze for even a second. She wasn’t there for their dirty or pitying looks. She wasn’t even there for Verne. She was there for the greatest family she had ever had: Dominique.
Kenlie stopped at the first row, where Dominique was seated towards the edge. Gently, the younger sister cleared her throat to capture her brief attention. “Mind if I sit here?” If the answer was 'no', she wouldn't blame her for being angry.
bee . . . clover . . . dom
M I Z P A H | + | T H E| N I G H T| L O R D S| M C | + | F F O R D E
M I Z P A H | + | T H E| N I G H T| L O R D S| M C | + | F F O R D E
-
Dominique
- Registered User
- Posts: 1047
- Joined: 27 Mar 2013, 22:19
- CrowNet Handle: Batgirl
- Location: Vita Bella
- Contact:
Re: The Answer is Always
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
Dominique: Dominique looked up and her weary eyes met those of her sister, Kenlie. A smile that was possible surfaced to her lips and she slid over. She had no idea who was next to her and it didn’t really matter. At this point Kenlie arriving was like an angel of mercy had stepped in… even if she was the last one to deserve it. The words of others speaking their respects echoed and finally once Kenlie was settled in the pew she leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Thank you. I know this was not easy for you. I do know he would want you here.” She kissed her cheek and brushed it gently with her own hand.
Kenlie: Kenlie, ever the lady-like individual (read with sarcasm), sat down without even smoothing out her dress first. Inhaling deeply to calm her nerves, she reached for Dominique’s right hand and squeezed tight. They both needed each other, not just one or the other.
“Yeah…” she trailed off for a few seconds, trying to take the thoughts in her head and politely turn them into spoken words. She eventually just settled with confirmation. “I know.” The girl’s eyes closed as her sister’s fingers touched her cheek. The comfort brought a sigh from her lips and had her hunching down to rest her head on Dominique’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Dominique: Felt the freedom of her gloves being off and the color of her permanent ink reaching up and threaded slowly through her sisters hair once. They both loved him for every reason Verne was lovable. Every last flaw and degree of perfection. Her own lips parted as that sharp pain that had been with her since she woke to the sound in the dark that was alarming and unmistakable went rushing through her again. She looked at the casket and closed her eyes.
“I can’t do it, Kenlie.” She kept her voice whisper soft but lost a sense of anyone around them. The world had just shrunk as far as she was concerned. “I can’t let him go.”
Kenlie: She was absolutely right. The world had shrunk. It had lost a piece of it that was so special and unique that she was worried the two of them might not bounce back from such a loss. He wasn’t their everything, but he was a lot of their somethings. Brother, protector, teacher. He was the man of their house. Their home. And damn it, how could they possibly fill that gap?
Kenlie still hadn’t looked toward the front of the room. She couldn’t see it, him. The body. Whatever heart she had left from her humanity would break if she did, she just knew it. Dominique’s voice distracted her from her thoughts as she struggled to focus her attention once more, slowly tipping her head towards the woman’s sound. And she wished she hadn’t.
Her heart sunk as she spoke the words she knew had to be said. “You’re going to have to figure out a way, Dom… Because what’s left of him is being buried.”
Dominique: This was the part that kept her sitting in the pew where she was. Despite the voice of Benny giving her hell not long before Kenlie walked in, or the sound of Vlad telling her she was considered family or the fact Verne was in the casket and most likely wearing socks. What kept her planted in the seat beneath her was the conviction behind the words she finally spoke out loud and confessed to her own sister next to her. She leaned back to press her head back against the side of Kenlie’s.
“Not here.” As soon as she said it there was an energy that filled every dark aching spot within her and she felt hope, comfort perhaps at the seriousness of what she just said. Verne was coming home where he belonged… with them. “He is coming home with us.”
Kenlie: ‘Coming home,’ she repeated in her head. And then, ‘with us’. She was completely silent, not doing a damn thing but staring down at the shoes that dug into the backs of her ankles and made her feet swell, the ******* things. And even after a minute, she still didn’t get it. Was she missing something?
Turning her head, she leaned back to give Dom a look that read like she thought she, herself, was going insane. Maybe she hadn’t heard correctly? “Say that one more time?”
Dominique: Cocked her head and leaned over a little more now slightly touching the strange body seated on the other side of her so she could make sure Kenlie saw her full expression which was dead serious. Her arms folded as she spoke. “He is coming home with us… tonight.” She raised both brows. “Where he belongs.”
Kenlie: Her lips parted to say something, but she quickly thought better of it and snapped her jaw shut. Just as quickly as that thought had gone, another came out perhaps a little too loudly. “Well ****.”
Not even realizing she’d caught the attention of a few people that were sat behind them, Kenlie lowered her voice back to a whisper and leaned in, lips nearly pressed to Dom’s ear. “We’re going to steal the ******* body?” She said ‘we’re’, not ‘you’re’, because she was not about to let Dominique commit that sort of crime all on her own. That sort of thing was a family event.
Dominique: Her eyes narrowed as Kenlie spoke and quickly turned to lean in her ear and speak. “We are in a fuckin’ church so show a little respect. His body. Yes, we are stealing that. Not his ******* body. I have it all ready to roll as soon as a few more people get their words in. What we have to say can be said while we shovel.” She looked down at Kenlie’s shoes and her own then glanced to the elderly woman sitting on the other side of her and gave a quick smile. Turning back to Kenlie she whispers again. “I need you to do this with me.”
Vlad: Vladimir sat down alongside his sister as someone from the university stepped up to speak, the voice but another hum in the background as Vlad stared forward at the coffin at the front of the church. He swallowed, strangled by the collar of his shirt, the tie, this horrible jacket that felt three sizes too small, and yet even with all of this going on he felt cold, as cold as the lifeless body of his brother and best friend, Verne.
Something knocked him from his stupor, the pleasant little daze he had fallen into all but chased away by the whispering going on somewhere to his left. It cut through the monotone droning of the head-teacher from the university and caused Vladimir to turn his head to see where it was coming from. He stared at Dominique and Kenlie for a few long seconds, not able to make out a word they were saying, smiled softly and pointed his gaze back to the front of the room.
Kenlie: The girl arched a ‘brow at Dominique, as if to say ‘you can say that again’. She shook her head, then leaned back in to listen to her explanation. As it quickly sank in, like a rock swimming down to the bottom of a lake, she chewed over her lower lip and sighed. Without another thought to it, she nodded her head. “Okay.”
And then she felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Slowly, she turned to look at the source of the feeling, and her eyes ended up meeting Vlad’s. “Oh,” she mouthed, turning her gaze towards the front of the room. Bad idea. The second her eyes met that casket, she felt like she was being strangled.
Dominique: Dominique smiled when she caught Vlad glancing over. She realized maybe she was not exactly rational in the last week or perhaps month. She sighed and leaned back in to whisper once more to Kenlie. “I just want to do this. People do it all the time. Bury their loved ones on their own land. Right?” Not that it really mattered if Kenlie told her she was actually in the middle of a melt down and said it was time to go. Dominique had made the arrangements. She didn’t expect her sister to say much. In her shoes she probably wouldn’t either. One thing was certain though. Dominique would carry her sister’s man a hundred miles if she asked because that was what family does when asked.
Kenlie: “Right…” Her voice was as distant as her focus as she kept her eyes on that casket, where she knew Verne’s body was. If she felt compelled (and part of her did), she could stand up, take a few steps, then reach out and touch it. Her fingers twitched at the thought. She did have something to give him; something she wanted to place with his remains, at least. It was odd to think of him that way, but she had to. If they were doing this thing, though -- stealing his body to bury it at home -- she’d have plenty of opportunity. She couldn’t do it and break down here. Not now.
Kenlie swallowed thickly and let her eyes close. She did not do well in these situations. It always felt like the walls were closing in around here, and still, someone’s hands were wrapped around her throat and tightening. Good thing she didn’t have to breathe. Finally, her voice hoarse as ever, she whispered, “Of course I’ll help you....”
Vlad: Vladimir offered the head-teacher from the university a warm smile once he had finished speaking. They crossed paths and shook hands after Vladimir had got up to make his way towards the music player. His sister took centre stage once again, ready to announce the title of the song one of Verne’s loved ones wanted to dedicate to him. She looked down at the piece of paper and found she would have to improvise, the name of the song and artist missing from the notes Vladimir had given her. She gave her brother a confused look before shrugging it off. “We would like to take a moment to play a song dedicated to Yavok by one of his friends…” And with that Vladimir pressed the play button.
“Thank you. I know this was not easy for you. I do know he would want you here.” She kissed her cheek and brushed it gently with her own hand.
Kenlie: Kenlie, ever the lady-like individual (read with sarcasm), sat down without even smoothing out her dress first. Inhaling deeply to calm her nerves, she reached for Dominique’s right hand and squeezed tight. They both needed each other, not just one or the other.
“Yeah…” she trailed off for a few seconds, trying to take the thoughts in her head and politely turn them into spoken words. She eventually just settled with confirmation. “I know.” The girl’s eyes closed as her sister’s fingers touched her cheek. The comfort brought a sigh from her lips and had her hunching down to rest her head on Dominique’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Dominique: Felt the freedom of her gloves being off and the color of her permanent ink reaching up and threaded slowly through her sisters hair once. They both loved him for every reason Verne was lovable. Every last flaw and degree of perfection. Her own lips parted as that sharp pain that had been with her since she woke to the sound in the dark that was alarming and unmistakable went rushing through her again. She looked at the casket and closed her eyes.
“I can’t do it, Kenlie.” She kept her voice whisper soft but lost a sense of anyone around them. The world had just shrunk as far as she was concerned. “I can’t let him go.”
Kenlie: She was absolutely right. The world had shrunk. It had lost a piece of it that was so special and unique that she was worried the two of them might not bounce back from such a loss. He wasn’t their everything, but he was a lot of their somethings. Brother, protector, teacher. He was the man of their house. Their home. And damn it, how could they possibly fill that gap?
Kenlie still hadn’t looked toward the front of the room. She couldn’t see it, him. The body. Whatever heart she had left from her humanity would break if she did, she just knew it. Dominique’s voice distracted her from her thoughts as she struggled to focus her attention once more, slowly tipping her head towards the woman’s sound. And she wished she hadn’t.
Her heart sunk as she spoke the words she knew had to be said. “You’re going to have to figure out a way, Dom… Because what’s left of him is being buried.”
Dominique: This was the part that kept her sitting in the pew where she was. Despite the voice of Benny giving her hell not long before Kenlie walked in, or the sound of Vlad telling her she was considered family or the fact Verne was in the casket and most likely wearing socks. What kept her planted in the seat beneath her was the conviction behind the words she finally spoke out loud and confessed to her own sister next to her. She leaned back to press her head back against the side of Kenlie’s.
“Not here.” As soon as she said it there was an energy that filled every dark aching spot within her and she felt hope, comfort perhaps at the seriousness of what she just said. Verne was coming home where he belonged… with them. “He is coming home with us.”
Kenlie: ‘Coming home,’ she repeated in her head. And then, ‘with us’. She was completely silent, not doing a damn thing but staring down at the shoes that dug into the backs of her ankles and made her feet swell, the ******* things. And even after a minute, she still didn’t get it. Was she missing something?
Turning her head, she leaned back to give Dom a look that read like she thought she, herself, was going insane. Maybe she hadn’t heard correctly? “Say that one more time?”
Dominique: Cocked her head and leaned over a little more now slightly touching the strange body seated on the other side of her so she could make sure Kenlie saw her full expression which was dead serious. Her arms folded as she spoke. “He is coming home with us… tonight.” She raised both brows. “Where he belongs.”
Kenlie: Her lips parted to say something, but she quickly thought better of it and snapped her jaw shut. Just as quickly as that thought had gone, another came out perhaps a little too loudly. “Well ****.”
Not even realizing she’d caught the attention of a few people that were sat behind them, Kenlie lowered her voice back to a whisper and leaned in, lips nearly pressed to Dom’s ear. “We’re going to steal the ******* body?” She said ‘we’re’, not ‘you’re’, because she was not about to let Dominique commit that sort of crime all on her own. That sort of thing was a family event.
Dominique: Her eyes narrowed as Kenlie spoke and quickly turned to lean in her ear and speak. “We are in a fuckin’ church so show a little respect. His body. Yes, we are stealing that. Not his ******* body. I have it all ready to roll as soon as a few more people get their words in. What we have to say can be said while we shovel.” She looked down at Kenlie’s shoes and her own then glanced to the elderly woman sitting on the other side of her and gave a quick smile. Turning back to Kenlie she whispers again. “I need you to do this with me.”
Vlad: Vladimir sat down alongside his sister as someone from the university stepped up to speak, the voice but another hum in the background as Vlad stared forward at the coffin at the front of the church. He swallowed, strangled by the collar of his shirt, the tie, this horrible jacket that felt three sizes too small, and yet even with all of this going on he felt cold, as cold as the lifeless body of his brother and best friend, Verne.
Something knocked him from his stupor, the pleasant little daze he had fallen into all but chased away by the whispering going on somewhere to his left. It cut through the monotone droning of the head-teacher from the university and caused Vladimir to turn his head to see where it was coming from. He stared at Dominique and Kenlie for a few long seconds, not able to make out a word they were saying, smiled softly and pointed his gaze back to the front of the room.
Kenlie: The girl arched a ‘brow at Dominique, as if to say ‘you can say that again’. She shook her head, then leaned back in to listen to her explanation. As it quickly sank in, like a rock swimming down to the bottom of a lake, she chewed over her lower lip and sighed. Without another thought to it, she nodded her head. “Okay.”
And then she felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Slowly, she turned to look at the source of the feeling, and her eyes ended up meeting Vlad’s. “Oh,” she mouthed, turning her gaze towards the front of the room. Bad idea. The second her eyes met that casket, she felt like she was being strangled.
Dominique: Dominique smiled when she caught Vlad glancing over. She realized maybe she was not exactly rational in the last week or perhaps month. She sighed and leaned back in to whisper once more to Kenlie. “I just want to do this. People do it all the time. Bury their loved ones on their own land. Right?” Not that it really mattered if Kenlie told her she was actually in the middle of a melt down and said it was time to go. Dominique had made the arrangements. She didn’t expect her sister to say much. In her shoes she probably wouldn’t either. One thing was certain though. Dominique would carry her sister’s man a hundred miles if she asked because that was what family does when asked.
Kenlie: “Right…” Her voice was as distant as her focus as she kept her eyes on that casket, where she knew Verne’s body was. If she felt compelled (and part of her did), she could stand up, take a few steps, then reach out and touch it. Her fingers twitched at the thought. She did have something to give him; something she wanted to place with his remains, at least. It was odd to think of him that way, but she had to. If they were doing this thing, though -- stealing his body to bury it at home -- she’d have plenty of opportunity. She couldn’t do it and break down here. Not now.
Kenlie swallowed thickly and let her eyes close. She did not do well in these situations. It always felt like the walls were closing in around here, and still, someone’s hands were wrapped around her throat and tightening. Good thing she didn’t have to breathe. Finally, her voice hoarse as ever, she whispered, “Of course I’ll help you....”
Vlad: Vladimir offered the head-teacher from the university a warm smile once he had finished speaking. They crossed paths and shook hands after Vladimir had got up to make his way towards the music player. His sister took centre stage once again, ready to announce the title of the song one of Verne’s loved ones wanted to dedicate to him. She looked down at the piece of paper and found she would have to improvise, the name of the song and artist missing from the notes Vladimir had given her. She gave her brother a confused look before shrugging it off. “We would like to take a moment to play a song dedicated to Yavok by one of his friends…” And with that Vladimir pressed the play button.