Morningstars, Parts 1-3

Part One

It was early fall in New York, and though there were few trees in the city, the colors of their dying leaves swirled through the air like multihued twisters. Louis Simon Darque stared at them through the window in the small cube of a hospital room, amazed at nature’s paintbrush. Tapping on the steel bedpost with the nail of an index finger, Louis suddenly realized how long his nails had grown. He hadn’t even thought of cutting them for weeks, it just hadn’t occurred to him. Running a hand through his hair, he put thoughts of taking care of himself aside again, and forced a smile across his ashen face.

“Maybe we could make a mess, throw some coffee at the walls, or maybe spill some on the floor,” he said quickly. “It’ll give the staff something to do besides poke and prod you some more. It’s been over an hour. They’re due for a visit, and I’m sure they’ll have some of their lovely toys.” As he was known to do, Louis tried to mask an uncomfortable situation with nervous dry humor. At the moment, staring at his wife lying in the bed next to where he sat, it was all he could think of doing. Her laughter was a rasping sound that he didn’t recognize.

“Honey, I know the last treatment took quite a bit out of you, but you’ll get through it.” Louis’ voice turned soft, like a far-off echo. “You’ll be fine,” he said after a pause that felt like a lifetime. “You just need to rest and build up some strength. They warned us that it would be like this sometimes.”

Louis, in his late twenties, was very muscular for his rather short height. A police officer, he was normally clean-shaven, but of late had disregarded shaving and taken to wearing a thin beard that outlined his square jaw. He’d taken a leave of absence shortly after being promoted to detective, in order to spend time with his ailing wife, Diane. She had been fighting ovarian cancer for a little over a year, and the disease had sadly taken its toll on both her and her husband. The cancer had spread and was killing her, and that knowledge, as well as watching it happen, was killing Louis.

“I’m tired Louis. All I do is rest, all day, every day, and it still isn’t enough.” The frail looking woman grinned sadly and took his hand. She leaned further into the thick dull-white pillows at her back and sighed deeply. The sheets rubbing together sounded like sandpaper; overly loud in the awkward silence of the room. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Her gaunt face and deep eyes pleaded to him. “I’ve gotten to a point where I can’t even stand the smell of this damned bed anymore. It’s like chemicals. Everything smells like chemicals and it never goes away no matter how many times I puke or how much I sweat.”

“I’m sorry honey.” Louis stared at the ceiling and felt more than just helpless. Hopeless. He wanted to scream, but instead held Diane’s hand tighter. He stared at the water-stained tiles above, and remembered how many times he tried to count the holes in them during the long sleepless nights, when all he could do was watch his wife toss in restless pain-filled slumber. Slumber that always eluded him until exhaustion.

At that moment, he came to the realization that though he prayed and hoped, his wife, the woman he planned on spending the rest of his life with, would probably never recover from her illness. Once the disease touched her flesh there was no turning back. Louis felt his eyes grow warm and wet with tears, but he swallowed them back before he looked into Diane’s eyes again. His mind raced with pleas to a god he’d never seen. Louis knew he needed help, and wasn’t afraid to beg for it deep in his heart, but he didn’t know if there was really anyone there to listen anymore. Was there anyone there to begin with?

“I’m sorry Louis. I didn’t mean to sound so-”

“It’s okay.” He said dryly, moving his hands to smooth out the light-colored hair that made up the wig Diane wore. He held back a shudder because the hair felt so artificial, dry and lifeless. It had no scent. “You’re only saying how you feel. We’ll make it through this, we always do. Remember I’m always here to hold onto when the pain gets too bad. You can squeeze me as hard as you want, and call me any name you can come up with.” He gripped her cold thin hand tightly. “You know you’re the world to me.”

“You’re strong enough for both of us Louis, and I love you for it, but we need to seriously talk about what’s happening here.” She turned to look directly into his eyes. “I’ve avoided discussing this, but I have to say it now. I need you to do something for me when the time comes.”

“Honey please-” Louis protested.

“Let me finish, because you really need to hear this. I don’t ever want to live past my natural time. If I slip into a coma, no machines. I won’t be reduced to being a freak wired to a bunch of hoses and computers. Don’t soil our memory by allowing that to happen. If things get any worse than they already are-”

Louis looked away again to swallow back more tears. His eyes inadvertently locked onto the heart monitor. At the moment, it wasn’t connected. “You’re scaring me.” He felt his eyes fill in spite of trying to hold back. “I don't know if I could-” His words faltered in sadness, and he couldn’t stop it. He felt something warm and wet slowly drift down his cheek, and absently brushed the tear away.

“I’m sorry.” Diane sighed. “I guess I’m just really scared myself. Everything is so confusing to me. A few months ago we were talking about having kids. Now, I'm alive, but I’m also more dead than a person should ever be allowed. I can’t live this way anymore. I don’t know, maybe you’re right, and I’m just being paranoid. Regardless, I still don’t ever want to be wired to any machines if things get worse.”

“But-” Louis said.

“No buts.” Diane shook her head slowly, and stared off into nothingness. “If it comes to that, let me pass in peace. We’ll always be together one way or another, don’t let our marriage transform into you living to take care of a zombie. I couldn’t put you through it. You’ve gone through enough already with what happened when you were younger.”

“My mom was sick since before I can remember. Besides, things are different with you.” Louis said quietly. “You’re sane,” he mumbled.

Louis’ mind drifted. He remembered growing up in a foster home with Cynthia and Donald Nowlan. He’d never met, nor heard anything about his biological father, but the Nowlan’s frequently brought him to the county hospital where he could visit his biological mother, Samantha. The visits weren’t ever longer than an hour when he was a child, but Louis loved seeing his mother, who was always receptive and affectionate. When he was older, and could visit her by himself, he was able to stay for longer periods of time. He learned about her illness, and saw how badly it had affected her.

A short time after Louis’ birth, Samantha had experienced an unknown severe trauma. There was no documented cause, criminal or otherwise, for her condition, but the lingering effects would at times cause her intense attacks of anxiety and dementia. Periodically she would get violent or slip into shock, coming out of it without even knowing where she was.

Louis was placed in foster-care when he was six months old because there were no other known relatives for him to live with. By the time he was eighteen, his mother had gotten progressively worse. Eventually, she committed suicide a week before Louis turned nineteen. No one on the hospital staff would tell him how she did it, only that she had died of blood loss from a self-inflicted wound. Samantha left Louis a brownstone in New York and a large sum of money from an insurance policy. There was one condition to the will; he was never to seek out his father. He thought the request was a bit strange, but respected his mother’s wishes, and refrained from ever searching for the man.

After his mother’s death Louis decided to enter the police academy. In the back of his mind, what had happened to his mother was an unexplained crime, and by becoming a police officer he felt he could prevent that from happening to anyone else. He knew it was an unrealistic sentiment, but felt strong about his decision, and followed through with it.

Louis was jarred back to the present when he heard Diane’s stomach rumble to life. He moved closer to her side and took her in his arms, careful to avoid the bloodstained tubes that were connected to her flesh with tape and more pain. Diane had grown so thin over the past year that his hands could nearly reach their opposing shoulders when he held her. A shudder of cold ran through his heart when he realized how much weight she had lost in such a short period of time.

“Hungry?” he whispered.

She smiled and nodded.

“You want something?” He pulled away with a smile.

For a moment her browless, lashless eyes lit up. “Can you get me some more decaf, light and sweet? Maybe a candy bar too,” she grinned.

Louis laughed. Tenderly, he took his wife’s face in his hands. “Coffee and a candy bar.”

“Since I can stand to gain some weight, get me the most fattening thing in the machine.” She smiled broadly as he turned away and left the room.

Louis made his way down the too-clean hallway, eyes downcast, hands thrust firmly into his pockets. He avoided looking around too much. The sight of everything being a dirty bleach-white, along with how the scent of medicated decaying flesh lingered in air, made him want to vomit. He’d become too familiar with the scent of death, and didn’t like it.

As a police officer he’d known what a morgue was like. The hospital he was in made the foulest morgue look pleasant by far, because the dead were truly dead there. Dead and tagged. Nothing was masked with cleaning fluids or bleach or what he laughingly had begun to refer to as medicine. The morgue was full of death, not people clinging to lies and fiery liquids that burned the blood and flesh until death itself was a cure, and much-needed relief for all involved. Louis couldn't help but be angry at the entire medical profession because of all the needless horror they caused the ailing. There were no true cures, just agonizing lingering death. He thought that sometimes doctors needed to be reminded of that.

“It’d be more merciful to just lend out my pistol to some of these people,” he mumbled to himself when he finally reached the vending machines.

Louis cursed to himself while he searched through his pockets for change. After giving up, he found a few dollar bills that slid into the machine without too much of an argument. In a few seconds he extracted a decaf, a regular coffee and a candy bar. He grinned to himself when he saw the label on the candy, and remembered how he and his wife would share such snacks in the wee hours of the morning after making love in the early days of their life together, before her illness. He fondly remembered how it felt to fall asleep after the total relaxation of sex and a sugar high.

When he got back to Diane’s room he gave off a tired sigh. She’d fallen asleep while he was gone. Louis wanted to sit and cry, but forced himself to put everything on an end table and walk to the only window in the room.

It was early morning. He could still see a few morning stars blink with life around the phantom moon in the heavens, and for a moment wondered what it would be like to see one up close. He wondered if it would be as cold up in the sky as it was in his heart that very moment.

He turned away suddenly, and felt childishly foolish. His let his eyes drift around the room, then looked at Diane, who slept restlessly, tossing and turning. Sadness and anger gripped him. The scent he despised was in the room. It was the sweetness of medicated decaying living flesh, and it hurt him terribly to think that it was his wife’s own body giving off such a stench.

Without realizing it, he’d dozed off. When his eyes blinked open again, he saw by the color of the sky from the window that it was night. He stood up and stretched, not surprised that he had slept the day away. He looked at Diane and wondered what happened to her while he slept. Immediately he felt guilt weigh him down.

Suddenly the room grew still and quiet. Not even the heart monitor, which he noticed had been hooked up, made a sound. Before Louis could panic, thinking Diane’s heart had stopped, the room filled with an unnatural, glowing fog. He rushed to his wife’s side and instinctively grabbed for her hand. Louis nearly cried out when he felt how cold and stiff it was.

“You know she’s going to get worse. It’s like that with diseases if you give them a chance.” Louis heard a thick, rasping voice from behind. He’d never heard anything like it in all of his eight years as a police officer.

“Death is worse than that though,” the gravely sounding voice continued. “Of course, you know about death. Your mom and all.”

Louis frantically looked around the room but saw no one. “Show yourself! Who the hell are you and what's going on?" He shouted. A tinge of fear etched his stark words. He whirled around to face the voice and reached instinctively for a pistol that he no longer carried.

“Good choice of words son.” The voice was a crackling sound, like dead leaves being stepped on in late autumn.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the thick fog dissipated and Louis saw him. Standing next to the window was what he could only describe as a demon.

The creature was hunched over, but Louis could tell that it must have been at least seven feet tall. Its skin was gray with patches of deep green in some areas. It had a leathery look to it like the hide of an elephant or the bark of a tree. The creature himself was muscled powerfully, with long, wide hands and feet, which ended in sharp looking talons. On its back were two thick-boned, webbed wings that moved slowly in rhythm, as if with the beat of its heart.

Louis trembled. A thin coat of cold sweat suddenly covered his forehead. He again instinctively clutched for his gun and cursed to himself for not having it with him.

The face of the demonic creature was the most striking of all to Louis, because it looked human, and the more he stared at it, the more he realized how much it looked like himself.

The demon’s weathered, dark gray face had a narrow chin and high cheekbones. Louis clearly saw a pair of fangs rest over both its upper and lower lips. Its face was topped by a widow’s peak of long dark gray hair that hung past its shoulders where it ended raggedly in gray and black streaks.

The demon’s dark red eyes flashed at Louis curiously. “So you’re my fruit, huh?” The demon laughed quietly, barring his teeth with a chuckle. “I expected something with a little more of a green tint or at least a scaly hide.”

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Louis said breathlessly. He backed toward Diane as if to protect her. He was still in shock, and doubted what he saw, knowing what effects stress and a lack of sleep could have on the human mind.

“No need to get so close to her, boy. She’ll be gone by daylight I can tell,” the demon said sarcastically. “You know what I mean when I say ‘gone’, don’t you?” he chuckled dryly. “Humans do that when their buckets of flesh start to spoil and get empty of life. That’s usually when having someone like me in the family comes in handy.” The demon smirked and laughed.

“No way,” Louis said numbly. He forced himself to take deep breaths and look away from the demon. “This is not real. It can’t be. I’m just fucked up somehow. Maybe one of the doctors slipped me something so I could sleep,” he mumbled to himself and squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm going to relax and it’s all going to go away.”

Louis quickly came to the conclusion that, drugs or no drugs, he’d gone insane, and the demon looked so much like himself because it was a twisted version of himself that his own mind had conjured up for him to see.

“What you see is reality. You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.” The demon snapped his fingers and pointed to himself. “Oh, I'm real all right,” he said with a snort. “If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t exist right now. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to cut to the chase. Your lady over there is going to be dead by morning. Right now I’m the only one in existence that can help you to prevent that.”

“This is crazy. Who the hell are you?” Louis, covered in sweat and visibly shaking, turned to face the demon again. “How do you know me?”

“Listen to me boy. There’s a reason we look so much alike.” The demon grinned and shook his head. “Too bad the other one doesn’t look like you,” he mumbled absently. “Anyway, before I go any further, I brought you something.” The demon whistled and through the open window flew a raven.

The raven swooped into the room and perched itself on the end table next to the two coffees. It squawked and began to peck at the lid to one of them until it came open. With a happy squawk the bird stuck its beak into the open container and began to drink.

“His name is Bruce. He was a man once, a while back. I had his soul put into the bird’s body after he was killed. Some mobsters I work with did it. I think he was a drug addict before he died. He used speed mostly, as if you couldn’t tell by his taste for coffee. He’s yours now. A fitting pet for you; consider him a peace offering.”

Louis clutched at his forehead and squeezed his face until it hurt. His mind was full of confusion and at the moment he just wanted to curl up, not exist.

“You look disappointed. Would you rather I’d have gotten you a dog? I guess most parents here must get their kids dogs. I’m probably just behind on the times.”

“Jesus Christ, I’ve really gone crazy,” Louis said.

“You’re not crazy boy. I keep telling you that. Listen.” The demon approached him with a broad yellow-green smile. “You thought your mother was crazy for telling you that you were a product of the devil.” The demon’s eyes flared at him in satisfaction. “She wasn’t kidding.”

“How did you know she said things like that?” Louis said angrily. He’d never told anyone, and she’d only said such things when they were alone, and her health was failing more than usual. Louis always credited such rantings to her illness and too much pain medication. She used to say a lot of crazy things.

Something tightened in Louis’ stomach, and he felt as if he was going to vomit. He turned away from Diane's bed and began to hack and heave.

“Now don’t go getting sick over this. It’s not a bad thing actually. You can have almost anything you want when you’re like me. You just have to know how to get it, or who to get it from. It’s really simple when you get used to it.”

“You’re telling me that you’re related to me?” Louis mumbled. He felt utterly defeated.

“Oh, I’m more than that, you thick-headed moron. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The demon spread his hands out in front of him and bent in a mock curtsy. “I am B’lial, a fallen angel, but yet an angel no less.”

“You’re the devil!” Louis gasped.

“No shit. Your mother wasn’t really sick all of her life, she just ‘screwed’ with a devil once too often.” The demon grinned. “She had a tough time dealing with it. I guess, using today’s terminology, the bitch had issues.”

“If you’re the devil, then in God’s name, get out of here!” Louis yelled, and turned to face the dark creature, fully expecting him to cringe in fear and leave.

“No can do son,” the demon smirked.

“Normally, saying something like that would send me packing, but not now. You invited me in, and I can tell you have some notions of faith, but you don’t truly believe in God right now. It’s probably because your wife is sick. You’re godless at the moment, so I can stay as long as I want. Oh, and I’m not ‘the’ devil, I’m ‘a’ devil. I never claimed to be the Master. It’s important that you know that. I prefer to consider myself an angel that got locked in the basement for a while.”

Louis pressed himself close to the bed and wheezed a loud sigh. “This can’t be happening.”

“I repeat, my name is B’lial, and I’m your father.” The demon began to laugh again, and stepped closer to Louis. “On Earth it’s my job to spread guilt and wickedness. I’m somewhat of a corruptor. Haven’t you ever read Milton? I met him once. He was an arrogant asshole, but he could write some cool shit couldn’t he? I made sure he got my name and title right. I always thought it was important to get things like that straight.”

“You can’t be my father!” Louis said, half screaming and half pleading.

“Why not? You were never even shown a picture of what he was supposed to look like. Ever wonder why?” The demon grinned. “I guess I don’t film too well.”

“You can’t be,” Louis repeated numbly.

“Yeah, I am. Your mother was a real filthy rich bitch in those days. I met her when she was drunk off her ass and wanted a child. I was masked as a human at the time of course, and it was long before the Master forbade mixing blood with humans. You see, some of us tried that a long time ago, and, well, you’ve heard of Goliath right? He was the last of our offspring before we became, and there should be a dramatic pause, ‘the fallen.’ I didn’t show your mother who I really was until I was inside her. You should have seen the look on her face, it was priceless.”

“You son of a bitch!” Without a thought, Louis leaped at the demon. His eyes were burning with an anger he’d never known before, hands instinctively clutching for the demon’s ashen scaly throat.

“Why don’t you have a look in the mirror right now, while you still have that wonderful glow about you,” the demon said as he easily evaded Louis.

Louis caught himself in mid-stride and twisted around to see his own reflection in a mirror across the room. His eyes glowed deep red and his face had become dark, more like the demons’. He let his hands drop to his sides, shocked when he saw that smoke trailed from his nostrils.

“Don’t be afraid of what you are. You’re better than the whole world of humans, you just never knew it. It’s not too late to learn though. And I’m here to play teacher.”

“She told me I was a demon-spawn,” Louis said blankly. “It can’t be. She was sick, insane.” His words trailed off with bitterness. “Why didn’t she really tell me who I was? Why the charade when she was doped up?”

B’lial shook his finger at Louis. “I bet going to all those religious god-happy schools screwed you all up. You’ve never seen your eyes like that before, have you?” Louis shook his head benignly. “Too bad. I bet it would have gone over really well with the nuns.” B’lial laughed sarcastically. “They never seem to have a sense of humor about things like this.”

Louis felt a lump form in his throat. Sure that he’d gone mad as his mother had before him, he blamed it on heredity and prayed that it would all just end soon.

“Now,” B’lial said, rubbing his chin in mock deep thought. “About that lady over there. You want her healthy?”

Louis faced him suddenly, shock covering his face.

“I mean it son. Do you want her to live? Do you want her healthy?”

“Of course I do. She’s my wife.”

“Wife shmife. She’s a hole, just like any human female.”

Louis felt a burning sensation overwhelm his entire body. He balled his left hand into a tight fist and struck the demon with the lightening speed of rage, and enough force to knock the creature across the room. His eyes widened with shock at his newfound strength.

The demon leaned back on one arm and rubbed his pointed chin. “Thanks. You just passed the final exam. You’ve shown me that somewhere in the human sack there’s enough of me for you to make a good servant. For a minute there I thought the eyes and the smoke might have been a fluke. What you have is true power. It can get you things.”

The demon stood, still thoroughly pleased with the fact that he had been knocked down. “I can make it so the woman is so healthy it’ll be as if this never happened to her. She never has to die. The only thing I ask for in return is for you to hang out with me when I need you. Come to work for me on occasion. Y’know, corrupt a few souls now and then. We can even play cards, watch football; have a few beers now and then.”

Louis’ mind raced with the hope of what the demon had said to him. A thrill ran down his spine like a winter chill, and he realized that in order to have the woman of his dreams, his love, he’d have to do the devil’s bidding. “Could it be that bad of a thing?” Louis mumbled to himself absently.

He remembered Catholic school and knew that Father Isaac Paen, a teacher from his youth, had told him that demons never really told the entire truth; so to trust anything the demon said would be completely foolish. But to have Diane healthy again…. the thought of it was more than tempting to Louis.

He turned to Diane. She had a gentle, loving soul. It was as if he could see it shine through her body like white light, through the blood and skin, waiting to depart for the next stage in creation.

Diane had no fear of dying, she knew it was coming, but Louis feared life without her. Her death would leave a void in him that he knew he could never fill again. He felt all courage leave his being, and turned away from his wife and the light of her beautiful soul.

For long moments he stood at war with himself, crying inside, wanting, craving, while at the same moment he hated himself for even considering B’lial’s offer. He hated his own existence, because he honestly didn’t know what to do.

“C’mon boy, I haven’t got eternity to wait for an answer. Well actually I do, but there are other things I’d like to do while I’m here. I don’t get out much anymore.”

It was then that Louis decided. He knew what he had to do in order to be true to the mutual love he and his wife felt for each other. In a split second he knew what true courage was because he’d gotten past the fear of his situation.

“B’lial, I don’t know if any of what you’re saying is true. I have no way of knowing if I’m even sane right now.” He turned to face the devilish creature face to face. He felt an odd warmth in his face, his eyes, and prayed that he hadn’t made the wrong decision.

“My wife lived a full life. We shared so much together including love like I never knew could exist. She was my best friend. Since you don’t understand love, I can’t expect you to understand that I have to let her die naturally. It was her wish not to live past her time. I love her for that, and I know she loves me. If her time has come, so be it.” Louis balled his hands into tight fists. His eyes narrowed. “Now I'm telling you to leave. If you don’t, then we'll have it out right here right now. I’ll probably die, but then you’ll never have a chance to get anything from me, and I’ll end up with my wife anyway, just sooner.”

“Very shrewd, Louis. There is a lot of me in you after all,” the demon winked. “All levity aside, make no mistake about it; you are my son, and I'll have you someday. I realize that because so much happening in your human life that you’re not thinking straight. I will see you again, one more time, to ask. I might drop in a few times just to check up on you, but when I finally ask again, there will be no turning back for you. You will either be with me, or against me. If you’re against me, I have so many ways to help you change your mind.” B’lial’s expression was dead serious.

“You destroyed any chance my mother had at a normal life, and now you’ve made me sickened and fearful of myself. If this is all real, then I don’t even know who I am or what I’m capable of anymore.”

“You’ll find out the hard way son. Now that it has been woken, your power will come regardless of whether you want it or not. Or, whether or not you can deal with it. Then, you’ll wish I was around to come crying to. Maybe you should go see a minister,” he chuckled. “You’re being a fool by letting her die this way.” As the demon turned and walked toward the window, his wings suddenly twitched to life. “In the meantime, I’ll see you around.” The demon smirked at his son. “Remember, you will change, as will the world around you. All the new sights and sounds will probably drive you crazy for a while. I guess things will get a little chaotic.”

“I’ll get used to chaos,” Louis said angrily.

“We’ll meet again, and rest assured, either you’ll be mine, or I’ll be covered in your blood.” He shouted, flying off.

The fog returned. It filled the room suddenly, and Louis felt dizzy. His stomach violently turned. As he stumbled and watched the floor rise up to him, he saw what looked to be his own shadow, a completely dark image of himself. It stood near him with its arms folded. Before he could even attempt to question what he saw, the cold floor reminded him that sometimes peace was oblivion.

Louis woke as the sun rose, and Diane was gone. He knew it when he first set his eyes on her frail body. The glow of white light had left her image, and it was then that Louis knew what he’d seen before was actually her soul and not his imagination. He wondered to himself if he’d always seen such things, and just never noticed it before.

The raven, Bruce, was still perched at the table nearby, poking at the emptied coffee cups and squawking on occasion for no apparent reason. Louis sighed nervously and stood up. He eyed the raven with curiosity.

“It wasn’t a nightmare or insanity after all, was it?” he asked the raven, and then felt stupid for even thinking the bird could understand him.

The bird turned to face Louis and made a shrilling sound. It stepped away from the cups and shook its head vigorously.

“Where do I go from here?” Louis said. He let himself fall back into a thick cushioned chair. “I’m alone. Oh God this is fucking crazy!” He dropped his face into his hands. His emotions raced between sadness and burning fury. “I wish I could talk to Diane one more time. Just once more. She would help me make sense of all this. No matter what was going on around me, she always helped make sense of the world.”

Bruce suddenly took flight. He landed directly on Louis’ shoulder and began poking at his head and tugging on the short strands of hair with his beak.

“Get away.” Louis barked, brushing the bird away with a sweep of his arm. “You’re free. I don’t care if he gave you to me. Go. Get the fuck out of here.” The raven squawked what to Louis sounded like approval, leaped from his shoulder to land on the table, but did not leave the room. Louis saw a bright light emanating from Bruce, but ignored it as if it were a trick of the neon lights overhead. He turned away from Bruce and looked at Diane. A numbing sadness filled him as he stood and walked over to the side of her bed. It was a strange thing to look at her and not hear her breathing, or see her chest slightly rise and fall.

He lifted Diane and held her tightly in his arms and suddenly shuddered. There was no heartbeat to mirror his own. He felt like a ghoul for thinking it, but Diane was gone, and all he held in his arms was a cooling corpse. A part of him hated himself, because he felt relief. It was the relief of knowing she would never hurt again. It was relief that everything was over.

Louis let the body, the empty flesh and bone, slip out of his grasp and blinked away tears on his way to the nurse’s station. He walked there feeling his emotions shut down more and more with every step he took. He couldn’t stop the transition, and though it pained him, he knew being numb was the only chance he had of getting through the upcoming days.

When he reached the nurse’s station, he had to look at the people there twice in order to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. Each one of them suddenly had a distinct aura. Each aura was a different color, with most of them being bright. Louis tried to focus his eyes and not see the lights. After a few seconds, they went away as if they were never really there. He promised himself to try to figure out how he did it later.

“What can I do for you Mr. Darque?” one of the nurses asked with the voice of a telephone operator.

“I-” Louis’ voice struggled to form words to describe the nightmare of his wife’s death. His throat felt like sandpaper and the numbness in his heart made it difficult to say anything. When he was finally able to speak, he was only able to utter two words. “She’s dead.” Suddenly, there was a bustle of action and chaos ensued around him.

The medical staff was more than helpful, with each person wearing their own plastic smile as if it were a hat. He ignored their frigid warmth and hushed ‘I’m sorrys’ as they returned to the room and prodded Diane’s body more. He laughed bitterly at the irony of it all. Before, they poked and prodded to ensure there was life. Now it was merely to guarantee that there was death, and that no one was liable for it.

After Diane’s body was removed from the room, Louis sat there for what felt like a lifetime, confused and scared. He noticed that the raven was long gone, and was glad because it would have been very difficult to explain why the bird was there to begin with.

Louis took a deep breath to steady himself, then stepped out of the room for the final time. In his mind he thought of it as the last place where he had seen his wife alive, the room where he had met his godforsaken father, and where he had begun the first mourning of is own life. For the rest of the day, he learned how to sign his name by tiny x’s and ignore hearing saccharine words being spoken to him at the same time. He learned to read legal forms without knowing what they actually meant, and how to nod as if he cared.

The chaos of watching a loved one become ‘pronounced’ dead ensued. Louis felt as if he saw it all in slow motion. It was as if the events were being observed through someone else’s eyes, or seen on a television screen. He knew that there should be feelings, deep emotions, but he felt like a spectator, so detached from it all. It was foreign, as if had stepped into some kind of otherworldly nightmare.

A priest arrived. Louis saw irony again because it was the same priest, Father Simon Culp, who had performed the marriage ceremony at his wedding. He just nodded at the priest and held back a shudder when he saw that the man had a darkness around him that resembled fog.

“Hello Mr. Darque,” Father Culp said as he approached Louis. “I got here as soon as I could. Your father just called.”

“My father?” Louis replied dryly, ignoring Father Culp’s outstretched hand as a chill crept up his spine. “You know my father? You know who he is?”

“Of course I know who he is.” Father Culp grinned when he saw Louis’ eyes widen momentarily. “Don’t look so surprised. He’s very well known.”

“I guess I just never expected him to have friends in such high places.” Louis gritted his teeth angrily. “Ya know, I thought I was numb, but since I’ve seen you-”

“Yeah,” the priest abruptly cut him off and lowered his head to whisper in Louis’ ear. “I bet you’re really pissed off, huh. Anger is a good thing, isn’t it? Your father certainly enjoys it.”

A feeling Louis could only describe as utter defeat suddenly weighed him down. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed loudly. The anger fled, because Louis forced it to go. Anger would only bring him closer to his father, and that was something he didn’t want.

“Get out of here,” Louis said quietly. He pointed to the nearest door. “Just get out. I’ll get someone else to give her Last Rites.”

“It’s okay Louis, get someone else,” Father Culp said patronizingly. “You’re probably too upset right now to go through it anyway.” The priest calmly stepped out of the room, clutching a bible and humming ‘Amazing Grace’.

Louis felt relief wash over him when the man was gone. He was amazed at how far his father’s influence reached. The more his mind dwelled on it, the deeper into the pit of depression he fell. After making some hasty arrangements with the local funeral home, he left the hospital feeling as if the life-blood had been drained from him through a wound that was messily sliced into his belly, where a constant ache dwelled. There was no energy to think or feel, and barely enough to focus and walk without stumbling. He lived in an ungodly stupor.

A mixture of emotions built in Louis. There was so much, and he didn’t know what to do with it all, so it just stayed in a dark corner of his heart waiting for a safe time to pour out like so much congealed blood. In the back of his head he wondered if there would ever be such a time, and laughed gruffly to himself when he realized that there probably never would be.

Part Two

The night was chilly with a slight icy mist in the air. Louis didn’t even notice that he’d had to defog the windshield when he got in his car. He drove home after stopping to buy a pack of cigarettes at a convenience store. Smoking was a habit he’d given up years ago, but for some ungodly reason, he craved the dusty rich taste of the smoke as if it were an old friend.

“Cigarettes are better than people.” He said to Diane once, right before kicking the habit. “They don’t ask for much, and it takes them longer to kill you.”

Diane never liked it when he smoked. She was afraid for his health, even though he rarely coughed. To appease her, he’d given them up after swearing off coffee and going through endless sticks of chewing gum.

Sitting behind the wheel, smoke trailing from his lips, he laughed at the memory bitterly. Ironically, it was never his health that was in jeopardy. For all he knew, because of his demon-blood he could probably live forever and smoke as much as he wanted. For a moment, he thought of testing the theory. He considered twisting the steering wheel toward something nice and solid, like a brick wall, but decided against it when he realized that if he was wrong, it would be suicide, and he’d go to Hell. The thought of being trapped with his father in hell was his farthest desire.

Louis switched his focus back to defensive driving after nearly colliding with a stop sign, and continued on a path to a house that he’d barely been in for months. He vaguely remembered stopping in periodically during Diane’s illness. He tried to pay bills and keep himself looking alive by wearing clean clothes for when he returned to his wife’s side at the hospital. The visits home were not a reprieve of any kind, because there was always an overwhelming fear of what could happen while he was gone; fear of the phone ringing while he was home.

The house was a small tan Cape Cod just outside of the city. He and Diane had bought it together a few months before they’d gotten married. Diane wanted it to be something they shared, something they could call their own and have prepared to move right into after the wedding. She asked Louis not to use any of the money his mother had left him in her will. He could still see her pleading with him on the sidewalk in front of the gravel driveway.

“Honey, we can afford this,” she said earnestly. “Really.” Her eyes sparkled at him with every word spoken. It wasn’t the Victorian she dreamed of, but she really wanted it.

It was fall and the ground was covered in multicolored leaves. Louis looked down at nature’s dry artwork and smiled. He kicked at the open air and turned away from Diane in mock deep thought.

“You think so, huh?” he said turning back to face her.

“If you put my salary as a teacher together with yours, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting a mortgage or making payments. The taxes aren’t too bad here either.” She could barely contain her excitement. Her hands were at her sides balled into tiny excited white-knuckled fists.

“It needs some work,” Louis said flatly. “Quite a bit, in fact.” He looked into her eyes and quirked up one brow. “The bathroom sucks.”

“We could do most of the repairs ourselves so it won’t cost much. Please?” She put her fingers in his belt loops and pulled him close. “It’s not that I don’t like the fact that you’ve got a ton of money, it’s just, I want this to be ours, a sanctuary that we earned together. This can be our little dream house where we can have our first holidays, maybe even our first baby.”

“I thought you wanted to wait for that?” Louis said with a grin.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t practice a lot,” Diane said with a sexy grin, “in every room. There’s a fireplace too. And it works.”

“Hon, I love the way you bribe me,” Louis said, kissing her. He loved the way their lips nipped at each other until they settled into a deep long kiss. It felt so natural. It reminded him of two cats on a blanket, circling and pawing until they both settled down together in a warm ball.

In a couple of months the house was theirs, and the painting and plastering began. Louis agreed with Diane and didn’t use any of the money his mother had left him, though having it did enable them to acquire a mortgage more easily.

Louis retained the brownstone that his mother had left him in the city. It was full of antiques, so he had the building locked down and frequently checked on it. He saw character in the brownstone and wouldn’t part with it. It was as if a part of his mother resided in the old stone and mortar. It was the only known tie he had left to his family.

Again his attention was hopelessly diverted from the road by waves of images. He traveled by some unknown instinct for being behind the wheel, having no way of knowing how much time passed, or exactly which route he used. So many memories flashed through Louis’s mind, blinking in and out like a strobe, that he didn’t even realize he was home until he watched himself turn the ignition off. He stepped out of the car and saw the raven, Bruce, quietly perched on the railing of the front porch. The darkness of the night gave the bird a sinister look.

“I thought I told you that you’re free,” Louis said emphatically to the bird. He lit a fresh cigarette and exhaled loudly, as if sighing. “Go, shoo-“ he said, waving his hands.

For a moment, Bruce stared at Louis with cold, wet black eyes. Then the raven took flight and hovered haphazardly in front of the door that led into the house. He began to squawk and peck at the screen.

“Okay, you can come in if you want,” Louis said, giving in. “But you are definitely not staying.”

Louis entered the house and felt a lump build in his throat. There was no scent to meet him when he walked in. It was as if no one had been there in years, as if he and Diane had never lived there.

He walked through the house and recognized everything from the small fireplace to the tiny scratches on the kitchen table, but it no longer felt as if it were his. It no longer felt like home, or even remotely pleasant. His memories were mixed with the reality of being married, enjoying life, and suddenly being cast into a world he didn’t understand, a world where he didn’t know how or what to feel, much less how to express it. He felt angry even thinking about it. Anger. It seemed to Louis that anger was the sole emotion that he could feel as well as identify.

“Where’d you go?” Louis called out. Bruce was nowhere in sight. He walked upstairs to a small den and saw the bird perched on the keys of his mother’s old typewriter. The raven squawked loudly and nodded toward the paper carriage.

“Oh my God, I never thought of that,” Louis said, wide-eyed. He grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk the typewriter was on and slid it into the old machine. “Now you can talk to me. You’re one smart bird.”

Bruce began an awkward looking dance across the keys. He occasionally stumbled, but recovered quickly and finished his message.

Louis tore the paper from the typewriter and quickly scanned it.

It read:

NOT BIRD
MAN TRICKED BY DEVIL
HATE DEVIL
ALONE TOO

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Louis felt shame for making light of Bruce and his situation. “What can I do? I can’t even help myself right now.” Louis added another sheet of paper to the typewriter and watched Bruce type out a reply.

I STAY
WE R ALIKE

Louis read the message and grabbed at his shirt pocket for a cigarette.

“Okay, you can stay with me. You’re lucky I don’t have a cat,” he said lighting up. “I’m not promising anything, though. With how I feel right now, you might be better off alone.”

Bruce resumed typing.

HELP EACH OTHER

“Listen, I’m too tired to get into this right now. Find a spot and get some rest.” Louis mashed out his cigarette in a paperclip holder and stretched. “We can continue this in the morning. I need to hose down and get some sleep.”

Louis stripped down and stood in a scalding shower, letting his muscles relax. He hadn’t realized how stiff he was until he stepped out of the shower and sat on the bed. His neck cracked, sounding like popcorn in a microwave. He fell asleep staring at the ceiling and feeling so alone that it hurt somewhere deep in his heart.

Suddenly, Louis could hear Diane breathe softly. He was lying on his side next to her in bed watching her sleep. As always, he felt the butterflies. Her beauty always silently touched him like that whenever he watched her sleep. He couldn’t understand why someone so sweet would want to spend a lifetime with a man so full of human imperfection. He’d always love her for that.

The light of dawn that came from the window across the room slowly caressed her face. Louis grinned when he saw the light, and felt as if the sun rose just because she was there. He nudged himself closer to her and felt the throbbing song of her heartbeat against his chest. The sun touched the hair that dangled over Diane’s eyes, and brought out the deep red highlights that framed her face. Louis gently brushed the hair away from her eyes and stared at her.

Her face was nearly a perfect oval, but there was a wisp of a tiny chin below the pouting lips of her mouth. She had high cheekbones that softly curved under her eyes. Her skin was like silk and never had a blemish. The subtle curve of her nose was utterly feminine. Louis smiled to himself when he saw her lids begin to flutter open. She turned her head toward him, hair moving like a gentle wave of auburn tide. A smile slowly erupted across her face as her eyes focused on his. Her smile was beautiful, but suddenly her face decomposed, her eyes bulging. “Home sweet home!” She shrieked.

Louis woke abruptly in a cold sweat. He turned to see the bed empty. His dream was over, but the nightmare of a new day had just begun. He turned when he heard the sound of Bruce’s wings. The raven flew into the room and rested on one of the wrought iron bedposts. He stared at Louis and squawked once.

“I’m okay. It was just a dream, or rather, a nightmare.” Louis rubbed his face in his hands and took a deep breath. He fumbled for a cigarette on the nightstand and sat up.

“Coffee?” Louis asked, getting out of bed. Bruce squawked approval and flew out of room. Louis shrugged into jeans and a tank top, then trudged downstairs. He had been dreading this day since he realized Diane wasn’t going to survive and he wondered why he‘d even gotten out of bed.

He hastily searching through a cabinet for a can of coffee. His face brightened when he found that was a full pound of chocolate raspberry coffee. It was a thing of the past that he used to enjoy frequently, but hadn’t had in long months.

“I wonder if I have any cigars?” He muttered, grabbing a can opener. “Bruce, I don’t know if you’ve ever had this, it’s chocolate raspberry. The best.” He savored the scent of the fresh coffee and quickly threw together a pot strong enough to make him wince. Then he remembered what he’d come to the kitchen to do originally.

He poured two cups of coffee, and after some awkward sign language, figured out that Bruce liked his black, with sugar, lots of sugar. He sat down and opened the thick address book that his wife had kept and updated meticulously whenever a friend or relative moved.

The phone calls took up most of the morning. Each time Louis spoke to someone he felt drained and sounded to himself as if he read from a cheaply written telemarketing script, forming mechanical replies to people he hadn’t seen since Diane’s illness took over their lives. Louis sat at the kitchen table and endlessly punched numbers on a cordless phone, wondering where those same people were when Diane needed them. Where were they when she needed to hold someone’s hand and feel alive? Where were they when she struggled with the side effects of her medication and needed someone to simply hold a garbage can?

Diane’s parents were long dead, but she had an older sister, Jean, who was divorced and had an eight-year-old daughter named Stephanie. They lived in a small suburb of New Jersey. By the time he had gotten to call her, he felt dead inside and had a difficult time communicating.

“I’m sorry if I sound lousy, I really just don’t know what to say or how to say it anymore. I should have called you first, but I just went down the list in our address book. I haven’t exactly been thinking too straight,” he said to Jean after explaining what happened over the phone.

“It’s okay,” Jean replied, unsuccessfully holding back a sob. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“You two were so close. You were one of the few people that spent time with her when she was sick. It just ended so fast. I wish you could have been there. I’m sorry I didn’t think to call you while it was happening.”

“It’s okay, I understand Louis,” she assured him. He could tell she was holding back tears by the way she sounded. “This might sound cold, and I know how much you loved her, but at least she won’t suffer anymore. She went through so much pain. There were so many different treatments. Have you made arrangements for the funeral yet?”

“Yes and no.” Louis said, sounding drained. “The viewing is tomorrow morning and the funeral is in the afternoon, but I still have to go to the funeral home to get the casket and work out the other details. It’s not something I really want to go through.”

“Do you want me to come up today to give you a hand?” she asked.

Louis stood up, poured himself more coffee and considered it. As he sat down he saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye move across one of the kitchen windows. He stood up and saw that it was B’lial, flying around in his backyard. The demon suddenly hovered near the window, grinning.

“No one can see me, but I can see you.” B’lial said, loudly enough for Louis to hear him through the window. “There goes the neighborhood.”

“Jean, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” Louis abruptly shut the phone off without waiting for a ‘goodbye’ and jumped to the window, quickly jerking it open.

“Get out of here you son of a bitch!” he shouted out the window.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your father,” B’lial said sarcastically. “You shouldn’t shout like that in broad daylight either. Since no one can see me, your neighbors will start thinking you’re crazy.” B’lial rubbed his chin as if he was considering something. “Ya know, I could probably kill them all so you wouldn’t have to worry about their prying eyes and ears. Or, I could make them kill each other in interesting ways using small household appliances. Maybe I’ll use toothpicks on them. That’s always fun to watch because it always takes a long time and there’s so much blood. Cheese graters are cool too, but very messy.” The demon clenched his hands together, as if in mock prayer with melodramatic words. “Oh please, just invite me in for a visit so we could discuss how to end their worthless lives together, like a family should.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Louis shouted, fists clenched so tightly that his nails nearly cut into his palms. “I don’t want you anywhere near me or my home.”

“I just stopped by to say ‘hello’. I wanted to make sure that I had the address right. Y’know, for birthday cards and stuff like that. I’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do. I’ll be back soon, so don’t forget about me. Get your head together so you can tell me what side of the fence you’re going to be on.” The demon vanished suddenly in a foul-smelling cloud of smoke.

Louis slammed the window shut, then sat back down roughly and pounded a fist on the table.

“What am I going to do? If Jean comes over he could kill her just because she’s related to me. In fact, anyone close to me is potentially in danger because of that bastard.” Louis said to Bruce, who silently remained perched on the back of a chair across from him. “I’m going to have to avoid being around people as much as possible. But how can I do that with the viewing and the funeral?”

He wondered about his job. How could he ever possibly return to his normal everyday life? Could he go back to being a detective without having to worry about solving murders committed by his own father? Would any partner he had ever be safe?

The sound of the doorbell made him jump and spill his coffee. When he saw that it was his partner on the force, Detective John Tindili, at the door, he felt relief wash over him.

“John, c’mon in,” he said, holding the door open. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought you were on a case, so I just left a message on your voice mail at work.”

“I am on a case, but you’re like family. I got here as soon as I got my messages.” Tindili, a few months shy of fifty, was always a father figure for Louis. As he stepped in the house, he hugged Louis for a moment. Louis pulled away and saw the man’s eyes full of tears.

“I’m sorry, Louis, I wish there was something I could do. She was a great woman.” Tindili said quietly. There was a slight shudder in his voice and his eyes darted around nervously. “I think she’s better off than all of us now.”

“More than you’ll ever know.” Louis muttered quietly. “Let’s go sit down. I’ll get you some coffee,” Louis led him to the kitchen. “There are some things I have to talk to you about.”

Tindili sat at the table, and looked around, noticing the dust that had piled up since he last visited six months ago. He stopped when the raven caught his eye and stared at Bruce, still perched on the back of a chair.

“What’s with the funky looking bird?” he asked Louis, who had just brought him a cup of coffee. “He’s staring at me like I’ve got three eyes or something.”

“He’s a friend.” Louis held out his hands and gestured to both of them. “Bruce, John. John, Bruce.”

“He’s your friend?” John said slowly, without emotion. He pulled a thick cigar out a pocket that didn’t look large enough to hold it, and lit up. “You’re not taking any medication, are you? I mean, you’re sober, right?”

“No meds, I’m not on anything, though at times, I wish I were. I’m fine, really. Jesus, you have got to stop smoking those, you look too much like ‘Archie Bunker’ as it is.” Louis laughed and lit a cigarette himself. “Bruce was sort of a gift from a relative. He’s a special kind of raven.”

“A gift?” Tindili exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “Special, huh. How so?”

“It’s a long story. I’m not ready to talk about it right now. Even if I were I wouldn’t know where to begin. Let’s just say that he’s more of a man than a lot of the men we meet in our line of work.” Louis leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “I think I’m getting a headache. Give me some time to sort through the mess in my mind and I’ll explain everything to you eventually.”

Tindili stared at Louis as if he were trying to determine something. “Right now I know it’s a stupid question, but how are you holding up? I see you’re smoking again, and that’s not a good sign. The beard looks good though. It fits you. So does the hair. No more buzz cut.” Tindili sipped at his coffee and smiled. He’d always razzed Louis about cutting his hair short. He’d been losing his for quite some time and told Louis to wear it long while he still could, because when it was gone, it wouldn’t be coming back.

“The smoking is no big deal. I missed the taste and it’s something to do besides think. The hair, well I guess I finally took your advice. The past day, god, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Nightmares too. I’m a bit confused and very overwhelmed by everything. Too much is happening all at once.” Louis stared off with a blank expression. “What kind of case are you working on right now?”

“Well, there have been quite a few murders lately, but the one I’m working on has to do with a little girl. It’s the third one in three months. All of them in the park, near the grammar school on our beat. All the kids were the same age. You know the drill.” Tindili sighed out another cloud of smoke. “It’s a serial, gotta be. Same methods for each.”

“Any suspects?” Louis asked.

“Look, I didn’t come over to talk shop.” Tindili sat up, looking very uncomfortable.

“I know. I’m sorry. It just gives me something else to think about besides having to go out to buy my wife’s dead body a coffin.”

“Louis-” Tindili’s face lost all color. He stared down at the top of the table and gnawed on his cigar. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I apologize. I seem to have developed a very morbid sense of humor lately. I think I spent too much time in the hospital. Been around the walking dead for too long.” Louis stood up and turned to look out the window. He needed to know that his father wasn’t around to see that he had company. “Y’know, that place smelled like death so much that I think I got used to it. It’s strange breathing normal air.

“I’m going to need more time off.” Louis said abruptly, twisting around to face Tindili. “I don’t even know if I should ever come back. Some things have happened, things that have nothing to do with Diane’s death, but never the less, they’ve changed my life completely.”

“I imagined that you’d need more time. You know that’s not a problem. Everyone knows about what happened to your wife.” Tindili said sympathetically. “But before you go quitting the force, take some time to think out everything. Talk to me Louis. We’ve always been able to confide in each other before. Now is not a good time to close up.”

“I met-” Louis was cut off by Bruce, who abruptly cackled loudly and shook his head angrily.

“Stop it Bruce. This man is the closest thing that I have to family. I need to open up and trust someone, even if it’s just a little,” Louis said, sitting down again.

“What the hell is going on?” Tindili said incredulously, pushing himself away from the table. “You’re talking like he understands! He’s just a bird, get a grip already! He shouldn’t even be in the house.”

“Never mind him, he’s the least of my worries right now. Let me explain something.” He smashed out his cigarette and promptly lit another. “I met my father, John. It’s not good.” Louis said cryptically. “He’s the one that gave me Bruce.”

“You sound scared. What’s he in the mob or something?” Tindili quickly asked.

“Worse. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’d think I was going crazy because I couldn’t cope with Diane’s death. I know it, because that’s what I’d think if I was on your end.”

Louis sounded defeated. His face reddened with frustration and he rubbed his temples with every throb of the newly discovered migraine. “He knew this would happen. He knows I can’t tell anyone without getting locked up in a room covered in rubber wallpaper. It’s all part of his plan.” Louis’ words trailed off.

“You sound like you just found out your father’s the devil himself,” Tindili said with a chuckle, gnawing on his cigar with a half-hearted grin.

When Tindili saw Louis’ expression grow dead serious, his grin faded, he stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t be serious-” Tindili barked.v

“See, I told you.” Louis tossed his head back and groaned. “No, he’s not the devil, but he’s one of them; one of the big ones. His name is B’lial.”v

Bruce squawked and resumed shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter if I tell him now, Bruce,” Louis said, looking at the raven. “It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t believe me anyway.”

“Look, none of this makes any sense. What I’m seeing right now is a grown man talking to a wild bird as if it could understand him. I’m listening to a damn good cop, a detective for Christ’s sake, tell me that his father is some kind of devil.” Tindili shook his head and smashed out his cigar, irritable. “You’re right, I don’t believe you. I can’t. We’re not living in some melodramatic low budget Corman flick.”

Tindili’s beeper abruptly made its presence known. He looked down at the number it registered, quickly pushed back from the table and stood up.

“I’m sorry but I have to go.Besides the kids, I’m helping out with some of the other murders. Mostly homeless people, but it looks like the work of an animal. When is the viewing and funeral?”

“Tomorrow morning and afternoon,” Louis replied gravely. “It has to be done quick because of the shape Diane’s body was in.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. If you need anything in the meantime, call me. We can talk about the other stuff more tomorrow if you want. Maybe if you get some sleep things will come together and make sense. I’m sure everything will seem much more clear once you get some rest. Sleep does wonders for a body. Try to eat something too.”

“Sure.” Louis nodded absently. He ignored his partner’s half-patronizing tone and walked him out. As he closed the door behind Tindili, protectively flicking the deadbolt, his heart raced. He suddenly felt claustrophobic and trapped.

“What the hell am I going to do?” he muttered, pacing back into the kitchen. “I can prove who I am to Tindili, but if I do, what then? Am I going to become some kind of side-show freak when the world finds out that there really is a Heaven and Hell?”

Bruce, quiet, remained perched on the chair.

“I need to get out of here for a while. I think it’s about time I headed for the funeral home anyway. There’s no point in putting it off anymore. It won’t hurt any less if I wait a few more hours. ” He lit another cigarette, noting that he’d smoked constantly since before Tindili’s visit. “You stay here, I’ll be back in a few hours.’’

Bruce cackled once and flew upstairs, a flurry of black feathers.

Louis grabbed a black leather overcoat and left the house. He considered walking to the funeral home, but decided against it when he realized how cold it was outside. When he was in the car, he piped up the heat as high as it would go just so he could feel something besides confusion. By the time he had reached his destination he was sweating.

The funeral director was a ghoulishly thin man named Fred Chapman. He had a slim, pale face, slick black hair ending in a ponytail, and a slight English accent. He was very polite and sounded humble and sympathetic. Louis determined that Chapman genuinely enjoyed his job, especially after seeing his eyes light up at his first mentioning of purchasing a coffin.

“We like to refer to them as ‘caskets’ now. It sounds much more pleasant, don’t you think? The industry has come a long way since the old fashioned pine box,” Chapman said calmly. He didn’t wait for a response from Louis. “There are so many to choose from now too. We try to please the family as much as possible concerning interment. Its important to feel confident that your loved one is resting in comfort and safety,” he said sympathetically. He ushered Louis to the basement of the building, where the caskets were stored.

“You can pick out a headstone later, which will be quite a task with all of the different types of stone available today, and the engraving will need to be decided on too, but it’s crucial to get the casket quickly. Especially in your case, when a disease is involved. The body needs extra preparation, and as you probably know, it will not be able to be viewed for a long period of time.”

Louis mentally floated through the things that Chapman said without even understanding his words all that much. He drifted numbly and was simply there to do what he had to do, and everything else Chapman said was just an added burden his mind pushed away.

The basement carried the scent of new car upholstery. Louis’ eyes widened as soon as he entered the room. It was a very large and well-lit area. Spaced out across the floor were over two-dozen different styles of caskets in various colors ranging from metallic silver to bright pink. There was a seating area where books of fabric were strewn about.

“We can mix and match colors and fabrics if the need be, but it will take a little time. I suggest you try to pick out a floor model that’s suited to your needs and will fit the time criteria.” Chapman said. “The caskets against the far wall have a warranty of fifty years. The rest of them are twenty. If you’d prefer more of a warranty, we could possibly work something out, but it may involve exhuming the body at a later date.”

“Jesus Christ, you turned this into a showroom for coffins.” Louis said, shocked and annoyed at the layout of the room. “I feel like I’m buying a car.”

“Consider it a vehicle to the afterlife. I can assure you that our caskets are made of the finest domestic materials,” Chapman smiled confidently. “Quality counts when you’re saying goodbye to a loved one. It’s the final way to show how much you care.”

“How much I care? I just want to bury my wife; I’m not concerned with a warranty or any crazy kind of quality. She’s dead. You know, dead, not moving, gone, shot, kaput. Once she’s buried I seriously doubt that I’m going to wait fifty years and dig her up to make sure the coffin held up,” Louis said, glaring at Chapman. “I can’t believe things are like this, it’s crazy.

“Sir-” Chapman said, looking offended.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but this is all very morbid and pointless to me.” Louis absently lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “Money isn’t a problem. Just pick something out that’ll work. Top of the line if you want,” Louis threw up his arms, exasperated. “I don’t even care. Just write me out a bill and let’s get this over with.” He turned and headed back to the stairs. “I’ll be paying cash, so there shouldn’t be any problems at all.”

“Certainly Mr. Darque,” Chapman said nervously, “but need I remind you that you can’t smoke in the building?”

Louis felt as if a switch in his gut had been flicked, and suddenly rage was there, fighting to come out, climbing up his throat like a dry cough. A fierce look covered his face. He whirled around to stare at Chapman with narrow eyes.

“Sorry, being concerned about second-hand smoke and political correctness slipped my mind. I’m having a bad day,” he said sternly. He stubbed out the cigarette in the palm of his right hand without any visible sign of feeling pain. There was an audible hiss as the head of the cigarette burned into the flesh of his palm.

“Happy now?” he asked, dropping what remained of the cigarette into his coat pocket. “See, I won’t even make a mess.”

Chapman nodded nervously, fear registering across his forehead in the form of sweat and a brow that trembled slightly.

“Now can we get the rest of this over with? Her body is being sent here today. It could show up any time and I want everything to be ready,” Louis said on his way back upstairs. He looked at his hand and saw that the burn had already begun to heal. He watched the skin close and smooth out as if there was never a wound there. It was strange to him, because he felt himself heal, felt the skin grow together. There was an itching sensation, but there wasn’t any pain. Fast-healing; a newly discovered ability he wished that he’d known about while still a police officer on patrol. He wouldn’t have been so worried about being shot.

Suddenly he realized how powerful and impulsive his anger at Chapman had been. It was a rage that shouldn’t have been, and he directed it at a person that truly didn’t deserve it. Chapman was only doing his job, even if he did seem to enjoy it a little bit too much. He wondered how much of his temper was because of his demonic side. Or was that just an excuse to turn psychotic and vent the rage he’d been feeling since the day before? Regardless, he felt ashamed for losing control and vowed not to allow it to happen again in such a manner. Anger and pointless violence could only bring him closer to his father. It could only bring him closer to Hell, and he wanted no part of that.

Louis sincerely apologized several times to Chapman when they reached his office, then resumed working with the man to set up the viewing and burial. He found that there were too many choices concerning tombstones and plots and everything else involved. It was as if death had become commercialized as much as Christmas or Easter, some sort of twisted holiday. The thought really sickened him. Death was death, not some sort of twisted holiday.

By the time Louis was ready to leave, Diane’s body was being brought in. His first impulse was to go to her, to be near her one last time, but then he decided that seeing her in the state she was in would hurt too much. He missed the warmth of her soul, not the diseased shell of flesh that reality had transformed her into. He thought to wait until the wake, when she would look as close to normal as she possibly could in the simple dress supplied by Chapman and the artful make-up of the mortician. He’d originally wanted to bring some of Diane’s clothes, but decided against it. Nothing had fit her since she’d gotten ill. She’d lost too much weight, and would look like anything but herself.

When Louis got home, he found an old unopened bottle of scotch in a cupboard. He remembered getting it from a relative he hadn’t seen in years and put it there because that was how interested in scotch he was. Though he gagged at the mere scent of the whisky, he quietly chugged it in the den while talking to Bruce, smoking endlessly to kill the taste of the scotch. The raven was precariously drinking coffee from a wide rimmed mug while still partially perched on the typewriter. Louis explained the events at the funeral home.

“The anger I felt when he told me not to smoke,” he said shaking his head in disbelief, “it was so intense. I would have flipped and probably hit him if I didn’t catch myself. The burn from the cigarette healed right away too. I watched it. I couldn’t believe it all happened so fast. I really need to learn about what I am and what I can do before I find out the wrong way again.”

Bruce tapped out a message on the typewriter:

YOU HAVE POWER

Louis read the message and shrugged.

“Yeah, but I don’t know anything about it, and it scares me. Do you know anything you can pass onto me?”

Louis hit the carriage return to give Bruce a fresh line and watched him awkwardly tap out his answer:

KNOW SOME
NO AGING
NO SICK
SHADOW ALIVE

Louis couldn’t help but laugh when he saw Bruce panting from the workout the typewriter gave him. Each time Bruce hit return by himself, the typewriter shuddered enough to nearly knock him over. Louis felt like his entire life had become an insane joke, and somehow a poor soul named Bruce had been pulled into it with him.

“I’m sorry buddy,” Louis said, reading the paper. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the screwed up way we have to communicate with each other. I don’t care what you did in life, you don’t deserve to be what you are.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me I don’t age, and won’t get sick. So I’m immortal and won’t ever get a disease. I guess I was right about cigarettes not hurting me then, huh?” he said grinning. “What do you mean when you say my shadow is alive?” Louis asked.

Bruce danced out another answer:

CALL TO SHADOW
IT APPEAR
LIKE DOOR
TAKE YOU PLACES

“My shadow can take me places? Oh this sounds sane,” Louis said sarcastically. “And all I have to do is call out to it like it’s a taxi or something?”

Bruce nodded vigorously and cackled.

“Okay, I’ll try it.” Louis laughed, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and the nearly empty bottle of scotch hanging loosely in his hands. “Shadow, come here,” he called out.

Louis’ palms suddenly became sweaty, and he felt a rush akin to the first puff on a cigarette after going an entire day without one. His eyes widened when he saw his own shadow, cast from the limited illumination in the room, move on its own.

Suddenly, it was there.

The darkness stood in front of Louis like a negative space in the den. He stared at the blackness of his own three-dimensional image, which stood in a different position than he did, and shuddered. It was unnatural and perplexing for him to see such a thing, but life itself had become that way since he’d met his father. Fear slipped away, and then there was only embarrassment.

“Y’know, I felt foolish enough calling out to thin air for my shadow, and now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do with it,” Louis said. He turned to Bruce, who still stood on top of typewriter. “Maybe I should have asked B’lial about this kind of stuff when I met him.”

Bruce, who’d just reached over to dip his beak into his coffee cup, abruptly pulled away and cackled loudly at Louis.

“Sorry, I was just kidding. Well, what do I do?” Louis lit a cigarette and grinned in a puff of smoke. “How do I get it to take me somewhere?”

Bruce typed: JUST ASK

“What do you mean, ‘just ask’?” Louis said, exasperated. “Okay, here goes nothing.” He crushed out his cigarette, put the scotch down, and stood toe to toe with his own dark reflection. “Shadow, where can you take me?”

The shadow shrugged.

“Oh hell!” Louis said angrily.

Before he could utter another word, the shadow moved forward and engulfed him in its darkness. For a split second Louis was completely blind and felt utterly cold. He blinked his eyes in shock to find that he was no longer in the den or anywhere else that was familiar.

Louis looked up and saw a sky that was a hazy red and had no clouds or sun. A cold chill crept up his spine as he scanned the area with wide eyes. There were mountains and rivers of red lava flowing between them.

“Oh my god,” he said in quiet disbelief. “It worked.”

In the distance he could barely see vague shapes flying around. They looked like men with bat-like wings. Louis’ nostrils flared at the foul scent of brimstone in the air and he came to the realization that his shadow had taken his last words literally as a point of destination. A gust of the foulest stench hit him full in the face. He gagged and nearly retched, doubling over.

“You brought me to Hell!” he said, coughing, eyes tearing.

Suddenly demons that resembled his father approached him from all sides. The scent of decaying flesh filled the air and panic struck Louis like a heavyweight boxer’s left hook.

“Shadow, get me out of here! Take me back home, hurry!” he shouted.

Abruptly, he was engulfed in darkness again, and then in a heartbeat he was back in the den, standing in front of his shadow, reeking horribly and feeling very much like a fool.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that again!” he shouted, pointing angrily at his shadow. “Don’t ever take me anywhere unless I specify a destination. You could’ve gotten me killed back there.”

Louis heard Bruce cackling behind him again and felt even more foolish.

“And you shut up or I’ll stop making you coffee.”

The room was suddenly silent.

Part Three

After the scotch and his horrid, unexpected trip to Hell, Louis was exhausted. He hoped, after a long hot shower, that he’d be able to sleep through the night peacefully.

Instead, he was plagued with the same nightmare, which played itself out over and over until he woke up sweaty and screaming shortly after midnight. He sat up, feeling wide-awake, and for a split second, he thought he saw Diane standing in the shadowy doorway. His heart skipped a beat and he cursed to himself when he realized it was just an image cast from jumbled curtains and the moonlight.

He cherished his memories of Diane and living in the house together, but the sweetness of the vivid images hurt him. He knew that after the funeral he’d have to decide if he still wanted to live there.

Annoyed, Louis flung off the damp sheets and stomped to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He popped open an old bottle of Diane’s painkillers and downed a few, hoping to knock himself out until he had to go to the viewing.

After setting the alarm to insure that he would wake up with enough time to shower and make it to the viewing, he went back to sleep. He needed rest and accepted that the nightmare would return and there would be nothing he could do about it. Some trade-off.

That morning Louis woke and felt overwhelmed with sadness. He didn’t want to move, much less drive to the funeral home, but forced himself to get out of the bed that felt cold and foreign without Diane. He saw Bruce, but unintentionally ignored him because he was preoccupied with murmuring curses to himself. He lit the first cigarette of the day, and went through the motions of showering and dressing as if he were a mindless stiff-jointed zombie.

He drove to the funeral home in a haze, in much the same manner as he had driven home from the hospital the day before. Memories became short films that flashed through his mind like a ghoulish matinee that he had a free pass to see. The only problem was he couldn’t leave the theater.

Regardless, Louis always hated going to viewings, believing they caused more harm than good. Friends and relatives that were never around normally gathered to swap stories about the dead person, and they were always the same stories, only rehashed from person to person. They always made people either laugh nervously or cry so intensely that you’d think they were physically hurt. There usually wasn’t a middle ground. Louis thought the crying and laughter was more from guilt over not being around when the person was alive than anything else. Guilt was a gift that each person would pass to the other like a winter cold. It was truly the gift that kept on giving. He had never heard of anything good coming out of a viewing, and doubted that he ever would.

Louis dreaded the thought of being in front of all those people, listening to all the stories about him and his wife. People would talk in hushed whispers as if he weren’t there, listening to their hollow words. He would hear everything though, he knew it, and he knew it would hurt more than a severe beating. A bruise he could heal from, but going through the dehumanizing experience of a funeral would leave an emotional scar the size of small car. And to his knowledge, there was no such thing as emotional plastic surgery.

There was a lingering morbid curiosity over who might show up in the back of his head. He imagined most of the neighborhood would be there, even though he didn’t know any of them. Hadn’t ever even met most of them. Louis was sure they’d all come out of the woodwork and be so wonderfully sympathetic and plastic as they introduced themselves. He laughed to himself when he remembered a line from a Rocky movie. Rocky was in the hospital after his first fight with Apollo, signing an autograph for a nurse, and he said, “To my good friend, who I don’t even know.” He thought sometimes art mirrored real life a bit too closely, even when Stallone wrote it tongue in cheek.

Louis arrived at the funeral home early. He felt tears fill his eyes, but they would not fall, he could not cry. He wanted to, but it wasn’t there, and he resented himself for that. He waded through the murk of depression and an empty room to approach Diane’s body. Flowers, sickeningly sweet smelling, filled the back of the room, surrounding the casket, but they couldn’t cover up the scent of the embalming fluid that sat in her veins, or the make-up that powdered her skin. Louis shook inside when he realized that his senses were so acute they were making him sick. He stood at the head of the casket and stared at Diane. Her hands were locked in a death grip around the slim chain of a rosary. Chapman had thought of everything.

The show was on.

Diane’s face looked like hers, but it wasn’t. It was a painted-on life that only amplified the fact that she was dead. Louis didn’t expect that. He’d hoped to see Diane as she was. He discovered that it was a very unrealistic expectation. She looked exactly the same as when she was in the hospital, only now the wig was more impressive and she had make-up on. He wanted to grab her and hold her one last time. He wanted to scream to God and somehow bargain for her life. Then suddenly, all the jumbled feelings stopped, and he was just standing there, alone. Empty. Without a sound, he knelt down and said a prayer.

“I love you always,” he said afterward, lightly kissing her cold dry cheek. As he pulled away from her, he wiped the powder of her make-up off his lips, and checked her face to make sure he didn’t leave a mark. A cold chill crept up his spine.

“Louis?” He heard Jean’s voice from behind him. He stood up, turned, and she was there suddenly, holding him so tightly that he could feel her heartbeat against his own. Stephanie was there too, with a tiny iron grip around his leg the likes of which only a child could have.

The three stood together with both Jean and Stephanie in tears. It felt like forever to Louis, but he felt comfort holding them, at peace.

“I’m sorry.” Jean said, pulling away. “You have enough going on without me blubbering all over you.”

“It’s okay, blubber away. I’d be doing the same if I could. I feel numb. I think it’s the shock of it all,” he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I think I need to get through this first before I can allow myself to lose it. I just hope that once that happens I can stop crying. There’s so much built up inside here,” he said, with his hand on his heart. “I don’t know how to describe it, so many mixed up feelings. On top of it, I miss her.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through in the past few months,” Jean sobbed. “I wish I could have been there for both of you more often.”

“You were there as much as you could be, and that’s what matters. We knew we could reach you if we needed to. Its hard enough raising Steph by yourself and working too,” Louis said, his hand lightly caressing Jean’s cheek. “Don’t beat yourself up, there was nothing more you could do. I’m just glad Diane had such a great sister.”

“Uncle Louis, can I go see Aunt Diane with you?” Stephanie asked, still sobbing. “I’m scared to go alone.”

Louis looked down at her tear-stained face and grinned sadly. As irrational as the thought was, he wondered if God really knew how badly death hurt those that loved the deceased. Was there really some plan for creation, or was it all coming from a dispassionate God that had abandoned his own creation? Was he the ultimate dead-beat dad?

“Of course honey.” He lifted her up carefully and turned back to the casket. “This is just her body, Steph,” he reassuringly wiped away her tears. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah sweetheart,” Jean said, “The real Diane, the Aunt that loved you so much, is in Heaven. She’s probably watching us right now.”

“She’ll always be with you in your heart.” Louis added. “And you’ll never have to worry about seeing her sick again. People don’t get sick in Heaven.”

“But I’ll miss her.” Stephanie began crying again. The sobs were gut-wrenching, and Louis felt helpless. “Why did she have to get so sick? I don’t want her to go away.”

“You’ll see her again someday.” Jean reassured, taking her from Louis.

Jean nodded to Louis and walked away, whispering comfort to her daughter. He wondered if what she said was right, if they’d all ever see Diane in Heaven. Could he even go to Heaven because of who he was? That was definitely something he needed to find out about.

People slowly began to file in. Louis nodded to them and shook hands and hugged people when it was appropriate. He sat down feeling as if he was mechanical, and merely went through the motions of being polite and cordial. He thought about Heaven and Hell, and knew that he lacked adequate practical knowledge about both places. Louis decided that he would visit a priest as soon as he could. Perhaps masked in the darkness of a confession booth he could learn more about himself and what he was in the scheme of eternity.

It was customary for the immediate family to sit in the front row, so Louis ended up sitting next to Jean. Stephanie sat next to her, still sobbing softly. Three chairs. There were three chairs for the mourners on display, Louis thought to himself. The show continued.

He knew he was very irritable, borderline hostile, especially after he’d heard himself referred to as “the guy who’s wife died” several times. Bitter anger twisted a knot in his stomach when he began to hear people asking who the woman next to him was. They knew Diane so well that they didn’t even know she had a sister and a niece. He tried to loosen up by thinking of happier times, but such thoughts always led back to the present, to the casket and the cold heap within that was alive once.

Both Jean and Stephanie huddled next to him, crying, halting only when confronted by a hug from sympathetic mourner. He felt sad for them, but didn’t know what to do. He was helpless, and that in itself was frustrating. As time ticked away, the urge to smoke began to peck at his fragile sanity, but he refused to give in to the craving, vowing not to leave Jean and Stephanie alone. It would be an act of cruelty to leave them alone in the middle of the crowd of unknown mourners.

John Tindili showed up near the end of the viewing. He looked tired and disheveled, but sadness showed through. Louis knew him well enough to see that by the frustrated expression on his partner’s face, the case he was working on hadn’t gotten anywhere. He introduced Tindili to his sister-in-law and his niece. He’d only met them on one other occasion; Louis and Diane’s wedding.

Tindili tried to comfort them but his voice faltered and he nearly began crying himself.

“It looks like you made it just in time for the mass,” Louis said dryly, nodding in the direction of the priest that had just arrived. “You probably didn’t want to miss it.” His sarcasm was clear.

“Oh joy,” Tindili whispered his own sarcasm. “You know I don’t believe in any of that religious mumbo jumbo. I was just hoping to pick you up and get you somewhere so you could eat something before the funeral. If I know you, you haven’t had anything but coffee since yesterday.”

“You’re all heart big guy,” Louis grinned. “You’re right too.”

The mass didn’t last longer than a few minutes. Louis thought that mass, even regular Sunday mass, sounded eerie sometimes, because every word was sung. The fact that most priests have horrible voices to begin with just added to his distaste. The uplifting music, however, brought more feeling to Louis than any of the prayers being sung. The gentle tones invited his mind to wander to scripture and he felt closer to God than he had in many years. He thought of phrases from two psalms, “I will guide thee with mine eye”, and “He restoreth my soul”, and felt at peace, at least for the moment. His mind settled on the fact that there had to be a plan for everything and he’d have to learn to live with that, even if he didn’t like what life was throwing at him. Such was faith. Unwittingly, he had regained his own.

The scent of incense weighed heavy in the air. A cloud of it drifted down the center isle. Louis sensed something odd about the cloud, so he followed it with his eyes. The rear row of chairs was empty except for a tall, odd-looking man. He looked like a product of the fifties; wearing a dark suit and hat, his face shrouded in the shadow of the brim. Louis was thrown by the disrespect of him wearing a hat in church until he saw the man turn his head into the light. Louis saw his face, and realized that the man resembled him, but older. He was weathered looking and big boned.

When the man saw Louis staring, he smiled, brought one of his hands up to his cheek and waved using only his fingers. It was a silent gesture that Louis recognized as something B‘lial would do. His blood boiled with anger and he felt his eyes heat up. There was no doubt in his mind that they glowed blood red, just as they had in Diane’s room at the hospital.

B’lial nodded, tipped his hat, turned and quietly walked out of the room. Louis refused to follow, turning away in disgust and anger.

“Louis,” Tindili whispered urgently. “Your eyes!”

Louis looked at his partner standing beside him and through force of will caused his eyes to return to normal.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered to Tindili.

“Your eyes, I could have sworn, well, they looked like they were bleeding or something; glowing,” Tindili said, his face suddenly ashen.

“You shouldn’t swear in front of a priest,” Louis quickly came up with an excuse. “You must be going soft in your old age. You’re seeing things. The light isn’t very good in here.”

Tindili just looked away and put his head down. He rubbed his eyes as if to clear them.

Louis still burned with rage at the audacity of his father. The demon didn’t want to cause any outward trouble, he just wanted to remind Louis that he existed. He just wanted to watch his son hurt and hurt him more while doing it. He doubted B’lial would be back, he’d done what he has set out to do.

He regretted having to lie to Tindili, but it wasn’t the time or the place, and he wasn’t prepared to go into any long, drawn out explanations until he had a clear head. Tindili probably wasn’t in the state of mind to believe him anyway. Louis could tell he was too stressed out from the case he was working on.

When the viewing was over, everyone was supposed to meet at the cemetery for the burial within an hour. Louis declined Tindili’s offer to get lunch, even though they had time. He didn’t feel the least bit hungry. Instead, he was driven to the cemetery with Jean and her daughter in a slick black limousine. He felt dazed and stared off into nothingness as the vehicles of the mourners lined up behind them. His arms were stretched around Jean and Steph, as if he felt that would protect them.

The line of cars, headlights on as tradition demanded, traveled as one to the cemetery, stopping traffic where it was necessary along the way. The drive was only across town, but it seemed like it lasted for days. Louis felt himself slipping further and further into deep depression. He wanted it to be over, so he could go home and curl up in some corner of the house where he didn’t have to be around anyone or anything else. He wanted to be alone, to be able to sort things out without any other eyes burning into him.

Flowers were lying all around the edge of the freshly dug grave. Their scent swirled through the air like bittersweet perfume. Louis bit back the urge to light a cigarette just to cover up what to him was a sickening smell. He never could understand why flowers were always associated with death.

The casket itself was suspended over the top of the grave by nylon straps attached to a steel frame. While staring at it, Louis was handed a red rose by someone he didn’t recognize dressed in a suit. He stood weakly next to the casket as the graveside service began. He gave no eulogy himself, because he couldn’t find the right words, and said as much to Chapman. When the final prayer was spoken, Louis wanted to scream. He wanted everything to be a nightmare that he could just wake up from. Most of all he wanted to wake up and see Diane sleeping peacefully next to him. He missed her warmth in the dark of the night so much it hurt. He missed the warmth of her soul so close to his own.

As the casket was lowered into the ground, Louis put his arms around both Jean and Stephanie and slowly walked with them over to the plot. They dropped their roses one by one and made their way back to the limousine in empty silence. Louis could find no words to comfort either of them; there was no such thing. He couldn’t even reassure himself that life would go on, because he wasn’t sure it would.

To be continued….