Authors: Alexandra Hope
He changed the subject. “Who do you think it will be tonight?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
They stepped into the house as usual and walked right through without glancing around. It had been a minute since Noah was on the mat and he burned to be back on it but lately they had to endure night after night of weapons training which Noah loathed.
Mr. Stevens wasted no time announcing the opponent of the boy standing at the table, ready. “Olivia,” he said without looking at his clipboard. Chatter erupted from the students as they took glances back at Olivia and then at Randy whose expression was unreadable. Olivia didn't protest knowing that it was exactly to be expected when she chose to open her mouth and invite him to challenge her before he walked off with Fin. Allison and the others understood it as well so they kept their mouths shut as Olivia went to the front. She met the two at the weapons table and noticed Tomas' tired eyes and then Randy's browns burning eagerly. She gestured for him to pick a weapon. “First choice.”
“Ladies first,” Randy said coolly.
“If you insist,” replied Olivia. She could sense the malicious intent in his words but did as he wanted. She scanned the table then took a step back, turning to her teacher. “I would rather not fight with a weapon, if it's OK. I would like to put the self defense training you gave us to good use.” She figured no weapons meant no bloodshed and she knew that while he was acting like a pompous jerk, he didn't deserve to be attacked by something she could only control fifty percent of the time.
He turned to Randy. “Is this suitable?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“That means you cannot wield a weapon either,” Mr. Stevens warned.
Randy's teeth were clenched and he forced the words through the slits of his teeth. “I'm well aware.”
“This is no longer first to strike,” he announced. “First to disable the enemy and drag them out will be declared the winner.”
“Now, into the forest Randy.”
He ran into the darkened forest, the shadows swallowing his body whole just as Olivia ran after him. She stood in the middle of the forest as if sending out a welcoming invitation to Randy but he wasn't there. She could hear his feet scurry across the dead leaves and twigs and the pounding of his heart against his chest. She was silent as she followed him. The distinct odor of scorched leaves came from the other side of the forest and she could see a billow of dusty gray misting overhead, forcing her to run to it's source.
She didn't zip around the forest at vampire speed, instead relying on pure unbridled human speed to get her past the vine and moss encased area. Leaves of a small shrub were wound up tightly as she pushed past it and her arm grazed the leaves. She looked down at her arm, a stinging warmth slithered on top of her skin and inflamed blotches of red formed. The skin rippled before her eyes, crimson bumps smoothing out and fading to rose and then to white. Olivia was slow to turn, her eyes catching onto the leaves that whirled in the wind and then she noticed that she was standing in a nest of tangled poison sumac shrubs. Randy's breathless coughs had alerted her to him and she broke through the web of leaves, brushing off the bite of the poison on her skin.
The orange and gold flame before him had waned to a meek glow on the pile of cinder and he turned to start up another fire, his gloved hands striking a single stick into a fire board that had been out there for as long as he had known. Felicity had endowed him with simple survival skills she had picked up from watching television shows, listening to others and reading books. Randy hadn't let any of her teachings go to waste when he was put on the roster against his peers, earning him the title of second best in the weapons training portion after her and second in combatives after Noah. Olivia stood behind a tree, devoid of any sound and watched Randy tend to his newly lit fire with meticulous attention. She scanned the area for any poison sumac and was relieved enough to take a forced breath, to not see any. With that breath, he perked up and glanced over to where Olivia had been standing and when he saw nothing, he returned to his fire. She had distanced herself from him but could still see clearly what he was doing. He threw sticks onto the fire causing the flames to grow and flutter violently, smoke rising above him. He pulled out crumpled up aluminum foil and two small Ziploc bags, each holding a white sandy substance and then kicked leaves up to reveal a small pan. Randy had placed the pan over the fire when Olivia had finally realized what he intended to do. He wanted to make a bomb.
For a minute Olivia didn't want to believe it were possible but thought back on his words and how angry he had been when he confronted her. She was unaware of the sound she had made until Randy turned and finally saw her.
“You finally found your way to the smoke,” he said. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”
She hung back, holding onto the bark of a tree and said, “You don't want to do that Randy.”
“Of course I do,” he retorted, standing up from the fire.
“You could kill us both!”
The wind howled and wrestled some of the leaves off of the ground behind Olivia and they fell beside the fire, one of them incinerated by the flames. Even Olivia hadn't noticed until she could smell the taint in the air. He stepped closer to the fire and the light danced on his face, coloring his brown eyes a golden color. The enraged flames matched his expression as he stared at her.
The smoke filled her dormant lungs but did nothing to her. “I hurt Felicity but I did not kill her!” she shouted, “That has been the rule all along and for you to try to kill me for revenge is foolish.”
His expression softened and then a look of dark amusement crept on his face. “I'm not trying to kill you—”
The rising smoke had entered his body and poured into him as he opened his mouth. He fell to his knees and onto his back then scrambled to his side as he tried to catch his breath. Flipped onto his back and writhing in pain, he kicked his feet against the ground and arched his body. Olivia was at his side and looked at him with pity but was confused at what to do. His porcelain skin had washed over to a pale pink and he clawed his sweaty palms on her body. His hand dragged against the inside of her wrist and she looked down at it like it was a foreign object or a beacon of hope. She bit down on her wrist and blood trickled out of the slits and onto his ashen lips. She slid her hand under his head and pushed it up, coercing him to drink but he remained still after he drew in his last breath.
No...
She forced her wrist into his mouth with stubborn tenacity but still, he did not drink.
Eleven (The Funeral)
Wispy white hair hung on either side of the man's head, liver spots soiling his bald head. He sat back in his chair and traced the outline of his lips for drool as he flipped through a folder of crumb covered paperwork on the desk, mutters escaping his mouth. He finally lifted his head from the papers and turned his attention to the two men in front of him, his hand, adorned with gaudy rings, placed on his round belly. A plaque hung overhead, his name, Jack Smith, emblazoned in gold on it with no merits underneath.
His voice was raspy and all look of genuine concern absent as he spoke. “I'm very sorry for your loss and I'm honored to share in the grieving process of your beloved and child Troy.”
Troy's hair was a tousled mess of burnished gold and near white from the stream of light glaring down on it. His chin was lined with stubble and pools of gray hung below his eyes. Today, he had his glasses on which helped to hide the weariness in his eyes but it was written all over his face, the pale color of his skin an exhausting sight for anyone. He was slumped back in the chair, his suit jacket unbuttoned and the tie thrown to the side. It certainly wasn't his best look, his father noted, but it was understandable.
“What happened to Harry?” asked Troy, his mouth buried onto the backs of his hands.
“Mr. Duvall retired years ago,” he replied, the Southern twang apparent in his words. “It's been a while since you've been here but I assure you, it will be like it was organized by Harry himself.”
A scoff and a few inaudible words escaped Troy's mouth and when Jack opened his mouth to inquire, Troy's father spoke up.
“Do you think you'll be able to?”
“A funeral this evening?” asked Jack. “That's an extraordinary request Mr. Evans.”
“Just a remembrance ceremony. We'd like to start the grieving process as soon as possible.”
Grieving process. As soon as Troy mentally repeated the words he bit down on his lip and it flushed red from the pressure. How could he grieve, to begin to accept that he had lost the person he loved more than anything, if she didn't feel like she was truly gone? Each morning he rose, the scent of her perfume, Rose The One by Dolce & Gabbana, filled his nose as he brushed his teeth and he imagined her by his side. And each night, he laid down to bed and reached for her body, hoping to trace the outline of her curves and feel his fingers against her soft skin but still nothing. He had yet to shed a tear for her because she still remained alive in his heart. He glanced at his father when he felt the taps against his leg but he didn't shift in the chair. David motioned his head toward Jack.
“So, it is my understanding that you would like a burial and no viewing of the—”
“No, just a ceremony.” David corrected. It was as if the man only paid attention to ten percent of everything said which Troy knew to be true.
“My apologies. A ceremony?”
Troy nodded then added. “I'd like to purchase a casket.”
David and Jack both looked up in surprise.
“Why do you need a casket?” asked Jack leaning forward on his desk.
Troy had been thinking about what to say when asked why he would want to buy a casket that he wasn't going to bury her in and eventually came up with, “Japanese tradition.”
Of course Troy knew nothing about Japanese tradition, he had never had the opportunity to visit his mother's hometown in Japan, let alone learn anything about his Japanese side but because Jack knew so little about the outside world, he knew the answer would appease him.
“OK, I see. You are half Asian aren't ya?”
Troy nodded.
“Don't look it but alright,” he said, clapping his palms together and rubbing them. “Our cheapest casket is seven thousand dollars.”
David gawked at the number and blinked several times. It wasn't that David was hurting for money since he owned his own company and bought Troy his house and would be more than willing to pay for it, but he couldn't help but wonder how Jack had been ripping so many people off in such a dark time. “Seven thousand dollars?”
“Yes sir.”
David reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a checkbook but Troy put his hand up, stopping him.
“I don't need you to pay for it,” he said and when he looked at him, his eyes said more:
Put your money away.
Troy pulled out a card from his pocket and placed it on the desk. It had been all the money he saved to buy the car off Vic just to surprise Alexa but he found no use for it now and gave it up willingly. Jack pressed his fingers onto the card and slid it over to him with a smile in his eyes. He then took out a shiny golden pen and clicked the back of it to bring forth the point. “Now, how would....” he trailed off, searching his mind for her name.
“Alexa.”
“How would Alexa like to be remembered? Or how would you like to remember her?”
Troy's shipmates and friends he hadn't spoken to since he graduated high school joined him at the memorial, issuing condolences when they saw him. His father managed to gather as many people in the few hours they had but was unable to contact Vic, Troy's captain. When David inquired about it, he was told that Vic had went on a sabbatical and could not be reached. Troy felt it odd for Vic to do something like that because he knew there was nothing more important to him than being at sea, the rush that he felt as he narrowly escaped death in the frigid cold. Being close to death is what made him feel alive and although he was worried about his friend, he kept his attention on Alexa.
The memorial service was an elegant and short one, taking place in a cathedral though Troy never knew her domination or if she even had a religion. Considering the life she lived as a child, it would make sense that she wouldn't have one but it was too late now. Intricate stone sculptures were carved into the ceilings, of angels and saints he knew nothing about. Marble columns embellished with gold at the base were on either side of the entryway and also near the altar. The cathedral had been adorned with bouquets of white lilies that ran alongside the pews and when he walked in he noticed unrecognizable faces gathered in them. They turned their heads back, a mesh of colors blending and none standing out as he trudged down the aisle, his legs feeling like they were suspended in mud. He slipped into the first pew and immediately felt a hand on his shoulder. Her brown and bony hand felt like a ghost of a touch against his suit and he turned and met eyes with the woman, her gray hair pinned back and wrinkles embedded in her skin. She didn't look familiar so he knew she was one of the many elderly who asked Jack to sit in and pay their respect to the dead.
“I'm terribly sorry for your loss,” said the old woman.
“Thank you,” he pushed the words out and tried not to suffocate under the heaviness of them.