Inveigle

Chapter Twenty-One: A Funeral

It was over in a flash, Pockets seemed weak, and in a matter of three moves Sam had his arms pinned behind his back. The whole household appeared to be in the kitchen.

"Superman, chill," Boss commanded.

Pockets, Superman, stopped struggling in Sam's hands.

"Everyone out. Except you two," he said looking at Sam and Superman.

An hour later Boss walked Superman out through the front door. I heard the Escalade's doors open and shut before the engine turned over. After the sound of the wheels had disappeared, Sam came into the living room and sat down on the couch next to me. He put his head in his hands and let out an exasperated sigh. I moved to put an arm around him.

"Where is Boss taking him?" I asked.

"His mom's I guess. At least until he can get clean. That's how he got his name, you know. The first time he shot up he just kept shouting, 'I feel like Superman. I feel like fricken Superman!'"

"Boss knows what happened between you two?"

"Yeah, I told him the same day I asked for help to save you. He would have found out anyway, and then it would have been worse for me."

"Worse?"

"Yeah, it's done now. Don't worry about it. I had to help him with a few jobs."

"What do you mean jobs?"

Sam sighed, "Look none of us like it. It's why I left the first time. Boss doesn't like it either, but it's the only way to make money anymore. What Snake brings in only goes so far. We sell, well, we sell what makes Superman Superman. Most of us know better than to do it though."

I must have had a strange look on my face, although I didn't mean to because he kept talking, "These last few years, the jobs in this city have been drying up. Boss used to own an auto shop, but then that closed, too. I was on the track team in high school, but then my parents lost their jobs. We had to do something to make money, so I joined up with The Disciples, quit track, and began a different sort of after school activity."

I thought about how desperate I had been becoming before Pam took me in. I had lucked out with a roof over my head. I didn't like it, but could I really blame Sam and the others? Desperation can bring humanity to the edge.

I didn't say anything. I didn't really know what to say, but I kept my hand resting on his shoulder to let him know I wasn't going anywhere.

The next morning there was a pounding on the front door. Not the five normal knocks followed by one more. And it wouldn't stop. I heard the front door open from my bed. I stared wide eyed at the ceiling. I didn't have to look, I knew Sam, who slept on the floor in the same room since the house was full, was awake and listening, too.

Through the walls came the sobs of a hysterical woman. "He's dead. My boy is dead, and it's your fault!"

The words were indistinguishable, but Boss must have been talking to her because she stopped yelling. The front door opened and closed.

"We should have let him stay here," Sam said from the floor.

The day before the rally was to take place, was the funeral for Walter DeMarcus Greene, or Superman as he had come to be known. The smell of flowers was potent the moment I entered the church. Bouquets of white lilies, carnations, and chrysanthemums cascaded around the casket. The senior picture of Walter sat on an easel. He looked happy, circles were not visible under his eyes and his skin had color.

I found a chair in the back row and waited. The Disciples went up to the casket as a unit. Some looked hurt, others were stone faced, and just a few had their faces twisted into what could only be guilt. Boss was one of these few. He remained up at the casket after the others had come back to the row I was seated in. It wasn't until Walter's mother came up and touched him on the shoulder that he stepped aside.

I noticed the rage was gone from Walter's mother. The look she gave Boss now was sympathy.

Even though it was only 7 o'clock when we got back, I felt exhausted. Images of the coffin lowering into the ground kept flooding my mind. I didn't want to fight anymore and the thought of the debate tomorrow made me nauseous.

It will be alright. The voice of Pathos started a liquid warmth flowing through my body. The nausea subsided just a bit.

There was a knock on the door. It opened slowly when I didn't respond. Sam's eyes met mine for a second when he looked around the door. Then he dropped his gaze.

He walked over and sat on the bed next to me.

"How many funerals have you been to?" I asked. He had been one of the stone faced Disciples the entire time.

"Six," he hesitated, "they don't get easier." He moved his right hand on top of my left.

We sat like this in silence for a long time. I couldn't cry because I never really knew Walter, but being around so much death lately was exhausting.

"Pam's death is my fault," I finally said to break the silence.

Suddenly, Sam clenched my hand in his. He turned his head to face me.

"That is not true, Pam died because of Persim." His pupils were so large it was like I was staring into a black hole. I didn't want to acknowledge what he said because the guilt was wrapped so tightly around that as of late it felt like a part of who I was.

Instead I leaned over and rested my head on his chest. He took the hand not holding my own and reached behind me to pull me in closer. Then he lay back, taking me with him.

"Do you think Nathan and Ava are alive?" I choked on the last word.

Sam inhaled deeply before responding, "Yeah, I don't have a reason to give you, but I just feel that they are." I let the steady rise and fall of his chest slowly erode my anxieties away. We lay in silence on the bed until we fell asleep.