Worse Than His Bite

Chapter 22: Honest as the day is long

Waves lapped against the sturdy legs of the pier, the wooden beams built skin of barnacles and algae. The grey sea could not be distinguished from the overhead clouds, wherever the horizon was could not be seen, just an endless ever-reaching grey.

"Thank you for coming." Poor Callum, his voice so tender with pain that could only come from loving someone so dearly. "I appreciate this more than I can say."

Leo wasn't used to seeing Callum wear black, certainly not all black. He tended to have some sort of colour to himself, a checkered shirt, knitted jumper, corduroy trousers: all different colours but never black. What a sad sight he was. His beautiful face pale apart from his flushed cheeks. The streaks of tears made his eyelashes heavy from the weight, and trails of where those tears scarred his face shone in the dreary morning light. He was beside himself with grief to speak the truth of things.

He wouldn't be if Leo hadn't come here.

Leo could hardly stand to look at the coffin that lay in front of him, instead searching for the horizon lost to the grey. The floor boards groaned as Callum's parents began to walk down the dock towards their people. Solemn leaders of their island folk. Callum's mother veiled in black, only the fair skin of her wrist visible between her sleeve and her glove. His father kept his proud auburn head held high, dressed in black tie and the kilt of his families colours: crossing lines of green, purple and orange. Neither were crying. If anything Callum's father had more of a conflicted tranquility about him.

"It was for the best, I think." It came out more as a whisper, almost being swept away on the breeze. "She was so ill, had been for a long time. I don't think she even knew who she was anymore. She was so sure she... she..."

"It's alright."

"It's not." Callum held his palms against his eyes. "She thought she was nothing more than an animal. What kind of life was that?"

Leo placed his hand on Callum's back. Spread out his fingers across his shoulder blade. "A good life. She had you. That's better than most people will ever have."

Callum reached behind him to try and touch him. Leo pulled away before he could, tucking his hand back into his patchwork jacket. He found himself more comfortable touching the rough frayed fabric that counted as a pocket lining than he did with the smooth skin of Callum's hand.

"Are you feeling okay?" Callum asked.

Leo laughed it off, his laughter slowly dying as that goddamn coffin came into his view again. Why was it so big? She had only been a small woman. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that."

Callum smiled, he walked towards his gran's coffin and laid his hand upon the wood. "Do you believe in ghosts, Leo?"

Leo shook his head. "No."

"You sound so sure."

"If ghosts existed then my parents would've come to me a long time ago. They didn't. Ghosts aren't real." As Callum woefully stroked her coffin, Leo immediately regretted his words. "I'm sorry. Your gran might... you never know..."

"It's fine, Leo. I'm sorry about your parents, I had no idea."

"It's not something I like telling people."

Callum gave him a sad smile. "Do you believe in anything supernatural?"

"Why are you asking me weird questions?"

He turned away from the coffin and casually strolled towards Leo. His heavy black boots thumping slowly against the wooden boards. "I'm just curious."

"I guess some things I believe in."