The Secrets Within Pages

Life and Death

The misty morning air wraps around me, cradling me until the cold claws of death escort me to the ceremony. Countless faces are present at Osbourne's funeral, which isn't shocking, the man no doubt left an imprint on the world and is engraved in the hearts of many. Such is the impact of literature and teaching it, it immortalises you. Professor wasn't a religious man from what I knew and thus the funeral ceremony was held in an assembly hall in Oxford University. Where he had lived most of his life, where he studied, worked, thrived, perhaps even fell in love. Now, where he will be mourned. It was quite poetic. I enter the hall, laced with grief and celebration of his life, I make my way towards a seat in the middle row of chairs where no one is currently seated. Sitting down, I see the casket where he lies. I can't help the cringe the creeps up my face at the morbidity of his dead body lying in there as we all walk around him, speak of his life, his accomplishments but does any of it matter? Now that he'll be placed six feet below? 

Despite his knobbly knees, Professor Humphries strides onto stage his hunched posture not at all coinciding with the pride he attempts to convey with his chin in the air. 

"Good Morning all, we gather here today to grieve the loss of our esteemed Professor, Friend, Husband and altogether wise and good man, Gael Osbourne. Gael was a dear friend and colleague of mine, he dedicated his life to his work and to this fine college. His work refined the English Language and Literature department immensely and for that he will forever be missed and admired." He spoke, sniffling from time to time. His long speech continued, commending his work and praising him as a husband and friend. A couple of banal jokes that were completely missed, leaving an awkward lingering silence that was thankfully cut through by Mary's abnormally loud sobbing. 

It wasn't until he addressed the cause of death that the audience perked up. 

"I heard he was stabbed to death." A whisper from a girl behind me. 

"You think that's scary? I heard he was stabbed with a sword" the other girl spoke. As if in response to the former's silence, she went on, "Yeah, a sword. Apparently, it was mimicking some sort of mediaeval weapon and initially the police even thought it was a prop. It was found stuck in him when his body was found outside the globe theatre." The latter finished, her voice like a narrator telling the ending of a horror story. 

The ignorance of adolescence. Speaking of death- of murder, as though it is the latest gossip from a magazine. I don't bother vocalising any of my thoughts, after all we were all this naive once. Some, still are. 

~~~

The ceremony came to a swift conclusion and all were relieved of that I'm sure. The cemetery was, grim to say the least. But that wasn't what was plaguing my thoughts, Silas was. He wasn't at the ceremony, which I expected. His attention span, I realised, was shorter than that of a goldfish. Truly, his academic prowess was a constant shock. However, not attending the burial at least? That vexed me, but then again it was Golding and he always vexed me but I digress. It's disrespectful and distasteful that he didn't show up to his Professor's funeral, especially since he was somehow, as I was, entangled in it. 

The amount of attendees decreased significantly. This much more intimate group of people was much more daunting as I couldn't hide within the masses. I spot who I assume is Osbourne's wife, a petite woman of Asian descent with dark hair and brown eyes, standing opposite me next to another woman as they both speak with the Officiant. A couple more people, colleagues and old friends, stand around the casket awaiting the service.

"I recognise all of the people here but you, I must admit I am stumped. Unless, old Osbourne was having an affair." A smooth, deep voice joked from behind me.

I turn to a tall, older man standing before me. The sun glistens on his dark skin and it is obvious he must have been very handsome when he was younger, age only refining his features. He looked familiar, though I couldn't say from where. My lack of response and confused, perhaps stunned, face lured him to speak again.

"A joke." He clarifies. I huff a laugh, releasing the tension of the day. 

"I apologise, things like this draw humour from me. I suppose it is how I cope." He explained with a humble smile. A smile that triggers a realisation-

"Vincent Fraser. I was an old friend of Gael's." Introducing himself, he puts out a hand that I shake. 

The man from the photograph.

"My condolences, Mr. Fraser. I'm Eleanor Burroughs, a student of Professor. Osbourne."

"Ah, a student. Please, call me Vincent." He expresses, charmingly taking my hand to kiss it. From the corner of my eye I see Osbourne's wife staring at us, at him. 

"Tell me, Eleanor. How long have you been a student of Gael's?" 

"I've been his student for three years now." 

"I see. You must have been gutted at the unfortunate news, perhaps not as much as the other... delight that was wailing at the ceremony."

Mary. 

I smile, "It is awful what happened to him. He was a good man and an even greater teacher." I express. 

"I do believe you've been in contact with the police, informing them of anything you may know in regards to his death." He hesitated at that, almost like he still didn't believe he was murdered.

"I suppose you could say that. But I've not been much help, I don't know of anything or anyone that could've done this." I admitted. 

"Well, I ask you this in hopes that I could be of help to you and the police. If you'd like to grab coffee or better yet visit me and we could talk. And I give full permission for you to disclose to the police the content of our discussion." 

I didn't know what to say to that. What did I have to lose? If I took him up on his offer and received good information, I could be beneficial to the police, solve this case and catch the sick bastard who killed Osbourne and no doubt the other victim outside the Radcliffe Camera. 

"Why talk to me when you can tell the police?" I ask, skepticism riddling my tone. 

"I suppose you are right. But why pass up the opportunity to talk with a beautiful woman about a mutual loss and perhaps this might benefit you in your studies as well. I too studied and revolutionsied the Literature department in Oxford. Can't let Osbourne take all the credit for it." He finished confidently. 

I agreed. To my approval, he gave me a note with his address. London. That was an hour away, but I have to do this. I push away all feelings of regret or nervousness.

The service was short, the Officiant said a few words and acknowledged Mrs. Osbourne before the casket was placed into the ground and all remnants of Osbourne, beside his legacy, was now covered in dirt- a world away. 

I bid Vincent farewell but not before I gave my condolences to Mrs. Osbourne, whom accepted it graciously, even embracing me. 

I glanced back once again. Silas never attended.