INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XXX

INIQUITOUS 

CHAPTER XXX 

The granite-grey clouds grumbled, and a nanosecond later there was a heavy downpour. I was already sat at the front of the church when the rest of the funeral goers arrived in sodden clothes and grim expressions. The only one who appeared to be cheerful was Eton who sat on the pew behind me and leaned forward and whispered. "Did you write the eulogy?"

I turned around. "No, I didn't have time. I'm going to wing it."

"Why don't I do it? I've come prepared," he tucked his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded white sheet and he flashed a wicked smile. "Momma would be proud of me."

"If you act disrespectful or say anything rude, I will beat your ass."

"In god's house? Shame on you, you shameless whore. Jesus is watching. You can't hit me." He gestured to the statue of the white man with a brown beard and beetle black eyes. He had his arms open in a welcoming manner and wore a red and gold robe.

"I'll cover his eyes and nail you to his cross."

"I'll fake a miracle and turn water into wine and toast Mom a happy afterlife with your blood."

We were interrupted by a suave, groomed and well-dressed man in a white suit. "Oh, you poor darling," he pulled me up into a tight hug and at first, my mind drew a blank and then I recalled: he was an old friend of mom's. He was a famous fashion designer with a well sought after shoe line. I hadn't seen him for years although I'd occasionally catch a glance of him in the media.

His bleached silvery hair was combed back and his face was clean shaven. His eyes were a pale blue shade and his skin was stretched tight over his skull: he was a fan of surgeries and appearing youthful. If I calculated correctly, he had to be in his late fifties by now. "How have you been?" He searched my face for answers. His gaze was intense. "Stupid question. Ignore that. Oh, it's been too long." He squeezed me in his skinny arms again.

"Alain Moreau," I greeted, glancing at Eton who watched the exchange in amusement. "I didn't think you'd be coming."

"I took the earliest flight out, sweetheart. I wouldn't miss saying goodbye. I loved your mother and I'm so terribly sorry for your loss." He squeezed my hand and asked. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

"No, go ahead," I tugged my dress down before I sat down again and engaged in small talk as the church filled up with old friends and distant relatives. I threw a glance behind me and saw my cousin Helénē sitting next to Eton. She had flowy blonde hair, a pixie-like face and wide sympathetic eyes. She was older than us and she wore a kind smile.

"Hi Calla," she gave me an awkward hug, asked how I was.

"Alright," I responded, troubled gaze fixed on Eton's hand which lay on her bare leg. "Helénē, Gram wanted to sit next to Eton. Would you mind swapping seats?"

"Sure," she nodded, and got up to find Gram.

Eton threw me an irritated look and kicked the back leg of my chair. "What the hell is your problem?"

"She's our cousin, you dirty bastard."

"I wasn't going to nut in her. Relax."

"Uncle Hektor would kill you."

"We weren't doing anything wrong. I just liked the feel of her soft skin, that's all. She was comforting me." His grey eyes protested his innocence but I knew better: he wasn't to be trusted. "My momma is dead. And my daddy was murdered. What's wrong with her sucking my dick and wiping my tears away? I'm kidding. I wouldn't go for her. She's not my type. One: she's my cousin. Two: she's not Winnie. Three: she likes Lady Gaga."