Encore (Prodigy: 3)

The Funeral

Neither Locke nor Zane removed their hats or scarves until they were tucked into a pew at the very back of the church, avoiding eye-contact with the mourners – and the few members of media who had been given permission to attend.

Zane wrapped his arms around himself, hating the chill. They lived in the modern age, why were churches still always so fucking cold.

And he hated funerals. He'd been to more than enough in his youth. The fathers of friends who drunk themselves into an early grave. The mothers of friends who were beaten into an early grave. The friends themselves who ran on the wrong side of the law and wound up in an early grave.

He was fed up with churches and hospitals and the people that went with them.

"Are you Locke De Davies?"

Zane's eyes flicked over to the paw in front and the young woman who was turned in her seat, ignoring the fact that everyone was settling down for the main event; her eyes, that should have been withdrawn and at least mildly upset, bright and excited at the sight of Locke who hadn't even removed his sunglasses yet.

"Hey, is it true you tried to kill yourself?" she asked.

"No, I'm not. And no, I did not so fuck off and turn around," Locke bit back at her, baring his teeth making the girl recoil and spin around with an arrogant huff, folding her arms and muttering a seething curse under her breath.

Zane glanced at Locke who looked like he wanted to say more to the girl but he quickly set a hand on Locke's knee and squeezed gently.

The priest was at the front now, demanding everyone's attention and silences rippled through the hall.

Locke didn't want to be there. Zane had told him that morning he didn't have to come. Zane intended to go because he had said he'd be there but he understood if Locke didn't want to be there. He really didn't mind if that was Locke's choice in the end.

And yet Locke had eventually insisted on going with him.

Like he needed to protect Zane from something.

Richard was sat in the front row along side people Zane didn't know – apart from his PA. Jessica wasn't there but Zane hadn't expected her to be. She hated funerals and cemeteries and anything that reminded her of the loss of a loved one.

The funeral was a slow, boring process.

Sure it was upsetting and emotional and sentimental for anyone who cared.

But by the looks of the attendees, those people were few and far between.

Not even Rich appeared to give a damn.

His husband had not been a well-liked man. A power, devastating businessman, formidable even in his retirement he had been like an emperor. People sucked up to him, kissed his shoes and licked his ass – sometime literally – just to get a little further in life. He would play chess with whomever he'd so desired because of the power had possessed.

He had been like Rich on steroids.

Behind the scenes, both Zane and Locke had know him to be a bitter, petty man who resented that he had grown old and no amount of money could make him feel better.

All he had wanted in life was Rich and he'd got him and yet he hadn't been happy with it because had no idea how to treat his husband and his husband was as vicious and callous as him.

He was a psychopath who didn't want to be a psychopath.

He had hated himself and loved himself and overall had lived a thoroughly miserable life leaving behind almost no one who cared.

And yet hundred of people have tried to flock to the funeral because of the money Rich got from the death and marriage.

The journey to the graveyard was an easy walk, the pallbearers obviously struggling under the weight of the coffin and it's occupant.

"Would you care to say any finally words?" the priest muttered to Rich once he'd finished his spiel of religious jargon.

"Just dump him in the ground already," Rich said, looking at his watch.

Perhaps any other priest and any other group might have been shock at the dismissive comment of one's own spouse, but the priest was a family friend and the group knew who they were dealing with.

So he was dumped in the cold, dark ground without so much as a flower petal to his name before people dispersed, talking about getting drinks.

Rich didn't leave the edge of the grave after most people were gone.

On the other side, Zane and Locke stood, looking down at the black coffin.

"You gonna miss him?" Locke eventually asked through his scarf as a cold wind blew through the gravestone, moaning at them.

"Yeah, I'll miss him," Rich said, reaching into the inside of his coat and pulling out a single red rose, it's stem long, still in tact with all it's thorns. He smoothed out the petals for a moment then tossed in the rose that landed on the lid with a faint thump. "Contrary to popular belief, I did actually love him in all his madness."

He slipped his hands into his coat pockets and looked up.

"How's my other mad one?" he asked.

"I'm not yours," Locke said bluntly.

"Course you're not. You never are when Zane's around. What about when he leaves, you going to try and off yourself again."

Locke buried himself further into the coils of his scarf and didn't reply.

"You ready to attend his funeral, Zane?" Rich asked nonchalantly.

"No," Zane said, glaring, "I'm not."

"Get ready them. I suspect he'll die soon enough."

Zane opened his mouth and Locke caught his arm, shaking his head.

"He's riling you up because he's upset and wants to drag people down to his level," Locke muttered.

"You know me so well," Rich said, "But am I wrong?"

Locke didn't answer and instead turned away, pulling Zane with him.

"Why didn't you say no?" Zane snapped at they made their way back towards the road where a car waited for them.

Locke shrugged. "Why deny nothing that may be true?" he asked and Zane stopped.

"Locke," he started.

"Lets go, I don't want to be here anymore and I need to change my bandages. Let's go home."

"Where's home?" Zane muttered, watching Locke as he opened the car door.

"At the moment? Wherever you are," Locke said simply before sliding into the car and telling the driver to return them to Zane's hotel.