Graverobber (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Two- The Ghost of You

The dark stone gates rise tall and sharp, the gothic arches supporting the high rise of the sign; Resurrection.
At the base of the gate, engraved in silver lettering are the names of every family in Everstole that is of Resurrection. The ones engraved in gold are those of the purest blood. The name Bittencourt among them.
Is it just me, or is our name tinted just a little redder than anyone else's?
I enter the gates, and am immediately overwhelmed with the sheer number of people present. Their eyes all turn to me, appraising, grateful, and a small number of them...pitiful? I shake my head, and plaster on a smile that hurts more than I'd imagined. I must be imagining things. It's too dark to see anyone's eyes anyways. Thanks to the cover of the dark, and the luck that the moon is absent from the sky, I manage to escape the crowd and make my way to the graves at the deeper recesses. It's too dark to see much, but I don't need to. I grew up on this graveyard. I know every single branch of the weeping willow intimately, I can find the freshest patch of grass, and the most tragic tombstone. Caiden grew up here too.
The cold bites my nose and my limbs grow numb. I've tried to avoid looking at it for as long as I possibly could, which is rather hard considering that I've had to be here every single day. Through lowered eyes, I finally force myself to look at the tombstone. 2019, September 30th. A wonderful brother and beautiful son. He grew up in this graveyard. He died here too.
A high pitched scream shatters my ears.
I turn, and run, tearing through the panicked crowd to where the voice came from.
"Help!" Someone screams. I stumble and go crashing towards the ground. It's too dark. A sharp pain ignites in my hand. Someone stepped on it "Get off!" I yell, but in the chaos, my voice gets lost. I tear my hand away, and grab my phone. The one fucking thing I'm good at is texting. My fingers fly and I send a message to the Resurrection group chat. "Where the fuck is everyone," probably wasn't the most eloquent but it works. "In front of Rosetta Stone" is replied.
I freeze. The Rosetta Stone is the Stone we Resurrection grave defenders labeled ourselves. It looks like just another gravestone to anyone else. If anyone is injured in front of it...it must be one of us. My heart beats like a siren that grows louder by each second. I almost trample a child so I force myself to stop and think things through. I pull out my phone light so we're not running around in the dark anymore. Everyone else follows my cue and the chaos recedes. I quickly make it to the Stone, but it still took shoving several lost children out of the way, and ruining the reputation I've built so carefully, but I could only bring myself to feel guilty for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then I saw her.
"Darby?" What happened to her. She was on the floor, her dark hair bloody. The rest of the gang surrounded her.
"911 there's been an accident-" Emma frantically finds words to speak into the phone. Alex is near tears, Willow is frozen in place, and Ali—
"Ali, breath!" My harsh tone only makes his panic attack even worse.
"Willow," I snap, "Help Ali,"
She jumps a bit, then nods.
"Alex, fight back the crowd, keep them away. Make sure no one gets in here," Alex gulps but then nods and takes off.
My own fingers tremble but I kneel down towards Darby.
"What happened?"
Her fingers jerk to my left and her throat produces a garbled sound. I shine my phone towards that direction and it reflects off of a shiny object.
"Is that-" Emma gasps. I pick it up. It's the shovel. Darby's shovel. The sharp end of it is dripping blood.
"Who was it!" I say desperately, everything was too fast, too unreal. "Who hit you with your own shovel?"
She doesn't answer. If it weren't for the rise and fall of her chest I would have thought she was dead.
God knows it wouldn't be the first time I've seen a corpse.
Or seen someone turn into one right before my eyes.
Police sirens flash, and I feel myself being pulled away. My only thought is, of course. Darby grew up here too.
Everyone who grows up in a graveyard
Dies in a graveyard.

"Kid. I swear to you she isn't dead. She's just in a coma. She'll be fine." Officer Jacob insists once again.
"She'll be fine? You said that about my brother."
Officer Jacob rubs his forehead. "I'm sorry about that, it was a misunderstanding-"
"One that cost him his life!"
"I didn't know you were still this pushy about it,"
I freeze. "I didn't know you were this blasé about it,"
"Gentlemen. Please," A new police officer stops us. We're all seated in a claustrophobic little room in the police office, hours after Darby was taken to the hospital. For whatever reason, they chose me to be questioned, even though there were several other witnesses as well. Officer Jacob probably just wanted another chance to convert me to his investigation. His department is running an investigation into the truth behind the Grave-Defenders, and he's been constantly trying to get one of us on his side. None of us will snitch though.
"Mr. Bittencourt, I'm Officer D. I know you are worried about this incident, but I'm sure you've noticed a pattern. This isn't the first time a murder has been attempted in Everstole. Not just your brother. There was the boy from Sharp who managed to get away, but ended up committing suicide a week later."
I know. I attended that funeral.
"You suspect foul play." I stated. Honestly, so did I, but I wasn't telling him that.
"We can gather the evidence, but only if you cooperate with us, Mr. Bittencourt."
"This has been a pleasant meeting and all-" I start, getting up.
"Look. I know you don't trust authority. I wouldn't if I were you either-" Officer Jacob bristled, "But we've got a new agent coming here next week. An FBI agent. He's solved every case he's approached so far."
"I see," I say blandly, heading for the door.
"You know you're next." I freeze. "The other Defender's murder attempts have been random, but Resurrection's has always had the same trend. The leader always gets killed."
"I'm not the leader. Darby's still alive," I growl. "I am not the leader, okay?"

"Mr. Bittencourt, I've seen how well your gang responds to you. Even if—when," he backtracks when he sees my expression, "When Darby gets better, anybody with eyes can tell that you're the one calling the shots."

I clasp my hands to stop them from trembling. A long moment passes and my thoughts swarm me. I really can't keep doing this. I'm so tired. Caiden wouldn't be mad at me for asking for help right?

I quietly ask, "When is this top-notch FBI agent arriving?"
"Next Tuesday."
"Will you be there?"
The officer sighs deeply, "Sadly."

Wow. Who knew police officers could be sarcastic. Someone hands something warm to me. Hot chocolate. I nod thanks to the kid who's probably the assistant. Doing so, the only thing that passes my mind is. HOT. And I'm not talking about the drink.
I really need to sleep.
"Also, one thing, before you go." Officer Jacob hands me a shovel.
The shovel Darby was hit with.
I accept it gingerly. I doubt the police truly know what the shovel symbolizes, but it's a sign of leadership. This shovel was passed down from leader to leader. Darby got this when Caiden died. We can't tell anyone else, because they'll start wondering why we need shovels. It'll definitely us away to what we really do.
"I've been wondering what it's for. All the graveyards have one," says Officer Jacob, looking at me carefully. Something in my expression must have given it away.
"The last time I saw it, it was covered in blood." I evade, and they let me leave. Though I'm sure Officer D threw me a suspicious glance as I left. The moment I'm alone, I grab the the shovel, and twist the top of the shovel. It comes off, and there's a note rolled up inside. My fingers are still covered with Darby's blood, and it smears onto the paper. "Fuck." I hiss.
I lean under the streetlights and start reading.
"Dreue I loved your brother. I loved Caiden more than my own damn life. Which is why I'm giving you the shovel in the event that I die. I know that I'm going to die. I also know that—" the blood blocks the words here. "—they'll get me. And when they do, I want you to get them back."
I stare at the words until they don't look right anymore.
It wasn't true.
Darby and Caiden? Caiden was only a year older than her, but—I shake my head. That's not important. Who is they? Frustration bubbles in me. Why is she giving it to me? She knows I hate being a Defender. I crush the letter and shove it in my pocket. It doesn't matter anyways. She's not going to die. Officer Jacob said she's fine. I'll ask her herself once she recovers.
But a niggling voice in the back of my mind reminds me that Officer Jacob isn't always right.

"Dreue Bittencourt!" I look up from my phone and resist the urge to sigh. "Yes, Ms. Jejune?"
"Why aren't you writing?" Our class is in the computer lab, typing up our superhero short story.
"I am, just on my phone."

"That's what they all say yet I highly doubt that. Using a computer would be a lot more productive."
"Umm. No." I say, and leave it at that. I've been on an iPhone since I was 3. I can type faster with my thumbs than on my keyboard.
"Dreue." Ms. Jejune sighs. "Look. I know what happened to your friend yesterday was tragic-"
I sneer, and keep typing.
"But that's no reason for this misbehavior,"
I keep typing.
"I'm calling the office-"
"Here!" I flip the screen towards her. "I finished the damn story. Go ahead and write me up."
Ms. Jejune stares at my phone, as the clanking of keyboards ceases temporarily and students turn to watch. "I'd always wondered why your previous teachers claimed it was impossible to argue with you." She shook her head. "That's a horrible story though. Redo it."
I stood up from my chair "But you didn't even read it—"
"Tough."
She stalked away and I seethed as I slumped back in my chair. Why am I doing Honors English anyway? I have zero motivation. And it's not like my parents care anyway...I think back to this morning. When they found out what had happened to Darby, my dad just silently handed me an extra five dollars in case I wanted to buy flowers for her and my mom just told me to stop bothering the maid with all the blood on my clothes.
I know they must love me, but after Caiden died, they became distant. Even more distant than they'd always been. They had never been normal, loving parents. Being CEOs of two giant companies tended to do that to you. All the latest technology in the world can't make up for the fact that my own parents don't care if I live or die. I doubt anyone in this town cares if I live or die.

Not even me.