To Be...

Chapter 4

"Amen."

That was the word that ended my mother's funeral. Amen. So be it. So it is. In other words, she's dead. The end. The game is over.

Sheriff Blanton left me the keys to his car, and put his rough hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes and nodded, like it was a mutual understanding. After many sobbing women fell on top of me, expecting me to need comfort, and men pulling them away by the elbows, I was finally in peace. A small blue tent stood above the mound of gray soil, attached to four weak poles. The headstone was a white marble, and it matched perfectly to my father's beside it. Flowers were set on top of the dirt, and I became ashamed that I would never replace them. They would just stay there wilting away, like Emily and Aaron would.

Once everyone had left, I just stood staring at the two stones that commemorated my only family. I was now completely alone, homeless, and yet I felt no desire to cry. Instead, I kneeled and allowed myself to lean to my behind. I felt odd sitting alone with two dead people, surrounded by maybe seventy more. I felt even more strange when I felt the curiosity of the punctures manifest. She couldn't tell me now.

I didn't really want to cry. Not because I wasn't sad, or because I couldn't, but because I shouldn't. If I was going to fend for myself, I'd need to stop crying at all. Crying makes you raw, and vulnerable. It wears your emotions down so that anyone can hurt you.

"Sorry, mom. I can't cry. No foster family would want someone who cries all the time."

I watched the stones a moment more, for maybe a sign that it was alright. That she understood. Nothing happened. It was just a marble stone, like it was before. I sighed in slight disappointment.

I leaned to my feet, and as I did I saw someone standing at a grave a few meters away. This wouldn't have come as a surprise if not for a few reasons. First off, he was dressed in a torn t-shirt, baggy boot-cut jeans, and combat boots. Second, he was staring at me, not the grave at which he stood. Third and last, it was the very person to whom I had promised my death to. Leon noticed I had seen him, and took a few steps towards me. He wasn't as angry as the last time I saw him, but he still had a scowl shaped to his face.

"Is that the ordinary thing that people do? They converse with the dead? Where is the entertainment in that?"

I felt myself glare. Probably not rude enough, but it was all I had at the moment. I was sort of confused as to why he was here. They had already had a private funeral for his father, Efrain Kain, yesterday. Leon didn't look at me with the same vicious hatred as before, which also confused me. Maybe it had dulled down. Or maybe he is just ready to kill me, I reminded myself. Happier to kill me.

"If you're here to kill me, don't expect me to scream."

He laughed half-heartedly.

"Oh, that. Well, it seems, for now, I have been demanded to offer you a home instead. Of course, it is not in this town, if that matters."

I was filled to the brim with confusion. Why would he offer me a home, and why was he being kind? Well, not kind, but kind for his sense of the term.

"Why would I accept to live in a house with someone who wants to see me dead?"

His jaw twitched with agitation.

"Where will you be going then? To a house full of strangers, where you will leech off of them, and pretend to bond?"

His words struck the nail on the head. Anger burned in the back of my throat, and I had to swallow painfully hard in order to speak.

"And if I live with you? Wouldn't that be the same?"