by Lori Drake
While Joey let herself back out of the apartment with Sam in tow, he remained behind. He wouldn’t be able to ride with them to the funeral home anyway, so he decided to get some practice in while they were in transit. It seemed like he’d had the most success interacting with the physical world when he wasn’t thinking about it, when it was just instinct. The harder he’d focused on what he was trying to do, the more elusive success became.
He experimented with closing his eyes as he moved around the apartment. His legs bumped against furniture, and when he felt around with his hands he could touch things. However, when he tried to do more than touch, his fingers passed right through whatever he was touching. It was as if the act of thinking about it somehow interfered.
Thinking about touching things wasn’t the only thing interfering, before long. The air stirred around him and he heard her voice calling to him.
“Christopher… come back to me, Christopher…”
The call was faint at first. Distant. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, continuing with his practice. It wasn’t unlike dance rehearsal. He’d always been taught to leave his baggage at the door when stepping into the studio. Literally, as well as figuratively. In rehearsal, everything else came second. There was only the music, the movement, and his partner.
Of course, the tribulations of the living had nothing on this bitch’s siren call. The longer he ignored it, the stronger it became until he felt the by now familiar sensation of being physically pulled away.
“You can’t resist me, Christopher… trying just makes it harder on you.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?” He finally broke, yelling the words into the empty room. “What can you possibly gain from torturing me again and again?”
It was as if the act of speaking allowed her to zero in on him. Her voice became clearer, but the room remained empty.
“It’s not about what I have to gain, Christopher. It’s about what you have to lose.”
He howled as the searing agony overtook him once more. Instead of closing in on him it welled from within, burning away his resistance, consuming his thoughts and emotions like so much dry tinder.
Once they finished up at the funeral home, Sam swung Joey by the impound lot so she could pick up Chris's car. Technically, they had been co-buyers, but it’d always been Chris's baby. She took one look at the four-year-old white BMW 335i when they rolled up on it and her chest tightened. Four years, and he’d done every scrap of maintenance and repair himself. The pampered thing had never even seen the inside of a Quick Lube.
“You coming?” Sam said.
Joey had barely realized they’d stopped, much less that he’d gotten out, but she nodded and joined him outside the truck, keys in hand. Her sensitive nose was assaulted with particles the moment she opened the door.
“Ugh, there’s fingerprint dust everywhere,” she said, waving her hand in front of her nose in an effort to clear the air and ward off another sneeze. “Harding sure has a different definition of ‘clean’ than I do.”
“Might want to drive back to the house with the windows open,” Sam suggested.
Joey leaned over and pushed the driver’s seat into an upright position, then frowned as she scanned the rest of interior. The floor mats had been pulled up and tossed carelessly into the back seat, and the contents of the glove compartment littered the front passenger seat. Chris's gym bag sat in the passenger floor well, some of its contents hanging out and all of its zippers unzipped.
Joey frowned in consternation. “There’s only one place I’m going right now, and that’s a car wash.”
“How about we head back to the house and I help you clean?”
Joey eyed her brother where he stood with one hand on the door. His effort to herd her back to the house chafed, but it’s not like she didn’t have to go back anyway.
Pick your battles, Joey. This isn’t where you want to plant your flag.
She climbed in and settled behind the wheel before answering. “Fine. Try to keep up.”
Sam smirked but pushed the door closed and stepped back. “Drive safely.”
The engine roared to life as she turned the key. As the air conditioner kicked on, plumes of black dust rose to assault her sensitive nose once more. She quickly turned the fan off, then adjusted the mirrors and seat, wishing she still had a pair of those latex gloves from the mortuary. Her fingers were already smudged with black dust, and she knew she was going to have it everywhere.
It was hard to get past the fingerprint dust, but underneath it Joey could still smell Chris inside the car. His scent wouldn’t linger long, especially with the scrubbing that she had in mind for the interior. She decided to drive back with the windows closed after all.
They arrived back at the house to the news that Chris's funeral was set for that evening. An evening funeral was customary for modern wolves. Older traditions said that wolves should only be buried after the moon had risen, but that could be difficult to orchestrate in this modern era. Now, outside of hardcore traditionalists, most packs settled for something around sunset.
Joey had about four hours to kill before she had to start getting ready. You wouldn’t think it would take too long to clean the inside of a car, but Joey was nothing if not thorough. Sam threw in the towel, literally, at about the two hour mark. He mumbled something about obsession and grief as he wandered off.
By then, Joey had well and truly lost herself in the task. She’d found her zen place, where her troubles seemed easier to bear and she felt closer to Chris than she had since he’d died. Caring for something that had meant so much to him felt like honoring him, too. It seemed a fitting way to pass the afternoon on a day that was supposed to be all about honoring him. By the time she was satisfied, it was time to wash up and get ready for the funeral.
Adelaide had arranged for a limousine to take them all to the cemetery, but Joey insisted on driving herself. Jon and Sara volunteered to ride with her, preventing it from becoming a bigger issue. The family rode in a somber procession, following the hearse from the funeral home to the cemetery. It was a human tradition, but one that held a different kind of meaning for wolves. After all, no pack ever traveled faster than its weakest member.
There were more people gathered at the cemetery than Joey had expected. Joey wasn’t sure if there had even been an announcement in the paper, and she hadn’t told anyone about it herself other than Cheryl. Despite that, there was a crowd of no fewer than fifty mourners. Joey had wanted to be a pallbearer, but it would have been too conspicuous for a small woman like her to be hoisting the casket with the big strong men. Instead, she walked with Sara and her mother behind the casket while her brothers and father served as pallbearers.
Resigned to playing her part, Joey scanned the crowd as they filed in. There weren’t enough chairs by half; the only empty ones were those reserved for immediate family. Cathy, her mother’s best friend and Joey’s godmother, sat adjacent to the reserved chairs. The older woman met her eyes from afar, but Joey couldn’t hold her sympathetic gaze for long. The urge to run over and fling her arms around her was too strong.
Joey recognized most of the other attendees too. There were a lot of friends, human and lycanthrope alike, and colleagues too. The San Diego ballroom community was a tight-knit one, for all its competitive nature. Cheryl was there, of course, and Joey assumed that the black-veiled woman beside her was Emma. Joey couldn’t make out Emma’s features beneath that veil, but she got the impression of white skin and dark glasses.
She eyed anyone present that she didn’t recognize with suspicion. Could the killer be among them? It’d be twisted, but she couldn’t discount the fact that the funeral was a prime opportunity to get the rest of the pack together, out in the open and exposed.
There was a large portrait of Chris on an easel beside the headstone. The picture looked a couple of years old, but it was a good one. As her father cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, she studied the portrait thoughtfully. She re
membered the day that photo was taken. A family picnic. He was smiling, healthy and tan, blue eyes warm within their fringe of dark lashes. He wore his hair a little longer then. She’d always liked it that way.
Did I ever tell him that? Probably not. I should have.
Reginald didn’t speak at length, but she barely heard any of it. Mostly, she focused on trying not to cry while she sat in the front row, holding a single white rose in a black-gloved hand. Her eyes roamed the headstone-dotted landscape around her. She noticed an unfamiliar man standing under a nearby tree, off alone to one side but clearly watching the proceedings. He had short, curly brown hair and a scruffy unshaven look going on. His black leather jacket was a little out of place on such a warm evening, and he wasn’t dressed in funeral attire. Maybe that’s why he stood out, or maybe it was the way he was watching the goings-on from the fringes. His presence raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
“Joey?”
Reginald’s voice called Joey back to the ceremony. She tore her eyes from the stranger and found her father looking at her expectantly. It was time. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and rose from her squeaky plastic chair to trade places with him. Joey hadn’t prepared any remarks. Instead, she’d planned to speak briefly from the heart. Once she stood at the podium, looking out on the sea of familiar faces, she wasn’t really sure what to say. How do you say goodbye to someone who had been by your side as long as you could remember? How do you let them go, send them off to be buried in the cold hard ground?
“Chris was more than a brother to me,” she began. “He was my partner, in dance and in life. He had this way about him, you know? Wherever he went, he made friends. I guess one of us had to do it.” There was a quiet chuckle from the crowd at that. Joey wasn’t exactly known for her easygoing personality. “He loved to dance. It brought him such joy, and that joy was infectious. People assumed that he just went along with it when I started dance lessons as a kid, but it was actually the other way around. I don’t think I would’ve come to love dance as I do, without him. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever love it the same way again. He was a ray of sunlight in a world with too many dark corners, and I hope that wherever he is now there’s plenty of music with a good beat to dance to.”
Quiet murmurs of agreement sounded among the attendees, and Joey stepped over to set her rose atop the casket. Her vision swam as tears welled in her eyes, dripping down her cheeks unbidden. Pressing gloved fingertips to her lips, she touched the coffin lid with them before returning to her seat.
When she looked over again, the man by the tree was gone. It wasn’t as comforting as it perhaps should have been.
Once the service was complete, guests began coming forward to place flowers on the grave. As they did, Joey lined up with her family so they could thank everyone for coming and receive their condolences. It was pretty much the last thing Joey wanted to do. She wanted to run, to find somewhere to hide. Preferably somewhere dark, with lots of sweaty bodies around, moving to the pulse of a rhythmic beat. Instead, she stood there stiffly, shaking hands and murmuring absent thanks until she found herself face to face with an unfamiliar woman.
The woman was barely taller than she was, so she didn’t have to look up far to meet her eyes.
“I don’t think we’ve met, what’s your name?” she asked, holding on to the woman’s hand longer—and a little more tightly—than necessary.
The woman seemed confused by this sudden inquiry, probably having planned to just shake hands and move on. Her brows lifted, blue eyes wide beneath long red bangs. “Marie,” she said, softly. “Nice to meet you, um, aside from the circumstances. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for coming, it means a lot. How did you know Chris?” Joey asked, casually.
The other woman tried to reclaim her hand, but Joey held on. “We dated briefly,” Marie said, in a strained voice. “I just thought I should pay my respects.”
Joey narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She was holding up the line now, and people were starting to notice. “When? How briefly?” she pressed, ignoring the looks she was getting until she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.
Leaning down, he murmured quietly, “Not the time, Kitten.”
Frowning, Joey released Marie’s hand. The small woman teetered and nearly fell over as she stumbled backward, eyeing Joey like she was crazy. Then she turned and hurried off in the direction of the parking lot, skipping the rest of the line.
Joey watched her go, lifting her hand to sniff it under the pretense of dabbing a tissue to one eye. Marie’s scent was disappointingly unfamiliar.
Her parents didn’t give her the opportunity to interrogate anyone else, but she paid a lot more attention to scents after that, whether it was a subtle inhalation while accepting a hug or a surreptitious sniff of her hand after a handshake. None of the scents she was on alert for appeared.
“Josephine! Have you lost your mind?” her mother hissed, when it was done. The immediate family were all that was left by then, gathered in a small cluster beside the casket. The groundskeepers stood discreetly aside, waiting for the opportunity to lower the casket and start the business of filling in the hole.
Joey looked over at her mother, lips drawn in a tense frown. She straightened, lifting her chin in defiance as she openly met her mother’s furious gaze. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”
The apology was there, but her attitude didn’t do much to soothe her agitated Alpha. Conflicted emotions danced across Adelaide Grant’s face until her husband slipped an arm around her waist, distracting her. Joey wasn’t the only one having trouble controlling herself today.
“Come on, let’s go home and put all this to rest,” he said, ever the peacemaker. Adelaide glanced at the casket, then at Joey again, giving her an “I’m not done with you yet” look before turning toward the parking lot.
“I’m not coming home,” Joey said.
Adelaide stopped dead in her tracks, pivoting slowly to swing her stormy eyes back toward her youngest child. That look would have made Joey squirm a few years ago, but her spine was stronger now.
“Yes, you are,” Adelaide said, firmly.
“No, I’m not. I’m not going to hide behind your skirts anymore.”
“This is serious, Josephine. We’re safer together. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“You’re right, it’s not. I’m not going,” Joey challenged, taking a step forward. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Adelaide approached until they were practically nose to nose. Neither was willing to back down. It wasn’t in their nature. They might have stood there until Chris was buried and grass started to grow over their feet if no one had stepped in.
“We’re all shaken by this unexpected loss,” Reginald said, coming to stand beside them with a hand on each woman’s shoulder. “Kitten, you know your mother just wants you to be safe.”
“I know,” Joey said, her eyes remaining focused on her mother’s. Challenging. She would not be the first to look away.
“Why don’t you want to come home with us?” he probed, gently.
When she didn’t answer right away, a voice from the peanut gallery offered, “Use your words.”
Joey did look away then, but only to shoot Ben a tiny glare. He smiled at her, unrepentant, and with the intense eye contact between Joey and her mother broken, some of the tension flowed out of the encounter. Joey took a deep breath.
“Because it’s not my home anymore, and I don’t need constant supervision. What happened to Chris was…” she stumbled, not quite having a word ready that adequately conveyed the sheer tragedy of it all. “Beyond awful. But whoever did that to him had the advantage of surprise. If they come for me, I’ll be waiting. I’ll be ready. And I’ll rip their fucking throat out.” There was a harshness to her words that surprised even her. She heard a soft, feminine gasp from her sister-in-law, but whether it was over the sentiment or the fact that she’d used the “f
word” in front of her parents, Joey couldn’t say. Sara was easily scandalized.
The expression on Adelaide’s face changed, anger giving way to speculation as she studied her offspring for a long moment. Finally, she gave Joey a small, tight nod. Without another word, the Alpha turned and departed calmly.
Reginald and Ben held back while the rest of the pack followed Adelaide. Ben grinned and gave Joey a hearty handshake. He might have said something, but a level look from their father sent him hurrying off to join the others. Joey got a slightly warmer look.
“It would ease my mind to hear you made it home okay,” he said, neither insisting she call nor saying outright that it was Adelaide that would be most appeased by such an action—and when Adelaide was appeased, everyone rested easier.
Nodding, Joey rose up on her tiptoes to give her father a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
She stood by the casket long after he was gone, but she invited the groundskeepers to begin their labor. They were eager to finish before it was fully dark, and who could blame them? Listening to the dull thud of earth landing on the flower-strewn casket lid, she studied the gray marble headstone for the first time.
CHRISTOPHER RYAN MARTIN
BELOVED SON, BROTHER AND FRIEND.
“Rest in peace,” she murmured softly, tears spilling from her eyes.
When Chris came to himself again, he lay on the couch in the living room. Sitting up with a groan, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Everything ached, and the shards of his broken memory glittered behind his lowered lids like glass fragments, scattered beyond repair.
There was something, though. Something he did remember. Something about Money. Nickels. She wants nickels.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d so much as glimpsed a nickel.
It made no sense, unless he had been spiritually hijacked by some sort of mad coin collector mistaking him for another Chris Martin. If all she wanted was money, she would have been better off leaving him alive. His parents would have paid a fortune for his safe return, but no amount of currency could facilitate that now.