Black Mist: Seedling

17. Goodbyes

The funeral for Mr. Bennett was held a week later in the theater, and as Alastair ushered the guests in, he was distracted. He had been standing a few feet away from where Bennett's body ended up when the shots went off. And when the smoke cleared, he saw one of their best teachers fallen. Bloody. Alastair stared at the frayed edges of the holes where the bullets had passed through Bennett's shirt and into his stomach. His face was slack, as if all the muscles had relaxed, and his mouth hung open like a hooked fish. There was no question that he was dead. Cain, who had been swept along in the darkness too, knelt beside him to check anyway, as if that somehow gave him comfort.

Alastair noticed something crushed in Bennett's right hand, and reached down to take it.

"Wait, Alastair," Cain said quietly. "Let me." The teacher peeled back Bennett's hardening fingers to reveal an ID badge. He flipped it open. "John Roberts," he read quietly. "Federal Bureau of Investigation, IC Division. What's the IC Division?" he asked of no one in particular.

A heavy silence had fallen over the room, mottled by the occasional heaving of sobs. Alastair could not move his eyes from Bennett's face, could not fathom what had happened. Obviously, he had been shot by one of the intruders. And the intruders were apparently, us? Our government? These were questions for the police, who stepped inside the lobby ready to take over. Alastair noticed that Cain slid the ID into his pocket rather than leaving it for the police. Maybe this question wasn't for them after all.

The sound of mournful music and crowds crushing past brought Alastair back to the present. The younger students had been sent home two weeks early, but the secondary kids all wanted to attend the funeral and so had been allowed to remain in spite of the sense of danger. Now, the auditorium was filled with current and past students and staff, parents, and Mr. Bennett's wife and family. His body was displayed in a casket on the stage, surrounded by flowers.

Alastair joined the other SOs mourning down in the fifth row, wondering about the dark mist. Who had cast that choking, noxious cloud? Surely not Bennett. Definitely not Cain. Alastair's heart began to pound as he recalled the book sitting on Mr. Jackson's desk when he spilled the coffee. Ancient Incantations. Cain taught incantations. And that page. Alastair had thought at the time that the strange note had been folded inside the book randomly. Perhaps not. The writing had been fancy, elaborate calligraphy. But Alastair knew for certain he had read the Latin words "obfocco," and "nebula." "Choke" and "cloud."

No, he thought, shaking his head. It can't be him. He found it hard to focus on the ceremony.

Rose sat at the back of the theater, steeped in sadness. Good people seemed to die whenever they became a part of her life. She squeezed her eyes closed remembering the small, waxy form of Marie when she died last year. Rose had gone downstairs to breakfast only to find Marie dead at the kitchen table, her empty eyes staring blindly at the fridge. Then there were her parents and RJ. She was overwhelmed with the feeling she should never let anyone close again. They'll just die too.

Doctor Olivier stood and spoke at the podium, disrupting her self-pity.

"James Bennett was one of the finest teachers we've had at this school, but more, he was one of the finest men I have ever known. He was brave. James was the first to dash into danger if it meant helping someone."

Rose looked around at the nodding crowd. She wallowed in the guilt of his loss. Those men had come for her, but Bennett died. He was the only one she had told about her brother, about healing. He was the only one she had spoken to since Avery beat her into silence. She covered her face in her hands as hot tears began to fall again.

"He was full of integrity. James could not be swayed from what he believed was right, and it was his goal to impart that passionate obstinacy to his students," Olivier scanned his eyes across the room. "He wanted you to believe in something. He wanted you to stand for something. He wanted you to fight for what is right. Let that be his legacy. Believe. Stand. Defend your rights. Fight for others. Make a difference, as he did."