Aliens on Aventine Hill

Prometheus [Part 2]

Gray shrugged on the tailored jacket. He had worn it to his mother's funeral what seemed like yesterday and yet the seams hung ridiculously loose at his sides. Had he really lost that much weight? He felt gaunt and fragile under the gaze of the mirror.

He leaned closer, studying his face and gingerly probing a couple of the bruises. They had turned ugly yellow brown. The circles beneath his eyes were a deeper purple. He rubbed at his cheekbone, jutting out from under his skin like a cliff.

Did he still recognize himself?

"Remy...?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the little boy hanging in the doorway. The elder brother bent down and numbly knotted his younger brother's tie, "Round and round the garden..."

There was only white noise on the radio.

A somber tone hung over the cemetery. It was a grey, rainy morning. Some in the procession held big, black umbrellas over their shoulders. More chairs had been set out than were needed; an aisle split the white, plastic rows down the middle.

At the front of the assembly was a small, humble podium around which the funeral director and priest milled about. Behind them, the coffin—a thing of simple but elegant design—rested on a bed of silk.

Gray didn't want to think about what lay beneath that dark pine lid. He tried hard not to think at all, but his mind wandered as he stared bleakly ahead. No doubt they would bury him in his best suit, with a black silk tie around his neck.

Gray loathed the thought. Arnold, sweet old Arnold, had been a man of argyle sweaters and khaki trousers. He deserved to rest in comfort. They had done that to his mother too. Buried her in a stiff linen dress instead of her beloved pink mohair sweater. Who was there to impress?

Trying to distract himself, Gray scanned the crowd. He spied Lola a little way away, one hand fingering the little gold cross hanging from her throat as she chatted with some other grad students.

Joseph was sitting in the front, agitatedly drumming his fingers on his thigh. The bruises on his face were just as ugly on those on Gray's. Gray tried hard not to look at the ones on his throat.

Loyal professors populated the middle rows, speaking in low, grim voices. A few curious university students hung in the back, chatting easily amongst themselves, while a few brave, if insensitive, sophomores circled the professors with rehearsed offers of condolences intended to network rather than console. AC's Sci-Fi Club was in attendance, proudly displaying their ugly enamel pins on their lapels. Gray had been to a couple meetings with Arnold; they'd been reading Stranger in a Strange Land.

Gray looked for Arnold's daughter amongst the others, but she was absent. He hadn't expected her to be here, but one could hope. He wondered if she knew, or if she didn't, if she could feel it. Wherever she was, Gray hoped she was happy. Arnold had really loved her.

His eyes landed on another figure. Her hair had been straightened, and in her black dress he had mistaken her for one of the university students. Gray felt his jaw clench—today of all days!

Her cornflower blue eyes caught him staring with a furious blush, and Alice quickly turned back towards Joseph, who was sitting a few rows in front of her. Gray let out a tense sigh, relief fighting with regret.

The director, her father Gray guessed, called people to their seats. Roman took his hand and led him towards the first row. Gray tried not to look at Joseph. His eyes caught another gaze, "What is he doing here?!"

"It's a small town, Gray," Joseph hissed at him, glancing quickly at the wolf-faced police officer, "He has every right to be here."

Gray glanced at his friend, who quickly turned his face away, teeth gritted. He could see the bruises like his fingerprints on Joseph's neck, peeking over the collar of his button-up.