Darkwood Falls Paranormal Investigators Book One: The Dead Truth

Chapter Seventeen

"She had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life when there was nothing physically wrong.  She hurt all the time." - Stephen King, The Shining

     "This is them.  Gary and Susie Nelson," Brandon said.

     I stared at the names engraved on the stones in front of me, then bent down to run my hand across the letters.  As I stood in front of their graves in the pouring rain with Brandon, I was reminded briefly of a similar day in which Brandon and I had stood over their dead bodies.

     It was only five years prior to that moment in the graveyard that Brandon and I stood over the closed caskets at their visitation, staring at them as people walked around us as if extras in a movie.  I remembered thinking how weird the tradition is for people to bury the bodies of their dead loved ones.  We put them in wooden boxes; the nicest we can afford, which happened to be paid for by Brandon's mom and dad.  My parents' special boxes were a deep, rich cherry wood.  Who really gave a damn about the wood they were buried in?

     The smell of flowers was so overwhelming it made me feel sick.  Lilies.  There were lilies everywhere.  Why is that the flower of the dead?  Why were flowers so important in such an event of burying bodies?  And why do we wear black?  I guess it is a somber color, but how will that help the dead or their abandoned loved ones?

     I pushed back the sleeves my black long sleeve dress and scratched my legs that were itchy from the stupid black tights.  My feet ached in the high heels that I never wore, and I pulled my red hair off my wet, sweaty neck.  It was June, so it was hotter than three hells in that funeral home.

     People kept passing by me as I stared at the closed caskets and randomly patting my shoulder, or pulling me into an awkward hug.  A few people who worked with my parents would stop to tell me a story about how great they were.  Brandon stood loyally by me the entire time.  His parents were a few feet away, chatting with a group of people who all looked teary-eyed.

     There was a moment when everyone seemed to be distracted by the food someone brought in, and Brandon laid a hand on my shoulder.  "I know I've already said it before, but I am so sorry, Shawn."

     "I'm not."  I said the words before I could stop them from leaving my mouth.

     He removed his hand, looking shocked.  "What? What do you mean?"

     I stared at him, contemplating my next words.  How would Brandon feel about me after I admitted what I had been feeling for years?

     Another one of my parents' co-workers walked up; a very thin, older lady with gray hair.  She pulled me into a tearful hug as I patted her awkwardly on the back.  After the lady retreated, I turned back to Brandon to continue our conversation.

     "I'm glad they're dead," I whispered to him so the people milling around us couldn't hear.

     "You don't mean that.  You're just upset. . ." he said, a look of worry on his face.

     "I'm not upset," I said, firmly.  "I should be dancing on their fucking graves right now."

     "Shawn!" he said, looking around to make sure no one else heard me.  "Since when do you curse?"

     "Since right fucking now," I hissed.

     I couldn't bare to see him continue to look at me the way he was.  I couldn't tell, but I thought I almost saw a hint of disgust on his face.