The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter One

THE RULES OF

SURVIVAL

Mercer #1

Starzee 

Chapter One

No parent should outlive their child.

No mother should have to bury her son. For a mother to go through that experience twice in one lifetime was a torture I wouldn't wish on anybody.

I watched as Teresa's knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground, openly sobbing at the foot of her second son's grave. Her thin black coat eagerly soaked up the excess moisture from the damp ground, but she didn't notice. Every tormented gasp was accompanied by a little white cloud of air; the bitter cold would not be denied.

I stood immobile, observing her with detached curiosity as she wailed at the top of her lungs. Unkempt scraggly hair hung limply at her shoulders, cheap mascara running in rivulets under her eyes.

Beside me Mycha cried silently, chest heaving with every ragged breath he took. In his arms was Ryan, a look of fascinated interest in his bright blue eyes; at two years old everything was incomprehensible. He had no idea he'd just lost something incredibly important, that we all had.

On my other side Scout had no shortage of grief to express, her whimpers second only to Teresa's relentless wailing. Clutching Scout's right hand, Tanner likewise mourned, tears falling freely from eyes the color of jade. Her pale face stood out in stark contrast of her rich brown hair. I'd pulled it back into a braid earlier but lacked the energy to ensure an elegant finish. Looking at her now, I wished I'd taken the time to perfect it for the funeral.

Holding fast to Scout's left hand was Lucky. She was crying right along with her sisters, though not out of any sense of crippling grief. It was a knee-jerk reflex; Lucky cried whenever someone else was crying. She had no idea what the minister was saying. Words like death and tragedy were meaningless to a four year old; the veil of innocence hadn't yet been lifted from her eyes inducting her into the real world.

In the midst of my broken family in a pair of sensible black pants and a thin blouse, I remained stoic. Gusts of icy wind did their best to knock me off my feet, hair repeatedly slapping me in the face. And although I was front and center, it felt more like I was watching everything from a distance.

Six strangers lowered Kalen's coffin into the open grave at my feet. The minister concluded the service, offering his deepest sympathies. His words were barely discernible over the symphony of Teresa's cries and the howling wind. The small crowd in attendance gradually dispersed. Some stopped at the edge of the gaping hole to whisper their private goodbyes. Others threw flowers and small trinkets in, wishing Kalen well in the afterlife.

I was acutely aware of the fact that my eyes were dry. I hadn't shed a single tear for Kalen. Not when two policemen turned up on our doorstep to inform us of his death. Not during the funeral preparations, which I'd had to organize by myself. Not even now, during his last moments above earth. I was completely numb.

I stared vacantly at the people who'd barely known Kalen in his twenty short years of life but felt the need to pay their last respects. At Minister Franks, whose tired eyes revealed this aspect of his job was especially taxing. At Teresa, who'd crawled to the edge of the grave and probably would have gone in after Kalen's coffin if her co-worker Mitch hadn't stopped her.

Mitch looked my way, silently begging me to do something. I frowned at the woman he held. Did she truly wish another of her children had died in Kalen's place? Me, perhaps? It was no secret that Kalen, and Russell before him, had been her favorites. Now she'd lost both – Russell to a car accident when I was eleven, and Kalen to a merciless shooting last week.