(yeah, sure!)
Isobel watched her go, standing there for a moment longer. Conflict flickered across her features along with the shadows cast by the setting sun– how was she supposed to feel? The woman who she had cared for despite the fact that she'd snuck into her house was an illegal escapee from an asylum, who had followed her on a ten hour bus ride all the way to Montreal– what on Earth was she supposed to do? Turn her away? Turn her in?
This is ridiculous… there's no way that this is happening to me.. But it was, and she'd just have to deal with it. Funeral first. Get that done with. Then fix.. whatever this is.
Alice breathed out, intently listening for Isobel's retreating footsteps. Once they faded, she returned to the spot she'd just left. The air hung heavy with confession– a confession she'd sworn to herself would never see the light of day. Who knew what Isobel would do now?
And she doesn't even know the half of it, Alice thought grimly. She set her jaw, unsure of what to do. Again, she had no purpose. Where was she supposed to go now that she'd promised to leave Isobel alone?
She paced for a handful of seconds, then got dizzy. She emptied her mind of all rational thoughts as all they were doing was holding her down. And now it was clearer: Isobel was Alice's link to the sake world, and she needed her.
So she followed her once more.
It seemed to Isobel as if all the colour had been sucked out of the world.
The trees were leafless, barren, their trunks faded. The ground was paved with uneven stone tiles that prevented even a single blade of grass from peaking through. Each gravestone was a shade of grey or black, even white. The family members, near and distant, that she saw drifting around in aimless patterns were sporting the colour of death from head to toe. And their eyes– their eyes were so lifeless, she could imagine that they were corpses, risen from their resting places beneath her feet.
She imagined she looked the same, just another guest among them, her head bowed, eyes rimmed with red. She wore no colour, only a simple black dress and a hat tilted at an angle so that it shadowed her face. And in truth, she felt more like a ghost than the many that floated through this cemetery– if they were real, of course. Just… floating. Lost, untethered, unanchored. No purpose. Merely drowning in eternal emptiness and grief.
Alice stood by the wrought iron gate, staring at the flood of people marching into the graveyard, faces drawn and empty. She pulled the stolen black overcoat tighter around herself and gingerly ventured into the mass of people. Standing at the outskirts of the crowd, she peered through the bodies until she found what she was looking for: a dark, polished casket lay proudly by a deep hole, gleaming dully beneath the overcast sky.
She gently pushed ahead of the crowd, now standing at the edge of the inner rim of the circle of grieving souls.
Isobel's stepmother made a speech she couldn't force herself to listen to, something about how 'dearly she'd loved her husband' and 'how much she'd miss him' and about how heart-wrenching it had been to lose her two children as well. Most of those lies, most likely, she would be with another man by the end of the month. But why should that matter? She was a perfect woman, and it was a colourless world.
Then, it was Isobel's turn to make her speech. She had no paper, no script to read from. She just stood behind the three coffins, one for her father, the others for her half-siblings, and cleared her throat.
During the woman's speech, a strange feeling tickled Alice's mind, almost familiarity. Deja vu.
Alice forced herself to focus, really look at the woman talking. There was something wrong, so close, but Alice couldn't get to it. Then it was Isobel's turn to speak. She blankly walked towards the three coffins, empty-handed, anc cleared her throat.
It was clear from the way that the funeral guests sniffled that Isobel's speech was touching. The speaker herself had no grasp on what she was actually saying, she was too numb for that. No, she just let the words blow through her as if she was a reed, a flute, waiting to be played. And it seemed that she was doing things right.
She didn't realize that she was crying until she felt a wetness on her cheeks and observed that it was not raining.
Alice held her breath, latching onto every word Isobel uttered. It was a beautiful speech, emotional and seemingly practiced. As soon as she started crying, Alice followed. Overcome by the shared grief weighing down on the event, her tears joined those of the men and women surrounding her, mingling with the trampled earth, and through her tears the smaller caskets became that of Jack.
Alice inhaled sharply and shut her eyes.
"Thank you," she said quietly, hoarsely, and stepped away. A few more speeches were made, apologies were exchanged, and it was time for the burial. The caskets were lowered down into the large hole. Isobel could hardly watch as the guest went by, each with their own fistful of dirt to pour over the resting places of the dead.
Alice opened her eyes again when she felt the people moving around her. They were circling the now lowered caskets, throwing their handfuls of dirt. Alice dutifully took her turn, angling her head away from Isobel.
She circled back to her spot, head down, and found herself in front of a middle-aged woman whose shoulders shook with silent sobs.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Alice whispered.
Lorraine Davids raised her head at the sound of a voice, dried her eyes. But the face that greeted her was so chillingly familiar… but where has she seen it before? Definitely not as part of the family. “Thank you, dear. You were one of his friends?”
Alice hesitated. She couldn't get the familiarity out of her head. She just nodded, trying to clear her mind and figure out who this woman was.
“What was your name?” she asked quietly. “I’m sorry- I never met many of his friends.”
"Alice Murray." A flash of recognition. A specific scene she'd tried all too many times to forget about. Her heart dropped, and she stared.
Alice… Murray… Lorraine’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. But that’s not possible…… No. it’s a common name.
A choked sound came out of Alice's open mouth and she took a step backwards. She repeatedly shook her head, scar throbbing, psin thriving. It was all coming back to her now.
"No," she breathed raggedly.
"But I didn't– I didn't say anything……." Lorraine trailed off, understanding dawning in her eyes. Her head swam, trying to wrap around the concept that this woman was here at her husband and children's funeral. The grief that had threatened to overwhelm her was suddenly muted by the threat present, and she stumbled backwards, reaching for her phone.
Alice immediately caught the movement. "What are you doing?" she gasped. She caught Lorraine's arm midway to her pocket and held on to it. "What are you doing?" she repeated, throat tight.
Lorraine jerked away, a spark of fear igniting in her eyes. She didn't respond, only slipped away from the crowd as quickly as possible, dialing a number with trembling hands.
"No, no no, you're not doing anything with that," Alice said at normal volume. She marched up to Lorraine, flung her phone to the ground and smashed it with her shoe.
"Why are you here?" she whispered threateningly.
Lorraine stared in shock and disbelief. "My husband and children just died!! What are you doing here?"
Alice let out a sharp laugh. "It hurts, doesn't it? The loss of a child." The tears were dangerously close to falling.
