Page 48 of Fractured

“Okay, honey. We’re next. We’ll pay our respects and then move on to give everyone else a chance,” Thea whispered in my ear, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Her arm was soft against my back, and I focused on that instead of the next step we took.

Then she squeezed me, and I knew. It was our turn. I was supposed to look and say a prayer, and move on. I could do this. This was the right thing to do. What normal people did.

Bracing myself, my spine shot straight up, and I opened my eyes.

There was Randolf. His usually messy white hair was neatly combed over to the side, and his skin color was all wrong. Lipstick covered his lips. This wasn’t what he looked like. Not even close. Didn’t they have anyone who could match colors better?

The tears I’d been holding back burst free from the mental dam I’d built in my mind. Snot dripped down my top lip, mingling with the salt of my tears. At some point, I’d stopped breathing.

I had to move closer to the casket. Even as everything in me rebelled, I had to move closer, and…

What was I trying to do?

Wipe away the shit makeup job?

Actually, this was better. If this empty shell didn’t look like him, I knew he wasn’t here. He wasn’t suffering anymore.

I curled my left hand over the side, the soft satin cool against my fingertips.

“I’m sorry, Randolf,” I leaned closer and whispered as quietly as I could. This was my goodbye, and I wanted no one else to hear it. “You were there for me and gave me a chance when I didn’t know I deserved one. I wish you all the best in the afterlife, wherever that may be. Fly high and play beautiful music. Maybe I’ll see you one day.”

For a second, I almost kissed his cheek, but I didn’t.

The music that had momentarily quieted down filled my ears again. This was it. My last goodbye. I blinked my eyes clear, but something strange happened.

My final look at Randolf should have been bittersweet. But his eyelids twitched. It looked as if his eyes were moving beneath the lids. I leaned closer as one of my tears fell on the shoulder of his suit jacket.

Then he opened his eyes.

Screaming, I backed up. All attention was on me, and Thea looked concerned. She took two steps toward me, and I fled.

I ran through the center of the room until I reached the double doors, then I blew through them. Around the corner I stopped and crouched down, sobbing my heart out.

Because I’d never wanted to be crazy until today. Just to escape, I had the tiniest hope that I could know the welcome oblivion it would bring. But what I just saw—thought I saw?—made me feel crazy, with none of the obscurity.

No, I was lost in a sea of physical unfeeling. I couldn’t feel the warm concrete beneath me or the bend in my legs, even though I hugged them. There was only one thing I did feel.

And that was afraid.

“Lilith, honey, are you okay?” Thea came hustling to me, falling to her knees in front of me, lifting my face with soft, weathered hands. Her gray hair seemed to float around her head like a halo, and for a second—

“No,” I wailed. My voice was high and wobbly. It was unrecognizable, only carrying tones of sadness, fear, and desperation. “He opened his eyes. I saw him. He opened his eyes. They were milky and I—I—” What else could I say?

And why did I feel like a child in this new state?

“Shhh.” She pulled me against her soft body and rocked me side to side. “That’s normal. It was a trick of the mind. Emotions are high, and I know you, like all of us, wish Randolf were back here with us. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never imagined anything in grief before. Sometimes, I swear I can hear my late Marcus talk to me at night.”

Miraculously, her acceptance soothed some wild beast inside me, and I quieted. I didn’t believe she really imagined things like I had just experienced, but I also felt a sliver of a kindred spirit with her for trying to relate.

“I can’t go back in there.”

“I know you can’t. It’s really over anyway. Just go home, and I’ll call you to check on you later. How’s that sound?” The maternal warmth had me nodding in agreement. I could do that. I might answer her call too.

“I swore I saw his eyes open,” I repeated.

“I promise, it didn’t happen. He’s really gone, honey, probably composing music with Johannes Brahms right now. You know Johannes was his favorite composer.”

I did know. He spoke about him whenever he’d had a few drinks, saying he had cut his teeth on his music as a young boy.

---