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“Henry, I never stopped loving you.”
“You’re right. You loved me too much. You stayed fighting for so long.”
"That’s what Peter would have done. He’d keep fighting." The wind whips around us, carrying the abrasive sound of the maintenance man scrubbing at the paint vandalized onto our parents’and brother’s gravestones.
“I know we are going to have conversations that make us angry and others that make us cry," I say, catching Henry's eye. "I’ll keep fighting if you let me.”
Each scrub the man makes against the stone echoes through the air, relentless and necessary. It's invasive, the way our wounds are exposed to the harshness of the world. But there's healing here, too, in the meticulous clearing away of each unwanted mark.
"Some wounds that have been left to fester have to be exposed in order to treat them and heal them properly. Maybe that’s what we’re doing here today—cutting open the hurt to clean it out, once and for all," I tell Henry as I reach out and grasp his hand. His skin is callused. I wonder what hardened his hand so much?
“When did you get so smart?” His lip tugs up, and a lightness begins to shine in his eyes.
“Around the age of nine months old. Genius struck early.” I joke.
I lean into him, suddenly feeling like a small girl again, except this time, the carousel of life has spun me right into a puddle of hopeful tears. Who knew cemeteries could double as therapy sessions?
“We should come back when it’s cleaned,” Henry suggests, the atmosphere around us lighter.
“I’d like that.” I step forward, clutching the flowers like a piece of my past I'm about to release. I’ll just put these down, and we can head out.”
Henry nods, a gesture loaded with the weight of unsaid words. His eyes don’t leave the font spelling out Peter’s name. Letters etched in stone now represent his twin.
Approaching the maintenance man, I clear my throat.“Excuse me,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady.“Sorry to bother you.” I gesture towards the grave, but the man doesn't look my way.“I'm going to leave these flowers here.” I gesture to the side where they won't bother his cleaning. I can’t help but notice the mask digging into his skin, those thick black protective glasses making him look like he’s about to weld the tombstone back to dignity.“Thanks for trying to fix this, and I'm sorry again that you have to clean this.”
I kneel down and gently place the flowers on the ground. My fingers hesitate before I release them.
There. The past is finally finishing, and soon, I can truly start a new life with Julian and now with my brother. A smile traces my lips.
The maintenance man ceases his scrubbing abruptly, his movements sharp and deliberate. He grabs his bucket, tosses the brush inside with a clang that pierces the somber silence, then starts rummaging through it with rough, hurried gestures. Suddenly, he pauses and looks up through the shadows cast by his protective glasses; his voice cuts through the chilly air, gruff and hauntingly familiar,“Oh, Poppy, always apologizing for everyone else.”
A sharp and sudden shiver slices down my spine, its graveled tone clawing at the raw edges of my nerves. It is unmistakable and hauntingly familiar.
My devil.
My demon.
My monster.
My heart stutters, dread pooling heavily in my stomach over the man who just spoke those words.
Chapter 47
Poppy
I shouldn’t be surprised by the voice. This place is where souls depart the earth, and what do demons love? Claiming souls. This is Andrew’s playground.
Everything in me freezes except my sweat glands, which suddenly decide to emulate the icy cold waters that flooded the Titanic.
You wouldn’t know it’s Andrew; a large sunhat conceals his hair, his eyes obscured behind safety glasses, but it’s the mask that truly disguises him. It covers his face to protect him from the paint-cleaning fumes and also from those hunting him.
“I taught you how to do that. Feel small. Apologize even when you didn’t need to,” Andrew says, his satisfaction hanging in the air like a heavy perfume that makes me want to vomit.
He did teach me that. Some lessons stick harder than others.
Finally, I can react. Unfortunately, Andrew does too.
I turn, eyes wide, to shout at Henry to run, but Andrew’s fast. He pulls a gun from his bucket and grips my arm tightly. I’m kneeling, so my balance is off, and I end up falling right into him.
