Page 1 of Ghost

Prologue

In the grand scheme of things, the loss of human life goes unnoticed. Not surprising, as one hundred and five people die with each revolution of the clock’s second hand. Loss after regretful loss, the world, however, continues to turn.

Nonetheless, on that day the planet’s balance was askew.

The straps from the lowering device steadied the casket over the grave, giving it an appearance as if it were hovering over the darkened opening that lied beneath it. The beautiful Rosetan velvet interior was concealed from view, as was the body that had encapsulated the gracious soul for more than three decades.

A man and a woman stood hand in hand beside the casket. The man’s jaw was clenched tight, a product of his inability to accept the untimely death of the deceased. I would have given my own life to spare this one, he thought.

The woman, wearing a black dress and matching coat, rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Beneath San Diego’s midday sun, she filled with regret for her choice in attire. She nonchalantly raised her left hand to her cheek and wiped a tear, hoping the action would go unnoticed. Nothing made sense to her. How much grief, she thought, should one person endure in a lifetime?

The grieving added to the profound pain that whittled away at her heart.

In the distance, the drone of five approaching motorcycles gave hint that the deceased’s parents would not lament alone. As the men grew closer, startled birds flew from a row of Weeping Acacias that decorated the roadside.

The motorcycles parked side by side beneath the blanket of shade the trees provided. One by one, the men, clad in jeans, black tee shirts, and black leather boots, dismounted their motorized steeds and turned toward the gravesite.

After glancing at the flock of birds, one of the men reached into his right pants pocket, feigned surprise, and paused. “I need to grab something,” he said, directing his remark toward no one. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He turned toward his motorcycle and lowered his head slightly. A tear rolled along the bridge of his nose, and then lingered at the edge of his nostril before it trickled onto his upper lip. Unlike the mother, he didn’t brush it away.

He’d promised not to.

As he prayed for a breeze that never came, he peered toward the distant horizon. Their last days together came to mind, and with them came slivers of peace. With some hesitation, he turned around and swallowed the lump of compassion that had risen in his throat.

He then took the first step of many that he knew he’d be taking without the deceased at his side.