Funeral.
When I was seventeen, I went to my grandmother's funeral. She died peacefully in her sleep. She had Alzheimer, couldn't remember who I was, and had to ask my mom every time we went to see her. Jamie and I didn't know anything about her. We went to the service, surrounded by strangers; some grieved, some shared each other memories, while Jamie and I stood there and chatted about something else. My mom told me to bid my granny farewell. I expressed it. I didn't have any sentiments for her. I was sad because my mom was sad.
A week ago, I just broke the rule. Instead of punishment, Death sent me a message; August, on the other hand, spent 12 hours in the void since he failed to supervise me.
I didn't think Death would let me attend my own funeral, but I was mistaken. August was given a name, and that person was to attend my funeral. So, we followed her to Bright Lake, Wisconsin. It had only been less than two weeks, yet I had missed this place so much.
Bright Lake was a town located in northeastern Wisconsin. The population was 272 people. In town center, we only had one pub and one convenience shop that had everything we needed. There was only one elementary school. All kids in the neighborhood attended this school.
Bright Lake Cemetery, surrounded by nature and next to Long Lake, was my resting place. The vista was amazing, the lake gleaming in the sunlight, but not as lovely as Jericho, there was no place like Jericho.
My parents stood beside each other, holding hands. Jamie stood close to my mother, his eyes red. I've seen Jamie cry before, but it was when he was a baby. He was trying so hard to keep his tears from falling. My heart ached as I saw my family. I expected to live to see my parents' burial because that was the plan. I should be the one who buried them, not the other way around.
What surprised me the most was that Detective Carhart traveled from New York City to attend my funeral. He greeted my family but then remained silent. My body was buried far beneath the ground after the service.
"Did you go to your funeral?"
August shook his head. He became colder after the punishment. I couldn't blame him because it was my fault. I tried to be a good follower but seeing my parents didn't make me feel better. I did not want to leave them. Not like this.
"Do you know who did it?" My brother confronted Detective Carhart while our parents were talking to the guests.
"I can't share that information with you."
Detective Carhart looked older than the last time I saw him, with black circles under his eyes. It had only been a few weeks, but the case had already worn him down.
"She's my…she was my sister. I have the right to know." Jamie locked his gaze on the detective. I'd never seen him look at anyone with such intensity before.
"I'm sorry. I can't," he said, his eyes sympathetic and understanding. "I'm here to pay my respects, and I want you and your parents to know that I won't stop until I find the criminal."
As I was listening to the conversation, I wanted to tell the detective about the killer's appearance and his license plate number. I wished I could say something. I knew I can touch human, but I was afraid of breaking the rules. I could take the punishment, but I didn't want to cause any problems for August. He wasn't supposed to suffer as a result of my actions.
I turned away from my brother and toward my mother. Her eyes redden, and her hands are clasped in front of her. She was the one who pulled our family together after my father suffered a stroke two years ago, forcing him to leave his job and be treated at home. He was better now, but I prevented him from looking for work because I would be the one to support for the family. So, my father could relax and spend the remainder of his day doing something less stressful.
Seeing my mom and dad tried to keep themselves together in front of the guests made me wanted to hug them close and tell them it was okay, I was okay. Of course, it was a lie, but what else could I say? What else could I possibly do for them?
I should not have come. What was I thinking by attending my own funeral? What would I expect to see? There was no way I could see their smiles, or their happiness.
Can a grim reaper cry?
No, was the answer. It didn't matter how much my head hurt or how much every muscle in my face hurt. My eyes did not well up with tears.
I wasn't surprised to see none of my coworkers at the funeral. We only met for one day. They had no reason to be here.
Can a grim reaper get hurt emotionally?
The answer was yes. If only I had more time to spend with them, we could become good friends and hang out every day. I wish I hadn't died.
August and I followed our target, Laura Adams, 47, to my parents' place. She had been a friend of my mom's since they were in college. Laura, who lived in Newark, heard of the discovery of my body. When my parents flew to New York City to identify my body, she met them. Laura made the decision to attend the funeral. I hadn't met her before. It was a long time before my time. She was nice to my mom and tried to help her as much as she could. However, her kidneys would fail during the next two days, resulting in her death within a week. The symptoms had presented themselves on her body, with swollen ankles and hands, and she had lost her appetite. She hadn't eaten anything since arriving in Wisconsin. She was aware of it, but she didn't care.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom while everyone else was in the living room. It looked exactly the same as when I left. The room was painted with light blue color, my favorite color. The furnishings were white and black. My favorite novels and textbooks were stored on the bookshelves. I didn't bring them all to my New York City apartment because it would be too much. My graduation portrait was displayed on the wall, and there was another in the living room. My mom placed them there for me, saying that the photo would remind me of how determined I was as a student and as a person. Since high school, I've been judged since my family wasn't wealthy and I lived in a small town. That's why I had to work so hard in order to be noticed and accepted. They believed that I would never be successful. By enrolling at Wharton, I had proven them wrong. They weren't entirely wrong, were they? I failed to achieve success. I died.
Looking at the graduation portrait on the wall, I remembered how happy my parents were. They were proud of me. They told everyone in town. Everyone in the photo was happy, including my brother. We bickered and disagreed a lot, but it was how we showed our love for one other.
The heavy footsteps approached the room slowly. It was my mom. She stopped in front of the room, her gaze fixed on my bed, her thoughts drifting away from reality.
I approached her and suddenly came to a halt. I couldn't hug her. She was unable to see me. We were only a few inches away, yet we were kept apart.
I stepped aside when my mom entered the room. She sat on the bed, staring at the same photo I had just looked at. My lower lip twisted into a smile. I studied her while she looked at my photograph. She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was talking to me, missing me, and longing to see me.
"Mom," I called out, knowing she couldn't hear me. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I can't be with you. I'm sorry that this happened. I'm sorry that I can't keep my promise that I was going to take care of you and dad and Jamie. I'm sorry that I've to leave you. Mom, you're going to be okay. I know you do."
The more I talked, the more enraged I became. This would not have happened if it hadn't been for that man. My family wouldn't have to go through this tragedy. My mom wouldn't have to stroke my blanket as she looked at the photo. She'd stroke my hair while staring at me. She'd smile and I'd return the smile.
"Mom," Jamie was at the door, hesitant to enter. "They're leaving, Mom. They'd like to see you."
"I'll be there in a minute." She wiped away her tears as she noticed Jamie remained still. "I'll be fine, Jamie."
"You don't have to," he said. "It's alright to not be fine."
My mother remained silent for a whole minute before smiling at my brother. They both walked downstairs to send their cousins and friends. In the living room, I noticed Detective Carhart conversing with my dad. When he spotted my mom approaching, he stood up and was ready to leave.
"Mrs. Langdon, I'm sorry for your loss." Detective Carhart expressed his condolences once again. He sounded as if he'd said the words too many occasions.
"Find the person who did this to my daughter, detective."
"I will, Mrs. Langdon. As I told Mr. Langdon, we believe this is not the first time. We have the best team working on this case."
"Not the first time. You mean a serial killer?" Jamie asked.
"We'll keep you update. By the way, the service was beautiful," He shook my mom's hand and then left.
I followed the detective outside. I had to do something to inform him about the murderer as he was about to get into his car. I suppose I should leave him a message.
"What are you trying to do?"
August spoke up from behind. I gave up on following the detective. He got into his car, started it, and drove away.
"Nothing," I lied, and August knew.
"Lilith. Let him do his job and you do yours."
August didn't appear to be upset with me. He was probably too exhausted to be angry.
"Let's go back. We'll check on Mrs. Adams again in two days."
I looked at my house. After the guests had gone, everything was quiet. I had no idea when I'd see this place or my family again.
"August, thank you for letting me come here."
"I didn't let you to come here. It's a part of the job."
He could have chosen not to follow Laura because it wasn't the day, but he came here anyway.
"Thank you."
"What did I just say?" August sighed and extended his hand. "Let's go."
I took his hand, and we blinked back to Jericho.