Death Smith - Book 2 - Chapter 3

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Scented memories

The day of the funeral.

Mid-March, 14 AR.

United Kingdom, London, Lance’s apartment.

The lingering traces of cedarwood, citrus and lavender filled the surrounding air. The mix of scents clung to his body, sticking to him until it became a part of him. Months ago, he would have evaluated the cologne as just ‘nice,’ but now that he was a Rifter, he could pick out nearly half of the ingredients just from a single whiff. Lance wasn’t the type to wear cologne, but today was different. He had put on a dark blue suit with a black tie and a black shirt underneath. This instead of his usual jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie combination. The last time he had worn it had been several years ago when a distant relative had died. He still remembered how loose it had been; it hadn’t done his figure justice. Now, though, the black shirt clung to his body, hinting at strength while remaining tasteful.

Lance ran his fingers along his jaw, feeling the smooth skin underneath his fingers. Slowly, he moved his fingers upwards, charting a soft line over his lips until he brought his hand out in front of him, staring at the firm muscles and bones as he made a fist. He could hear his joints groaning as he increased the pressure, feeling the strength flow through his fist. A few hours ago, Lance had turned his hands into bloody wounds when he had let himself go on a wall in his room, punching at it until the brickwork got damaged and blood and stone mixed with one another. Lance had used his skill to recover afterwards, helping heal the small wounds and lessen the pain.

“Today is the day we bury you, Thomas,” Lance said out loud, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. A cool gust from the open window ruffled his brown hair. He made his way towards it to go over his appearance one last time, hoping it was respectful enough. As teenagers, Thomas and Lance had occasionally joked about who would die first and how the funeral would go. Both men would make wild claims and demands of the other in terms of clothing, speeches, and how to act. Just the thought of speaking now to honour his friend was enough to silence Lance today. How could it not, seeing as what Lance had done to the body of his best friend? Lance had turned Thomas into something else, depriving his family of the chance to properly bury him and mourn.

Lance glanced at the pale figure he could see in the room’s corner through the reflection in the mirror. The man with light grey eyes had been with Lance throughout the night, with both not having slept since Dieter and Daniel had left. Lance could feel the effects of fatigue, but suppressed it using his healing skill, temporarily invigorating himself.

The other man was different. Lance had realised that the man did not need to sleep, drink, or eat. The man had stayed awake all this time, staring at the three pictures on the table or how Lance was hurting himself on the wall. Lance had clothed the man in his old bathrobe, covering up his nudity. Not that he seemed to mind. The man was content to just sit and watch Lance, in some ways, expectant of something. It was as if the man needed something from Lance.

Now, minutes before Lance was to be picked up by Dieter and Daniel, Lance addressed the pale elephant in the room. Lance sat down on the table in front of the man, staring into his grey eyes, desperate to see some hint of Thomas inside of it but finding nothing. “You are not Thomas,” Lance said finally, leaning closer to the pale man, inspecting his features once again. It was hard not to want to treat the man as Thomas, but that felt like betraying Thomas’s memory. “No, you are not Thomas. But you can be something to honour his memory,” Lance said, watching the pale man react to his words.

Lance remembered the process of getting his new class, how he had felt like he was burning up from the inside. He remembered the moments after, when the two of them sat on the sofa and shared Thomas’s last cigarette, burning it up until only ash remained.

This man reminded Lance of that, of something that was burned up and turned into something else, something devoid of colour. A mere echo of what had once been.

“Ash,” Lance finally said, staring at the man in front of him before nodding. “Your name is Ash,” Lance said more determined this time, nodding once as he reaffirmed his words. Mentally, Lance gradually accepted it. He noticed ‘Ash’ nod once, either out of a confirmation or simply mimicking Lance who had done the same. It drew his attention, wanting to see if it was just coincidence, but stopped when he heard a car being parked near his apartment, signifying that Dieter and Daniel had arrived.

“Well, pick this up later, Ash,” Lance said as he placed his hands on the man’s shoulder and accepted storing the item in his inventory, letting a bathrobe suddenly fall to the ground afterwards.

[You have stored an item in the inventory.]

[You have named this item ‘Ash’.]

* * * * *

There was a stony silence within the Walker residence that day. In the past, it had been a beacon of warmth and love, but now it felt devoid of that. All darkened by the silence of loss, looming over them on the day of Thomas’s funeral. Though the sun stood high in the sky, loss had wrapped the house in darkness. The drawn curtains blocking out the light. The only constant sound was the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, rattling the windows, and the sound of a mother crying upstairs in her room, being comforted by her daughter.

Most of the family had gathered in the living room. Cousins, aunts, and uncles accompanied them, offering their support, or sharing the grief. They were all mourning the loss of Thomas, a young man that had not deserved to die at such a young age. Occasionally, relatives or friends of the family would throw glances towards Dieter and Daniel, who were standing near the kitchen. Some of them looked at the Rifters with curiosity or neutrality, but a large portion of them simply stared at them with an anger. A confused anger at having no one else to blame for Thomas’s death. The glances Lance occasionally got from those people were even worse, knowing they felt pity at seeing Lance.

‘I hate this,’ Lance thought, seeing the empty casket surrounded by flowers. People had written things on the wooden panels, as per the family’s request. Some wrote mere words, other’s short stories. They spoke of shared memories or as a tribute of their love towards Thomas. Lance had simply written two words ‘Oath keeper’. There was nothing else to write beyond it, no words to offer to ease the suffering of the family and loved ones.

So, Lance sat in a corner of the room, minding his nerves, and fighting the urge to run. Lance could feel the worried glances thrown in his direction by Dieter and Daniel, knowing full well he’d do the same if he had been in their shoes. A part of him felt ashamed, having the two of them worry about him like that, seeing as both were mourning as well. Dieter, although not having seen Thomas as much these last few months, had bonded with him since the beginning. Daniel had been a mentor to both Lance and Thomas ever since leaving their first Rift. The man had spent weeks training Lance and Thomas, joining them on their second Rift and even helping them get registered within the GRRO as official Rifters. There was no way that those two men were not feeling the loss.

Lance’s focus shifted as he heard the groan of worn knees and a bad back, signalling that Thomas’s father, Jacob, slowly got up and was fighting back a pained groan. The man appeared to make his way over towards Lance but changed course along the way towards Daniel. Although there was some distance between them, Lance heard the occasional bit of dialogue as the man addressed the two Rifters.

“…expressed his wish… Pallbearer… Empty caskets are the heaviest…”

Lance watched Dieter and Daniel nod respectfully, promising him they would help in any way. Afterwards, Lance could feel three sets of eyes land on him, weighing him at that moment. Forcing his head down, Lance suppressed the emotions that came bubbling up to the surface. Even now, Thomas’s father had to be an enduring pillar for his family. Grief had shattered his wife, his daughter, and his youngest son now suddenly without their sibling. To top it all off, Jacob had to worry about Lance, to prevent Thomas’s best friend from cracking under the weight of responsibility and loss.

It was only a few moments after Thomas’s father returned to the sofa to take care of his youngest child when Daniel made his way over towards Lance. “Lance, we were asked-“ Daniel began saying.

“I know,” Lance interrupted Daniel as he got up and gave him a soft smile before Lance moved past Daniel and up the stairs, suppressing the way those gazes made him feel. Lance reached the landing that gave way to the many rooms of the Walker residence. His eyes narrowed on the worn white door that had a bright red ‘T’ painted on it, marking it as Thomas’s room. He moved towards it and was about to open it when the door leading to the master bedroom opened, with Kate stepping outside. She closed the door behind her, leaving her grief-stricken mother alone in the dark room.

Kate made eye contact with Lance, and he immediately felt the weight of his guilt threaten to undo him again. He remembered the first days in the hospital, unable to explain what had happened. Lance had wanted to give the Walker’s closure, but the GRRO and the hospital had allowed no visitors at first because of his traumatised state and the ongoing investigation. When they finally allowed Lance to receive visitors, it had mostly been Daniel and Thomas’s father, with the latter explaining to him how badly the family had taken the loss of Thomas.

Lance figured Kate would no doubt hate him, or at the very least resent him for not being able to protect her brother. Lance had been the one that had persuaded her brother to become a nurse, to work in the same hospital as Lance did. Afterwards Lance had persuaded Thomas to keep working for R.A.M. when they had become Rifters. Lance might not have wielded the blade that killed Thomas, but he had been a part of the end due to him not being able to protect Thomas.

“Sorry Kate, I’ll go downstairs,” Lance said in a hushed voice, stepping away from Thomas’s room as if burned by it. He barely made his first step when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck as waves of autumn strands blocked his vision. He could feel Kate pull herself into him as her body shook, suppressing the need to weep. “I…” Lance continued, only to be silenced when Kate’s hand cupped the back of his head and forced him closer to her. Her breath rushed over his neck as tears streamed down her cheeks, demanding the same of Lance. Kate’s chest heaved with quiet sobs as Lance wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the smell of her red hair. Eventually, both broke down like that, supporting each other’s weight and grief as they wept in silence for what seemed hours.

Kate only pulled away from Lance when her father called her, letting her know that it was time for the procession to start.

* * * * *

-Thump-

-Thump-

-Thump-

Several hours later, Lance caught the rugby with his left hand, snatching it out of the air. He could feel the fabric groan underneath his powerful grip. He inspected the ball and remembered when he had bought it during a match between England and New Zealand. Thomas’s father had bought tickets and had taken the lads with him. Lance noticed the worn-out letters on the ball before he threw it in an arc, seeing a pair of pale hands catch it from a seated position before Lance closed his eyes again. Doing so, he could almost pull off lying to himself, pretending for one moment that Thomas was still alive, and that they were back in the hospital, throwing a ball back and forth.

Lance had taken off his blue jacket and tie, afterwards folded up the sleeves of the black shirt when he had gotten home. The memory of Kate still lingered on his clothes, reminding him of the funeral as well as confusing Lance in a different way. He remembered how devastated Kate’s mother was and how distraught Kate had been when she stepped out of the bedroom.

“The funeral was nice. You would have hated the casket. It was far too humble for your tastes,” Lance said with a wounded grin, seconds later catching the ball again. He pulled his arm backwards and forced a slight curve in his throw, forcing the pale man to react faster. Ash barely caught it, but he was improving. It was rather impressive what the man had learned in a few hours.

“Your father is keeping the family together,” Lance said to the memory of his friend, remembering the strength and determination Thomas’s father displayed in his home and at the funeral itself. ‘It is going to undo him in the long run,’ Lance thought, knowing that it wasn’t healthy what Jacob Walker was doing. Lance hoped that the family had found some sort of solace during the funeral, once again feeling guilty what he had done with Thomas’s body.

Holding out his hand, Lance caught the rugby ball without looking at it. Although he had taught Ash how to throw it, there wasn’t much variation in his throw at this point. The pale man had no purpose or function at first but was clearly learning via example. Lance had witnessed Ash pick up things on his own or mimic what Lance was doing. Compared to before, Lance was now paying far more attention to what Ash could do.

“I hope your family will be all right,” Lance said, hoping that somewhere his friend could hear him. He had tried to honour his friend, being a pallbearer with Thomas’s father, younger brother, and uncle. Not to mention Daniel and Dieter. A part of Lance wondered whether Thomas’s father had asked the Rifters for help with the casket as a tribute to Thomas, or if the man thought Lance was too unstable without their support. Even now, he could remember the faces of the uncles and aunts, of the distant friends. Lance could recall hearing their whispers, even some pointing at him from a safe distance. In his mind he warped those glances as negative, as if they could see right through him.

‘They are right,’ Lance thought, opening his eyes to look at Ash. “Thomas died because I wasn’t strong enough. Because of those three,” he said as he pointed at the folder on the table in between them, seeing Ash’s gaze follow where Lance was pointing. They had burned the three pictures that were inside that folder in their memories. Daniel had agreed to let Lance borrow the document, for now, to help him get some closure by providing all the information that was out there. Daniel would no doubt collect the document later that week, although it mattered little to Lance. He had already memorised what he needed and had made copies of their photos with his cell phone.

“I need to do this,” Lance said, making eye contact with Ash. The pale man simply stared at Lance before nodding once, copying Lance. “I know… I know that this isn’t healthy. I am fragmented and unhinged,” Lance explained, knowing full well that the events from the last Rift still traumatised him. He wasn’t grieving properly and emotionally he was all over the place. Lance only really found solace when he suppressed all that guilt and grief that he was feeling, bottling it all up inside until it turned into an icy rage. He was only stable when he was focusing on a single task. “They need to confess what they have done. They need to face justice. We’ll be the ones to do so,” Lance said, moving his arm forwards and extending his hand.

Ash watched Lance’s hand for a few seconds before he extended his own, clasping Lance’s hand as Ash nodded once more, this time without copying Lance.

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Author: Osirium

Copyright: 2022 OsiriumWrites

Released: 2022