Shape Forgotten-CH1-Opt-B

Brian first saw her standing alone in the rain at Charlie’s funeral, but he almost missed seeing her at all. Buried deep in a somber crescent of mourners congregated under the drab funeral tent overshadowing the open maw of Charlie’s grave, all his attention focused on making it through the funeral. Grief, his own and that of family and friends, shrouded his thoughts, while old tears stung his eyes so much he could hardly see the mud-splattered tops of his own shoes much less a solitary figure among the headstones. What made him aware of her presence was an unexpected prickling of hairs on the back of his neck a feeling like someone walking over his own grave.

Instinctively glancing over a shoulder, he caught her haunting the boundary of the cemetery plot. She wore only a thin black dress that gave no protection from the elements. Water streamed through sable rivulets of hair framing her pale face, and cascaded down her body soaking the material and making it cling in awkward patches about her slim frame. There was something wild and untamable in the way she simply held herself tall, unmoved by the cold damp seeping to her skin. Surrendered to the weather she made no effort to stay dry or even to shiver. Brian’s heart captivated by her feral image began a primitive dance, and for a moment, he forgot completely where he was. Who was this woman? He couldn’t recall ever seeing her before.

The curve of her body revealed by the twist and pull of wet fabric mesmerized Brian, and instigated an unaccustomed stirring deep inside. The inappropriateness of this feeling in the midst of Charlie’s funeral made him blush. Hammered between guilt and grief Brian dragged his eyes back to his brother’s casket hoping no one noticed the lapse of attention. Disturbed, he wondered why he was having such feelings now. He hadn’t felt this way since before Anglia’s disappearance four years ago. The last thing he needed was some entangling affair when there was a killer, Charlie’s killer, to catch. Though Brian’s assignment to the investigation was still pending, he intended to be there when the monster went down. Getting involved with this strange woman would only complicate matters.

“Oh God, by whose mercy the souls of the faithful find rest,” Father Amos said in an ecclesiastical drone. Brian rubbed his eyes and used the movement to hide a furtive glance back toward the woman. Why was she here he wondered? Did she know Charlie? Why was she standing in the rain instead of under the tent with the rest of the mourners? There were too many questions here ringing alarm bells for the detective in Brian. He would have to go and talk to her after the funeral. He had to know who she was, and her relationship to Charlie. It wouldn’t be personal, just his professional duty.

“Dust to dust; ashes to ashes…,” Father Amos said his voice overlaying the squeak of cables as they lowered Charlie’s casket into the ground. The whole affair was taking far too long for Brian’s taste. The contents of the box were barely recognizable as Charlie anyway since much of him was missing. Making the identification had been a grizzly affair for which Brian alone carried the burden, and hadn’t allowed his mother or Charlie’s friends to see what was left of his brother.

Brian’s mother took his hand waking him out of his distracted thoughts. He escorted her to the front where she took a handful of dirt from the pile next to the grave and tossed it on top of the casket. Brian followed her example, and they stood as Father Amos said a final prayer. Then to Brian’s relief the service ended. The spell broken, the mourners swayed, stretched stiff legs, and began to shuffle forward muttering softly among themselves. Their eyes, red and puffy from crying, looked pityingly on Brian and his mother as they filed past offering cold hands to shake and empty comforts. As each group passed, the mass of them bunched up at the edge of the tent while umbrellas fumbled open. At intervals, little clumps of mourners sprang from the tent and scuttled across the soggy grass to cars lining the road nearby.

For Brian column of commiserants seemed to go on forever. Charlie had many friends, and Brian felt bound to greet each one, consoling some, letting others think they could console him. All the while, the figure of the women floated in the corner of his eye. Anxiously he tried to keep track of her without letting anyone know she was there. Brian was fortunate because people expect the grieved to be distracted so the mourners easily mistook his preoccupation as simple exhaustion.

“It was a lovely service, Brian, I’m very sorry about your brother.” A firm hand grasped Brian’s catching him by surprise. He’d spent so much of his attention trying to keep an eye on the woman it took him a minute to realize whose hand he was shaking. When recognition hit him, he felt very foolish.

“Thanks Joe, I’m glad you could come,” Brian said, and for the first time really meant it. Joe Kyoko was Brian’s partner in homicide, and they’d worked together for nearly two years. Despite his name, Joe hardly looked oriental, and he often claimed to the consternation of anyone who would listen that he was actually Jewish. Brian knew the truth was stranger since Joe was half-Jewish on his mother’s side, but he probably hadn’t seen the inside of a Synagogue since his bar mitzvah. His father on the other hand was a devout and highly superstitious Shinto. Brian couldn’t count the number of times the older man had shown up at the office with some new talisman designed to ward against bullets.

“Brian — hey don’t feel like you have to rush back into the office,” Joe said, “We’ve got a handle on everything.” Brian smiled weakly and nodded, but he had something else in mind.

“When are the feds coming in,” Brian asked. Joe grinned. He’d expected this question, any homicide cop facing a potential serial killer would.

“They’re already on the plane. They should be here by tomorrow morning,” he said then paused with an awkward silence. “Brian, you know how Chief Franklin feels about personal assignments.”

“He said he was putting us on the taskforce two weeks ago,” Brian said, “Will he keep us out now?”

“Not us Brian -- you,” Joe said. “I saw the assignment sheet on his desk yesterday.”

“And,” Brian asked, the anxiety in his voice showing he already knew the answer.

“Your name wasn’t on the list anymore,” Joe said, “I tried to talk to the Chief about it, but he hasn’t exactly been in the mood to talk — if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that mood before,” Brian said, “The whole mayor’s office is coming down on his head, but I can’t let him kick me off this assignment. I have to be on this taskforce.”

“You can try talking to him tomorrow morning,” Joe said, and gave Brian a firm reassuring pat on the shoulder. He then moved along the line to give Brian’s mother a hug leaving Brian to greet the next person in line.

Brian shook hands and nodded, hugged and consoled. All the while, knowing Franklin was throwing him off the taskforce, and he wouldn’t be part of the hunt for Charlie’s killer gnawed at his insides. It bothered him so much he nearly finished greeting the whole line before in sudden flash of panic he realized he’d forgotten entirely about the woman. He glanced quickly back to where she’d stood only to find to his horror she’d disappeared. He began moving about the tent trying to look calm and still engage the remaining mourners while desperately scanning the cemetery landscape for some clue of where she’d gone.

“Brian, Brian, come here,” Brian heard his mother call. She was standing on the opposite side of the tent talking with Father Amos. Brian swallowed his frustration and crossed the tent to stand behind her where Father Amos held and gently patted her hands. Brian was amazed at how pale and small his mother’s hands looked in those of Father Amos. His knurled browned hands had always fascinated Brian even as a child. They were rough, almost as if he had spent years digging in the ground, and the large moonstone ring he always wore made them seem even darker.

“Now Mattie, you call if there is anything the parish can do for you,” the Father said his voice a practiced soothing calm.

“Oh, Father, you’re so kind, and your service was just beautiful.” Mattie Randal, Brian’s mother said and blotted a new welling of tears with her already sopping tissue. Brian put his arms around her and held her while she cried softly against him.

“Thank you for all your support, Father,” Brian said over his mother’s tears.

“It’s what the Church is here for Brian, don’t be a stranger now at confession,” he said, punctuating the last part by looking over the top of his bifocals.

“Sure, Father,” Brian said, but he couldn’t look the priest in the eye. Brian hated confession. He’d done everything to avoid. Something about the process made him feel even more of a liar than before he entered the confessional.

“Help me to the car,” his mother said. Brian guided her to the edge of the tent, opened his umbrella and escorted her across the grass, threading between lines of head stones to avoid the more waterlogged ground. The car provided by the funeral home was waiting for them, and the driver held the door open under his own umbrella. Mattie climbed inside, but Brian hesitated at the door. Looking back over the cemetery, he scanned for any sign of the woman. There was none.

“Mom, I’m going to stay here awhile,” he said leaning into the car, “Lucine’s still at the funeral home, and she can take you home. I’ll take a taxi back later.” A worried look crossed Mattie’s face, but she nodded her head weakly in agreement.

“I understand,” she said, “you keep dry. You don’t need to catch a cold now.”

“I’ll be all right, Mom. You go get some rest.”

“You’re a good boy,” Mattie said putting a hand on Brian’s cheek, “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Mom…,” Brian said, but words just choked off in his throat.

Mattie smiled warmly at her son, “Come by the house for dinner tomorrow.”

“Mom, you’re not going to be up to cooking. Why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?”

“Nonsense, Lucine does all my cooking now and anyway you can’t be making much on a detective’s salary. You come by, and we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Brian said with a sigh. There was no use arguing. If there was one thing Brian knew about his mother, once she’d made up her mind nothing short of an act of God could change it.

He closed her door and stood by the road pretending to watch the car take his mother down the hill and out of the gate, but the whole time his eyes roved over the cemetery searching for the woman. Where could she have gone? It was as if she’d just melted into the rain.
#