The Murder Of Willowstream

Ch. 06. Gimme Gimme Morgue (part 2)

Rhys and Marshal sat, on lookout, just a little ways away from the Willowstream mortuary. They were hidden, for the most part, by the cover of a few bushes with tall, looming trees at their back. It was a good vantage point from here, as they were able to easily peek through the leaves and keep watch over the small car park and the main entrance to the building; that seemed perpetually bathed in the pale, flickering, light of the lone lamp post that stood vigil nearby.

"Hey Rhys?" Marshal opened with a whisper. They had been sat for what felt like forever, but had been little more than ten minutes. The ground had grown slightly damp as the coolness of the night had laid itself over them like a blanket, and smothered the previous heat of the summers day. Inferred danger aside: Marshal had been so excited for the possible adventure, but now found himself quite bored with the waiting. Not to mention a certain part of his body was getting number by the second, only adding to his discomfort.

Rhys answered with an affirmative hum as he stared at the morgue doors with intensity. A serious expression furrowed on his face, gave hesitance to what Marshal was about to ask. The question was stuck in his throat, and he knew it was a particularly grating issue for Rhys to talk about. But something akin to hope, pushed him to ask anyway:

"Do you mind if I ask, if you've seen her?" He quickly blurted out, quickly averting his gaze to avoid looking at Rhys. Although he could feel the questioning look Rhys had shot in his direction.

"Who?" He answered intently, his voice knowing, as if giving Marshal a second chance to rethink his question.

"Yasmine... Have you seen her?" Marshal continued, although much quieter than before as he pre-emptively flinched at the oncoming outburst. But then felt a swell of guilt as Rhys let out a sigh thickened with a sad disappointment. Marshal got the impression that it wasn't disappointment that he had asked the question, as is the norm when the rare occasion popped up on the subject of ghosts and spirits. Instead he felt it was a disappointment turned inwards at himself. It was like he could taste the sense of failure Rhys was giving off with the slight slump to his shoulders, and the tired look upon his face.

"No. I can't see ghosts, Marshal. You know that. I wish I could... Fuck, I really wish I could..."

"Hey, you did that one time, remember? It helped you find that dog who'd taken your keys?"

"That wasn't a ghost, Marshal. That was some weird energy, I dunno. A memory maybe of where I left them? I don't exactly have a handle on this" Rhys rubbed at his face with his palms, and Marshal placed a warm hand on his shoulder in comfort. Offering a small, understanding, smile which Rhys mimicked fondly.

They hadn't talked about what losing Yasmine had meant to them. To any of the group for that matter, and while they shared everything with each other, this needed no explanation. None of them could find how to put it into words. And so they just accepted the understanding and support they each held with one another.

"How's your mother doing?" Marshal asked, changing the subject. He had seen Rhys' mother more than a few times through out his life. Growing up as best friends meant they were in and out of each others house enough that they practically had two places to live at all times.

But unlike Marshal: Rhys had practically raised himself, for his mother wasn't totally there. She was beautiful. The same, unruly, chestnut brown hair that Rhys sported, although hers fell into flowing curls that poured along her shoulders and halfway down her back. An aged, and kind face that forever looked to the distance. Looked to the forest. Looked to Rhys' father. Her speech was passing and faint, proffering a nonsensical word every now and then. In all the years that Marshal had known Rhys, his mother had never left the same, soft wooden, chair now faded in it's pale blue colour, and was always positioned so that she could see outside. Sometimes it was in front of the window at the front of the house. Other times it was on the porch. He'd never seen her move. She'd simply be in a different place every time he visited, and each time it was if she couldn't register anything other than the distant trees swaying in the breeze that often tickled it's branches. Although Rhys promised Marshal that his mother was always happy to see him, and he whole heartedly believed it.