The Funeral Style

Chapter Fifteen

I know that she has a gun

It's an emotional one.

Chapter Fifteen

How do you explain to your mother that the very same man who buried your sister, is blackmailing you to work at his cemetery and be his show girl? It's demeaning. I feel like a complete disgrace.

Every word coming from my mouth is lies. I hate it.

"I'm sorry." I said, for the millionth time. "I didn't want to tell you." It took me nearly all day to come up with the proper lie to tell her. In the end, I decided it wasn't worth the risk telling her I worked anywhere too obvious.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, "I already lost one daughter, how do you think I felt when the clock struck eleven, and you still weren't home?" She gasped, "I thought you got abducted, Avril!"

I bowed my head, "Sorry." I didn't feel sorry, I felt angry. I shouldn't feel angry, not at her, but damn it, I really was.

If she'd just understand that it was out of my control. I don't deserve this. She doesn't deserve this.

"And you got a job? Where?" It wasn't much of a lie, I did get a job, I just wasn't getting paid for it. So it was more 'charity work' but with invisible chains around my ankles, I might as well be sentenced to life in prison.

"At the cemetery." 

She looked a bit confused, "Which one?"

I wasn't sure why, but I felt embarrassed to tell her which one. It was personally humiliating that I had to devote myself to such a hellish places coated with crystals and diamonds. "The cemetery. . . Parity Cemetery." If I happened to get murdered by the freak who owns the place, at least my parents will know where I was.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "You got a job at Parity Cemetery?" She didn't believe me.

"You don't have to sound so surprised." I said defensively, did she not thing I was prestige enough? Sure, Mr. Parity was a wealthy man, but that doesn't make him any better than me.

Plus, he might have been dropped on his head as a child, it would explain a lot.

"Of course I'm surprised." She agreed easily. Wow "It's not everyday your daughter comes home near midnight and confesses she got a job at wealthy cemetery, what were you thinking?"

Think of a lie, quickly. "I was thinking I wanted to be closer to Amanda any chance I got." Use your dead sister as an excuse, way to go, Avril.

My mother stared at me for a slight moment, before bursting in tears and forcing me to hug her. I gladly did so, knowing that she bought my lie. Horrible, I know, but it was easy to expect her to believe that. Me and Amanda were really close, it's not like this was odd behavior for anybody.

I eventually walked into my room, slammed the door shut, and stood there in complete silence. The very thought of having to go back tomorrow, killed me. I've never dreaded something this bad since Amanda's burial.

I fell onto my bed, not bothering to even take my shoes off, I instantly fell asleep.

* * * 

After a morning full of me complaining to Maggie at how horrible Mr. Parity actually is, once again, I found myself walking through the wealthy doors of the cemetery, greeted by a loud crash of thunder, and a mini panic attack from actually having to be here for the second time.

Oddly enough, as I glanced around, I realized there was not a person in sight. Was this a blessing? Or was something wrong?

I began walking through the building, from basement, to top floor. Not a being to be seen. Not even one the maids.

Where have they all gone off to?

I slowly made my way back to the entry room, I glanced out of a large window, to see a blanket of rain pour down onto the earth. Puddles began to form almost instantly, as everything was now coated in a thick layer of liquid.

It seemed it rained every time I visited this place, almost as if it were a curse itself.

Just as I was about to give up, and begin doing as I pleased, I had noticed a figure, out in the rain. Someone sitting on a grave stone. They were quite a bit away, but easily noticeable as a human being. I decided I should probably go out there, and speak to that person, considering it had to be someone who worked here.

Visiting hours was not at this time.

Bracing myself for a dash in the rain, I opened the front doors, and quickly stepped out of the building. Running, but carefully not slipping on any puddles as doing so.

As I soon got closer to the character, I realized who it was almost instantly.Mr Parity. 

He sat there, on a gravestone, writing something in the dirt with a stick. The usual white mask covered his face once again. He wore the same black shirt, and again, the size of it seemed way to big to fit around his anorexic-looking body. The bones of his shoulders stuck out even more as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. I could see the outline of his ribs against his back. He wore black, torn up military boots that looked as if they had been devoured by some rabid animal. 

He was a disgusting sight; and yet, so familiar.

"Do you do this often?" I asked him, breaking the silence, "Sitting in the rain like a lost child?"

He didn't bother to look up, as his focus was on whatever he was writing in the dirt.

"If you own your own cemetery." He spoke up,  "This is acceptable behavior."

"Drawing in the mud with a stick?" I glanced around, "On somebody's grave?" In a strange way, I felt a bit concerned for him. He looked lost, and yet, determined in a depressing way. The more I stared at him, the more I wished he was a normal person I could care for.

"The dead is so afraid." He stated, with a slight tilt of his head, "I don't feel I have a heart." He gently patted his chest with his fist, "But whatever it is that is in me, it breaks for them."

I stared at him, unable to think of a proper answer for that. Did he truly believe the dead could still feel? I glanced down at whatever it was that he was writing in the mud. Strangely, he only wrote the same word over and over.

"Moiety?" I read allowed, as he wrote it once more. "What does that mean?"

"Moiety, it's the only word I can come to think of, that compliments the dead, and reassures them." He threw the stick on the ground, and stood up. "Moiety is half. Half alive, half dead. Half important, half unimportant. Half beautiful, half grotesque. Half feared, half loved. Half safe, half burdened. All of these things apply to the dead and the living." He took a deep breath, and slowly took the mask off his face. "The dead depends on us to keep them part of the moiety system, Miss Adler. I am the only man alive who believes this way, and now, it's time someone else believes it too."