(OsiriumWrites) Death Smith - II - Chapter 3 (Scented memories)
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The day of the funeral.
March, 14 AR.
England, London, Lance’s apartment.
The lingering traces of cedarwood, citrus and lavender filled the surrounding air. The mix of scents clung to Lance’s body until it became a part of him. Months ago, he would’ve thought of 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 the suit had been too big for him and that it hadn’t done his figure justice. Now, the black shirt clung to his body, hinting at his 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 knuckles 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 a bloody mess when he had let himself go on a wall in his room. He had punched at it until the brickwork got damaged and blood and stone had mixed with one another. Lance had used his ‘mend wound’ Skill to recover afterwards, fixing the numerous cuts and lessening the pain.
“Today is the day we bury you, Thomas,” he said aloud as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. A cool gust from the open window ruffled his brown hair. He went over his appearance one last time, hoping it was respectful enough. As teenagers, the two friends had 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 speeches, clothing, and how to act. Just the thought of speaking now to honour his friend was enough for him to almost throw up. Lance knew why he felt that way after what he had done to his best friend. He had turned Thomas’ body into something else, depriving his family of the chance to bury him and properly mourn his passing.
Lance glanced at the pale figure standing in a corner through the reflection in the mirror, watching him with ashen eyes. The man 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 to temporarily recover some of his energy.
The pale man was different. Lance had realised that the man didn’t need to sleep, drink, or eat. The man had stayed awake all this time, staring at the three pictures on the table and how Lance had hurt himself against 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 and seemed 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. He sat down on the table in front of the man as he stared into his grey eyes, desperate to see some hint of Thomas. Sadly, he found none. “You aren’t Thomas,” he said finally as he leaned closer to the pale man, inspecting his features once again. It was hard not to want to treat him as Thomas, but that felt like betraying his friend’s memory. “No, you’re not him. But you can be something to honour his memory,” Lance said as he watched the pale man react to his words.
Lance remembered fragments of how he got his Class, how he had felt like he was burning up from the inside. He remembered the moments after surviving the Rift, when the two of them sat on the sofa and shared Thomas’ last cigarette 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 said finally as he stared at the man in front of him, nodding as he did so. “Your name is Ash,” he said, more determined this time, again nodding as he reaffirmed his words. Mentally, Lance accepted the name he was giving the silent man. He noticed ‘Ash’ nod once, either out of a confirmation or due to him mimicking Lance who had done the same. It drew Lance’s attention immediately as he wanted to see if it was just coincidence but stopped when he heard a car stopping 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. The bathrobe fell to the ground afterwards, no longer supported by a frame.
[You have stored an item in the Inventory.]
[You have named this item ‘Ash’.]
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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’ 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 that of the wind blowing through the trees, rattling the windows, and the sound of a mother sobbing 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 a young man that hadn’t 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 anger. A confused rage at having no one else to blame for Thomas’ death. The glances Lance occasionally got from those people were worse, since he knew they felt pity at seeing him.
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‘I hate this,’ Lance thought as he glanced at the empty casket surrounded by flowers. People had written things on the wooden panels, as per the family’s request. Some wrote mere words, others short stories. They spoke of shared memories or as a tribute of love for 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 while fighting the urge to run. He 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 them worry about him like that, since both were mourning as well. They had all fought together during their first Rift. There was no way that those two men weren’t feeling the loss after all the time they had spent with Thomas.
Lance’s focus shifted as he heard the groan of worn knees and a bad back as Thomas’ father, Jacob, slowly got up and fought 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… heaviest…”
Lance watched the Rifters nod respectfully as they promised they would help in any way they could. Afterwards, Lance could feel three sets of eyes land on him, weighing him at that moment. Forcing his head down, he suppressed the emotions that came bubbling up to the surface. Even now, Thomas’ father had to be an enduring pillar for his family. Grief had shattered his wife while his daughter and his youngest son were now suddenly without their sibling. To top it all off, Jacob had to worry about Lance, to prevent Thomas’ best friend from cracking under the weight of responsibility and loss.
It was only a few moments after Thomas’ father returned to the sofa to take care of his youngest child when Daniel made his way over to Lance. “Lad, we were asked-“
“I know,” Lance interrupted him before giving a soft smile. Afterwards, he moved past Daniel and up the stairs as he tried to suppress how he was feeling. 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’ 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.
When Kate made eye contact with him, he immediately felt the weight of his guilt threaten to undo him. He remembered the first days in the hospital, unable to explain what had happened. He 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’ father, with the latter explaining to him how badly the family had taken the loss of Thomas.
He 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. Afterwards he 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 played a significant role in the road leading to that blade.
“Sorry Kate, I’ll go downstairs,” Lance said in a hushed voice, stepping away from Thomas’ 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 he 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 it was time for the procession to start.
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-Thump-
-Thump-
-Thump-
Several hours later, he was back in his apartment. He caught the rugby with his left hand, snatching it out of the air. Lance 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’ father had bought tickets and had taken the two young men 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 jacket and tie and 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 Thomas’ mother was and how distraught her daughter had been when she stepped out of the bedroom.
“The funeral was nice. You would’ve 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 impressive what the man had learned in a few hours.
“Your father is keeping the family together,” he continued, addressing the memory of his friend. He remembered the fortitude and determination Thomas’ father had displayed in his home and at the funeral itself. ‘It is going to undo him eventually,’ he 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 about what he had done with Thomas’ body. ‘I’m the reason that casket was empty. I’m the reason a mother couldn’t hold her child one last time.’
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 him pick up things on his own and 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 alright,” Lance told the memory of his friend, hoping that somewhere he could hear him. He had tried to honour his friend, being a pallbearer with Thomas’ father, younger brother, and uncle. Not to mention Daniel and Dieter. A part of Lance wondered whether Thomas’ 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.
“Thomas died because I wasn’t strong enough to protect him. It is all because of those three,” he said as he pointed at the folder on the table in between them. He watched Ash’s gaze follow where he was pointing. They had burned the three pictures that were inside that folder in their minds.
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 smartphone.
“I need to do this,” Lance said as he made eye contact with Ash. The pale man stared at him before nodding once, copying him. “I know… I know that this isn’t healthy... I’m fragmented and unhinged,” Lance explained, knowing full well that the events from the last Rift still haunted him and held dominion over his traumatised mind. 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’ve done. They need to face justice. We’ll be the ones to make them do so,” Lance said as he moved his arm forwards and extended his hand.
Ash watched Lance’s hand for a few seconds before he extended his own. He clasped Lance’s hand as he nodded once more, this time without copying the man that had created him.
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Author: Osirium
Copyright: OsiriumWrites