Erica Spindler - In Silence

"How much traffic does the alley see at night?"

"It's dead. Pardon the word choice."

"No traffic at all?" Matt questioned.

"Kids making out sometimes. Somebody turning in by mistake, realizing it and backing out. Me and Sarah, out for a walk. That's about it."

"You hear the kids, the cars, from your apartment?"

"Yeah. Most of the time."

"But tonight you didn't see or hear anything?"

Hunter stiffened at the sarcasm in his brother's voice. At his smirk. "If that's it, I'd like to go. It's been a rough night."

"Go on," Buddy said. "When we know more, we might need to speak with you again."

Hunter walked away, aware of his father's and brother's speculative gazes on his back. He longed to look back at them, to read their expressions. His every instinct shouted for him to do it.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Wouldn't let them know just how weird this encounter had made him feel.

They'd treated him like a stranger.

A stranger whose sincerity they doubted.

"Hey, Hunter?"

He stopped, turned. Met his brother's gaze. "You remember anything else, it'd help. Give one of us a call."

The morning of her father's funeral dawned bright and warm. Turnout proved much smaller than the wake, mostly close family friends and neighbors. But Avery had expected that.

Lilah stood on her right, Buddy on her left. Each held her arm in a gesture of comfort and support. Lilah seemed much stronger than the night before, though she cried softly throughout the service. Matt stood behind his mother, Cherry beside him. Directly across from her stood Hunter. Alone. Expression resolute.

Avery's gaze went to his. She saw no grief there. No pity or sympathy. Only anger. Only the chip he carried on his shoulder. A shudder moved over her. Without compassion, what would a man become? What would such a man be capable of?

He would be capable of anything.

He would be a monster.

The pastor who had baptized her spoke warmly of the person her father had been, of the difference he had made in the commu- nity and to so many individuals' lives.

"He was a light in a sometimes dark world," the pastor finished. "That light will surely be missed."

She shifted her gaze to the casket, acknowledging dizziness. Conscious of rubberiness in her legs. A feeling of being disconnected from the earth.

"Ashes to ashes-"

"He doused himself with diesel fuel and lit a match."

"Dust to dust-"

"Where were you, Avery, when your dad was so depressed he set himself on fire? "

Avery couldn't breathe. She swayed slightly. Buddy tightened his grip on her arm, steadying her.

This wasn't right, she thought, a thread of panic winding through her. Her father couldn't have taken his own life. He couldn't be gone.

She hadn't said goodbye. It was her fault.

Avery stared at the casket. Scenes of grief she had witnessed over the years played in her head: weeping widows; too-solemn children; despairing family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, all of humanity.

Death. The ultimate loss. The universal gut shot.

She fought the urge to throw herself on the casket. To scream and flail her fists and sob. She closed her eyes, fighting for calm. He would rest beside her mother, she told herself. His partner in this life and the next.

Or would he? Tears choked her. Would his sin separate them for eternity? Who would absolve him of it?

Who would absolve her?

"Avery, honey, it's over."

Over. The end.

Ashes to ashes…doused himself in diesel fuel and lit a…where were you, Avery? Where were you when he…

Dust to dust.

"Avery? Sweetheart, it's time."

She looked blankly at Buddy and nodded. He led her away from the grave. She shifted her gaze, vision swimming. It landed on the group of men from the wake. All in black. Standing together. Again.

Seven of them. They were staring at her. One of them laughed. A sound passed her lips. She stumbled and Buddy caught her. "Avery, are you all right?"

She looked up at him, pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes. "Those men, that group over there. Who are they?"

"Where?"

"Over th-"

They were gone.

She shook her head. "They were just-" She swayed again. A roaring sound filled her ears. Blood, she realized. Rushing. Plummeting.

"Matt, quick! Give me a-"

When Avery came to, she lay on the ground looking up at the cloudless blue sky. A half-dozen people had gathered around her and were gazing down at her in concern. "You fainted," someone said softly.

Buddy, she realized, blinking. She shifted her gaze. Matt. Cherry. Lilah. Pastor Dastugue. The world came into clear focus. The moments before she fainted filled her head.

Making a sound of dismay, she struggled to get up.

Matt laid a hand gently on her shoulder, holding her down. "Don't rush it. Take a deep breath, make certain you're steady."

She complied. A moment later, they allowed her to come carefully to a sitting position, then ease to her feet. Matt kept his arm around her, even though she assured him she was fine.

"I'm so embarrassed," she said. "I feel like an idiot."

"Nonsense." Lilah brushed leaves and other debris from her black jacket. "When's the last time you ate?"

She didn't know; she couldn't remember, couldn't seem to gather her thoughts. She wet her lips. "I don't know…lunch yesterday, I guess."

"No wonder you passed out," she said, distressed. "I should have brought you a meal."

Avery looked at Matt. "Did you see them?"

"Who?"

"That group of men. Standing together. There were seven of them."

Matt and Buddy exchanged glances. "Where?"

She pointed to the spot where the group had been standing.

"Over there."

They looked in that direction, then back at her. "I don't recall seeing a group," Matt said. He looked at Cherry and Lilah. "Did either of you?"

The two women shook their heads no. Matt met her eyes. "Are you certain of what you saw?"

"Yes, I…yes. They were at the wake, too."

"Who were they?"

She rubbed her head, confused. At the wake, she had thought she recognized several of them. Now she couldn't recall who they had been.

She was losing her mind.

"I don't know. I…" Her words trailed off. She moved her gaze from one face to another, reading the concern in their expressions.

They thought she was losing it, too.

Lilah slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Poor baby, you've been through so much. Come now, I have finger sandwiches and cookies back at the house. We'll fix you right up."

Lilah did fix her up-as best as was possible anyway, considering the circumstances. She and the rest of the Stevens clan hovered around her, making certain she had plenty to eat, insisting she stay off her feet, shooing people off when she began to fade.

When the last mourner left, Matt drove her home. She laid her head against the rest and closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them and looked at him. "Can I ask you something?"

He glanced at her, then back at the road. "Shoot."

"You really didn't see a group of men huddled together? Not at the wake or funeral?"

"I really didn't."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

He reached across the seat, caught her hand and squeezed. "Stress and grief play havoc with the mind."

"I'd heard that."

He frowned slightly, looked at her again. "I'm worried about you, Avery."

She laughed without humor. "Funny you should say that, I'm worried about me, too."

He squeezed her fingers again, then returned his hand to the wheel. "It'll get better."

"Promise?"

"Sure."

They fell silent. She studied him, his profile, as he drove. Strong nose and chin. Nice mouth, full without being feminine. Kissable. She remembered that.