The groundskeeper at Forest Lawn cemetery had placed a canvas canopy over the open grave that would be Mr. Wagner’s final resting place. A three inch layer of snow had formed atop it since the morning. It was now mid-afternoon, and thankfully the precipitation had finally stopped. All the mourners were left to contend with weather-wise was a biting wind coming from the north-west.
Ryan stood at the foot of Old Man Wagner’s open grave and tossed a full beer can into it. The crowd of mourners smiled.
“Thanks Old Man—I mean Peter—for giving a guy a break every once and a while. I thought you might get a little thirsty on your journey, so here you go. I know this isn’t your favorite brand, but my Ma said under the circumstances I could take one of hers.”
From the side of her neighbor’s final resting place, Betty Lachey laughed and wiped away a tear from her eye. Peter Wagner had been a cantankerous old coot in her opinion, but the street wasn’t going to be the same without him.
She glanced over at the LaRose women, and noted that none of them were dressed in black for the occasion. “Times have changed,” she sighed to herself.
Helen seemed to have read her mind. “Nice outfit, Betty,” she said sincerely. “Black becomes you.”
“Thank you,” Betty replied, somewhat rattled by the compliment. People were being inordinately nice to her since she got out of the hospital. Now that Ryan had been cleared of any wrongdoing, she was able to hold her head high once again in the close-knit community. Still, things weren’t quite right. She wasn’t sure why her living room carpet had come to be cleaned while she was away. Or why she was missing a hell of a lot of whiskey. Or the big one — why she had obtained a soft spot for the women in the house next door. But she had.
She took Helen’s hand and patted it. “Stop by for coffee sometime, you lovely woman. And bring that cute daughter of yours along. I think Ryan likes her.” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Who knows, we could be related someday.”
“Thank you,” Helen replied with a smile. “I’ll do that sometime.” She took a couple of steps away from Betty and joined her mother. “What the hell, Mom? I know you drugged her while Mike Webster was fixing the chimney, but by any chance did you throw a little sugar into the potion to sweeten her up while you were at it?”
“I had her out cold, Helen. A woman has to do what a woman has to do,” Helena affirmed mischievously.
Helen sighed.
“Honestly, that man worked so slowly I thought I was going to have to leave her unconscious ‘till Christmas. Remind me to take a good look at his invoice when it comes in.”
“Shh!” Helen reminded her.
“Mr. Wagner was a cool dude,” Ryan continued, ignoring the idle chatter around him. “One summer, Tom and I snuck into his yard and raided his crab apple tree, thinking nobody was home. But he was home alright, and he caught us. He made us pick every fucking apple on the tree.” He saw Helen wince, but continued his story. “It took us hours. He wound up making apple sauce with them later that night, and the next day he brought some over to my Ma. She said it was the best she ever had.”
“I never heard that part of the story until now,” Betty admitted aloud. “Or I would have whooped your ass, Ryan. But the sauce was really good.”
Ryan smiled and took a deep breath. Delivering the eulogy was tougher than he thought it was going to be, but deep in his heart he knew he was the man for the job. He collected his thoughts and was about to continue speaking when a short loud wail of a police siren made everyone’s head turn towards the parking lot.
“We probably shouldn’t have left Stan alone in the front of the car,” Purdy confessed to Roy. “Our track record’s not that great with him.”
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have kept the keys in the ignition,” Roy grimaced. “I caught Ryan driving Betty’s car before he was legal. I really don’t want to have to explain to the town council how Stan took a joyride in the cruiser.”
“I didn’t want him getting cold,” Purdy tried to explain. “He promised me he wouldn’t touch anything. He’s getting more and more like Ryan every day.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all,” Roy acknowledged. Stan had been through a lot and he was worried about the boy. “Have you had a chance to talk to him?” he asked Purdy.
Purdy nodded. “I did when we went to get Betty from the hospital. He seems to have selective recall about the whole ordeal. I can’t explain it.”
“I bet I can,” Roy said, looking disapprovingly at Helena.
Ryan cleared his throat loudly. “Are you done?” Ryan asked the officers. The tone of his voice indicated he harbored some ill-feelings towards the two lawmen despite being off the hook for the murders. “Because I’d like to get through this before supper, unless you’ve got some toaster pops for me.”
The officers turned their eyes to the ground and nodded, feeling a little sheepish.
Ryan started to continue, only to be silenced this time by the sound of a cell phone playing a remixed theme from The Adams Family, thumb clicks and all. Ellie pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the call display before shutting it off.
“Sorry,” she offered honestly in response to Ryan’s pained look.
“Who was it?” Tom asked, leaning over her shoulder to try and get a peek at the call display.
“Dina,” Ellie replied. “A friend from my former life. She can wait,” she said, turning her phone off and stuffing it back into her pocket. “Where’s Jacey?”
“Jacey doesn’t do funerals. I’m confused right now, about what Jacey does and doesn’t do, but apparently she doesn’t do funerals.” He took Ellie’s hand and held it.
“People. I know Old-Man Wagner’s not goin’ anywhere, but I’m getting cold. So shut up, okay?” He waited for silence. “Okay. My mom said he was a fucking sly dude when he was younger,” Ryan continued, retelling his favorite story as only Ryan could. “The cops were always hauling his ass off for something. They ripped out his whole garden one summer in the sixties, or so my granny said.” He looked at Helen and laughed. “Look, Ms. L., I’m tryin’, okay?”
“I know. But just for today, could you say frack?” Helen asked politely. “I mean, it is the man’s funeral.”
“I can’t, Ms. L,” he explained. “Especially today, because Old Man—I mean Peter—we used to watch Battlestar Galactica together at his house sometimes, and he’d scream at the screen when they kept saying that. ‘Say what you mean’, he’d yell. ‘What’s the point? We all know what you’re really saying, so just say it.’”
“It’s true,” Helena agreed. “Mr. Wagner told me that too. It used to drive him crazy when they said frack. Other than that, he was a big fan of the show.”
“Ma, can you pass me my guitar?” Ryan asked. “I know I gotta wrap this up, but I wrote a little song about Mr. Wagner, that I’d like to sing for you now.” He took the guitar from his mother and strummed a few strings. “Gimme a second,” he pleaded, “this cold weather makes it hard for the strings to stay in tune.” He adjusted the tension and strummed again. “Okay, like I was saying, this is a song I wrote…well, actually, Helen LaRose and I wrote. She helped me with the lyrics. I know, I know, it’s crazy that this foxy mama wanted to spend some alone time with me, but she did,” he laughed. He looked over in the direction of Ralph Wildman and Tara, who were standing in the background. “Don’t even go there, Wildman. Are we good, Ms. L?”
“We’re good,” Helen smiled. “But don’t push it.”
“You did what?” a shocked Helena leaned over and asked her daughter. “When did this happen and should I be worried?”
“Well, I was always liked to write poetry. I just thought I’d help him out a bit. Clean it up a little, if you get my drift. I still know how to sneak out of the house, you know. It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.”
“You are full of surprises, Helen,” her mother laughed. She gave her daughter a hug.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the
tree,” Helen noted. “Remind me to install an alarm on Ellie’s window, will you?”
“If you want to. But it’s a waste of time and money. She’ll find a way out. It’s genetic,” Helena protested.
“I know,” Helen admitted. “Maybe I want to keep things from coming in. Home sweet home and all that.”
“I take it Willie never said good-bye?”
Helen shook her head.
“He’ll be back,” Helena said, rubbing the back of her daughter’s coat. “Whether we want him to or not.” Both women pondered the ramifications of that statement for a moment, and then turned to Ryan.
“Okay, here we go,” Ryan began, tapping his foot as he sang in a loud baritone voice:
“You were the last man standing,
When thy sent you off to war,
You were the last man standing,
When your mission was no more.
You were the last man standing,
When the poker call was made,
You were the last man standing,
When the final cards were played.
Now I’m the last man standing,
Missing you like hell,
I’ll be the last man standing,
Wishing you farewell.”
The crowd clapped quietly as Ryan nodded to the clergyman. “Take it, Padre.”
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the preacher began, as Ryan strummed his guitar softly in accompaniment. He waited until the clergyman had given the rites, and then chose the moment to show off some fancy fret work.
“Encore!” Ellie yelled to Ryan.
“You know what Goth?” Ryan responded. “There is a song I can’t get out of my head that might just work.” He strummed a d-chord, g-chord, d-chord opener and began to sing:
“Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin' for to carry me home;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin' for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan,
And WHAT did I see,
Comin' for to carry me home,
A band of angels comin' after me,
Comin' for to carry me home.
“Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin' for to carry me home;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin' for to carry me home.
If you get there before I do,
Comin' for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm comin' too,
Comin' for to carry me home.
This time the mourners didn’t clap. They coughed, and they cried and they reached for their family members and gave them a hug.
Ryan kissed his guitar pick then tossed it onto the casket. “Godspeed, Old Man Wagner,” he whispered, fighting back the tears.
Ellie stepped forward and pulled Beastie Bear from the bag she was carrying. She gave it a kiss and tossed it in as well.
“What are you doing?” Helen shrieked. “That’s your bear.”
“I don’t need it,” Ellie sighed. “I offered it to Stan, but he said he didn’t want it either. He said he was almost nine,” she smiled. “Sometimes you just have to let go.”
“Are you sure?” Helen asked. “You don’t have to let go of everything. You could let go of just a little…”
“I’m sure,” Ellie said, turning to smile at Tom.
“Is there enough room in there to toss in that God-forsaken bug van of yours?” Helena asked. “I mean, while we’re giving things away?”
“I’ll take it back to Tony tomorrow,” Helen offered. “Although it might be good for our family business, if you think about it.”
“Get rid of it,” Helena insisted. “I’m searching Craig’s list for a black Impala for you.”
“You know, there’s a lot more room in a Beemer than people think,” Helen smiled.
“You just keep thinking that,” Helena laughed, patting her daughter on the shoulder. “And I’ll go see if Forest Lawn’s grave digger is looking for an assistant. You still need a job. Unless you feel like becoming a cop. Apparently there’s a shortage in town.”
Helen grumbled inaudibly to herself.
“What’s that?” Helena prodded.
“I guess Roy’s heaving a sigh of relief…getting to pin all the murders on the twins you wanted me to date,” Helen said sarcastically.
“I think he’s got mixed feelings on that one,” Helen lamented. “I don’t know what this is going to do to our relationship. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
“From the relationship or from Troy?” Helen asked. “Because I just got here. I’m beginning to settle in. I know where the school is. I know where the movie theatre is. I know where the jail is…or was, and now I know where the cemetery is. Really, what else is there to know?” She glanced over at Ellie, still holding Tom’s hand. “And Ellie’s making friends.”
“And?”
“And that’s it. They’re a little misguided, but they’re good kids. Human kids. That ought to count for something.”
“Helen, you sound enlightened,” Helena noted. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fighting vampires and wraiths can do that to you,” she admitted. “I’ve definitely lost my little girl. But I like the woman she is becoming,” she said lovingly. “Sort of. She still wears weird make-up.”
“Oh, Helen!” her mother sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Love me like you always do, because you’re my mom,” she answered. “And learn to lock your doors.”
“Deal,” Helena agreed, crossing her fingers behind her back.
She needn’t have worried. Her promise to her daughter had fallen upon deaf ears. Helen’s full attention had turned to a man she had never seen before. A tall man, with reddish blond hair that hung unkemptly over the collar of the long, tan drover coat he wore haphazardly over his left shoulder, despite the weather.
“Who is that incredibly handsome man who just walked up beside Betty?” she asked her mother. “Does Ryan have an older brother I don’t know about?”
“Settle down, Helen,” Helena replied. “That’s Ciaran Quinn.”
“Who?”
“An old acquaintance.”
“He doesn’t look that old to me. He looks positively divine.”
“Uh, no. He was a houseguest of Mr. Wagner’s. I imagine he’s come to say his last respects,” her mother informed her.
“I thought you said Mr. Wagner lived alone.”
“He did. Ciaran rented his backyard for a month.” Helena bobbed her head in contemplation. How much did she really want Helen to know? “Sort of. At the beginning of July.”
“No! Don’t tell me…”
“Well you didn’t think Gaspar was the only vampire in town did you? How did you think I managed to save the boy that night? He tried to kill himself. He had lost a hell of lot of blood by the time I found him. I needed another vampire to bring him back from the dead. If only temporarily,” she sighed.
“And Ciaran was…” Helen began, her eyes looking him up and down. She never would have guessed there was anything unnatural about him. “Really?” she sighed.
“Listen to me the first time, Helen.”
“But he looks so…”
“Human?”
“I was going to say ‘fine’.”
“Well, I guess he is a step up from your man in purgatory,” Helena taunted. “You are incorrigible, you know that, Helen?”
“I get that from you.”
“And Ellie gets it from you.”
“We’re doomed,” Helen laughed, putting her arms around her mother. “What do you think happened to Jacey’s baby? That must be heartbreaking for her.”
“I don’t know,” Helena replied nervously, taking Helen’s arm off her shoulders. “You take the Mustang and drive Ellie home before the guests get there. I think I’m going to go take a little walk. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by all this.” She caught Ciaran’s attention out of the
corner of her eye and nodded to him.
“Mother! You get back here,” Helena insisted as Helena began to walk away. “You do too know something! Spill it.”
Helena stopped in her tracks and was tempted to say something smart back to Helen, then thought the better of it. “I forgot to tell you, darling. Your grandmother has invited us to England for Christmas. Think about it, will you? I’m going to have to let her know our answer soon.”
“Let’s not. Tell her to come here. We can all be together and celebrate the season in Troy. I’ll help you decorate the house.”
“I don’t know, the whole Santa/Chimney thing…” she hesitated, “…that was a bit of a bummer. Besides, Elaine’s not getting any younger.”
“Well she sure as hell isn’t getting that much older,” Helen argued, putting her hands to her temple. Helena watched as her daughter’s forehead begin to wrinkle. “Oh crap,” Helen said with disappointment. “I have visions of sugar plums fighting in my head.”
“I’m so glad you’ve embraced this power of yours,” Helena remarked. “It’s going to make life a hell of a lot simpler.” Turning, she started to walk off in the direction opposite the parking lot.
At the edge of the cemetery was a sparsely wooded forest that led down to the banks of the river. Helena kept walking until she could no longer hear the sound of the crowd at the funery ground. She stood alone and breathed in the crisp, cold air. The wind refusing to calm, whipping through the bare branches of the birch tree with little resistance. For Helena, it brought back memories of her childhood in England, where she would walk through old cobblestone streets. When she was young, the wind tried its best to knock her over. She didn’t have any of its nonsense then, and she wasn’t going to have any of it now. She would dig her heels in as usual.
A tug on her coat sleeve from behind her back brought her back to reality.
“I have eyes in the back of my head, Ryan,” she said as he moved in front of her and raised his out-stretched arm towards her face.
“Don’t do it,” he begged, a look of desperation on his face.
“Do what?” Helen asked, somewhat nervously.
“Don’t do to Tom, Jacey and me, what you did to Stan.”
“Be quick with this, Ryan. I have an appointment to keep.”
“The memory thing. We want to remember all this craziness. This has been the best week of my life. Except for the almost dying part.”
“Really, Ryan. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If you say so,” he said, sounding eerily like Mr. Wagner.
“I’m sure that Stan will be less nervous now,” Helen offered. “He’s still Stan, don’t worry. He’s just been unwound a bit. A good thing, under the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?”
“He punched me in the gut last night,” Ryan informed her. “I was just lying there on the couch, calling him a wimp like I usually do, and he up and drove me one,” Ryan said with a smile. “I’m thinking he’s a cornerback.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Helena smiled back.
From above their heads, a crow let out an ear-piercing call, then dove downwards towards them from its perch high in the tree. It missed Ryan’s head by less than an inch.
“Whoa, that was creepy,” Ryan said, clearly shaken. “It’s the wrong time of the year for them to be all gonzo. No babies in the nest. Are you okay, Mrs. LaRose?”
“I’m fine, Ryan,” Helena assured him. “But maybe it’s time you rejoined your friends.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. He could see a dozen or so crows heading towards them from the north, all soaring lower than they should be. He turned and ran back towards the crowd as fast as he could.
“Glad to see your shoulder’s better,” Helena said to herself.
She took the scarf she had wrapped around her neck and placed it over her head, glancing at the sky as she did so. The crows had arrived and formed a circle around her on the ground. She turned around to face the river, and found that once again she was not alone.
“We have unfinished business,” the voice said, the Celtic accent being easily understood by Helena.
“I know,” she sighed, her boots crunching the frozen snow beneath her feet. “Elaine has called me home. But I’d like to get through Thanksgiving first, Ciaran. No craziness, no voodoo, just home made turkey and pumpkin pie.”
“Good luck with that, Helena,” he smiled wryly. “If you bring the girls with you in December, I suggest you book a sightseeing trip for them to keep them occupied. You and I are going to be quite busy, I’m afraid.”
“Ciaran,” Helena began, “about Gaspar…”
“You did what you had to do,” he told her. “Even I understand that. But you owe me one, and I’ll be in touch.”
He blew a kiss towards her, turned and walked alone down to the riverbank.
She watched him walk along the shoreline until he eventually vanished from her sight. Ciaran’s arrival hadn’t been happenstance. She was grateful that he had decided to give her some peace. Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and she had a lot to be thankful for. Ellie and Helen wouldn’t just be home for the holiday, they were home for good as far as she was concerned. That, more than anything, made her feel like everything was good in her world. At least for now.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Janine McCaw lives in Vancouver, (Supernatural) British Columbia. “Helens-of-Troy” is the first in a series of “Helens” books, so please check back for more stories. She has previously released the title “Olivia’s Mine,” a fictional account of the disasters at Britannia Beach, circa 1920.
Reach us:
www.JanineMcCaw.com
www.Helens-of-Troy.com
facebook: Helens-of-Troy
facebook: Janine McCaw, Author
SupernaturalCentral.blogspot.ca
Tweet:@ mc_janine
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends