There is one thing that has not been addressed this entire time.
Their funerals.
The idea of laying what remains of my parents to rest, even in passing, is haunting. Like a phantom lingering over my life, it has troubled me for weeks, lingering at the back of my mind as if it is a sore whose itch I am desperate to scratch. But now that the medical examiner has deemed their bodies fit for release and burial, I can’t help but feel an unbearable weight that I have never experienced before.
You have to do it, a part of me says. You can’t just leave them to sit in the morgue forever.
I know I can’t. I know that. And yet, even the idea of watching their coffins be lowered into the ground, or deciding whether or not to cremate them, makes me want to scream.
Sitting here, in my room, staring at my phone, I try not to replay the medical examiner’s message in my head, but can’t help but hear it anyway.
If it’s any comfort, he’d offered, in a casual voice that made me wonder if he was even talking about the dead, they didn’t suffer. The autopsies showed that their lungs were filled with smoke. They both passed away in their sleep.
In their sleep, I think.
Didn’t suffer, I muse.
While that is a small comfort in some respects, it doesn’t change the overall fact that my parents are dead, and there is nothing anyone—not even the police—can do about that.
A part of me wants to cry. Another, larger part of me wants to die. But I know, deep down, that despite all the grief I feel—all the pain, all the suffering, all the anguish—I know I have to go on.
I’m only eighteen years old.
I still have my whole life ahead of me.
But so did they, a part of me thinks. So did they.
The Light Wolf shimmers into existence in the corner of the room. Radiant, with white light spilling from her person, she appears to be an angel sent from the Heavens, and looks upon me with eyes emblazoned with gold.
Oaklynn, she says.
You’re here, I think, turning my head to regard her as she begins to make her way across the room. But… why?
I am always with you, Oaklynn Smith. Do not think that just because I do not speak often means that I am not here always.
I— I think, then frown. I struggle to piece together my emotions, but when they come, I can only manage: I’m sorry.
For what, my friend?
For thinking you didn’t care.
You are at a threshold you never thought you would experience in your youth, she says, before stepping forward to stand directly in front of me. This is a moment that should have occurred far into the future, when they were both old and frail, and you stronger with experience and age. But now that it has happened in your presence, you feel lost, bewildered, and—
Alone, I finish.
The Light Wolf nods. Yes. Alone. She leans forward—and though I know she is not real in the physical sense, at least in this moment, I swear I can feel the heat of her body as she presses her head against my hand, the breath coming from her snout as it falls across my arm. But I want you to know something, Oaklynn Smith. I want you to know that, as long as I am here, you will never be alone.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The Light Wolf lifts her eyes to face me; and though I have never truly beheld the world within her gaze, I can see, within the pupils of her eyes, a land untamed, a world uninhibited.
Know that they watch over you, she says as she begins to fade away. Have faith in that.
Faith, I think, and close my eyes.
And though I try my hardest to keep from sobbing, the tears come anyway.
Within moments, I am prone in bed, my cat at my side and my life rushing past me.
It takes all I can manage not to call out for help.
I fall asleep sometime during the afternoon, and am stirred awake only when I hear my bedroom door crackopen.
“She’s asleep?” Zachariah Meadows asks from the hall outside.
“She is,” Jackson replies.
The door closes quietly; and though I am still half-asleep, I hear their voices, deep as they are, carry as they make their way down the hall.
The first words out of Zachariah Meadows’ mouth are: “What are you going to do?”
“About what?” Jackson asks.
“About the funerals.”
“What about them?” my friend asks.
His father sighs and says, “It might be seen as disingenuous for us to go with her.”
“We can’t let her go alone,” Jackson replies. “That would be cruel.”
“Yes, but the town doesn’t know us, and we may be seen as—“
“What?”
“Conspirators,” Zachariah finishes.
I frown.
Conspirators? What could he mean by that?
I quiet my breathing in an effort to hear them as they continue to speak.
“The town has its eyes on her,” Zachariah continues in the moments that follow. “And the Wells family has her in their sights.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means: we have to be careful, especially if we don’t want to be discovered.”
I can’t help but frown once again.
Is Zachariah really still that scared of being discovered? Especially now that things have, effectively, died down?
They haven’t ‘died down,’ my troublesome conscience offers. It’s simply come to a standstill.
Regardless, the fact that he’s worried about something as seemingly innocuous as attending a funeral doesn’t help much, especially considering that I was depending on them for the emotional support.
Even if they don’t go, I then think, you’ll still have J’vonte and her mom there.
With a sigh, I roll over to face the doorway, then push my legs over the side of the bed and seat myself upright.
Though a part of me wants to simply go back to bed, I know for a fact that wasting the day away isn’t going to do me any good. For that reason, I rise, then make my way into the hall.
Jackson and Zachariah turn their heads to regard me as I close my bedroom door.
“Hi,” I say.
“How are you feeling?” Jackson asks.
“Fine,” I reply. “Why?”
“You normally don’t sleep in the afternoon,” Zachariah offers. “We were concerned.”
“I’ve managing. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”
“I understand.”
A long silence stretches between us as I look at them and they at me. I want to know what exactly they think of this predicament—because in standing here, watching and waiting for them to respond, a part of me wonders if they knew I was listening—but I know I won’t get an answer without broaching the topic. So, for that reason, I sigh, then clear my throat and ask, “About the funeral…”
Jackson’s eyes fall to the floor. His father’s, meanwhile, remain fixed on me.
“Oaklynn—“ Zachariah begins.
“Wait,” I say, and lift a hand to stop him from speaking.
The man falls silent.
I shift my eyes from him, to Jackson, then back to him again before saying, “I understand if you’re concerned about going.”
He blinks, obviously stunned. “You… are?”
I nod. “Yes, sir. I am. I… I know that we have to be concerned about what happened during the fire, especially because of… well… what the Dark Wolf did…”
“We’re strangers here,” Zachariah says. “We don’t want anyone to have even the slightest inclination that we’re different from them.”
“Which is why I’m electing to go to the funeral without the two of you.”
Jackson coughs. Lifts his hand to his face. Says, “Oaklynn—“
“It’s okay, Jackson. Really. Neither of you knew my parents, so… it just makes sense that I would go without you. Besides—“ I pause and take a moment to consider what I’m about to say. “I’ll have J’vonte and her mom there with me.”
“Are you sure?” Jackson asks.
“I’m sure, Jackson.”
The young man sighs, but doesn’t argue further. He simply says, “Okay,” then steps forward and offers me a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Oaklynn.”
“For what?”
“For what happened to you. Your parents. Everything.”
“It’s just the way life works, Jackson,” I say. “You either swim or you sink.”
“Sadly,” Zachariah says, “that’s very true.”
And it is, too. Because no matter how much I want to deny it—for things to go back to normal, for my life to return to some sort of synchrony—I know for a fact that it never will.
No.
Now, I must face what’s been presented to me, and rise as a result of it.
As Jackson and I part from one another, I look into his eyes and force myself to nod.
I know I can do this.
I can survive my parents’ funeral.