Epilogue

Monica W. Adams

3 months later

The scar on my chest has healed. The red gnarled tissue is stark against my pale skin. The black lace dress I chose for tonight puts it on full display along with my ample breasts. The mourning veil cloaks me, which is fitting for the occasion. The grass is rich in color like they feed it with nutrients and tend to the grounds daily. I bet they even scrub the bird shit off the tombstones and granite angel statues.

"And so we lay the kind-hearted, hard-working man down to his final resting place," the funnel director who took over my family business announces beside the six-foot dug-out hole in the ground.

A few sniffles and faint wails come from the crowd around me, but I don't look up to see who it's from. I've never seen any of these people in my life. I didn't even know Brandon knew this many people. A facade, I remind myself. He was an amalgamation of what everyone wanted or saw him to be.

The dark mahogany casket descends into darkness with the whirring of a mechanical lift—fancier than I've ever used. My family only ever used rope and pulleys. I guess it's a good thing I gave up that part of my job way before I ever had to deal with it. Handling the bodies was the only real joy I saw in what they left behind for me.

"Sir, it's time." The funeral director holds out the fresh, never-been-used shovel, bought solely for aesthetics.

Charles grumbles, seemingly bothered by the attention or the duty of having to bury a loved one. That first toss of dirt on the casket makes this final. He's never ever coming back to hurt me. That little part makes the corner of my mouth twitch with a suppressed smirk. Brandon messed with the wrong corpse fucker, and I picked the right corpse to fuck. Funny how fate works.

Once Charles finally makes his way to the front of the crowd, I lift my head in time to see his eyes bore into me. He grabs the front of his suit as if to adjust himself properly to put on a show for the onlookers and pushes his shoulders back. The old, brittle funeral director passes Charles the shovel. Charles rips it from his grip, nearly pulling the man off balance.

He's off his game. There's no way for him to maintain the control he's enjoyed for years, killing those who threatened to expose him for the killer he is. The tidbit I learned from Brandon set me on a course and I searched for answers, but I didn't find what I was looking for until I was packing up my belongings so I could move. I finally cleared out that spare room before selling. I never entered it due to the memories of my parents filling it. The whole ordeal was too painful, but when it came down to moving out, it had to be done. Thankfully, my father wasn't too good at hiding his secrets and left them al written in journals. He was onto Charles and began documenting it. He was going to expose Charles, but before he could, Charles found out. That's why my father was killed. My mother being with him was just an added bonus. With the wool pulled over my eyes all these years, I was convinced my family was the problem in this town. The real problem was right beneath the hand of justice, who decided to act like a god.

Speering the mound of dirt next to the grave, he drives his black work boot into the hilt. Once the burial christening commences, he steps away, handing the shovel back to the director, and finds a place in the crowd—which just so happens to be right next to me.

While the last words of the director's speech, something about another angel being sent to heaven, are being preached, Charles leans in close. His breath fans the black veil that's covering my face. "It was youuu." He slurs his words, and the alcohol wafting off him makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust. I cut a sideways glare at him. "I know it wasss. I'll tear you limb from limb until youuu tell me the truth."

The spittle from his hushed threats is caught in the web of my lace, and I wipe it off with the tips of my fingers. Hopefully, the onlookers from the crowd think I'm brushing away shed tears. I have to keep up appearances, or I'll start screaming. I want to give him the comeback he deserves, but this isn't the time. Jax schooled me thoroughly on how this should go. But soon enough, he'll get what's coming to him.

I'm happy when the director ends the ceremony because I'm not sure I can't last much longer. People break apart into smaller groups, giving their condolences for the loss of their friend, an old classmate, or a loved family member. The gravediggers finish replacing the dirt, but not before the gray clouds rumble above. Everyone stops to look up at the sky, including me. Small drops begin to land on my face and chest through the thin mesh. Hands are covering heads as people find their rides, but I continue to look up, letting the heaviness of guilt wash away. I shouldn't feel guilty for killing Brandon. He would've succeeded in doing the same if not for Jax.

I'm lucky our paths crossed when they did. Jax said guilt is a normal reaction with killing and that each one after would get easier. I didn't believe him because killing Brandon was easy. It felt almost necessary in a way. He said, ‘Yeah, but you were on a high. Once it settles in your subconscious, you'll question your morals.' His words were something I brushed off until that guilt began eating away at me like an infection. The rain acts as a cure, washing away that pesky emotion. Guilt should be reserved for those who matter.

"You can't stop, you lazy pieces of shit. The hole still has feet left to go. Give me that shit," Charles spits, interrupting my cleansing thoughts and bringing me back to the final piece I need to lay to rest. He yanks the shovel from one of the workers that didn't go off running in the rain.

"There's no point. It will be mud, sir. We will have to come back and finish this in the morning," the young man pleads with him, but Charles is dead set on finishing out his task. When the young man gets no response, he gives up, running off to catch up with the rest of the burial crew.

Charles shovels, cursing under his breath. The rain comes down harder, covering us in a curtain from the rest of the world. The world and my mind, because I don't know how I got there behind Charles, but here I am with a fallen shovel in hand.

"What the fuck do you want, Casp—" Charles cuts what he was saying short once he sees me. His brow arches at me curiously before he laughs. "What do you think you're going to do with that, huh?" He asks, stalking toward me.

"I'm going to kill you," I state nonchalantly with the shovel resting on my shoulder.

A lightness takes over my body, and my limbs hum with excitement. Charles continues his pursuit as he slowly approaches me like a predator. I position the shovel, readying to hit a home run with his face, but he stops a few feet short of batting range.

"You think because you dye your hair, it makes you any less a ghost in my eyes? I should've never given you mercy and killed you along with your parents."

He throws his head back, laughing, as if I don't already know all his dirty secrets. I know one that won't so much as catch him off guard as it will kick him off. It'll give him the chance to unleash that anger he's been harboring for me over this.

"I killed your son," I say matter-of-factly.

His delirious humor dies off just as I suspected, and he fixes me with a glare. "I know, but you weren't alone, were you? You had help, but look at you now." He splays his hands out to his sides. "You're all alone."

He lunges for me, but I take a couple of steps back, retreating just out of his reach. His chest heaves with the effort, and I know he took all his victims by surprise. That's what he taught Brandon, wasn't it? Act normal. They'll trust you, and then when you get them alone, jump them. He never had to work for his kills. I mean, aren't we taught to trust a police officer?

My lip twitches in a half-smirk.

"Are you sure about that?" A deep, familiar voice asks behind Charles.

He turns swiftly toward Jax. We're taking a note from Charles's playbook. Catch ‘em by surprise, and I take the opportunity to clock him in the back of the head. Charles takes a tumble right into his son's grave.

"He never saw it coming." Jax laughs, taking his place at my side.

He's looking down into the six-foot rectangular hole, but I'm sidetracked by a cloaked figure in the distance. Time gives a two-finger bony salute before disappearing.

I guess Time was always on our side after all.

"Everything okay, Dead Girl?" Jax asks with a concerned tone, readying to take out any witnesses.

"It's nothing. Just an old friend." He pulls me into him, planting a kiss on my temple.

"Anyone we can fuck later?"

My chest warms at his use of we. "Not unless you're actually the Doctor of Death."

"I mean. I could probably make that happen for you."

I laugh, pushing him teasingly. "Stop. We have work to do."

Jax squeezes my ass before jumping down into the hole. "Okay, but that ass is mine later."

"Okay, King!"

"And that,my friends, is how my awful brother found someone who also had dead bodies hanging in her closet. I'm definitely proof of that. Shit, you all side with him now? Ugh. I'm left facing an eternity dealing with people who actually like my brother. Can we get a redo?" Jeremey's brows move up and down in the motion he would've used for an eye roll if he had any eyes to roll.

"No!!!!" Time, Monica, and Jax all scream in unison.

"Ugh, fuck all of you!" Jeremy huffs.

And the movie reel jumps to a sequence of black and white strips, reaching the credits.