Boston's Man-Eater

XX

It was suspiciously silent.
Not surprising.

Then there were the occasional whispers.
Also not surprising.

What was surprising was Naomi's suicidal silence.

I had to adjust to this new normality that inched by for as long as I was doing anything Tess related.

It was a childish act.

And this time, Harold didn't assign me to work on the murder/self-inflicted death since I too was in the midst of the story, so he handed it over to Naomi.

Although the world was touched by Derek's death, I deemed him as an embarrassment. He died in the very same manner that exposed his disreputable side.

But people being people, always sure to wear rose tinted sunglasses when it comes to the rich, said he was a great influence who did all he could to help struggling communities.

Which he was if I put his disturbing persona to the side? I guess? Nope.

As the day dragged by, it came to my attention that the pathologists announced that the autopsy proved the death to be undetermined, and because there wasn't anyone else's DNA (which was very odd considering there were so many fingerprints) or any other kind of evidence found, it was ruled as self-inflicted.

And that's when people started to treat me like I was actually one of them.

I was wild with fury.

How offending was that!

Me? A murderer!

Plugging in my earphones, I decided to ignore them all until it was time to leave.

I started wondering if Tess was organizing the funeral.

Would she want me there?

I knew I had to go and just keep my distance. So, I drove back home and checked the abandoned suits stored at the back of my wardrobe.

And when everything was sorted out, I sat on my bed with my back against the headboard, gazing out into the twilight sky.

Only so much can happen in such little time.

***
I was vastly distressed to be attending the funeral.

The cold Autumn had descended, and so began the frosty mornings where I'd sometimes grab my phone and think about the virtues of a decent call, then finally embrace the coward in me.

So much time spent in pacing floors, and hovering my fingers over the dial button before sinking to the ground.

A part of me knew that Tess had no family, that I was supposed to be there to give her something to hold onto. But then again, I remembered that she had many friends who knew her more than I did.

So, what's the point? I thought.

And who knew what people would say if they found the speculated side boyfriend holding the lover of a dead man in his arms.

So, I had to scramble to the depths of my mind and find scrapes of patience to cling onto, until the day of funeral. Which was taking place this day.

5 October 2018.

I was five minutes away from my apartment, driving up to the Forest Hills Cemetery.

There was no music on, no company to disturb my damp atmosphere.

I glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw the collar of my white shirt and black blazer holding up my slim tie.

My curly hair sat naturally as the lenses of my glasses gleamed at me.