A Rusted Pistol

Only a few more things would be needed for Elaine to finally lay old memories to rest. First, she needed to make up some sort of headstone. After all this entire contrived and stupid plot all rested upon the proper burial of this poor girl, and all graves need headstones. Poor maintenance surrounded the old storehouse. Normally a farm hand would have taken care of the place, but since losing the work force foreclosure condemned and locked up all the buildings. Elaine took a different approach to entering the building, and sifted through the empty structure;s vacant storehouses.

Blood stained a wooden post that rose up from one of the old stables that held the horses Back in the mainstay of the time that the ranch actually held horses, Elaine always liked staying around them. She spent hours and hours at a very young age taking hay over to feed them. Elaine never knew she was poor. Growing up on a ranch with horses, surrounded by majestic mountains, and given an open invitation to spend all her time with ranchers, Elaine always felt that she owned everything she could ever need.

Her hand rested on top of the wooden stump. On her tenth birthday she accompanied a ranch hand to brand one of the new horses. Taking her safety more seriously than she did, the ranch hand told her not to stand behind the horse. The branding iron seared into the lower back of the horse, causing him to rear up and kick. Elaine heeded the man's words and stayed safely to the side of the horse, but the horse did not know that protocol. Bucking his legs backwards caused the horse to violently pass just past her chest. Feeling fear of the powerful beast's legs, Elaine employed her newly discovered power and jumped beyond the horse. She failed to control the power and how it would deliver her back into the real world, and when she materialized gravity overwhelmed her and brought her face first into the post. In the chaos of the horse's action the ranch hand never knew how Elaine got all the way across the stall, but his concern over the young girls split head took away the immediate inquisition.

This post would do the job that she wanted. She took out a knife and carved the name Ileana Angara into the side of the post longways. She began to hyphenate the last name in preparation to write in Clayotn's last name, but could not think of it. No matter. The man barely meant anything to her really, at least at this place he did. In this place nothing really mattered to her from the outside world. Leaving after watching soap operas with her grandmother seemed like forever ago, but now she whittle her name into the post with precision and ascetics.

Clayton quickly accepted the familiar spray gun William offered. He was genuinely grateful to have it, because using it meant his arm would be at full strength again, and that meant he would be useful again. It was the first real relief he felt in days. Clayton continued on with the spray in hand towards the direction the cowgirl went off in. He was able to catch a glimpse of her as she jumped into the building the way only she could. Clayton was always jealous of that ability; it was clearly something that would have been incredibly beneficial to him. Since he could not run through walls the way she could, he would have to try the door.

It was just his luck. The door was locked. Rather than knock or call out to Elaine, Clayton decided to fix his arm first. He sat himself on the ground up against the wall, and removed his sling before awkwardly unbuttoning his vest and shirt with one hand while still holding the spray gun. His arm was barely able to escape his sleeve on its own. He remembered the bandage around his wound at that point. At least it was not bleeding anymore; not that it would matter if it was, because it would be healed soon. Clayton glanced down at his exposed torso. He had quite a few scars for someone as young as he was. They were scars that would have been easily avoidable to him now, thanks to the lessons that each one taught him. Every scar was a lesson. The second oldest, a knife wound between his ribs that he received from a limy bastard that refused to pay him for a job he nearly botched when he was seventeen taught him not to trust the British. The first was hidden by the hair on his head; it was the one which taught him not to upset his father. Clayton almost wished the bullet hole in his arm would leave one to remind him of all that happened over the last few days. The memories alone would have to be enough. He unwrapped the gauze around his arm, covered the wound in the gel, and watched with a slightly morbid fascination as it rapidly began to repair itself the same way his hand did at the museum.

After nearly a minute of staring, it was time to get to work. He left the gun on the ground as he stood up, and began to button his shirt back up. His arm was as good as it ever was. “Elaine, you need any help in there?” He spoke as he buttoned, sure that he was loud enough for her to hear him from inside.

Bones watched as the Knight pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Clayton. He wondered briefly what it was, but assumed it was something between the two of them, so he kept digging. They were making quick work of the ground as Knight grabbed something from his belt, which turned into a shovel. However, both Mike and Bones stopped working, their shovel hitting the ground when he suddenly fell into a voice that just didn't seem to fit the sharp suit or jet. Mike glanced at the skeleton, the skeleton stared blankly back. The two of them began worked again as Knight broke the ground next to Mike, each one of thee working on what was essentially little box of 2 foot wide and 2-3 foot long. After a few moments of what felt like embarrassed silence from the other end of the grave, Bones cracked a smile and said simply, ”It sounds like you were more remembering someone else.”

With that, he fell back into silence and shovelled the dirt out of the ground. He wasn't as Strong as the Knight, but he could move smaller amounts of the dirt out of the ground faster. If he had been flesh and blood his shoulders and arms would have been aching already, but instead he felt the same tranquil state of... lack of sensation. Or at least lack of touch, taste and smell. It was almost something that bothered him when he was a ghost haunting a decrepit old manor sinking into the Orlean swamp. He stopped for a moment as he worked out a rock from the soil, thinking about his own grave that little Momma Uganda had worked him out of. It was shallow and poorly made, built into the very floor of the cellar.

Shaking his head he went back to work, concentrating on piling the soil to the side. Pretty soon, six feet had been carved out of a pretty regular rectangle hole. Bones paused to unbutton his vest, wiping mud over the blood on his shirt from a dead man in Mexico. Shaking some of the loose dirt off the shovel, he glanced over at Mike and Knight, before he threw his shovel out onto the other side of the grave. Then, he placed his hands on the dirt lip and pulled himself up, more than easily, sitting on the edge so he can help out Mike with a bony hand and Knight, if he needed it, which Frankie thought was unlikely. Then Bones stood up and placed his hands on his hips, covered with general splatters of dirt. He looked down at himself and smiled gently, shrugging slightly at Mike. ”Do you have some place I can wash up?” The tired man nodded his head, wiping sweat from his brow and giving him quick directions for when he got back into the house.

Frankie wandered back up to the House, pulling his gloves off as he went, glancing over his shoulder to check if the Knight was coming or not, or if his suit was even dirty. Then he made his way up the concrete stairs to the little shack. He knocked his shoes together, to loosen the dirt and then slipped them off, before he made his way inside. With an odd feeling of unease and intrusion, he made his way into the home's small bathroom. He placed his shoes down and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. He ran water over it before he cleaned the dirt off his gloves and off his trousers and shirt, trying to make himself appear cleaner like Ileana deserved. Then he gave his shoes a good scrubbing, before he tied them back on tight, humming an old tune to himself. With that done, he opened the door but paused on his way back outside; Mike's room was close to him, with it's door open just a little. In his sight-line was a stack of envelopes on the dresser. It was a stack of eviction notices, with big red block “URGENT” written on them. Frankie loitered for a moment before he moved back outside, grinding his jaw a little.

Feeling foolish and without much to say, he remained silent as his shovel continued to dig up the earth beneath his feet. The two before him had already made good swift work; with a third helping it would be done in no time. William scooped up as much as his shovel would carry, large loads of dirt being tossed to the side while the skeletal man worked with him to collect what he could not. Frankie was a swift worker, can’t say he expected a skeleton to show so much hustle. Elaine’s father worked hard like he did, but not having years of your life devoted to training set you back; even when it came to digging a hole.

The somewhat awkward silence was broken by Frankie, his friendly skeletal smile extended to William following his statement. ”You could say that…” The unmasked Knight dug his shovel back into the earth, being careful not to stain his suit as he pulled out another pile of dirt. After tossing it to the side with the rest of the dirt, William turned to the skeletal man, but was unable to return a smile as genuine. “But I think I’d rather forget.”

William doubted his own statement, but it barely showed in his voice. It was easier to forget, impossible, but surely easier than dealing with it. Now wasn’t the time to be concerned, the unmasked Knight continued digging up the grave without another word about it. It didn’t take long for them to reach six feet under, and thanks to precise work his suit was barely dirtied. Little speckles covered his suit, but most of the dirt was on his shoes; they could use a clean and shine.

The unmasked knight twirled his shovel like a staff as it collapsed into the same small pipe from earlier. In one fluid motion he returned it to his utility belt before moving to leave the grave with the others. While Frankie aided Mike, William helped himself, effortlessly pulling himself out of the opposite end of the grave. No fatigue weighed on the Knight, he had barely broken a sweat. As Frankie asked about washing up, William proceeded to dust himself off, removing some of the dirt speckles that littered his suit. The Knight kept his back to the two men, folding his arms and staring off in the distance. All he gave was a nod of approval over his shoulder, saying without words that they did well.

A scene like this wasn’t something he got to take in often, he technically could see it anytime, but taking the time to really see it was rare. It was so different here, the manmade mountains of cement didn’t carry the same natural beauty, but the familiarity made it beautiful to him. Nothing quite like home he guessed. His light brown eyes carried to the sun behind the clouds, not bothering to look back at the others. William felt out of place, that he should stand here and wait for his aid to be required. It worked for him, couldn’t complain about something he was accustomed to; his thoughts were his only company.

A rasping came upon the metal door. Elaine threw the post over her shoulder and walked towards the door. Within the blink of an eye Elaine moved outside of the barn and before Clayton buttoning his shirt up. "What do you think you're doing?" She exclaimed while swinging the post at Clayton's head. "I don't know what you think this is, so I'm going to lay down some ground rules. One, I get to have crazy amounts of sex with any guy I want, except you." She began counting all the rules that came to her head. "Two. Shut up. Rule three. I get presents on all of my birthdays during the year." The rules continued to roll with her tyrannical rule. "Rule four. Don't talk to me ever until I come back to this world." Elaine failed to elaborate on what she meant, but continued her list. "Rule five. You're a bitch, bitch."

After the verbal onslaught Elaine walked with the post over to the funeral ceremony, muttering about her perceptions of the situation. "Jerking it at a funeral. What the fuck." She flipped the post around in the air catching it by the poles. She caught the image of the partially carved name before yelling back. "I don't know if this marriage is going to work. You're like kinda stupid and what not."

Clayton was barely able to dodge the post swung at his head by the mad woman before she spun off into a cascade of ludicrous ground rules as if their marriage was going to be anything more than a memorial. “Oh! Oh, really? Well good luck with all that. I can’t think of any reason anyone would even want to have sex with you. You’re bat shit crazy, flat chested, and semi-pretty at best, and you’re just plain mean on top of it all.” He had enough of her completely unprovoked verbal abuse, especially at on a day like this, but kept his tone and volume as under control as he could. “All your birthdays? How many do you even—You think I was doing WHAT?! Why would anyone ever…” He trailed off once it dawned on him that arguing with her was a complete waste of time. “Whatever.”

Clayton followed towards the funeral. His cellphone began to ring. The name on the caller ID read “Wash”, it was his father. The third call that week, and the third he ignored. He had been on rocky terms with the old man for the past eight years, and wondered exactly what scheme his father had that required him to make yet another attempt at reconnecting with his son. Clayton did not have the time nor tolerance for it, not today. With the press of a button the call was ignored.

Bones descended the concrete steps outside of the house, his clean gloves rolling down his sleeves. He turned his head though, when he heard raised voices coming from behind the house. It sounded like Clayton and Elaine arguing. The skeleton moved around the building slightly and leant against the wall, folding his bony arms as he watched Elaine swing an old bat straight at Clayton's head. Those two... He thought with a dry sigh, shaking his head slightly before he lifted a hand to adjust the hat on his head. Already acting like a married couple. He turned away from them, not really wanting to see how it might have evolved into a fight. He figured that Princess wouldn't try her hardest to kill the Grifter. Maybe maim him, but not kill.

With Mexico rearing it's head in his sub-conscience again, Frankie decided to head towards the Cadillac. For a moment he stopped at the bumper of his car again, hesitating on whether to step forward or not. He finally decided to just move forward, his gloved hand tracing down the side of the Cadillac before he stepped around the back. There was the casket, sitting lonely in the car. Frankie's hand slid over the lock, before dipping into his trouser pocket. He could have just asked Clayton to open it up, but he decided to pick the lock instead. With a little click it opened and Frankie took a step back to lift it up.

For a moment, he just stood there, with his hands sliding into his pockets like they usually did. Then he turned on his heels and sat down on the lip of the Cadillacs open trunk. His hands moved form his pockets and instead went up to his hat, sliding it off in respect. ”Hello, Princess.” Frankie said softly, looking out on purple mountains. ”Sorry about scaring you, the first time we met.” He mumbled. Absent-mindedly, one of his legs began to bounce up and down. ”Elaine and Clayton miss you, I'm sure. I didn't get to know you too well, but I would have liked to.” He paused as he glanced over his shoulder, looking at the plain surface of the casket.

After a pause, he said softly, ”I hope it's good, where ever you are. And I hope the line isn't too long, or that they keep you waiting. They kept me waiting, but I think that was because I wasn't that nice in life. Or because I didn't get a proper grave. You've got a nice one though. A friend of Elaine and her father helped me make sure it was nice, Princess.” He sighed as he lifted a hand to rub his chin, the glove scraping against bone. ”And you've got a good spot too. I was buried in a basement, can you believe that? A basement. But you've got a nice copse of trees. And beyond that, big empty plains and huge beautiful mountains. I bet it probably snows around here at Winter, too. You can enjoy that. Did it ever snow in Mexico?” Bones turned his head and then laughed a little, lifting his hat and putting it back on his head. ”What are you doing Franklin?” He asked himself, standing up.

It was then that he felt a hand close over his and give it a squeeze. He froze as he turned to look at the casket again, sure that it would have opened up and Ileana had just been playing dead all along. But no one was there. No one was holding his hand and giving it a squeeze. Or at least, no one he could see.

Standing several feet from the grave, William’s attention was focused on the sun, which was mostly hidden behind the majestic purple mountain range. Eventually it moved from behind the mountains, its natural light too powerful for even the Black Knight to look. Putting up a single hand in defense, he shielded his eyes from the sun. With his other hand he reached into his jacket and withdrew his shades. After slipping them back onto his face, he could stare at the sun with eyes wide open. Through the shaded tint it still looked wonderful; no thoughts ran through his head, just peace and solitude.

Thanks to his well tuned senses, he was able to notice the skeletal man returning and approaching Clayton’s Cadillac. William chose not to intervene and instead kept an eye out with his peripheral vision over his shoulder. He held no suspicion towards Frankie, but figured he could use a moment alone. The Knight acted as if he never noticed a thing and continued observing the scenery in solitude.

Normally he would’ve let the man be, assuming that solitude was the best remedy since it had been for him. However something changed his mind, as if something or someone were suggesting that he go and at least keep the skeletal man company. This same feeling suggested he tried to do the same for everyone, and for whatever reason he agreed. Funny, he’d been secluding himself the whole time because he felt out of place, but his place was right in front of him all along.

William turned away from the sun and removed his shades, returning them to his jacket as he made his way across the plain towards Frankie. Out of habit, even while walking he moved silently, his footsteps difficult for even the most skilled assassins to pick up. The Knight swiftly arrived beside the Cadillac, stopping at the back window and leaning against it. William folded his arms and looked off in the distance, not bothering to make eye contact as he stated. “As a skeleton, you’d figure death would no longer phase you.” The Knight turned his head, moving his powerful light brown eyes to the skeletal man before boldly claiming. “But it just makes you see how precious mortality is, doesn’t it?”

The Knight didn’t give Frankie a chance to respond. “Death is something I’ll never become accustomed to…” William said as his head turned back, his eyes trailing off into the distance once again. “All my life it’s surrounded me, I’ve grown stronger because of it, but no matter the case it still stings just as bad as the first time.” Now it was him who was rambling. “Countless times I wished for it to be me, not them. That I would rather face death than see it harm another innocent soul.” William sighed, feeling as if he had already said too much, but there was no turning back now; he spat out what he had left to say. “Over time I realized it was futile make such wishes. Hoping, praying, wishing; they never accomplish anything. It was through action that I made a difference.” William allowed a very soft brief chuckle to escape through his nostrils while a slight smirk temporarily clung to his face. "Funny, even after all this time, I still fear death."

William's smirk faded, giving it a moment before asking one last thing. ”You’ve died before, haven’t you?”

"Who are you calling scruffy looking?" Elaine turned to speak from over her shoulder. She spun her pistols around her fingers while continuing her current pace towards the burial mound. "Why did you even got shot in the first place? If you had just let her get shot the following would have happened." She holstered her pistols and took to her fingers for a counting of her points. "One, you wouldn't have a bullet wound. Two, you never would have gotten attached to her and wouldn't be all sad that she died. And three, you wouldn't have looked like you were totally jerking it at a funeral that caused me to violently attack you. That's a three point argument; you can't argue back because you aren't smart enough to find any reasoning as to why I'm wrong."

The air of the funeral made Elaine feel bad for the death of her twin for some reason. "It's bad that she died, but think of it like this, if you had let the bullet go it could have nicked her and then she would've gone to a hospital. At the hospital the doctors wonder why she was shot. This leads to an ongoing investigation that leads to the take down of all major cartels and leaves her with all of the cartel money to give to the poor. But that didn't happen, because you messed it up. Maybe that's why your dad doesn't want you around anymore." Her foot steps brought her before the burial site. "Bee tee dubs, I'm quitting the Phantoms. I got this guy to take my place. I'll probably come back in a bit, but I need to go find out some way to better commune with the spirits so that I can talk with this girl."

"You know Lainey, if you just go find your sister..." He father interjected.

"No time, in the days it could take to find her, I could have already begun my several month long voyage through the netherworld." Elaine stood proud in herself before the grave. "From this day forward the reasons I am better than everyone will go up by one. Maybe two, I'm a better than everyone over achiever."

The cowgirl was only really right about one thing. She was right that Ileana would still be alive if he had done things differently; the rest was conjecture. Clayton felt that her blood was on both of their hands, and beneath Elaine’s attitude it was clear that she did too, or maybe he just wanted her to feel that way. Maybe he just wanted someone to tell him that it was not all his fault. At least she quickly changed the subject by volunteering him to take her place in the Phantoms. “Whoa, slow down there, Vaquera. You have me for what exactly? I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m definitely not some superhero. Far from it, actually…” He shook his head, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a habit he had in uncomfortable situations. This whole day was one of them. He gave an exaggerated sigh. Maybe with the Phantoms he could be the hero Ileana thought he was. “Fine. I’ll fill in for you or whatever, but you owe me. And try not to leave me with those costumed geeks for too long, okay?” He tilted his head at the post Elaine was wielding like a club, and noticed the name she carved into it. So that was going to be Ileana’s tomb stone. It looked nice like something she would have wanted. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, “It looks nice. The tombstone, I mean.” He kept his eyes to the ground.

Clayton glanced back at the Cadillac. The skeleton was standing over the casket. He hoped the fossil wasn’t looking for a date. He turned to face the men “So, uh, do we do this now, or…”

The hand squeezed, warm fingers wrapped around his cold ones. He could feel them being warm, as they squeezed softly and reassuringly. His bone fingers twitched, but they weren't the ones being held. Frankie didn't notice, or care to notice, as Knight crept up on him and leaned against Clayton's Cadillac; the weird sensation of feeling another human being simply beyond the usual pressure from his skeletal limbs was too much of an odd phenomenon to pass up. But then he spoke and whoever had held it, unseen, let go. He turned his head slowly, looking out at the windswept plains and the mountains. With the soft words burying their way into his head from Knights lips, like a grave they just dug, he settled down on the lip of the Cadillacs trunk again. This time because his knobbly knees felt like jelly. His mind was spinning as he fished out a battered cigarette carton from his vest pocket. Frankie had picked them up along with the phone, since he had run out of Cigars. He needed to smoke, even if it was only his brain tricking him into thinking it calmed him down. Out came the Zippo lighter, which made a tiny metal clacking sound as he listen to the Knight.

He got what he said. Frankie even got it more; he had killed before. Done it happily, had the blood of the-not-so innocent on hands of flesh. Some points he disagreed with though, but he bit his tongue and waiting for him to finish as he lifted his little wind breaking lighter and rolled a thumb over it. Light flashed into his eye sockets, which had been shielded from the brim of the hat pulled down on his head. The cigarette between his teeth was pulled upwards by a tiny slide forward of his lower jaw and a little press down with his upper teeth. The flame licked it's end before flaring to life. Knight had reached the end of his train of thought it seemed, asking about... about how he came to be a walking scarecrow of calcium. With a sharp snap! the zippo was closed and dropped into the inside pocket of his vest, pushed down with bony fingers as he tried to order his thoughts slowly and methodically.

He desired to answer the first question. ”Why do I get to shuffle around?” He said simply around the cigarette, lifting his head to look at the Black Knight from under the brim. ”I was a bastard. I mean, a real, shit-faced bastard.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he pulled the stick from between his teeth using his thumb and forefinger. ”I drank like a fish, stole anything that wasn't nailed down, nailed anything that walked on two legs and hurt people who didn't deserve to be hurt.” He turned the stick over in his fingers, rolling it and passing it from thumb and forefinger to forefinger and middle and back again.

”It doesn't sting me anymore.” He said honestly, glancing back at the Casket before looking at the Knight again. ”Parts of me are numb. Not that I can't feel them, but I've just quarantined them. Bricked them into their own little mausoleum to keep it out from the rest of me.” He ashed the cigarette and watched it bounce down the side of the Cadillac. ”That's where I keep the memories of my days in the Mob. Where I keep most of the bad stuff that would snap my mind in two if I didn't have some sort o' way of burying it.” He said conversationally, figuring that Knight would be able to keep it to himself.

Then he finally settled on the last bit, the bit that he dreading to come. In everyday conversation, when ever someone would exclaim, “He's a skeleton!” or ask him about it, Frankie would just point blank pretend to refuse such a fact. It was mostly for his own amusement, partly so he didn't have to explain it all over and over again each new day... and even partly because he didn't like to really admit it sometimes. But here, now, burying a girl with two people he met about four days ago and a man he dug a grave with... Well, it seemed appropriate. So he said simply, as if to the purple mountains.

”Yes. You can ask me about it, if you want.” Maybe a little part of him wanted to try and talk about it too.

William listened in silence as the skeleton briefly told his story, and it was not far from what he assumed either; could’ve never guessed that he was a member of the mob though. He could relate to Frankie, having been in a gang himself when he was younger. The two likely have seen horrors that most would never see in their lifetime. William got out of that life, never evaded the horrors, but instead helped to prevent them. Frankie not only lived that life, but died with it. The man was given a second chance, though stripped of his flesh, he still walked the earth. William wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do that, but he was also never put in the position. For whatever reason he respected this skeletal man and considered him courageous, the sins of his past life did not matter; Frankie seemed to want to make things right even if he was just a skeleton in a suit.

“I can relate.” The Knight stated briefly, giving no further details then that. Frankie told him he could ask about his skeletal body, but William didn’t wish to dig any further into the man’s business; he of all people could respect a secret. “I’ll pry no further, I can respect a man’s secrets. I think we’ve all got some skeletons in our closet.” The Knight turned his view to Frankie once again, giving him a nod as he requested. “Spare a cigarette?”

Three pairs of footsteps rang through his ears, out of the corner of his eye he determined that they belonged to Clayton, Elaine, and her father. The Cowgirl mentioned something about quitting the Phantoms, and apparently Clayton was to be her replacement. The girl’s father tried to talk sense into her, but his words fell on deaf ears. William felt the urge to say something as well even though his words would just as easily be ignored, but out of respect for the dead he chose to remain passive; now was a bad time to start something. He had to let the crazy girl go on whatever journey she needed to, it was set in her mind and nothing was going to change that; that much he could relate to and respect. The Knight did not take her words of superiority to heart, in through one ear and out the other. “Good luck.” William said to her with the smallest hint of sarcasm.

The Knight’s eyes drifted to Clayton, the man seemed to have a lot on his mind. Out of all the people here, he seemed the most affected by this. He was surely good at hiding it, however this detective was even better at reading it. William came to this conclusion without having to hear a single word, simply the look in his eyes told the story. This event had changed Clayton, before he would never even consider working along side the Phantoms, but now he was willing to be one. Even if it was only to temporarily replace Elaine, William felt his assumptions were true; Clayton wanted to make things better somehow, and the ‘costumed geeks’ were his best bet.

”I’d say we’re ready.” William responded swiftly to Clayton so he wouldn’t be left hanging on such an awkward note.

"Okay..." Elaine walked forward and set the post in the ground. Driving the stake into the ground would require a little more force than merely kicking it, so Elaine took to action her next set of actions. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." Elaine began parroting what she remembered priests saying at a ceremony at Mass. "...To lay to rest this person. She was not a whole lot of things; she was bat shit crazy, flat chested, semi pretty at best, and worse of all she was just plain mean; she hit me once for no reason and she even tried to be me once, but the important thing is that she is dead." Elaine paused on what she thought levied strong emotions for reasons other than anger and awkwardness. "Otherwise, none of us would be gathered here. Sometimes death brings people together that we otherwise would never meet. Black..." Elaine waved over to Black Knight. "...Perverted closet cases..." She motioned to Clayton next. "...And crazy skeleton people from the thirties. These are all people." She pointed to Bones recanting her last statement. " Except you. You can console yourself; not like Clayton does, but you know, like cheer yourself up. Anyways, she's not getting any deader so let's wrap this thing up with other people talking."

Pride swelled in Elaine's heart, feeling that she accomplished something important with her inappropriate, hateful, racist eulogy, but it did accomplish something. Elaine looked down on the burial site and felt something move inside of her. Her lip curled and bit down on the lower skin of her bottom lip. "Shut up Clay, I'm talking." She spoke regardless of whether anyone was speaking or not. "By remembering those we lose, we remember ourselves. And by living our lives, we keep those we lost alive. Amen." Elaine finished her eulogy and rested firmly upon the post.

Clayton literally bit his tongue at Elaine’s idea of a eulogy. He bit so hard he thought his tongue would bleed. She just had to pick then of all times to be her usual self. How could she? He knew that she was likely just as deeply affected as he was by Ileana’s death, and he understood trying to cover up whatever it was she was actually feeling, but that was just insulting to all involved. Then she had the nerve to tell him to shut up when he had not even been speaking. He began to have second and third thoughts about being legally wed to such a person. If it were not for a brief spark of humanity in her face around the time she told him to shut up, he would have just left right then and there.

Clayton felt like the others would expect him to say something, but there was nothing he wanted to say. Nothing he could articulate, anyway. He knew it would make him seem colder than he was; he told himself that was fine, because he did not care what any of these people thought of him anyway. “It’s okay.” He spoke without thought; unsure whether he was talking to himself, Elaine, or even Ileana. Without another word he moved to the tacky Cadillac to start the burial process.

Bones head was cocked slightly, almost as if he was thoughtfully reviewing what Knight had told him. Then he nodded, quite suddenly at the last request. He stood up and fished out the cigeratte carton again, after his own light one was slipped between teeth. Might as well let someone else get some actually enjoyment out of the things. With his thumb he pushed open the head and held it out for the Knight's consideration, as the now familiar voice of Elaine drifted over to their spot. When the offered ciggeratte had been taken he stepped away from the caddilac and shuffled over to the mark for the grave. It wasn't elegant. It looked like it was going to blow away with the first hard wind. But it was better then she would have gotten in Mexico.

And then Elaine opened her mouth again and the skeleton struggled to suppress the wave of the emotions that were rising. His shoulders pushed up and inwards towards his skull and his head lowered. Hands that might have been forming fists found their way into his trouser pockets and he slipped his bottom jaw down and beneath the upper, almost as if he was biting a lip that wasn't there anymore. Then there were convulsions, little jerks in his legs and shoulders that may or may not be jerks of choked back sobs. Had Elaine actually, personally deeply affected the bag of bones? No. He had to break away for a moment, hand over his bared teeth as he tried to muffle the sounds of his laughter. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ!

Her father might have given him an odd look as he ducked down out of sight behind the Buick '51. He sat down in the dry earth and snickered into his clutched fist, which might have looked even more like sobs from the outside. Unless the sound carried on the wind, then he would just probably look like an asshole. What was he even laughing at? Elaine? Not really. Sure the long speech was so full of misunderstanding and enough faux passes that it could have been put number one as the worse funeral of the century. It was probably just what felt like a long couple of days catching up to him, because the giggling was a little hysterical. Okay. Now he was going to stand up and help Clayton slide out the casket and carry it to the grave. Like a mature adult.

Elaine's dad was already stood next to Clayton as Frankie made his way over to them. He suspected Knight wouldn't be that far behind, as it was their job to carry Illeana to her resting place.