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  When the prayers were over, and the body was carried to its final resting place, a huge bonfire on a hill overlooking a grassy meadow that sang to them as the winds kicked up, Chris’ grandfather gave a speech in honor of his people. A speech that made him proud to be at least a half-blood. Those words, whether Chris has realized it or not, would stay with him for the rest of his life, a reminder of what his people stood for – honor, balance, loyalty and the spirit that lived in all things.

  His mother’s hand had tightened around his as her father spoke of the tribe’s way of life and of their legacy that would remain on long after the old ways had gone. The Whayani were the guardians of all things on earth, from the rocks to the trees, to the myriad of creatures that coexisted in harmony with them. They were responsible for maintaining the balance that held everything together and kept the Gods satisfied.

  Chris smiled; a feeling of pride began welling up inside him with the memory of his grandfather’s words and it suddenly dawned on him what he needed to do. He would take his mother’s body back to the Whayani reservation where she could receive a proper burial in the traditional manner.

  Nodding, he stood up, feeling more certain than he had about anything in his life, he knew he owed his mother at least that much. She had died tormented, a shadow of her former self but he would make sure her final resting place was with her people where she belonged and where her spirit could be guided safely to the afterlife.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m sorry but arrangements have already been made for the burial of Mrs. West.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing; his mother was his, and only his, responsibility. There must have been a mistake.

  The medical examiner continued, “A Mr. West, the deceased’s husband, came in yesterday and made arrangements for the burial.”

  The name reverberated around his mind for a few seconds, Mr. West … his father… After years of not being there for them, after abandoning them and discarding them like old boots that no longer served his purpose, that dick had the temerity to consider it his responsibility to arrange the burial?!

  Chris’ hand tightened around the phone as the all-too familiar feeling of rage coursed through his veins once more, the plastic receiver groaning under the strain of his strong hand, threatening to buckle. Several years earlier, he recalled a conversation with his mother, during one of the rare times she had been lucid. She had told him the divorce had gone through and that they were finally free, just the two of them. He had no reason to question the truth of her words back then. He had simply been relieved, relieved for his mother.

  A small part of him had vainly believed that with Richard gone his mother might at last be released from the darkness that had poisoned her soul for so long. He had been wrong. The heroin abuse had continued and Chris had allowed it to… the phone was beginning to crack in his hand and the voice of the medical examiner on the other end began to grow impatient.

  “Sir, are you still there? Sir?”

  Chris shook his head and took a deep breath, his iron grip relaxing, sparing his house phone what would have been a messy end. “Yes, I’m still here… I was just thinking, that’s all.”

  “What is your relationship to the deceased, sir?” The examiner enquired.

  “I’m her son.” Chris said.

  “Ah… would you like the contact details of Mr. West; perhaps you can discuss things further with him directly?”

  As much as he hated to have to communicate with his father again, he knew he had no option. His father had long ago relinquished his responsibilities and left Chris to clean up the mess he had left behind. Chris knew he had failed in that. He hadn’t been able to save his sick mother. His mother’s burial was his responsibility though; he would have to call the devil of a man and set him straight about that.

  “Yes, please.”

  * * *

  Chris had sat by the phone for over an hour, thoughts of his father flashing through his mind one by one, starting from the days when his father had seemed to be a simple construction foreman. Back then he had been different. He would come home from work, in his jeans and vest, covered from head-to-toe in dust and dirt but beneath the grime and dust of the day’s work would always be a smile and a pair of eyes that sparkled with mirth.

  There had been love in the West household many years ago, and Chris was a happy child, basking in the warmth.

  His mother hadn’t worked; instead she had been a loyal and loving mother and wife. The house had been filled with an array of plants and flowers that seemed to be in full blossom throughout the year, alive and feeding off the vitality his mother possessed in abundance.

  It was a good time, the happiest of his life but it had all gone wrong. His father had ‘changed’ somehow. Or maybe he hadn’t changed. Maybe he was always this way, and a young boy is able to blind himself to a lot of terrible things.

  His dad would come home late at night and lash out at his mother, screaming at her to leave him alone, but he would never hit her. That came later, along with the strange men in suits that started to accompany him at night. They would disappear into the kitchen and close the door, sometimes not coming out for hours. When they were having their ‘meetings’ in there, Chris wasn’t allowed to go into the kitchen. If he did, he would get a beating for it.

  Later, once the men had left, his father would appear in his bedroom doorway, his muscular body outlined in the darkness by the light in the hallway. It had become a nightmarish sight.

  Then he began to beat Chris’ mother, each time more savagely than the last. The demon would take out his fury upon her with the tough leather belt he wore to work each day.

  The bruises… they had been horrific.

  Filled with fury once more, Chris picked up the phone and dialed the number the medical examiner had given him. As the phone rang, a strange feeling washed over him, causing his breath to catch in his throat… fear, he noticed his hands were trembling slightly as he held the phone to his ear, waiting. Even after all this time, the fear was still there.

  “Hello?”

  The voice of Richard, his father was as strong and forceful as he remembered. He took a deep breath and began, not sure what to say.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  He knew that would suffice.

  “Chris?”

  “Yes, Richard, it’s me Chris. I’m calling about my mother,” he said, refusing to say ‘dad’ – a term he hadn’t touched in many years.

  “Yeah, that was sad… huh? I heard it was from an overdose. She never could break that habit,” Richard said, his voice emotionless.

  “Yeah, no thanks to you…” Chris said, his voice betraying a sliver of the anger that boiled inside him.

  “Look; that had nothing to do with me. She went off the rails, started doing that shit every day. There was nothing anybody could have done to stop her. Too damn stubborn for her own good!” Richard was becoming annoyed, and pretty soon Chris knew he would more than likely fly off the handle and hang up on him. His already deep, booming voice was growing louder in Chris’ ear as he became impatient.

  “I’m busy, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

  Chris controlled the anger in his voice, “You’ve already made arrangements for mom’s funeral. I want to know what they are.”

  “I’ve made arrangements with a local funeral home not far from where you are. We’ll have her in the ground by Saturday.” Richard said still betraying no emotion and Chris knew there was none to betray.

  “A local funeral home, are you kidding me? So you’ve basically planned some cheapskate funeral to get rid of her as quick and painlessly as possible?” Chris struggled to hold back the fury threatening to rise to the surface.

  Richard was as cold as ever, “Yeah, basically. As far as I’m concerned, you are ‘both’ dead to me and the sooner I get this done with, the sooner I can get on with my life.”

  “Just send her back to where she belongs, t
he reservation. She can have a proper burial and be with her people.”

  Chris didn’t want to plead but he would if he had to.

  Richard laughed and his voice filled with scorn, “Back to the savages? Now, it’s you that’s gotta be kidding, Chris. She goes nowhere near that inbred community. Sorry but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  Chris finally broke, his anger spilling over cancelling out any fear he may have previously felt, “You disgusting animal. It was you that killed her. You introduced her to that… that… poison and you beat her till she couldn’t walk. You owe it to her to give her a proper burial with her people!”

  Richard’s voice suddenly became menacing, and Chris flinched from the sound as memories flooded his mind, images of the hulking figure in the darkness, belt raised to strike.

  “She’s going nowhere near that bunch of savages. Those filthy people don’t want anything to do with you and neither do I, so do yourself a big favor and don’t waste my time by calling again.”

  Then he was gone. Chris stared at the phone in his hand, tears welling up in his eyes as he realized he was powerless to do anything. Richard would have his way, just as he always did.

  Desperate, Chris dropped the phone and began to rack his brain, looking for an alternative solution. He was willing to do anything, whatever it took to give his mother the burial she deserved and stop that monster from taking away her last chance to be with her own people. Soon, an idea began to form in his mind.

  It was risky but he didn’t care. His mother would get what she deserved, and so would Richard.

  Chapter Five

  His plan was simple. Chris would steal a lab coat from the UNLV laboratory and then pay a visit to the morgue where his mother’s body was being kept. He had to find a way of getting her out of there without being detected, and that would be the difficult part.

  Once it was done, he knew all that would be left to do would be to drive to the Whayani reservation and convince the elders to give her a traditional burial. His mind was made up; there was no turning back now. His mother would be given the burial she deserved; he would make certain of that, no matter what it took. The world was full of injustice and people like his mother had to go on suffering in silence while those few parasites like his father fed off them and drained their spirit. Enough was enough.

  In his heart, Chris knew this was only the beginning of a long journey.

  The next day, at noon, Chris walked into the hospital and made straight for the restroom, where he quickly slipped on the lab coat he had stolen from the lab at school that morning. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to remove his mother’s body without being detected by the staff.

  He would have to play it by ear.

  Before leaving the bathroom, he stood and looked at himself in the mirror. The medical coat didn’t really suit him, he thought. He was too muscular and broad for its shape and somehow it didn’t look right on him. He looked like a wrestler, pretending to be a doctor. That was not very far from the truth, after all. Chris had been a star performer on the UNLV wrestling team, when he was not working on his engineering degree.

  All that would have to wait.

  This little mission of his wasn’t going to be easy and he would need time, a ‘long’ time in order to make sure his mother was put to rest in the way she would have wanted. Someone entered the bathroom and Chris took that as his cue to begin the search for his mother’s remains.

  Exiting the bathroom, he turned right into the nearest corridor and headed to the end where he had a choice, he could enter through a set of double doors, or turn right into another long corridor. He paused, considering the options and that’s when the first stab of doubt hit him. What was he going to do? Wander the hospital aimlessly; hoping that by chance he would stumble upon the morgue? As he stood, questioning the logic of his decision, nurses and other hospital staff walked by, some glancing in his direction as they passed and his doubt soon morphed into paranoia. Did they know he wasn’t a Doctor?

  How…

  Chris stopped the thoughts all at once, using a technique his mother had taught him many years ago. Back then his mother had ritually meditated each day in their flower filled garden. Chris had been fascinated with the little ritual and one day asked her what she was doing.

  “I’m meditating. Our people believe it is important to keep the mind free of impure thoughts.”

  He was so young then, perhaps only nine, and wasn’t willing to sit still for that long, “But what if I can’t meditate? How do I keep my mind pure, Mom?” He had asked her fearfully.

  His mother had smiled and stroked his face lovingly, “That’s alright, son. We also have another way of stopping bad thoughts.”

  “What is it?” He had asked eagerly.

  “Next time you have bad thoughts in your mind, simply ‘stop’ thinking and breathe. Don’t think at all, just simply breathe and count to ten. The thoughts will be gone and you can fill your mind with happy thoughts, okay?”

  …nine …ten…

  Chris took a deep breath and began to think more logically. Panic would only give him away. He knew if he asked the right people and followed the signs he would find the morgue and everything would fall into place.

  He eventually found where his mother’s body was being kept and upon reading her paperwork he discovered she was due to be moved to a nearby funeral home to prepare her for burial. The transfer was happening the next morning.

  Having the information he came for, Chris slipped off the lab coat and exited the hospital. He got back into his car and paused before starting the engine. It was clear to him now, what he had to do. Removing her from the hospital would be next to impossible, he would be caught and arrested before he had gotten anywhere near the exit. The only option he had was to intercept the hearse carrying his mother’s body, take her and drive to the Whayani reservation straight away.

  He would have no time for delay. The police, and possibly his father’s goons, would be after him once they discovered what he had done.

  He smiled grimly. Just let them try.

  Chris spent the rest of the day making preparations for the rescue of his mother’s body. He first plotted a series of ‘strike’ points, or areas where he could rob the hearse without attracting too much attention. After that, he purchased a pellet gun that resembled the real thing and went home where he packed his things for the long journey to the Whayani reservation the next day. That night, sleep eluded him, so instead he went over the operation again and again until every step of the way was perfectly imprinted upon his memory.

  As he left the apartment that morning, two hours before the hearse was due to leave the hospital, he said a silent goodbye to the home he had shared with his mother for so long.

  He knew he might never return.

  A single tear rolled down his face as he started the car and drove away slowly, a gloominess clouding his spirit as he left his old life behind.

  Chris watched as the hearse left the hospital and took a left, just as he thought it would, before starting his engine and pulling out into the light traffic to follow it. The journey was only a short one so he would have to be quick, otherwise he would miss his opportunity. He allowed the hearse to pass by the first two strike points – but not because the traffic was too thick or there were too many people around. He was simply too afraid to take that first step.

  Once he had taken it, there was no turning back.

  At the third strike point, a quiet little stretch of road just on the edge of a residential area, Chris finally broke through his fear. Seeing the hearse slow down for a traffic light just ahead, a cold chill ran through his body as he slammed his foot down and braced himself for the impact.

  Chris’ much smaller car plowed into the back of the large black hearse with a smash of grinding metal and shattered glass, throwing Chris forward in his seat. Just as he had planned, the driver of the hearse got out and began to approach his car, a look of anger on his face, rea
dy to unload his fury. Chris took off his seatbelt, pulled a black bandana up over his face and drew his pellet gun before stepping out of the car to meet the fast approaching man.

  “What the hell do you th…”

  The man saw the gun and froze, momentarily paralyzed, and Chris knew he didn’t have long. He had to act quickly. In one fluid motion, Chris pocketed the pellet gun, grabbed the man and swung his fist, catching the guy square in the temple.

  The driver crumpled to the pavement, unconscious, but Chris grabbed hold of him and made sure the fall didn’t cause any more damage than his fist already had. He dragged the man to the side of the road before quickly opening the back of the hearse and dragging his mother’s coffin out into the road.

  Seconds had passed since the accident. Perhaps only twenty or thirty of them.

  Checking the road for other cars, Chris saw that he was still clear for the moment, but it wouldn’t be long before he was spotted. He ran to his car, grabbed his mother’s blanket and returned to the coffin. He removed his mother’s cold, lifeless body and as he wrapped her in the blanket, he tried not to look at her. It was hard and the smell of death clung to her, causing him to gag several times before he, at last, managed to drag her to his car and gently place her into the trunk.

  By this point, nearly two minutes had passed and he saw cars approaching.

  Chris leapt into his damaged vehicle and sped off down a side street, heading for the highway. The hard part was over.

  Now all that lay ahead of his was the long drive to South Dakota, a thousand miles.

  Chris removed the bandana, wiped away the sweat from his face and took several deep breaths before smiling.

  You’re gonna get the burial you deserve mom.

  Chapter Six