They Call Me the Coroner | Top Gun: Maverick

Silence Is Maddening

I toss off my helmet into the grass when I halt at a stop sign. I don't care that it's brand new. I don't want to wear it. I sit wide eyed at the road before me, my black Suzuki reving up. Blasting the radio, I speed at probably 60 around curves not even meant for 40. I want to drown out feeling. I want to freeze my thoughts with the cool salty air from the ocean to my left.

My heart flutters. My mind races. I sing along as the sand covers my tires and the world looks just...peachy.

My bitterness and guilt are really making me a character. Acridly laughing at myself, I grab the keys from under the mat of my sister's beach house and open the door.

"I'm sorry Marty. Greg. Janice. Jake...Bradley." I plop on the couch and kick my boot up on the coffee table. A huge sigh escapes from behind my teeth.

My sister calls. Probably just trying to see where I am. I ignore it, putting my cell on do not disturb. My head swirls. My brain is fried. I make my way to the bedroom. Maybe if I can sleep....

*****

Yeah. Not sleeping. Faces flying before me, burning up in flames of fire from crashes. Bradley's eyes breaking my heart into tiny bits.

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"Orders are orders, Captain."
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I glance at the alarm clock. The room is bright and happy with beach pictures and life preservers hanging on each side of the bed. It's dark, but the huge glass door makes for a wonderful spotlight for the moon to shine through. The blue color of the walls almost glowing. I wish I could replicate the room's happy relaxed energy.

Tapping the radio button to the alarm clock, I fold my arms over my chest and listen. After the hosts say a few words, they break for a song. A song all too familiar to me.

Tell me, what does it look like in Heaven?
Is it peaceful? Is it free like they say?
Does the sun shine bright forever?
Have your fears and your pain gone away?

I glare at the battery powered clock for a moment. My teeth grinding. Harriet Grahm, the wife of Jeremy "Marty" Grahm, requested this song to be played at his funeral.

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"He always talked about you. Said if you hadn't trained him so well he wouldn't have survived as long as he did."

She hugged me. Tight.

"Thank you for all you've done."
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I can't breathe.

I hope you're dancing in the sky.

My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head. My face contorts into a grimace. Tears start to drip onto the pillow.

And I hope you're singing in the angel's choir.

Marty sang all the time. There wasn't a day he came to work where he didn't sing. A personal favorite of mine was the way he sang "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms." He sang with such passion. Such...love. It was like he lived to sing.