Anti-Stockholm Syndrome

Nineteen

I'm let out of the hospital the day of His second funeral. There was obviously one the first time, when the police thought a driver's license in a burnt man's pocket was enough to identify the body. I wasn't at that one, but I imagine that there were more people than the five of us that dragged ourselves out to his childhood church in the middle of nowhere.

As I climb out of the car, I regret not bringing sunglasses, assuming that gray skies go with funerals like I go with alarm systems: too close for comfort. However today, almost as a final middle finger from life, the sun is bright and smiling. There isn't a single cloud in the sky. The world doesn't miss Him, and, obviously indicated by the empty parking lot, neither does anyone else.

The sunny day makes gorgeous patterns on the walls and floor of the church through the stained glass windows. I think that this is one of the places we were considering for the marriage ceremony. But I can't think about that. I look toward the slightly filled pews. There's Mom, who was the one that set this up in the first place, saying that the first one "didn't count" if he wasn't actually dead. I tried to reason that the Him we knew was dead the first time, which should count for something, but she still persisted so here we are, me in the black dress she grabbed for me from my closet, and her in her Tuesday's best. Ma is also here, avoiding eye contact with Mom, and probably wishing for a different daughter. Ian is skipping out, having to get back to his firm in Boston for a case that he most likely made up. The other two guests, besides the priest, are His parents, who I gave the inaccurate story that their son had nothing to do with my kidnapping. They're in full formal attire, crying and saying how happy they are that I'm okay in their best English with a few words of Portuguese thrown in for spice. Luckily, I've met them long enough during family reunions to understand what they're basically trying to say. I've gotten used to it in the past years without Him being there to stand behind me and translate. He never told me what they were actually saying, choosing to make me think that they hated me by whispering that his mom said that my shirt looked horrible, or his dad thought I was a prostitute He picked up on the way over. Nope, I can't think about this-

The ceremony is short and sour. I have to talk; being the closest person to him both times he died. I stutter out a broken speech (mostly for the benefit of his parents) about missing him, remembering him, and how he altered my life forever. I didn't lie, technically. We sing a few catholic songs, at least his parents do, and my family just mouths random words and hopes it looks convincing. I catch Ma mumbling "Highway to Hell" by ACDC at one point.

I'm caught by a rough hand as soon as I step out of the church. I'm about to scream when it is cut off by the recognition of my attacker.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"You really have to ask that?"

"I could call the police, Pale Face- Mark. Get you arrested for the rest of your life."

"What good would that do? Virus doesn't give a shit about me; they haven't trusted me since Myra figured out what was going on with me and Asscott. They're just waiting for the perfect chance to kill my ass."

"You do realize coming here gives them the perfect chance."

"I don't care anymore. I just had to see him one last time. For closure, or some shit."

"Well, his coffin is in the back, go crazy," I start walking to my car, trying to keep my composure.

"Wait- that's it?" he grabs my arm and pulls me back.

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't going to punch me? Or call the police? Or yell at me? Anything?"

"What good would that do? Virus doesn't care about you. So I don't. Goodbye, Mark. I hope for your sake that we don't meet again."

"Wait what? Rose, you aren't making sense. Why are you so calm about all of this?"

I could ask the same thing myself. Today, having to think about Him again, having to talk to His parents should drive me to another attack. Seeing Pale Face-Mark should bring back all those memories, should land me in the mental hospital I was recommended to. However, as He said before, I'm always calmer when I have a plan, when I know what's going to happen. And I definitely have a plan. I know exactly what is going to happen after this.

So I leave Pale Face-Mark standing there as I climb into my car. I have better things to spend my time on now. I peel open the thick folder in my passenger and grin at the color-coded chaos. If the police can't stop Virus, then I will just have to do it myself.