The Healing House

Two - Three Days

        Another day, another death, another funeral.

        She was rudely awoken this morning to the fighting and crunching in the cemetery which indicated only one thing. That a Bellerose or Thompson had died and were to be buried this fine, rainy morning. She usually didn't care about funerals, she didn't understand them, why were people so sad when it's a celebration of life? Yet this funeral intrigued her, for some reason she found herself wandering to the crowd of people and standing amongst them. Some of who were dressed casually, while others were in full attire, she fit the middle with her ripped leggings and her greasy hair and her hole filled jumper which is so threadbare that she can see through it. No matter how bad things get she still has the beanie he gave her, she adjusts the army green beanie atop her silky long black hair which is knotted beyond help.

        She quite likes her hair, it's long reaching her hips, with a fringe that lays over her forehead quite nicely. Usually it's too greasy to tell and she hides it in the beanie or with a bobble. As she walked to the crowd, she ran her hands through her hair, "here lovely," a blonde woman said handing her a hairbrush. "I always carry extras, don't I Abe?" The woman nudged the man beside her, who just grunted in response. "Abraham!"

        "Oh Hattie fuck off will you?" He growled.

        "Sorry," Hattie smiled apologetically.

        "No," the girl responded. "He's a dick, why are you saying sorry for him? Is he your son?" The woman looked at her blankly for a moment, before smiling apologetically. "Thanks, I guess?" She brushed the knots out of her hair, but the woman was gone by time she got through her hair. The girl shrugged and continued to walk around until she walked face first into a pale man frowning, she inched back feeling that same fear trickle down her spine, but all he did was clamp a huge hand on her arm and stabilise her.   

         "Alright sweetheart?" He asked flashing a smile.

        "Little overwhelmed, sorry,"

        "Don't worry darling, I know what you mean," he had a slight accent, one she couldn't place. "Just stay away from that group," he pointed to a crowd of a few people. "And her, that's my ex wife, when she gets you talking she never leaves you alone," he pointed to a shorter woman clucking around everyone. "Are you friends with Romani?"

         "You could say that,"

         "Nice outfit you look like Frank used to,"

         "Thanks?" She slightly raised her brow. "Can I ask your name Sir?" She wasn't about to tell him why she had the compulsive need to know everyone's name, so she stood blankly waiting for him to speak. He slowly turned his body to her, locking his blue eyes which were so pale she could almost see through them, onto her own. He reached out, making her flinch, but all he did was fix her beanie then her fringe with a kind smile.

        "Fester, Fester Wayne," he laughed. "And you?"

        "Rhode," she found herself saying.

        "That names familiar," he nodded. "Nice name, suits you," he yawned, clapping a hand over his mouth. "It's sad how he died, the bairns never gotten over it yet. If he wasn't dead I'd have killed him already,"

        "I think so too," she said nodding.

        "Rhode," he repeated her name. "Do you need help?"

        "Don't we all?" She asked, falling silent as the coffin bearers walked over. She watched the one with the leg brace struggle with one crutch and the coffin on their shoulder, but the others took the brunt of it. No one else saw the one legged man behind them steadying their movements, but she did, she saw, she saw things no one else did. "Who died?" She asked making Fester frown at her. "What? The atmospheres shit,"