Obsession

Suspect: Chapter 38

Heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky, pregnant with the promise of rain. The air was cool and there was a gentle breeze that swept fallen leaves along the road cutting through the cemetery. The bleak gloom of the overcast sky gave the cemetery a suddenly more daunting appearance and Lynette Isaacs thought about the poetic irony that rain would fall on her daughter's funeral day.

Locals dressed head-to-toe in black attire befitting a mourning got out of cars stretching the length of the street cutting between two sections of the cemetery. They carried umbrellas with them and moved in groups of three and four or some in pairs, heading out to the graveyard where an open grave lay. The hearse had already arrived, and the casket unloaded, placed onto the white tarp which the undertakers would use to lower the casket after the final rites were performed.

Lynette exhaled deeply, the hollow feeling in her chest still present and even more blaring today. Nothing would ever be the same. She had come here to lay her daughter to rest, and then she would get into the car with her husband, and they would drive back to a quiet house had suddenly felt too large and too quiet.

"We should go," Gordon Isaacs said, interrupting his wife's trance as he placed a comforting hand over hers. "Come on," he said.

Lynette exited the car with her husband and hand-in-hand they walked to the open grave where the pastor, Father Howell, stood with a copy of the King James version of the Bible in hand.

Together, the grieving couple greeted with the guests who had shown up to the burial, chatted with a few and thanked them once again, graciously, for their support. Everyone gathered in a circle around the open grave above which Lyssa's casket with her body inside was suspended above the gaping and seemingly daunting six-foot hole by a white tarp. The lid was closed and the top covered and overflowing with flower bouquets of every kind and colour and mementos, a framed picture of Lyssa smiling brightly at the camera in a light blue dress laid at the center of the colourful but mournful clutter.

Lightning scraped the skies overhead, the temperature dropped. Thunder rumbled in the distance as Father Howell began the last rites, saying the words of the final send off. The first few drops of cold rainfall fell from the skies as Father Howell opened his speech, asking that Heaven welcome Lyssa with open arms.

Umbrellas bloomed, an array of colour against the bleak atmosphere, painted in colours of pastels and pattern, only few dotting black amongst the rest.

Gordon slid an arm around his wife's waist and pulled her closer, keeping her sheltered under the umbrella. Lynette clutched his elbow as Father Howell ended his speech, his voice dying away as the torrent came down, creating sloshy earth and puddles of mud around them, filtering into the open grave. The tarp collected water and the flowers covering Lyssa's casket grew heavy with rainwater.

Father Howell paused and looked at the grieving couple, silently asking if there was anything else they would like to add. Neither stepped forward. Gordon did not know what to say. He had thrown himself into work, refusing to think about the gaping hollowness left in his soul by his daughter's untimely departure. Lynette remained put knowing that if she went up there, she would succumb to another round of tears and sing the same song she had since Lyssa's body was found.

She would shriek in outrage and demand justice. She would focus on that another time. She was here to lay her daughter to rest.

Father Howell nodded to the undertakers and the four men stepped forward, the raincoats drawn, and the hoods pulled over their heads. They slipped lengths of rope through the handles on the sides of the casket and then lowered the tarp and the casket into the grave. They stepped away, allowing the grieving parents to throw in the first handful of dirt.