The Sin Hunter: Double or Nothing

Paying Respects

NEW YORK CITY. 10:37 PM

Despite the atmosphere, the night was cool, clear and shimmering with stars in the sky when the gate into the cemetery was picked open, and a shadow slid through the gate, closing it tight behind itself. The graves were all cold, quiet, some untouched, beautiful and polished in black marble or granite. Others still had sat for centuries, rotting, decaying in their roots. A dusted pair of boots moved slowly through the field, flowers tossing gently in the breeze as the tattered edges of a trench coat swirled in the wind, dragging through the uncut grass. Hands gripped a small bouquet of beautiful orange flowers, wrapped in silver tinsel.

At the very top of the hill sat a relatively new grave, carved out of brick red granite with a polished marble trim. 'Her favorite colors.' On the front of the gravestone, facing out toward the city skyline in the distance, were the words as follows. "Liana Winters. A friend, a woman of law, and a hero when we needed her the most." Beneath the markings was an engraved picture of Liana, still holding her first degree in Law from her time at college. A shadow fell over the gravestone, just as cold and quiet, holding the bouquet in the milky moonlight. Trembling hands laid the flowers on the grave, then retreated into the folds of the battered beige trench coat.

The man said nothing, instead arching slowly skyward, the trench coat forming around the man's shoulders like a tube, cloaking everything but his eyes, stung and burnt red from the pain. "Hi, Liana." There was silence before the detective spoke again. "I heard the funeral had lots of people. Good people, bad people, people you...you helped." The gravestone remained quiet, the grinning, waving picture of Liana and her glasses shining in the moonlight. "God, I can't...I can't bring myself to forgive myself for that...I-I should have...have..." And then Jack collapsed to his knees, arms draped across the ground with clenched fists. Although not a drop of rain could disturb the flowing patch of grass, droplets stained the ground wet.

Jack felt the pain rising, his throat choking as he struggled to speak. "Every ounce of me needs you to be here. Y-y-you always k-knew what to d-d-do..." The gravestone remained quiet, although something seemed to hint at a sign of recognition for the grief. Jack raised his fedora to level with the edge of the stone, gently resting his glove on the surface of the smooth granite. "I feel ashamed that you have to see me like this. The last time I put this armor on..." Jack started, but the words sputtered and crashed in the hangar before they could leave. The detective used his tattered sleeve to wipe away bitter tears, gently gracing a hand along the edge of the photograph's face.

Jack could still feel Liana's hand on his, her sunny laugh in those fields in Western Ridge, the stoic confidence from years ago, when they were still just teenagers figuring out their lives. "I never gave you a proper goodbye, either. I never visited, I never...I never even considered you after I came back..." Jack closed his eyes, slowly dragging his hand away from the gravestone as he clenched his fists again. Boots rose to support the detective as he rose silently from the ground, a shadow against the dark wall of the night. Jack set the flowers down beside the gravestone, sniffling. "They're Golden Lilacs. I found them in that flower garden we visited in Russia. They were your favorite color, too." 

Jack closed his torn red eyes, letting the resolution wash over him. "I don't know who did this to you, Liana. But they won't escape without answering for your death." The detective recalled the very last tie he had still seen Liana, when she had leapt down the stairwell into his arms. Neither one of them wanted to let go, and risk losing each other ever again. It was a moment that, if Jack kept his eyes closed long enough, he could still feel her body pressed as tight as possible against his own body. But Jack willed himself calm, brushing away the last tears in his eyes while he watched over the gravestone in solemn silence. His trench coat and fedora swayed in the breeze with the moonlight while leaves brushed and blew out of sight.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Jack told himself, for no one else around would listen. "I spent years of my life trying to leave death and find you again, and now here we are. It's almost like Heaven just couldn't wait to get their hands on you. God, you're gonna rewrite the laws in Heaven, aren't you?" Jack clamped a hand to his mouth, smiling now. The gravestone smiled right back, the photograph engraved in happiness forever. "Heh. Even in death, you still put a smile on my face, huh, Liana?" As Jack turned to face the gravestone again, he was surprised to see flashing lights fold over his back. Someone had found him, or rather, some people had found him. But when Jack turned around, shielding his eyes from the light, he was shocked to see who the group was.

"Oh, my fault, guardsman. I was just paying respects to a dear-huh?" But when Jack lowered his hand, so did the beams of light, revealing his old companion, and his young protege. Cynthia lowered her flashlight first, but Jules charged forward, not caring to speak as she threw herself as her mentor, wrapping Jack in the tightest squeeze she possibly could. "Oh, God, Jack..." she whispered, struggling to keep Jack locked tight. Cynthia joined her daughter, extending her hands to stretch and multiply, wrapping around the group in one large group hug. Jack extended his arms out as well, pushing back for a moment to view his old friends.

"Well what have we here? Looks like a very dear old friend," Jack chuckled, brushing a hand along Cynthia's nest of silver hair. The Scientist laughed right back, fixing her glasses. "It's good to see you too, Jack. We were worried when we heard you'd be coming back into town. We thought this'd be the first place you ever went." Jack nodded, blinking slowly as he turned to his young protege. "And then there's Jules. God, look at how much you've grown, little lady." Jules shrugged, winking while she placed both gloves on her own belt. "Ah, save it for the road, Jackie. We've got issues to discuss, remember?" 

Jack nodded, adjusting his own fedora while Jules fixed her own armor. "Well, there's certainly no time like the present," Jack concluded, patting both of his friends on their backs while he turned to the hill. "I'm glad you two found me. I'm sure we could all use a break from traveling, and I need a good, strong cup of whiskey." Jules pumped her fists, turning to Cynthia. "Mom, it's 16 in Western Ridge." Cynthia turned with a grin, shaking her head. "Hon, we've had this discussion before." "Actually," Jack raised a finger to speak, "the real drinking age is-" However, upon turning to face a very upright, eyebrow-raised Cynthia Florence, whose red demon horns pulsed a faint ruby red, Jack adjusted his collar, gulping. "uh...never mind that, Julie."