Something Counterfeit's Dead

I

10 years after Wanda Maximoff left Westview

It’s so small, Agnes thinks to herself. It shouldn’t be this small.

The casket is made of oak. It’s open. But Agnes can’t move from her spot near the first row of chairs. She felt like she was underwater for the whole wake, a feeling that only intensified when she finally tore her gaze away from her son’s smiling picture in front of her and landed on the casket.

Agnes faintly hears others expressing their sorrow – they are so sorry this has happened to her; if she ever needs anything, they are here – but she can’t move her lips to thank them. She is stuck staring unblinkingly at the too-small casket.

When they realized they wouldn’t get any answer from her, they moved to her son’s casket, their eyes glazed over with tears. Ms. Hart, sobbing quietly into Mr. Hart’s shoulder, his arm around her shoulders. Dottie elegantly wipes her tears while her husband comforts their daughter, who is sobbing into his chest, both stealing nervous glances at the clock. Norm and Herb both stood at the casket longer than the others, quietly saying something, could be a prayer as well as a simple goodbye.

Agnes sat through it all until she was the last one present. It was dark outside, and her body ached when she finally stood up, her legs feeling like jelly. Each step lasted an eternity, but eventually, Agnes’s gaze fell on her son for the last time.

Even though his eyes are closed, Agnes can still see the radiant blue, sparkling with joy every time he looked at her or Senor Scratchy. It was the prettiest color Agnes had ever seen in her life.

You silly. I can’t have the most pretty eyes. You have those.

His hair is flat, the dark curls almost invisible. Agnes reaches out her hand and instinctively moves the hair out of his eyes. She caresses his cold cheek with her thumb. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend he’s only sleeping because he doesn’t want to go to school.

Five more minutes. Please, Mommy!

Agnes lets out a choked sob and quickly withdraws her hand away from his face.

Her gaze moves to his clothes. He is so skinny that even the smallest suit looks big on him, but still, it brings a faint smile to her lips. One day, he returned from school, and all he wanted to wear was a suit. Agnes thought it was just a phase and he would stop talking about it the next day, but to her surprise, it stuck. The kids in school made fun of him for it, but Agnes loved his confidence. She sewed him a suit for his birthday and the radiant joy she felt when he saw it made Agnes cry with happiness.

You’re the best Mommy in the whole world!

Agnes notices that the suit is dirty. She curses under her breath and reaches out her hand to wipe the dirt away. Only when her fingers touch something wet, does she realize it’s her tears. She gasps and wipes her face with a tissue, sniffling.

She whispers apologizes as she tries to wipe the tears away with her sleeve.  When she’s done, Agnes takes his hand in hers, squeezing it two times. It was their little tradition – every time one of them was scared or needed support, they would squeeze each other’s hand three times.

Two squeezes is good. One is not much, and three is much.

Agnes takes a deep breath as she leans closer, planting a soft kiss on Nicholas’ forehead. She doesn’t smell the rot or the too-sweet scent the church used to mask it. She smells her little Nicholas – she smells the book dust, his suits, Senor Scratchy, and fresh grass from when he would run barefoot everywhere they went.

“You can go. I know you don’t want to leave me, but I will be okay. I’m- I have Senor Scratchy, he will keep me safe.”

Agnes cups his face one last time and forces out the smile she only kept for him.

"Goodbye, Nicky.”