The Paladin: Lazarus

Epilogue

Sunday

February 27th

I woke up that morning with a heavy heart, knowing what Blake and I had to do wasn't going to be easy for us. We got up before our parents were awake, took out our Sunday best and began to iron them out. Preparing for Diego's funeral. It was going to be my first time seeing Colt in years, yet it didn't matter to me in the slightest that morning. The solemnity of the day was too great for any sort of celebration. I checked the time on my watch, making sure it was nine o'clock, then looked out the window to see Gerry's truck in the driveway.

"Come on, he's here," I informed, motioning Blake to follow me out the door. Gerry opened the door to the truck for us and put down the seat, so that Blake could climb in the back with Colt. We said our glum hello's but other than that the ride was completely silent. There was a big turn out for the funeral, that brought me a little bit of solace. People giving Diego the recognition he deserved. Around his casket was a collage of all of his photos that some of his friends had put together. His sisters and his parents were crying of course, I didn't blame them, it was horrible what they were going through. Samantha stayed strong though, standing next to Mari right up front, giving her a shoulder to cry on. I on the other hand stayed in back, not feeling like I belonged there, but also feeling obligated to come.

"This really blows," I heard from behind. I turned around seeing Johnny hobbling towards me on a pair of crutches, wearing an oversized brown suit that he wore over his cast. "Diego was a good guy, was in my photo class last year. Shouldn't gone out like this," Johnny informed.

"No, he shouldn't have," I agreed with a sigh. "So your dad... Captain Courageous. Can honestly say I didn't see that one coming."

"I just can't believe I'm half white," Johnny replied, trying to cut the tension.

"Said he wants to be back in your life?" I posed.

"Wants to be," he highlighted.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No," he answered bluntly, pulling out a Marlboro black. "So you stabbed Zealot like six times in the chest, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about that shit?"

"No," I replied in kind as he lit the cigarette.

"Good," he said, taking a pull. "Talk is cheap anyway," he remarked, passing me his cigarette. I nodded, taking a drag.

"Yeah."