||𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄.||

CHAPTER 1 - Headfirst for Halos

    A lithe, cat-like shape maneuvered around a field of stone, her gaze shifting from one engraving to the next. Of the many curiosities that enchant the world, Bee was one of them. Her grey eyes round with a persistent caution, she stepped softly, as if trying to calm the muffled crunch of autumn leaves underfoot. Bee always paid special attention to sound and color, noticing slight differences in the same song on a different record player or the way one red was slightly more orange than the other. It was normal for her to be so self-conscious about the way she walked or how she placed her hands. Detail was too noticeable to her for it to be ignored.

    She slowly trekked up a small, sloping hill, covered loosely with dead leaves and speckled with morning frost from the cold October morning. At the top was a fairly new mausoleum, that had only been here a few years. But there was also now a man with raven hair that barely brushed his shoulders. He stood there, his posture slack and tired, as if entirely drained by the cemetery's dead air. As she stared from the edge of the hill, earth crumbled under her shoes, sending a small shower of dirt and tiny rocks tumbling behind her. The raven-haired man whipped around to see the curious girl behind him, staring back with large eyes and a pale, freckled face. He looked equally inquisitive, but more like interrogative, wondering why the hell she was here and how dare she even step within 50 feet of this particular mausoleum.

    "Who are you?" he asked, his hazel eyes glinting with suspicion. Clouds blanketed the sky, shadowing his alabaster face with seriousness. Her eyes seemed transfixed on his, but she did give an answer, albeit a simple one.

    "Bee." 

   That's it?  He thought. Just Bee? Like the insect? The man only nodded thoughtfully at her flat reply. "I'm Gerard. What brings you here?"

   She shrugged. "I dunno. Cemetery gates are fun to climb. Dead people are cool. And it's quiet here. It's just an oddly beautiful place."

   Gerard raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he did let out a small chuckle. "You're quite morbid, aren't you?" he paused to glance at the building behind them. "But I get what you mean, kid." 

   Bee hummed slightly. "Mhmm."

   There was a brief silence, filled only by the cawing of crows and wind disturbing the dry and brittle leaves barely clinging to their branches. Gerard and Bee stared at the mausoleum for a while. She figured whoever died here must've been important or had a lot of cash, because although it was small, it was lovely and well-kept, as nice as a tomb could be. She noticed Gerard staring directly at the doors, a soft, aching sadness clouding his gaze. 

   "Did you know the person who's in there?" She asked suddenly. He flinched as if he'd forgotten she'd been standing there.

    He tensed a little, letting out a long, shaky, deep breath. "Yes," Gerard replied quietly.

    She frowned. "Who was it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    His face grew very solemn. "My little brother. A sudden, undefined heart attack."There was something behind the words, a wall of stone guarding his thoughts. She had a feeling that wasn't what really happened, but she knew better than to press someone about their dead loved ones.

"I-I'm so sorry. How long ago was it?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. This kid sure was nosy. "Two years ago, September 20. Ten days after his birthday. He was barely 22. His name was Michael."

"Oh... that's awfully young." She muttered.

  He didn't reply, and she noticed tears trailing down his pale cheeks. He tightened his scarf to partly cover his face, not wanting Bee to see him cry perhaps. It was too late, though, as she reached up to put a hand on his shaking shoulder.

  Voice cracking and exploding into gasping sobs, his hands went to his face to muffled the choked noise. Gerard calmed down eventually, Bee consoling him gently, awkwardly. It was a different kind of sad to see a stranger cry. You want to help them, but you're not quite sure how because you don't know their mind. 

After what turned out to be hours, the sky turned many shades of orange and pink and violet, the sun setting over Belleville, New Jersey.

Breaking the silence, Gerard asked, "Bee, how old are you?" in a weak, frail tone.

"Fifteen. Sixteen in December." She answered softly. It was an off-putting question, but she didn't think much of it.

He nodded, furrowing his brow, chuckling hoarsely. "I love December. When everything dies and there's late dawns and early sunsets, all covered in snow. It's beautiful, really."

She only nodded along, an awkward smile on her porcelain face.

"Y'know, Bee... you're alright." He breathed out, sighing. 

"Thanks." Bee smiled, her moon-grey eyes softening in the dimming light.

  Soon, Gerard left, with a good-bye and a wave. Bee left the cemetery too, on her bike, headed home to a worried father and brothers. On the way, she watched the sky turn indigo, then black, dotted with stars and a pale Jersey moon. She thought about the crows and the leaves and the raven-haired man who had opened up to her.

  Something else happened to Michael.

  And she was going to find out what.