Hellcat

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A few days had passed since that night. I was headed to Matt's place to pick him up. We were having a funeral for Grotto. I doubted anyone other than the four of us would show, but that was okay. It was the thought that counted, right? I was dressed in all black, as one traditionally wears for a funeral. A part of me felt a jolt of giddiness. I hadn't really seen Matt since the big fight with the Dogs of Hell. Another part of me felt guilty for wishing something had happened instead of me going home alone. I knew I shouldn't want that. It wasn't fair to Matt after I'd already rejected him before. But, my heart didn't want to stop fluttering every time I thought of him.

I made it to the top of the stairs and hesitated. My hand was raised to knock, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know why I hesitated. Forcing myself to not be silly and stop acting like a child, I knocked on the door. Matt opened it a few seconds later, like he had heard me approaching and just waited for me to knock out of politeness. "Hi," I greeted him softly. "Hey," he responded, his voice just as quiet as mine. "I'm just about ready," he told me, backing away from the door. "Okay," I muttered as I followed him inside.

He was flipping up the collar of his dress shirt. I noticed the black tie in his hand and smiled to myself. He reached up, putting the tie around his neck, but his movements were slow. Those Dogs of Hell had actually managed to get him pretty good, bruising his ribs. "Here, let me do that," I offered. Without really thinking, I set my purse down on the coffee table and reached for the tie. "Oh, thanks," he said before I grabbed the two ends of the tie. I tugged on them a little hard and Matt stumbled into me. "Oh," he muttered in surprised before clearing his throat.

I forced my eyes to stay locked on the tie. Focusing on the tie and not how close we were, I started making the small knot. It was as I kept my gaze down, I saw Matt's throat move, swallowing like he was nervous. "You okay?" I muttered. "Yeah. I'm just, uh... recovering," he told me. I guess he thought I was talking about his ribs. "From what part? The ribs or the head?" I questioned. He paused, thinking for a moment. "I don't really have a name for it," he said. My eyebrows crinkled in confusion. He didn't have a name for it? I decided to let it slide, ignoring it.

"But, you're feeling better?" I asked him, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah. Now," he said, his voice low and soft. I heard a bit of hesitation in his voice and wondered why he was being so reserved today. "With you." Those two words made me freeze for a split second. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Was this platonic? Was it more? Was he thinking about me in the same way I thought about him?

I forced myself not to react as I finished with his tie. I smoothed down his collar as he spoke again. "It always looks better when you do it," he said, changing the subject as I smoothed my hands over the shoulders of his shirt. "How can you tell if you can't see it?" I questioned, hoping to get back to a less-serious, teasing conversation. "I can feel it," was his simple response. I felt my cheeks blush as I forced myself to take a step back. "Come on. It's about time," I muttered to him. He gave a small nod as I snatched up my purse. He shrugged on his jacket and we headed for the door, grabbing his cane on the way out.

The church was empty except for the four of us and Father Lantom. "Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his saints," he preached next to the small memorial of Grotto. "Well... Elliot Grote was no saint. He was human... deeply flawed," Father Lantom started before coming down from the pulpit and towards the four of us. "Every Sunday, for as far as I remember, Elliot would come here... friendless and alone... to sit. Right there in that pew," the Father said, gesturing to where the four of us sat now, all with our hands folded together, sorrowful expressions on our features.

"Often, I would see him take..." Father Lantom paused, chuckling softly and fondly to himself. "...whatever money he had – crumpled one hundreds, loose change, a Rolex watch one time – and put it in the collection plate, hoping for redemption. Which would never come. Praying for the light, but Elliot died still in the dark with no one to mourn his loss, except the four of you. And so, we might say one life gone... one sinful life. But one person is not just one person. In each of us, there is a world..." Father Lantom continued. I listened as he finished up the sermon.