A Fitting Ending
Evelyn Snow
Paris,Present
Lily, Salem, Benedict, and I huddle together, a human barrier to the elements. Lily is blowing warm air into her hands as Salem rubs her arms, and Benedict has my hands inside of his warm, coat pocket. We’re all a little grumpy—hungry, tired, and slightly hungover. Except Lily, who is newly pregnant. When I found out, I was abhorred that she flew all the way to Edinburgh a couple of weekends ago while dealing with horrible morning sickness, but that’s the kind of person she is.And it’s why I knew I could call her.That was the promise we made to each other.
The day is bright, clear like never before. The Paris sky is a medium blue—almost periwinkle in color. None of us wore black—and I opted for a bright yellow dress, though I’m regretting that decision with every gust of freezing cold air. Our breath forms clouds before our faces, and we’re all moving from side to side, close together, to stay warm in the brisk, early November air. It’s still fairly early, just after eleven in the morning, and we’re all quiet as we watch the casket being lowered into the ground.
No one showed up—no one wanted to pay their respects. Then again, monsters don’t usually have anyone to pay respects when the time comes. I swallow thickly as one of the prison workers cranks the pulley, and the dark wood disappears beneath the ground forever.
Auguste is dead, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. He dropped dead on the toilet. A heart attack, and a fitting ending for a cruel human being. A vile, morbid part of me hopes he died in his own excrement. Or worse. There’s no death too gruesome for Auguste Martin in my eyes.
I look around at my three friends. If I had to saysomethingnice, if someone held a gun to my head, I suppose I could say that without Auguste, I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be standing next to Salem or Benedict. As horrible as he was, he brought Salem into Lily’s life, who brought Benedict into her life—and he saved my life. The ways in which we’re all intertwined still seem so far-fetched, even to this day. And now, to be standing here, watching the funeral of the man that connected us all… everything has to come full circle, I guess.
My eyes find Salem’s, and he nods once, as if in understanding. He and I knew Auguste in such different ways. He was always the villain in my story, but that wasn’t the case for Salem—and it definitely wasn’t the case for Benedict until he was an older child. Salem looks out over the green cemetery, watching as the guard shovels dirt. His eyes look glassy for a moment, and I know it’s because he’s a better person than me. He looked up to Auguste—who went by Father Monsignor at Notre Dame. In fact, it was one of Auguste’s sermons that convinced Salem to go to seminary school.
My eyes flick to Lily, who’s watching the funeral area with repugnance. I try not to laugh when she pulls out a piece of bread—bread! —and eats it, right here on the grass. When she notices me looking, I smile.
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” she explains, and we all laugh.
I look at Benedict, who has a faraway look to his face. His eyes aren’t focused, and his jaw is tight, rigid. I squeeze his hand inside of his pocket, and he squeezes back. Out of all of us, this is the hardest for him. He wants to mourn—it’s his father, for god’s sake—but his mind won’t let him. Won’t overcome the monstrous things he did to me, and to all of the others. I know the dichotomy is eating him alive, and all I can do is listen when he talks to me, when he tells me about his childhood—and when he tries to work through the trauma of it all. His brows are knit together as he watches the last of the dirt get piled onto the grave, a small mound forming.
I already know we’ll never be back here.
“Let’s go,” he commands, and Lily groans.
“Thank god. I could eat an entire cow.”
Salem and I chuckle as Benedict leads us through the rolling, green hills. Benedict stomps along ahead of us, and Lily fishes through her pocket for more food as Salem puts an arm around me.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
I smile, looking at the blue sky. “Could be worse, honestly.”
He watches me with narrowed eyes, assessing. “Good. You seem happier, even in the last month.”
I shrug. “I stopped needing to find an answer, you know? I still love my program at Oxford, but it’s no longer this desperate race to find answers. And now that Auguste is dead, any hope I had of knowingwhyhe was the way he was died right along with him. I can’t change the past, and there’s no use speculating about his motives. All I can do is live a happy life. That’s the biggest—and best—revenge.”
Salem’s lips quirk upwards. “I whole-heartedly agree.”
We all climb into the SUV that Salem rented to drive out to the prison. Benedict and I take the back seat, and after we’re all buckled, Salem leads us onto the A6 to Paris, which is about a forty-minute drive. No one speaks—no one acknowledges Auguste or the funeral. We came, we saw, we conquered. I hold Benedict’s hand the entire drive to the city, and when I glance at him every few minutes, I can tell he’s still processing. His eyes haven’t left the window since we pulled out of the gated graveyard.
Salem miraculously finds us a parking spot near their flat, so we all spill out of the car and walk quickly to their favorite cafe down the street for lunch. Delilah is with Killian, Salem’s brother, and his family, so we have some time. As we get settled in a warm, indoor booth and order our food, none of us speak. We’re all still in shock. It’s Benedict that breaks the silence, holding his wine glass up after the waitress drops them off at the table.
“I want to thank you all for coming today,” he says, his jaw still tight. I squeeze his hand, and he gives me a small smile. “I realize the impact one man had on all of us. He was my father, and a small part of me will always assume you’re all watching to see if there are bits of him in me,” he murmurs, and I realize that’s why he’s been so quiet.
“I think I can speak for everyone when I say, none of us would ever assume that.” I take his hand. “You’re different.Somuch more different. I keep trying to tell you that.”
“Evelyn is right,” Lily chimes in. “I knew when I met you. I felt bad for plotting to kill you.”
We all bust out laughing, remembering the moody, vengeful Lily before she met Salem—the woman intent on hurting Auguste like he hurt me.
“Actions speak louder than words,” Salem adds, looking at Benedict with those piercing, x-ray blue eyes. “You’ve always acted honorably. None of us have any reason to search for Auguste, because we already know he can’t be found here, in you.”
Benedict nods once, dropping his chin to his chest. His eyes are glassy as he says, “I’ll forever be grateful for that. For all of you.”
I look around at everyone—my whole life. My best friend, my confidante, and my lover. What more could I need?
