The Day of the Funeral(s)

  Rose Perry and Bridget Davis are to be laid to rest the same day.

  Detective Mackey drives his Crown Victoria onto the grass. He parks beside Dave's heavy duty Ford truck. Dave is still seated inside the pickup, staring blankly out through the windshield. Mackey doesn't bother to lock the doors on his car or activate the alarm. With over two dozen law enforcement officers present, who in the hell would be dumb enough to try and steal it?

  James walks around the back of Dave's truck and comes to stand beside the driver's side door. Dave still has not registered Detective Mackey's presence. Mackey knocks on the glass very lightly. Dave's eyes focus and he turns his head to peer sidelong at James. Detective Mackey makes a winding motion with his hand, imitating an old-fashioned window lever. Dave uses the button to lower the window. He remains silent, staring at James with nearly vacant eyes.

  "What's up, buddy? You okay?" James says.

  "No. No, James. I'm not okay," Dave mutters. "How many tips have we checked out so far? Too many to count. And none of them have led us to our guy. This...Aquarius Killer. I almost feel as if we've done these girls a disservice by naming this creep. He didn't name himself. He just left us the clues. We should have left him in obscurity. I fear we may have validated this asshole. I feel deep down in my bones...That he's gonna strike again soon. Once these girls are in the ground. He's gonna be tempted to show us he's still around."

  "I think you're right, Dave. But we can't worry about that right now. The service will be starting soon. Come on, Dave. Let's go pay our respects."

  Leaning on the truck's windowsill, and possibly breaking every Dave-decreed faux pas, Mackey pats his beleaguered colleague on the shoulder. Mackey's voice becomes sweet as honey.

  "There's one good thing to come out of all of this," Mackey says.

  Dave's eyes narrow but a tiny smile tugs at his lips.

  "What's that?"

  "Your love bug is here. This is a chance for you to patch things up."

  "Nah," Dave says with a headshake.

  He borrows Sheriff Northrop's signature move and unconsciously tucks in his bottom lip with frustration. Reaching for the door handle, Dave waits for Mackey to back up before climbing out of the truck. Dave straightens his black tie, which matches the color of his brand-new suit, and carefully shuts the truck's door with his other hand.

  "Now isn't the time."

  Detective Mackey nods respectfully but doesn't say a word. Together, Mackey and Newsome walk down the hill toward the donated plot where Bridget Davis and Rose Perry will be buried this day.

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  "We commit these two young women to the earth, from whence all flesh cometh. And unto which, all flesh will inevitably return. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Amen, " Reverend Leroy Taws finishes the committing prayer, his eyes staring up at the glaring sun.

  On the front row, Michael Blaine reaches over and pats Mark Davis' hand. The latter is beside himself with distress. Tyler peers up at his father's grief-stricken face, rubbing Mark's right knee with a small hand. Mark's lips move wordlessly, as he chides himself for self-proclaimed neglect of his husbandly duties.

  There is barely a dry eye amongst the attendees. The women are all sobbing or quietly crying. Many of the men have tears traversing their cheeks, but no sound issues from their mouths. Sheriff Northrop's bottom lip is severely tucked in, a slight quiver evident by the small movements of his thick mustache.

  Dave observes most of this from his seat on the second row. Detective Mackey sniffles and Dave sneaks a glance in James' direction. Like many of the other mourners, James Mackey is unable to withhold his tears. The detective crinkles his nose in an attempt to dam the salt water flowing from his eyes. The measure works for a brief moment. Yet, soon silent tears are flowing afresh.

  Somehow, Deputy Newsome manages to keep his composure throughout ninety-nine percent of the service. Afterwards, is a completely different story.

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  Merrville County

  Dave's Home

  Detective Mackey stands at the end of the driveway, leaning partially against the driver's side door of his sedan. Dave is perched on the end of the hood, his head down between his legs. Retching sounds fill the air and Detective Mackey inhales deeply.

  "Breathe, Dave. Breathe," Mackey says. "It's okay. The hard work has been done. Now, we get to the fun bit."

  Deputy Newsome peers up at James with an expression of pure exasperation. He holds his side and attempts to stand erect.

  "You have funny ways of putting things, James. Fun...Is not exactly how I would describe a manhunt for a brutal lady-killer," Dave says between gasping breaths.

  "Never said the hunt would be fun," James elaborates. "Although, I will enjoy putting this nutcase's ball sack in a vise. In this game, we find ourselves in, you either play to win...Or you're damn sure gonna lose. You said, you think he'll strike again. Then, we've got some serious work to do. We comb through everything again. We get new statements from witnesses. We scour cameras again. We canvas neighborhoods. We do what we have to do to catch this bastard. Because...As long as he's still out there. There is always the chance he will strike again. So we stop him. By brain, by brawn, or by bullet. But we stop him."

  Dave shakes his head and issues a very small laugh. He leans back heavily against the hood of Mackey's Crown Vic.

  "I'll say it again, friend. You have some funny ways of putting things."

  "And you're close to falling over. Come on, Dave. Inside. Time to fatten you up!"

  Dave's eyes narrow impossibly and he presses a hand firmly into his side. The pain from violent retching, with absolutely nothing in his stomach, is almost too much to bear. He waves his right hand energetically at Detective Mackey.

  "No more jokes, James. I know you're trying to cheer me up, but I'm not in the mood for it."

  "Who's joking?" Mackey exclaims. "I'm hungry as hell. Got any pasta? I'm a king at making spaghetti."

  Four hours later

  Dave turns over on the bed, he glances up at the clock and sighs dejectedly. He rubs the empty side of the bed with his left hand, remembering all he has lost--and how much more others have lost. He thinks back to that day's funeral service. One memory remains front and center. A memory of two beautiful photographs, positioned upon caskets which no one dared open.

  Dave's burner phone buzzes and his heart leaps in his chest. Scrambling upward in bed, Dave grabs the phone and checks the display. A message. Dave squints at the phone, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. No words. Only a tiny heart is displayed on the screen.