The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)
Dima Zales, Anna Zaires
Chapter 1
Funerals are weird. Doubly so when you’re the one who killed the person being buried. Triply so when you’d kill him again if you had the chance.
Despite my lack of remorse, I do feel a twinge of something.
Hundreds, if not thousands of cops were at the wake that preceded this funeral, honoring Kyle. Their somber faces were everywhere. Maybe it was their respect and loyalty for one of their own or their show of solidarity that was bumming me out. It was touching, though misplaced.
To them and to the media, Kyle died a hero—a detective killed by the Russian mob while in the line of duty. A man taken from the ranks of the brave far too soon.
In other words, they didn’t know a thing about the real Kyle Grant.
It’s fine, though. I understand that people need a hero from time to time, and I won’t take away their delusions. It’s just hard being among the few who know the truth.
It wasn’t just the mourning cops that got to me. It was the sheer scale of the event: the traffic-blocking motorcade through the city, the solemn flag-draped coffin, the mayor’s speech—all culminating in a couple of freaking helicopters doing a fly-by.
What made it even worse was the presence of all the Guides. Considering the New York Guide community is supposedly small, some of them must’ve come in from out of town just to attend Kyle’s funeral. At least, I assume the crowd I saw consisted of Guides. A few of the faces I recognized from the nightclub Liz had taken me to so I could meet other ‘Pushers’—like Bill, aka William Pierce, my boss at the fund. We didn’t get a chance to speak at the wake; we only exchanged glances. I guess he and the others were there to pay their respects to a fellow Guide. Almost all of them looked genuinely sad, which meant they didn’t know the real Kyle either.
The Guide community probably believes the same thing as the media. I wonder whether they’re planning to investigate Kyle’s murder. I hope not. Some cop will more than likely kill Victor—Kyle’s shooter—and judging by what I’ve seen on the news, they’ll do it soon. If the authorities think you’re a cop killer, your fate is dubious at best. Once Victor is gone, I’ll be in the clear, unless Liz or Thomas rats me out. They don’t know for certain that I’m responsible for Kyle’s death, but they’d be stupid not to suspect. Besides, I pretty much spelled everything out to Thomas before he asked me to stop talking. And I know if I go to therapy, Liz will want to discuss everything. But I’m not planning to go, mainly because I don’t want to hear her say, “I told you you’d need therapy if you killed your uncle.”
At least none of the Guides followed us here, to the burial. Things are much simpler at Cypress Hills Cemetery. Only the people considered closest to Kyle are present. They consist mainly of a few dozen cops who worked with Kyle or knew him well, and my moms and me in the role of ‘the family.’ Mira is here too, as moral support. And last but not least, there’s Thomas.
Why is Thomas really here? The question, or rather, the possible answers to the question make me uneasy. He certainly has no official reason to be here. I suppose he could be here for Lucy, since he’s her biological son and might be feeling guilty over the critical role he played in what happened.
Alternatively, he might be here to pay his respects to his biological father, Kyle. That’s the possibility that worries me. Could he be upset with me for taking Kyle away from him before he got the chance to know the bastard?
No, I’m probably overthinking this. After all, given what Thomas knows about Kyle and Mom and what happened between them, he might be at the funeral in the same capacity as Mira—moral support for myself, or perhaps for Lucy.
I can’t fathom what Thomas is thinking, especially with his face as unreadable as always. Is he holding a subconscious grudge? Is that why he’s standing off to the side, not really part of the funeral gathering? I hope not. He’s my recently discovered adoptive brother of sorts and a good friend. I don’t want Kyle to posthumously mess that up.
I look around the greenery of Cypress Hills Cemetery, searching for something positive. With the grass and oak trees all over, the area is tranquil, provided I ignore all the tombstones. In fact, for a cemetery, it’s almost soothing.
With effort, I focus on something less morose. Kyle’s parents had him when they were rather old, so thankfully, I don’t have the added burden of watching a mother or father mourn the loss of their son. No matter how much of a son of a bitch Kyle was, that would’ve sucked. It’s bad enough that my own mom, Lucy, is crying over him. She almost never cries. Of course, she doesn’t know that this funeral is a huge blessing in disguise. If she knew everything he’d done to her, she’d probably spit on his grave and celebrate. Unfortunately, it’s only been ten days since Kyle died, and Liz hasn’t had the chance to work enough of her magic on my mom to get her to the point where she can safely remember what happened.
Okay, my attempt at thinking positively failed. Then again, I’d choose these thoughts over listening to the priest’s spiel, especially since they’re distracting me from the undertaker lowering the casket into the ground.
As I realize the ceremony is almost over, that weird feeling comes back with a vengeance. Maybe it’s because my mom Sara is also crying. After Kyle tried to use a belt on me, Sara liked him about as much as I liked my ballet lessons—which, in case it isn’t clear, was not at all.