Touch (Denazen #1)(58)

“We were getting an apartment together next month. He already put down his half of the deposit,” remarked Victor Jensen, a fellow employee of the skate shop where Brandt worked. I knew for a fact that he and Victor had thrown down two weeks ago after Brandt found him stealing cash from the register.

It was all too much.

Thankfully, the church service and actual burial were family only. And since our family now only consisted of me, Dad, Uncle Mark, and Aunt Cairn, the church stayed pretty empty. Well, my mom was still a member of the family, but how can you count someone you weren’t supposed to know about?

Father Kapshaw finished his sermon and blessed the casket as six men filed out from behind the altar to lift it. I had to bite down hard to keep from lashing out as they passed. All six men wore the same cookie-cutter blue suit. Dad was a bastard.

We filed into the aisle as they passed, one by one, and followed them to the hearse. On the way out into the parking lot, I saw a guy standing off to the side. He wore simple black jeans and a brown button-down shirt. I remembered seeing him at the funeral home, but he hadn’t stood with the others from school. He’d stayed at the edge of the room, speaking to no one, eyes sad. He said nothing to us as we passed, only watched as the six men from Denazen loaded Brandt into the back of the creepy black car for the trip to his final destination.

As we drove away, I looked back. The guy was gone.

§

The sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds as Father Kapshaw gave another longer speech about the tragedy of losing someone so young and full of life. He droned on and on about Brandt’s charity within the community and his gentle, soft-spoken kindness.

Under me, the metal folding chair slowly sank into the mud.

Above my head, a large, buzzing fly circled continuously.

Next to me, Aunt Cairn began to hum.

“The peaceful soul of Brandt Cross will be with us forever. He will be remembered as a charitable soul who always had a kind word for all he—”

I wanted to jump up and call bullshit. I wanted to pull off my shoe and throw it at Father Kapshaw’s head. At that moment, I would have given the world’s supply of mint chocolate chip to see it imbedded in his pompous face. Hell, I would have settled for flipping them off and storming away. But as I told myself before, this was Brandt’s day. The last thing I was going to allow was some bogus speech that said nothing about who he’d really been. Instead of making a scene, I stood, interrupting the Father’s fluffy speech with one of my own. One Brandt would have truly appreciated.

“Brandt was a lot of things, but a soft-spoken, charitable soul with a kind word for all isn’t one of them.” I balled my fingers, nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep my tone even. The sting kept me focused. “Brandt was a foul-mouthed pothead who loved his signed Tony Hawk skateboard above anything else. He hated crowds and loved sushi. Brandt believed in animal rights, hell, he never even killed a bug, and hated war. He was loyal and stubborn, and none of you knew him at all.” Unable to control it any longer, my voice broke and I turned away, leaving them to their fake sermon and empty words. I didn’t look back.

I didn’t wander far—just out of sight and across to a large white marble mausoleum. I needed some air, and sitting there with that bunch of posers was choking the life out of me.

“That was awesome,” a voice said beside me.

I jumped, skimming along the smooth marble wall.

“Sorry,” the guy said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“I saw you at the funeral home. And outside the church.”

“Yeah.”

When he didn’t offer anything more, I pressed. “Okay, so who are you?”

“I’m Sheltie. Friend of Brandt’s. I’m sorry we never got the chance to meet. He talked about you all the time.”

Sheltie. The name didn’t ring any bells, but he looked a little familiar. Like a face I’d passed in the halls at school or someone in the background at parties. With a head of thick, sandy brown hair and shoulders any linebacker would have envied, he was kind of cute. Not my type—but cute. He was rolling something in his left hand. A small, circular black thing with a red stripe down the middle. Horrified, I realized what it was. “Is that—”

He held it out, nodding. Rolling his thumb over the once-smooth surface, he said, “One of the wheels off Brandt’s board.”

I went to take it from him, but he jerked it away. “What the hell are you doing with it?” I demanded.

He hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Board broke a few days ago. I fix ’em.”

“Why did you bring it here?”

He snorted. “Did you even know Brandt? He slept with that damn board. I thought a piece of it should be here, ya know?”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was true and thoughtful. I felt like a bad best friend for not coming up with it on my own. Glancing back to the crowd, I said, “I didn’t see you. How did you hear what I said?”

He shrugged, tapping the side of his head. “Killer hearing.” He pulled out a small envelope from his back pocket and held it out. “Brandt asked me to give this to you.”

“What is it?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t open it.”

I took it but didn’t look inside. Instead, I stuffed it into my jacket pocket. It slid in, right next to the small box wrapped in green paper. “Why would he give you something to pass along to me?”