In Memoriam
Mark’s memorial ceremony was small. His parents, brother, and some other relatives were there, as well as Rome and his parents, Bart and his parents, and a few other close friends. Despite his fame and fortune, when it came to his services, his parents wanted only those most important to their son to be there.
The pastor was talking about how Mark’s life had been cut so short, how he would’ve done great things if he’d lived, but that they’d never know why God saw fit to end his life so quickly. Rome wasn’t really listening to any of it, though. He was looking at his friend’s face, clearly visible from where he sat in the second row. Mark looked mostly like himself, though his makeup was so heavy it was almost as if he was ready to walk on stage. His countenance was peaceful, though, and Rome hoped that wherever he was, that was truly how he felt.
“He looks like he’s sleeping, doesn’t he?” Bart whispered while some woman neither of them knew sang a hymn that probably meant nothing to Mark.
“He does.” Rome was still fighting tears, though more of them were due to missing his wife and knowing his father was doing all he could to ensure they’d never be together again, rather than the fact that he was at his best friend’s funeral. That stung, too, but not as much as the thought of losing Ella.
“It’s as if he took some of that serum, that sleeping serum they sometimes give to the person playing the body on set so it doesn’t look like they’re breathing.”
Rome turned and looked at Bart, wondering what he was getting at. He knew what he was talking about. “Just a drop of that will still a person’s breathing. A few drops, they’d be out for days,” he reminded his friend. It was a new method some directors were using to try to get more believable shots of dead bodies from live actors, but most of them still weren’t using it because it was considered dangerous and not worth the risk. Since Bart was a photographer, he kept up on anything having to do with cinematography and photography.
The song ended, so Rome couldn’t say more to Bart about the serum. Soon, Rome put Bart’s cryptic statement out of his mind.
There was another prayer, some more words from the preacher, and then, they were all asked to bow their heads one last time as they said their final goodbyes to Mark.
After the last prayer, Rome followed his parents to the front. They’d look in the casket once more, get one more glimpse of the young man with so much promise. Rome’s tears were for Mark now as he gazed upon his friend’s face one more time and then followed his parents outside.
The graveside service would be next. With a heavy heart, Rome got into a limo with his parents who were watching him carefully. Rome knew there were other cars with his father’s men in them parked nearby, that if he should try to run or cause a scene, he’d be apprehended quickly. There was no use in trying to reach out to anyone else that was there. His father’s heavy eyes had warned him this was not the time.
His plan was to make a run for it at the graveside service, to take off when his parents were preoccupied and make for the closest road. He was hopeful someone would recognize him and pull over so he could get as far away from his dad and his men as possible.
He waved goodbye to Bart and slid into the car next to his mother. “Did Bart give you your phone back?” his father asked, sitting across from him.
It seemed like an odd question, even for the circumstances. “No. Why?”
Monty shrugged. “I heard the two of you whispering. I was just curious.”
“No, we were just talking about Mark, that’s all.” His phone was back in his room, hidden in his closet in a place he didn’t think his dad would ever look. If they did manage to get him to Italy, he doubted he’d get to take his phone with him anyway. He would rather leave it behind than have his parents find it. He had Ella’s phone number memorized, as well as Bart’s, but he didn’t think his parents would leave him anywhere near a phone for the foreseeable future. No, if he didn’t manage to get away from them at the graveside service, he wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Ella anytime soon.
“It’s a pity, isn’t it? Such a young man dying in the prime of his life? Over what?” His dad was looking out the window as he reminisced. Since the windows were tinted, Rome had no idea what he was looking at, but he seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, and Rome didn’t wish to speak to him anyway.
He knew his father well enough not to attempt to reason with him. There was no point in trying to talk him out of his plan. His mother, on the other hand, if he could get her to himself, she might be able to help him escape….
The car pulled to a stop, and the door swung open. Suddenly, Rome was made aware that they were not at the cemetery. “What’s going on?” Rome asked, but the only answer he got involved strong hands clamping around his arm and tugging him out of the limo. “Where are we? What is this?”
Another set of arms came down on his other bicep, and Rome realized he was at the airport. He tried to dig his feet into the asphalt, but there was no overpowering the two brutish men who had ahold of him. “You can’t do this!” he shouted at his parents. They were out of the car now, his mother dabbing at her eyes. “You can’t just make me get on that plane!”
“I can--and I will!” Monty shouted just before Rome felt a stab in his shoulder blade.
“Did you--drug me?” Rome asked, but he got his answer as the world around him darkened at the edges. He thought back to what Bart had said at Mark’s service. Had he known his father was going to do this? Surely, Bart wasn’t part of it?
He’d have to sort that all out later. The plane behind him was running, his shoulder was aching, and the world was blurring, turning dark, fading to black. All he could think about was Ella, but as his legs grew heavy and slumber called, even her face seemed too difficult to picture.
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