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“Hello?” I lifted my voice louder than usual while tucking my dark brown braid into my hood.
Rain tapped against my jacket and dripped onto my jeans as I waited for a response.
“Hello?”I tried again, and finally heard a sign of life off to the side. Behind one of the stone pillars connected to the gate, the click of a door echoed through the air. A man stumbled out wearing a rain jacket and a broad smile. He was older and smaller but seemed chipper.
“Can I help you, miss?”
It was the man from the last time I was here, the one with the clipboard that took my name.
“Hi,” I began, still standing slightly out of my car. “I was hoping to bring some flowers to my uncle.”
The man stared at me, his smile unwavering.
There was a brief silence passed between us before I continued, my voice carrying over the rain. “Today is his birthday.”
There was a sound of another car rolling up the hill, and within seconds, it was breaking through the leftover fog from the drive. The older man instantly walked over to his booth, reached in, and pressed a button. The gates opened, and the silver car drove through without stopping. I couldn’t see who was driving through the heavy stream of rain, but whoever it was seemed to be known, or even belong here.
The older man came back to me and nodded, resuming our conversation as if we weren’t interrupted. His smile faded. “I’m so sorry, miss, but unfortunately, we cannot let anyone in without an appointment.”
“What?” The word rang out with more disbelief than I intended. “An appointment?”
“Yes,” he replied, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “This is private property. Visits are by appointment only.”
Rain continued to fall around us as I stood there, shocked by the new information. This was a cemetery that was closed to the public? How was I supposed to make an appointment when I didn’t even know the name of the place or how to find it online? And who just drove inwithoutan appointment?
Just as I was about to accept my fate and get back in my car, a voice stopped me.
“Let her in.”
Both the man and I looked to the direction of the voice, which came from one of the stone pillars. There was a large black intercom speaker attached to the side.
The older man shuffled his way to the speaker, pressed a button, and responded. “She doesn’t have an appointment, Sir.”
“Let her in,” the voice replied, this time more forcefully, sending a chill through my body.
The older man surrendered. “Yes, Sir.” He turned to me, the bright smile pasted back on his face, and motioned to the gate. “Very well. You may enter.”
He made his way back into his booth, and after a second, the gates opened. A piece of me was briefly hesitant, but I pushed the feeling away as quickly as it appeared. All I wanted to do was go to my uncle’s mausoleum, give him his flowers, wish him a happy birthday, then go. I didn’t need to wander the grounds or stick my nose where it didn’t belong. I just wanted to visit my uncle.
I slowly eased my car past the wrought iron gates and pulled off the side of the road. Judging by the large, dark cloud above, the rain didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. Turning around, I reached into the backseat to grab the umbrella that… wasn’t there.
I must’ve left it at home.Shit.
Whatever. I tucked the loose strands of hair into my hood, made sure my jacket was zipped, grabbed the small bouquet of flowers from my passenger seat, and stepped out of my car.
And now that I was looking at this cemetery with eyes that weren’t blurred with tears, I could see how incredibly beautiful it was.
Along with the dreary sky, every building and stone statue was a shade of grey. Grey mausoleums, grey stone walkways, and grey cement benches along the path. But in between each shade of grey, there was heavy greenery. Ivy twisted between each resting place, between every crack in the path, and along the legs of the benches. Moss covered the sides of some mausoleums, large trees shaded the trails, and shrubs and bushes were scattered throughout, all adding life in color.
And suddenly, a part of me wondered where I wanted to be when I died. Could I rest in a place like this? Could I have peace in an area so rich in life, so lush and vibrant in its green color?
Rows upon rows of carefully sculpted mausoleums lined the paths, looking like a small village of houses. There were potted plants at each one, and statues and columns between buildings. My walk took me past a large sculpture of a crying angel, with his wings spread wide and his head buried in his arms. The carved stone had to be at least twenty, maybe even thirty feet tall, hovering over the entire grounds and all the mausoleums surrounding it. I paused, my eyes glued to the image, my heart reaching for the angel. I knew that feeling. The feeling of loss, the life that has been changed, the soul that felt cracked and broken.
“An angel of grief,” a dark voice spoke out to me, causing me to jump, and I turned to it. I knew that voice. It was the voice from the speaker box at the gated entrance.
Not only did I recognize the voice, but I recognizedhimas well. It was the man from the burial service, the one whowatched from afar. My eyes scanned him; his pants were wet once again from the rain, his black jacket was dripping, and his hood covered his shadowed face. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he took one step toward me.
“What?” I managed to squeak out, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.
