The sun shone bright in the sky on the morning of the funeral. A young man stood in the shadow of a memorial obelisk, the giant slab of concrete was placed at the bottom right corner of the rectangular cemetery. The teenager wasn’t much to look at, with his entire figure obscured by the shadow of the towering memorial stone.

     But that was what he wanted.

     He stood in the shadow of the six foot obelisk, hoping that he wouldn’t be seen; wishing that no one would see the tears that rolled down his face. Most of the visitors who paid their respects were already gone, but some close family members had lingered around, adding comfort and support for the grieving family of three. While the third member of the family stood in the shadow of the large gravehead the other two, a mother and a young girl sat in the family station wagon only a few yards away from the cemetery fence, all set to go home.

      The grieving widow was dressed all in black as she conversed quietly with a few close co-workers and a handful of friends as she occasionally glanced at her son standing in the shadow of the large memorial stone pillar. The son didn’t look at his mother, but instead he mimicked the cold stone obelisk that was planted beside him. He stood still, waiting until she would look away. The son saw his mother give him one last fleeting glance, then sighed, turning back to face a relative.

     The son hung his head, revealing a black cord where the neck of his shirt met his nape. Two of his hands went up to his neck and picked at a string sticking out. He pulled it up and over his head, staring at the full metal jacket shell-cased bullet dangling at the end. According to his mom, the bullet was a .40 caliber round. The entire bullet and casing was black with the shell casing a shining lacquer while the bullet itself being matte. It was a black and white contrast from the dark sheen of the round and the mellow sunshine in the sky. It was a gift from his father, just before the business trip.

     It would also be his last.
      
     Sean Knite looked down at the center of his palm. The bullet necklace lay on top of a well worn bandage that was spotted with two days old blood. His blood. The bandage that stanched his wound had completed its service, although it was coming loose a little. He flexed it carefully, testing whether the two inch laceration underneath the gauze had healed yet. Sean stopped, wincing. It had been three weeks since he had acquired this cut. Three weeks since he had heard.

    Three weeks since his father died.

    The last pile of dirt escaped from the clutches of the backhoes shovel and slid down into the six foot hole in the ground, forever sealing the grave of Sean Patton Knite Senior. The son of the deceased watched with a placid and unfocused eye at the men in tattered gray shirts and faded blue jeans as they began smoothing over the dirt with their spades.

     “Sean? Hey, Sean is that you?”

     The grieving son looked up at a man walking out onto the street. The man shaded his eyes to get a better look at Sean. Sean stared back. The man was a cousin or distant relative Sean hadn’t known existed before the funeral. In fact, from he had told Sean, he was the only family member there, considering the people that had come to pay their respects were either close friends that the Knites had considered family or just business acquaintances. Sean met people at the funeral that claimed to have worked with his dad. There were even some long distant hometown school buddies of his father Sean haven’t heard him speak of. But they were there. They all had traveled great distances to see Sean’s dad.

     Sean thought it was odd that there were so many people at his father’s funeral that confessed to a ‘close friend’ status, but he pushed it to the back of his mind before the service had started. Instead of being suspicious of the people around him, instead Sean tried his best to remember his father. Every single detail, every minute event that he had been with his dad, Sean tried to get it all. He didn’t want to forget his father. He never wanted to forget.

     The cousin from the funeral stopped, his black tie flapping as he did. Sean had been introduced so many times, said several different variations of the word ‘Hello’ that it was more than difficult to try and remember this guy’s face from the service. It was near impossible. But Sean tried to remember anyway.

     Had it been Harold? Or maybe it was Harry?

     The man came forward, holding out his hand.
     “It’s Harry?” the man reminded Sean, grinning.

     Sean nodded, trying his best to reciprocate the man’s smile. He failed. The guy named Harry shook Sean’s hand with an awkward grip.

     “I’m sorry again about your father, Sean.” Harry said.
     Sean nodded, but his cousin continued.

     “I know you’ve gotten that more than a million times today, but I wanna let you know that every single time it was said. . . we genuinely mean it. Just wanted to let you know.”

     Sean looked into Harry’s eyes, and then at the ground. He wanted to say something more, anything that would be meaningful. A comment of gratitude. A sentence of affirmation.
     Instead he said. “Yeah. I know. Thanks.”
     Harry stood there for moment, then patted Sean’s elbow.
     “See you later?”
     “Yeah.” Sean said. And then as Harry was walking away, Sean added, “Thanks for coming! Appreciate it.”

     Harry turned in his stride, walked backwards for a bit to give an informal salute at Sean and then turned back to the parking lot.
     Sean was alone once more.
     And he hated it.
     Forcing his heavy feet towards the family station wagon, Sean fingered the bullet necklace underneath his shirt. It was big and a bit uncomfortable to wear underneath a dress shirt, but he didn't care. It was from his father.
     Waiting inside the family car were his mother, Mary, and his sister Emily. Sean couldn’t see their faces, but he knew tears were still being shed. He could see it in their posture, their slumped shoulders. Sean kept walking, dreading every step, every pace away from his father’s grave felt like he were stretching his soul. It wasn’t going to be easy, being the only man of the house. He would have to get a job soon. With his mother being the only bread winner now, Sean felt it was his duty to help pitch in.

    With every step he took, with every glance towards the car, Sean’s heart inched lower into his stomach and his adam’s apple jogged higher in his throat. Sean blinked hard, and when he did, he felt the unexpected sting of tears in his eyes.

    Sean stopped at the passenger car door and took one last look at his father’s grave. It was a simple two foot high black marble gravestone. Even though it was yards away, Sean could see the words engraved on the marble face. They were seared in Sean’s mind like a camera’s flash. He half-grinned. Sean Senior was known as the most patriotic man on the block. He was known for his love of guns-of which he owned twenty-the armed forces and the Constitution. He was an outspoken man whenever he was home for vacations or block parties, and instilled virtue and common courtesy in his household. So when Sean Junior remembered the words on the headstone, it made him smile. It was his dad’s one last parting memory to Sean.

    I only regret to have but one life to give for my country.

     “See you soon, dad,” Sean whispered under his breath, his grin diminishing as he laid a hand on the car door’s handle. Just before he pulled it open, he muttered, “Miss you.”

~~~

     It had been nighttime when Sean heard about his dad’s accident. He remembered he had been sharpening his six inch long blackwash kukri knife, an old blade from his father.

     Sean remembered being in his room. It was small, like most rooms in most one story houses, but sizable enough for a growing teenage boy. Movie posters and sports banners from five years ago hung on all four walls of his room, forgotten even though they were in plain sight. Sean’s bed was lodged at one corner of the room, his laptop and computer desk laid opposite, with carpet and clothes strewn about in between. A beat up hardwood dresser sat in the back of the room, crowded by even more discarded clothing. On some days, his room would be so messy that he wouldn’t even be able to see the floor. But that night it was fairly clean; not a single article of clothing could be seen. Sean remembered that clearly. He remembered the entire evening clearly.

     He remembered holding the long knife in one hand, his other hand steadying a knife sharpening block on his desk. It was a handheld straight blade sharpener, the kind where you pulled the knife through at the top several times to get a nice edge on the blade, usually there being two pieces of abrasive rock or something similar that once the blade was run through it resulting in a keen, razor edge. He had run the blade through a few times and was about to slide it through the sharpening notch a fourth time when he noticed his mother was standing at the doorway.

     He had looked up and stared, the blade hovering two inches above the sharpening slit.
     Sean had asked, “Mom. What is it? What’s wrong?”

     His mother didn’t answer, she only looked at her son with swollen red eyes. Her hand was covering the bottom part of her lip with a wrinkled, half-used tissue. Sean didn’t move. He had heard his mom talking on the phone for over half an hour. Sean had thought she was talking to an old friend, his mother would often have long calls with long distant friends from the old days.
     But she had come to his room.
     She had been crying.
     His mom hadn't been talking to an old friend. She had a look in her eyes that made it clear to Sean at that moment what she was about to say wouldn’t be about an old friend.

     This was a family matter.
     Emily was there too. She had come alongside her mom in the doorway. Emily and Sean’s mom stood there, staring at him. It only took four words from Em, four words that would cause this moment in his life to carve itself a permanent scar in Sean’s mind.
     Sean wanted to say something. But he just sat there, waiting, staring at his mom. Staring at Emily. His little sister’s words cut deep into him as she inhaled shakily and whispered.
     “It’s about dad, Sean.”

    “Ow!”
    Sean and Mary Knite were both fussing in the bathroom. After coming home from the funeral, Sean thought it was time to change the bandage on his palm. In the summer’s heat, sweat and oil had steadily loosened the binding of gauze Sean had put, so he and his mom were in the bathroom replacing. Well, Sean was replacing the bandage, his mom looked on with worry and with a critical stare on her face. Sean was fussing about the jolting pain that came from his left palm, and Mary was fussing over her son’s sliced hand.
     Like most protective mothers would.
    “That is way too much alcohol, Sean.” Mary chided as she looked at her son. Sean breathed heavily as he squeezed his left hand, closing his eyes from the tingling sensation.

     “It’s okay, mom.” Sean said, his face betraying his words. “It doesn’t hurt that bad. And anyway, at least it won’t get infected now.”
     Mary shook her head as she watched. With shivering fingers, he opened the tap to cold, proceeding to rinse the open wound underneath the faucet. She saw her son’s face scrunch in an expression that could only be interpreted as pure agony, but he didn’t make a sound. He grimaced as he withdrew his quivering hand and cleaned the wound of dried blood and dirt out of the serrated cut. Sean’s mother inhaled through her teeth out of empathy.
     “Are you sure you don’t want me to do it?” Mary asked, biting her thumbnail as she looked on. Sean pursed his lips and shook his head, squinting.
    “Nope. I’m fine. Thanks.”
     With one quick move, Sean threw away the cleaning cloth and picked up the soft bandage on the counter.
     “You know, you don’t have to be here. I'm not five. I can do it myself.” Sean added, unrolling the clean and fresh gauze. Biting one end of the dressing, he rolled out two feet of length and the realized he didn’t have any scissors to cut with. Then Sean’s mother withdrew a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet, raising an eyebrow at her son while holding it out to him.
     “I don’t have to be here, huh?” She said, smirking as she cut the end of the gauze. Sean continued to wrap it around his palm as if the bandage held a soothing sedative that would relieve his pain. Sean exhaled through  his clenched teeth as he covered it evenly around his palm, preventing dirt and grit from entering the wound.
    Sean’s mother grinned, holding her son’s now bandaged hand.
    “You know, that’s not half bad. You should be a nurse.”
    “Ahhh. . .I don’t think so.” Sean said, shaking his head. He breathed through his nose with even breaths, feeling his pulse beat slower and softer.

    “How did you manage to cut your hand?” Mary asked, frowning. Sean looked down at his palm, at the bandage covering the laceration. He shrugged, staring at his mom.
    “You were there. You saw.” Sean held up his bandaged hand.
     “I know, but how did it happen. I didn’t see.”
     Sean shrugged. “I think it happened just after you left. The knife slipped down and caught me right in the palm.”
     His mother made a tsk sound through her teeth, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
     “Because it wasn’t important!” Sean snapped, his voice echoing long and loud in the confines of the bathroom. He felt his gut tighten as he saw his mother flinch. She blinked in surprise. Sean turned away and looked at himself in the mirror.
    
     He whispered, “I’m sorry. It’s just that. . . I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, that’s all.” He held up his bandaged palm, wiggling it in the air. “And I’m okay now, so that’s all that matters.”
    “But still!” Sean’s mother replied. “You should’ve been more careful. You should have said something to me.”
    “Yeah.” Sean sighed, feeling all the air go out of his lungs. "Yeah. . . I know. . ."
     Sean could see his mother’s face fall, the lines in her face multiplying in number and depth. She had always looked much younger than she actually was in the past, but now, after the funeral, she appeared more drained--more exhausted. Dad’s passing was really taking a toll on her.
   
     “It was just a stupid car accident.” Mary added, shaking her head, as if the motion would shake off the thought of her husband’s death. She tried putting on a comforting smile, but it just made Sean feel worse. Sean just nodded, feeling that same dumb knot forming in his throat. The same burning, itching feeling welling up in his eyes. He had gotten better at suppressing it. He swallowed all of those feelings down, hard.
     “Sean.” His mother hugged him with one arm, careful of his bandaged hand. “I love you. I don’t want you to hide things like that from me. Okay?”
     Sean nodded, and then hugged back. With his good hand.

    “Mom!” Emily’s voice carried through the hall, straight from Sean’s sister’s room. “The pie is burning!” Just as Emily’s voice reached them, the smell of burnt cooking wafted into the bathroom.

     “Then turn the stove off, Em!” Sean’s mother called out as she kept the small med kit and pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet. She sighed, pushing a grayed blonde streak of hair over her ear and walked out of the bathroom, calling over her shoulder to Sean.
     "That should heal over within another week, so don’t remove the bandage.”
    “‘Kay, mom.” Sean replied, half-grinning at himself in the mirror. He saw himself.
     Big surprise.
     Everything was there as expected. His broad features, appearing mostly in his shoulders, waist, and face. He was average in muscular structure, not exactly a body builder, and not exactly a stick. Something his friends would called a swimmer’s build. Although, his mother described him as “just right”.

    Sean ran a hand through his thick and full brown hair that always seemed to feel tight at the top and ridiculously thin at the sides. Maybe he should address that next time he met with his barber. Underneath his lengthy brown hair lay two large, piercing, aqua blue eyes that stared right back at Sean. They were a mixture of blue and green and a sparkle of crystal. Emily had the same eyes.
    The only oddity he could see in the mirror was the large white bandage wrapped around Sean’s hand. And then Emily stepped into the bathroom.

    “Hey.” Sean said, forcing a grin. Emily stared at Sean’s hand, his bandage, then glanced back up at Sean.
    “What knife did you cut yourself with?” Emily asked, leaning in close, examining the bandage. Sean displayed it for his sister, and she squinted at it, as if she had X-ray vision.
     “The kukri.” He said. When he caught his sister just staring up at him with a quizzical expression, Sean added, “The curved one.”
     He wiggled his fingers on his left hand. “I think I messed up the edge when I was sharpening it, though. Dad wouldn’t be impressed.”
    Emily nodded absently, still staring at Sean’s hand in hers. Sean looked up towards the kitchen, hearing his mother cry out unexpectedly. When he looked up, Sean thought he felt a tingle in his hand, but it was gone as soon as he tried to concentrate on what his mother was saying. Soon there was a clattering of pots and pans on the floor, and the sound of what sounded like a cymbals clashing. He even glimpsed his mother chasing after a small object running across the floor.
    Sean frowned and withdrew his hand from Emily’s grasp.
    “Excuse me, Em.” Sean muttered, looking down at his sister. “I gotta see what mom broke now.”
    Sean expected a smile, a grin. Anything from Emily to indicate that she caught Sean’s jest. But instead she just sidestepped out of the bathroom and nodded, her baby blue eyes staring at Sean’s bandaged hand.
    “It’s okay, really.” Sean added over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen to his sister. “Mom said it’ll heal in a week.”
    Emily nodded, and then grinned up at Sean. He knew it was forced. Everyone in the Knite family was forcing their smiles. It was to be expected, of course. Life wasn’t going to be the same without dad.

    The clattering chaos that was coming from inside the kitchen, Sean found out, was brought about by a frightened mouse. And the mouse seemed to have invited his friends, family, and maybe an uncle or two. They were in the back of the lower cabinets, and some had managed to creep their way behind the refrigerator. Sean had sworn that he hadn’t even seen, heard, or smelled the presence of any mouse before this, so it came as a shock to him that there house had been invaded by an army of mice.
    His mom was as thoroughly shocked as Sean when she discovered how much the pest exterminators were willing to charge for their ‘lowest price’.
     When the exterminators arrived, Sean was busy repairing a superficial, but annoyingly obvious crack in the wall. Sean looked out the window and stared at the large blue van with the big red letters embossed on the side: LARRY’S EXTERMINATORS
    
     Underneath the title were printed a few of the company’s phone numbers and that was it. Sean shrugged, thinking about the title.
     Simple.
     To the point.
     No need for any extra lettering. Although something at the back of his brain itched at the slightest possibility of urging him to be suspicious, but Sean’s mind just brushed it behind the thought of how many chores he still had to do.

     Sean thought it was odd for an exterminating company to have such a large van. It was bigger than most trucks Sean had seen, and taller too. But he pushed the idea into the back of his mind as he opened the door to a grinning man in jean overalls. Sean ended up having an awkward one-way conversation with stranger about sports neither of them seemed to care about while Sean’s mother came to door. He mundane conversation seemed to clear any thoughts of suspicion of the van, and Sean forgot it entirely as he closed the door after the overly smiling exterminator.

~~~

     Sean plopped down on the front porch of his house and stared at the clouds covering the blue barren horizon. The orange ball of fire setting in the distance warned Sean that he had only minutes before the calm summer evening turned into a cold, blistering night. At least, that was what was forecasted on TV.
     Sean didn’t trust the weathermen very much, if at all.
    His lungs were arid and thirsty for the air that surrounded Sean. He sucked in deep mouthfuls, being careful not to hyperventilate. This was possibly the longest run he had ever tried to attempt--a three mile attempt in running from his house and back along the back road trails of his neighborhood. At least he had made it home for dinner. Dinner sounded really good to Sean’s mind right now, especially to his stomach.
    But then something broke the imagery of him eating his mother’s cooking.
    Well, somebody.
    A speck of a blue blur at the edge of Sean’s peripheral vision, but most his visibility was limited by the corner of his house and a few branches from a nearby tree. Only the movement in the distance had caught his attention, and his mind had reacted by flicking his eyes over to that last spot of movement. The thing was gone, although he was sure that a person had just slipped by his view. It wasn’t unusual, many people just like Sean jogged and walked their dogs around the neighborhood.

     Then Sean had a thought.
     Perhaps it was Harry, the guy at the funeral. Sean had met Harry during towards the end of the funeral, he remembered, and then afterwards in the parking lot. But his first encounter when being introduced to Harry, Sean remembered them exchanging tidbits of information through small talk like most people do, and he had found something fascinating. Sean had found that not only was Harry a second cousin twice removed from the Knite’s, he also lived in the same neighborhood with them.
    Coincidence galore.
    So when Sean saw a glimpse of a person moving at the edge of his vision, his second initial thought was that Harry might have decided to pay the Knites a visit. But after waiting for several minutes, panting his heart out on the front steps, Sean began to grow cold and weary waiting for something to happen. He panted a few times and inhaled slowly through his nose, then through his mouth. Nose. Mouth. Nose. Mouth. Sean turned around and walked towards the door.
    But before he could put a hand on the doorknob, a voice stopped him.
    “Hey, Sean! Wait!”
    Turning around wearily, Sean raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. It was Harry. He was dressed in regular loose fitting jogging shirt and pants with ridiculous but comfy looking running shoes on his feet. His shirt was doused in sweat and he was breathing deep. Not hard enough to indicate that he had come from a marathon, but his chest rising and falling due to a lengthy evening jog. Or sprint.Without the suit on, Harry looked like he could play quarterback for the Carolina Panthers.

    “You going in?” Harry asked, pointing to the door. Sean nodded, twisting the knob.
     “I am, yeah.” Sean said, putting his hands on his hips, still breathing hard.
     Sean asked, “Hey, can I ask you question?”
     Harry shrugged, his mild breathing already coming down to a natural pace. “You already did.”

     Sean let out a short chuckle, nodding. “Ah, very funny. But really. When you said you lived in the neighborhood, I thought you meant you were, like, nearby or something. But I guess you weren’t kidding.”

    Sean gestured up and down the street in subtle movements with his head. “Where did you come from? Where’s your house? ‘Cause right now you’re like a total stalker.”

     “Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Harry shrugged and laughed at himself, scratching the middle of his chest. “I live in an apartment complex nearby and I sometimes jog around here.”
     Sean frowned. “Well, that’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run past here before.”

     Harry shrugged again, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, you did now.”
     Then he pointed down the street using an open palm, karate-chopping motion. “If you go down this street to the west, and then take a turn up at Elkwood Drive, you’ll come to the apartments.”
     As Harry itched at something under his shirt, Sean thought he saw a small bulge the size of a large coin where Harry was itching, but then he looked away.
     Sean shook his head, squinting in the direction Harry had pointed to.

     “So you literally just live in the neighborhood, huh?” Sean’s voice filled with suspicion. Harry nodded, grinning.
     “What a coincidence.”
     Sean nodded slowly, then blinked hard, his vision blurring for moment.
     He said. “Yeah. . . A weird coincidence.”
     Sean’s first initial thought was to say his goodbyes and close the door behind Harry. A second time removed relative Sean had never heard of just living barely a mile away? The rules of probability couldn’t allow that, not for a second.
     And Sean knew that.
     But just as that first thought emerged in his mind, something sparked inside of his stomach. It started as a small pop, and it festered there for a while. Then for some sudden equivocal reason, Sean felt a strange surging sensation writhe in his gut. Was it hunger?
     Possibly.
Did he need food?
     Oh, heck yes.

     But in the back of Sean’s mind, he knew it was something more than that. Something was. . . off. But pushed it down, the thought of dinner taking center stage at the forefront of his brain.

    “Uh. . .why don’t you come in?” Sean said, the tugging rhythm in his gut moving up his spine, causing a tingling buzz at the base of his skull. He ignored it. Sean stepped up to the front door, unlocking it with his house key.
     “I hope mom cooked enough pasta for an extra guest.”