As one would expect, the Cemetery of the Evergreens was full of people. Marcus was the son of a very powerful man, with many friends, as well as enemies. Nevertheless, what really lured most of them, was the fact that the Pentagon had been considering him dead. Many people were wondering why the government would do that to a man in uniform, since his body had never been retrieved in Afghanistan. A few of them suspected the possibility of a cover-up, whereas most of them dismissed it as a conspiracy theory.

All the same, along with common people, came dozens of reporters. As a matter of fact, there were so many television vans close to the cemetery that James had to park his car more than half a mile away from it. Once again, Helen felt anger rising within her. She knew very well what all those reporters were going to say. And, not long afterwards, her suspicions were confirmed. To make matters worse, they broadcast live from the spot, smiling for the camera, as if they were attending some sort of celebration. Helen’s initial thought was to confront a random member of the press. Their insensitivity disgusted her. But, in a matter of seconds, she rejected that notion. She was there to honor his memory, not start a fight with someone. Furthermore, making a scene in such a public place was a guaranteed way for her to be humiliated.

Before the start of the service, James told her that he wanted to see his friend’s body and asked her if she would like to go with him. But Helen didn’t have the heart to glance upon the remains of the large, handsome man who had captured her heart. She politely refused, claiming that she wanted to remember him as he was. James did take a look in the coffin, but he didn’t have the chance to talk to Helen, as reverend Douglas started his funeral sermon.

Helen was unable to hold back her tears, throughout the memorial service. Staring down at Marcus’s closed coffin, she recalled their happy times together, wishing that she could see his face, one last time. The first memory that rushed through her mind was his image at James and Olivia’s wedding, clapping his hands, with a happy smile on his face. She even remembered the short conversation she had had with Gina, shortly afterwards. Inevitably though, her mind jumped forward, to the night that he had left her at that motel in Berwick. The fear in his eyes, his trembling voice and his last kiss sent her heart into a downward spiral. Minutes before the end of the service, she was still crying in sobs, leaning her head against Olivia’s shoulder.

However, her attitude changed, when she realized that Marcus’s father was not going to say anything about his son, even though there were a podium and a microphone available. David Donovan preferred to chat with a middle-aged couple, as the large crowd began to disperse.

“Not even a eulogy?” Helen wondered, surprise written all her face.

“Maybe he’s too upset.” Olivia voiced her opinion. “He’s lost his son.”

“He doesn’t look upset.” Helen remarked, watching as Donovan smiled to the couple. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she turned her gaze to the left and up at the microphone.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Olivia said, lowering her voice. “Don’t do it.”

“Watch me,” Helen spoke in an emphatic tone, before starting towards the podium. Her friend tried to grab her by the wrist, but she quickly pulled her arm out of Olivia’s grasp. She knew that a eulogy would devastate her even further, but Helen was not going to leave the cemetery, without paying tribute to the man that she loved. Stepping up to the podium, she turned her body left and faced the crowd.

“Is this on?” She said, tapping her index finger against the microphone. The loud sound that it made gave her the answer, turning quite a few heads, but it also sent chills, up and down her spine, as the bass reverberated. Grabbing the base of the microphone, she adjusted it to her height, breathing in sighs. “Hi.” Helen began, wiping her tears off her face. “My name is Helen Weir. I came here today, to say ‘goodbye’ to someone really special to me. Imagine my surprise, when I heard a lot of the press call him ‘a traitor’, or ‘a disgrace to the uniform’. What really upsets me is that those same so-called ‘reporters’ said those horrible things, with smiles on their faces. You, sir…” She pointed down at the closest reporter across from her. ‘You did that, too. I remember you. Have you no respect?” The man in question dropped his gaze from her stare and looked down at the grass, clearly embarrassed. “You didn’t know him, like I did. Marcus was…” Helen lifted her hand to cover her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes, as her face hardened with pain. “The best man I’ve ever met: kind, loving, calm. He wasn’t a traitor. He wasn’t the monster the press thinks he was. He was…” She paused, clenching her jaw, as two tears toppled over the edge of her eyes. “… My angel; my sweet, dark angel. ‘Sleep sweet, my dark angel. Deliver us from sorrow’s hold.’”

Overwhelmed by emotion, Helen dropped her face into her hands, as more tears spilled from her eyes. The crowd went speechless for a few seconds. The only sound anybody could hear was Helen’s gentle cry. A bitter smile spread across Donovan’s aging face, as he put his hands together. Slowly, he started applauding, his gaze settled on Helen, as she took a short step back. Olivia and Michelle sprinted across the grass, as more and more people clapped their hands. The two of them jumped to the podium and embraced her, as James followed behind them.

“That’s the bravest person I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Olivia whispered in Helen’s ear.

“You sure told them.” Michelle praised. “Good job.”

“Thanks, guys.” Helen sighed, leaning back. She was about to speak once more, when she noticed James, out of the corner of her eye.

“Excellent speech;” he spoke, his voice bass-deep; “Inspiring, actually.”

“James, did you see the body?” Helen asked, barely able with her own voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah,” he said on a sad exhale. “It’s Marcus’s. I recognized him by the Scorpion tattoo on his arm.”

His last sentence shattered her last hope. Once again, the air around her seemed too thick to breathe.

“We can go to the police now, if you like.” Helen did not appreciate Olivia’s suggestion at all. James had identified his friend’s body. For her, talking to the police would be a total waste of time.

“And do what, Liv?” She wondered, lightly shaking her head. “Ask them why he was going to New York? Does it matter? He’s gone. I want to go home. Please.”