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When a week has passed, Fabian stays in his room for three days.
The school year has ended, Kalvaxus defeated twice over, and Fabian has completely accepted and come to terms with his father’s death.
Or, at least, he says he has.
Seacaster Manor has never been as quiet as it is now. There is no singing of pirate shanties, no knocks on the door from businessmen seeking to strike a deal with reformed privateer Bill Seacaster. There is only the sound of Cathilda making meals and the awkward silence of eating them together.
Fabian has been so preoccupied the past few days with finishing school and celebrating their first successful quest as ‘the bad kids’ that it had only struck him when he woke up Wednesday morning that his father was truly gone . A small part of him is aware of the existence of an afterlife, that somewhere his father still remains. But it’s hard to imagine that his father would be fine and well after being stabbed through the heart and blasted apart by a magical coat.
Cathilda brings him his meals, but he doesn’t eat. He turns off his phone and stays in his bed all day, staring up at the ceiling or doing his best to muffle the sobs that take over his body. He doesn’t shower, he doesn’t move at all. He cycles through the motions of sleep and consciousness disproportionately, sleeping for most of the day and crying himself back to sleep at night.
When he wakes up Saturday, he stares out the window watching the gentle summer breeze wave at him through the branches of a strong oak tree next to the manor. He imagines his father out there, waving up at him like he did when he was a boy and coming home from ‘work.’ A flash of memory leaps before his eyesーwell, eye now. Fabian as a young boy, running forward to leap into his father’s arms. His father swinging him around, laughing maniacally.
“Oh, my darling boy!”
Fabian looks away from the window, down at his hands, still burned from the fire at the Manor. He reaches a tentative hand to his face, to the scar that now covers nearly the entire right half. He’s caught glimpses of it in passing, in the fog of the mirror when he gets out of the shower, in the camera of his crystal when he’s checking his hair. It’s brutal; still raw, oozing with puss and blood when he laughs or smiles. It’s begun to scab over in some places, thin layers of hard skin attempting to knit the broken skin back together to no avail. The place where his eye used to be, that he can’t even bear to look at. It makes him sick to his stomach to imagine it, the flayed mess of eyelids and socket.
Cathilda had taken him to the emergency room once Kalvaxus had fallen, just as a precaution to make sure it wouldn’t get infected. The doctor had tried to hide his grimace, but even Fabian’s blurry vision and distorted depth perception had caught the fear and disgust in his doctor’s eyes.
The part of him that he shows with his friends, the part of him that’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster, the captain of the bloodrush team, has said the scar is cool. That it makes him look more like a real pirate, something that can remind him of his father. The other part of him, the part of him that’s just Fabian, the part that hasn’t really had the chance to grow or even exist in the open since he was very, very small, hates the scar more than he has hated anything in his entire life. It’s a reminder of his failure, his failure to save his father when he needed to. His failure to live up to expectations, follow through with his plans.
That part has nobody to turn to.
By midmorning, Fabian is lying on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying to push back the tears threatening to fall. It hurts as he holds his face still, the tension pulling on his scar and reopening the feeling of his eye being slashed out.
He can hear Cathilda preparing brunch downstairs and it makes his skin crawl even thinking about having to sit across from his mother again. So he pulls himself off the floor and puts on his jacket, blindly tying the eyepatch to his face as he leaps down the stairs and out the front door of the manor without a word.
The Hangman is sitting in the driveway, firey engine purring as Fabian approaches.
Master, where shall we conquer today?
“Nowhere, Hangman.” Fabian sighs. “I just need to get out of here.”
I understand, Sire. We shall drive until you see fit to bring me to a halt.
The rumble of the Hangman’s engine lifts Fabian’s spirits, just a little, until he recalls the work his father put into it, where his name comes from. He falls forward onto the handles of the bike as the tears fall freely onto his face.
The wind ruffles his jacket as the Hangman thunders down the streets of Elmville. Fabian can’t tell what direction they’re going or where they’re headed, but at least he’s out of the manor.
The Hangman slows, after what feels like hours, and comes to a halt. Fabian looks up for the first time since they’ve taken off, blinking his eye as he readjusts to the light of day. Hangman has stopped ten feet short of the gate to Cravencroft Cemetery. The lot is barren, the warm summer breeze the only company Fabian has as he stands.
“Why are we at the cemetery? Papa isn’t buried here.” He asks.
I have felt your grief for days, Master. This is the place for those who wish to grieve without judgment.
Fabian bites the inside of his cheek. It feels wrong to walk into a cemetery with no headstone to go to, disrespectful to the dead. But the Hangman is right, he considers. Where else would he be able to let himself release all of the sorrow that has been building up for the past week?
“Fine.” He says. “Stay here. Let me know if anyone arrives.”
I shall guard the gates of this cemetery as I would guard the gates of Hell. No being may pass me without facing the wrath and might of my infernal power.
“Okay, whatever.”
Fabian starts up the hill and passes through the gates, revealing a wide expanse of headstones lining small paths pressed into the grass from years of travel. It’s strange to visit the cemetery during the day. It’s much less haunting than it is at night, and it’s somewhat peaceful; the summer sun shining on the graves gives them the illusion of glowing and the willow trees that surround the grounds swing gently in the breeze.
He follows the path through the cemetery, reading the names on the headstones that he passes, noting how long each person lived and when. He imagines their lives in Elmville, thinks about what they would have been like to meet. Would they be kind? Did they live here their whole lives or move as adults? Would they walk along the sidewalks downtown and feel like he did? Did they accomplish their dreams, their hopes? Were they afraid to die? Where are they now?
He stops in front of a mausoleum, so old and weathered that the family name is illegible now. It hasn’t been attended to for years, the path in front of it just beginning to grow over with new grass. The wind picks up, a blast of cold that shocks Fabian awake under the summer heat.
“Is there nobody left to remember you?” He wonders aloud. There is no answer from the mausoleum, thankfully, just the silence of the granite staring back at him. Tears begin to well up in his eye as he imagines a day where not even his father is remembered, where their family name is too faded to be recalled or deciphered. He lets out a choked sob that echoes across the cemetery, ragged breathing and the ache from his wound engulfing him entirely.
He lets himself cry, collapsing onto the dirt path without thinking about the stains he would be sure to have once he stood up. He cries and cries and cries, heaving and choking on his own tears and spit. Once he’s started he can’t find it in himself to stop as the dam that had been built by his father’s final breath collapses all at once, and the reservoir floods out.
For a moment his sobbing stops, halted by a worrying thought that passes through his mind. Why couldn’t it have been me?
He attempts to regulate his breathing, taking in long, deep breaths that shake and burn his lungs. He doesn’t want to die, he tells himself, why would anybody want that? But the more he thinks about it, how if he had been fast enough to save his father but not himself, the sinking feeling grows in the pit of his stomach. The Bad Kids could have defeated Kalvaxus without him. His friends would move on, they would understand that he had to do it, that it was necessary to save his father before himself. What good was he anyway?
Fabian stands up and starts running through the cemetery, away from the mausoleum, away from the horrible feeling that had begun to take root in his chest. He runs and runs and runs until he reaches the far end of the cemetery, up a hill overlooking the rest of it. He falls to his knees once again, a sob bubbling up in his chest as he pants like a dog. He rolls onto his back and closes his eye, letting the sun warm his face as he cries.
The sound of soft footsteps makes him stop for a moment, holding his breath so that whoever it is will leave him be. They come to a halt next to him, and a familiar voice speaks.
“Fabian?”
Fabian opens his eye, looking up at Riz standing over him. The way he’s standing, the sun is almost perfectly behind his head, mimicking a halo. An angel.
Maybe Fabian is dead after all.
“The Ball,” He sits up, putting on his brave face. Captain of the bloodrush team face, son of Bill Seacaster face. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Riz asks, raising an eyebrow. His expression is surprising to Fabian, wrought with worry and concern. It mirrors how Cathilda looks at him now, like he’s pitiful and needs coddling. He looks away.
“I was just going for a run. That’s a normal thing.” He quickly glances up at Riz, expression unmoved. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“I heard you crying.” Riz says plainly. There’s no malice to his voice, but the words sting like he had just cut him with a dagger.
“I rolled my ankle,” Fabian lies. “It’s nothing.” He stands up and looks away from Riz’s knowing expression. He’s never been a good liar, and it’s harder when most of his mind is taken up by horribly sad thoughts about his father.
“Besides, why are you here? You didn’t answer me.”
Riz sighs, shockingly sad. Fabian looks down at him and sees that his eyes are tinged red from crying, probably not unlike his own.
“I was visiting my dad.” Riz points to a small headstone under a tree not even 50 feet away. Fabian summons as much willpower as he has left not to break down again.
“Oh,” He says, cursing the shaking in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
Riz shrugs. “It’s okay.” He meets Fabian’s gaze with a small smile. “Do you want to meet him?”
Fabian’s mouth falls open, completely taken aback. He’s unsure of what to say, even less certain that the next thing he says won’t cause him to burst into tears. So he nods and lets Riz lead him to the grave.
It’s a simple headstone, no fancy engravings or epitaph, just the name and lifespan. Pok Gukgak .
Fabian didn’t know that Riz had lost his father until the fight with Kalvaxus, when their bastard of a former vice principal started bragging about eating him. None of the bad kids had the courage to ask him about it, but they could all tell that he was still raw from learning about the true nature of his father’s death.
“Hey dad,” Riz says. “This is my friend Fabian. I’ve mentioned him before. He helped us kill Kalvaxus.”
Fabian nods at the headstone. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gukgak.” He looks down at his feet, trying to hide the tears falling down his face. But Riz, ever so perceptive, isn’t fooled.
“Is it your dad?” He asks softly. Fabian nods, squeezing his eye shut as the tears start coming faster.
“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want me to sit here with you?”
Fearing he may not be able to speak coherently, Fabian puts up the number two with his fingers and looks to Riz, who nods and sits down against the tree. Fabian sits beside him, allowing his sobs to come freely. He feels Riz take his hand and gently squeeze it once, reassuring. He’s there for him.