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Simon thought about his own death often. But not much about what would happen after. He hoped that his body would just be hidden in some crevice. Never to be found. He could never let them get the satisfaction of seeing him dead.
It was almost ironic how much Knightley had talked about his own demise. He was obsessed with what would become of his remains. His father was stored in an ice sculpture for 18 years, Horace wanted something a bit nicer. They had been engaged in chess when his friend started on his morbid rant.
The bodyguard moved his light-squared bishop to protect a knight, “What do you want done with your body when you’re dead, Si?” he asked. Simon blinked slowly, choosing his next move before answering. He safely disposes of the bishop with a rook, drawing out a scowl from his opponent. “I don’t know,” he replied sweetly, “Besides, I don’t like to think about dying, it’s so scary!” A lie of course . Simon also knew this whole thing was Horace’s way of getting the chance to talk about himself anyway.
“There’s this artist I’ve heard of,” His friend’s rambling begins, “He turns people’s ashes into little statues.” He moves his knight away from the queen’s attack. “When I die, I want my ashes turned into a chess set,” he revealed, grinning at his red-headed companion. Simon giggled, “That is so like you, Knightley.” Too bad there will be no one left to give a shit about you to have that made. Unaware of Simon’s bitter thoughts, Horace smiles self assuredly. “Since I’m a bodyguard my job is so dangerous I could die any day,” he continues talking as he watches Simon’s hand hover over the pieces. “So I looked into it, I got my lawyer, Shields, to get everything in order once I kick the bucket,” he explains, “If I die, he’ll handle everything.”
“You’re not gonna die, Knightley,” he moved a pawn before covering his eyes tightly. “Don’t say that! No way, no way, no way!!” Another lie.
“I swear there’s not a chisel in here,” Mr. Shields chuckled. After a moment of hard silent staring from Mr. Keyes, his smile flattened. “Sorry, too soon?” he said quietly. More silence from the former animal tamer. “Well, here you go, it’s from Knightley- Well actually it is Knightley,” Raymond said, watching him handle it behind the glass. Simon wasn’t terribly sentimental, with what he had been through it wasn’t worth it. But, the idea of having Knightley in his arms made him almost inclined to cradle the box. Not that he’d do that in front of the attorney, he would have alone time later to engage in such a pathetic activity. “Thanks,” he coughed out, his throat dry from fighting back crying. He could only make out Mr. Shields hair and hat through the blurry tears in his eyes. He had never cried before getting in here, at least not for a long time.
Simon had once forgotten that very chess set in the prison common area. As soon as he noticed, he dashed back out to the large room. He noticed the closed case still sitting intact on the table. Feeling something wasn’t right, he opened it. To his horror, the velvet inside was empty of any of the handcrafted pieces. The ones made of his best friend’s remains. Someone saw money to be made or it was some sick prank. His only chance was begging Dogen to have Anubis hunt them down. It’s funny that Knightley trusted him until the very end. He had entrusted everything, including his remains, to Simon. Now they were gone, surgically removed from their custom made case.
He held onto the empty box as he lay in his cell. Another private time to cry. His evening ritual was interrupted by the sound of a bell. “Young pup, are you sleeping in there?” Dogen asked, Anubis at his heel. Not wanting him to leave thinking he was asleep, Simon quickly rolled over. “No, I’m not sleeping,” he said, scrambling over to the bars. He cut to the chase, “Did you find them, Mr. Dogen?” he begged. The wrinkles in his old face crease as he grins at his acolyte. He slowly bends down to pet the big dog’s head. “Anubis did, it is he you should be thanking,” he replied. The dog gently dropped something in his mouth on the floor. The prisoner dropped to a crouch and snatched it up quickly. It was a small cloth bag. Reaching inside confirmed its contents.
Ironically, the first piece his hand touched was revealed to be a knight. “Wh-where were they?” Simon asked, clutching the horse shaped sculpture tightly in his hand. “Keh heh heh, Mr. Sahwit’s cell,” he said, his white eyes staring forward at nothing. That petty thief asshole, he had stolen Simon’s things before. He must have thought he could pawn them for some quick cash . He rubbed his thumb against the piece in his hand. “Thank you,” Simon said, reaching for Dogen’s wrinkled hands. “I do what I can for you, child,” he replied, squeezing the young pup’s pale hands. “Now rest, we will see each other again tomorrow,” the old man promised. “Yes sir, good night,” Simon mumbled.
After the sound of the bell faded from ear, Simon tucked the knight piece under his pillow.