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The room was unnaturally quiet given the amount of people standing in it.
Maybe it wasn’t a large amount of people—Casey overheard Holland say something about there being a moderate turnout—but it was more people than Casey had ever seen in one place at the same time.
He usually liked the quiet. Not this quiet. There was something off about it.
Perhaps it was the fact that Colt, who normally never stopped talking, hadn’t said a word since before they’d arrived. Maybe it was the presence of the unfamiliar man, apparently named ‘Luke,’ standing to Holland’s left.
Maybe it was the casket sitting closed at the front of the room.
The only funeral Casey had ever been to was their father’s five years ago, but he was only four then. He didn’t remember much of anything about that day except for not wanting to go. He didn’t really want to be standing here in this church either, but Ryland and Colt had insisted, saying that ‘Court’ was actually important.
Casey didn’t miss the implication that their father wasn’t, but he also didn’t know what to say in response to that. It wasn’t like he knew anything about what their father was like. Or about what ‘Court’ was like, for that matter. Or who ‘Court’ was.
Casey was bored.
The service was long and he had zoned out toward the start of it and had yet to zone back in, and now that he was thinking about it, he would maybe know who ‘Court’ was if he had been listening.
He looked around, startled, as people started to get to their feet, Holland’s gentle hand on his arm urging him up as well. Too late to start listening, apparently.
He remained between Holland and Colt, gripping both of their sleeves so as to not get lost in the fray. Ryland walked slightly behind Colt, and Luke walked slightly ahead of Holland. No one said anything. Casey had no idea where they were going.
Their short walk ended in front of a large hole in the soil at the edge of a large garden. The cemetery, Ryland had called it. Casey had never been to a cemetery before, or at least not as far as he could remember. Had their father’s funeral ended in a cemetery? He didn’t know. They’d certainly never visited him afterward. Casey didn’t know why that was, nor did he care to find out.
He hugged Holland’s arm to his chest, careful to avoid skin to skin contact, releasing Colt’s sleeve as the other shifted to cling to his twin. His older brothers were upset. Luke was upset. Everyone around them were varying degrees of upset. Casey peered behind himself at the crowd of people.
A lot of them were on the verge of tears, or tears had already spilled down their cheeks, leaving glistening lines in their wake. Others had their jaws clenched and a small amount looked almost unbothered. There was one man in particular who stood out to Casey.
He stood at the back of the crowd, wearing a hat pulled low on his head, shading his eyes and expression. Despite this, Casey couldn’t help but feel like he knew him from somewhere. From what little he could see of the man’s face, he looked a lot like Holland. He hugged Holland’s arm tighter, shuffling closer to him.
The grinding of metal against metal drew Casey’s attention away from the strange man toward where they had started lowering the casket into the hole. The pulley system seemed old, some of the metal rusted and the hinges and chains creaking and groaning in protest of their current use.
Ryland and Colt hugged each other tighter, one—Casey couldn’t see their faces, so he couldn’t tell who—of them badly muffling a sob, while Luke wrapped a comforting and protective arm around Holland’s shoulders. He was careful not to brush Casey’s head where he was leaning against Holland, which Casey was grateful for.
It took maybe two minutes for the coffin to be lowered completely into the ground. Then another five to fill the remaining volume of the grave with dirt. It was during this process that people started to trickle out, returning to their cars to go home. When Casey turned to check when the grave was about halfway full, the strange man at the back of the crowd was gone. If he had ever actually been there in the first place.
Casey wasn’t sure how long the five of them stood there, nothing but a pile of dirt marking the grave of a man he couldn’t even begin to recall. Part of him wanted to ask who ‘Court’ was to them. The rest of them told him that, even if they tried to hide it, this would only upset Holland, Colt and Ryland. He didn’t want that, so he kept his mouth shut, simply watching blankly as a cemetery employee placed a small marker printed with a name and stuck to a similarly small wooden stake onto the pile before leaving.
The five of them stood there silently, Casey squinting down at the marker, mouthing the name printed on it to himself. ‘Courtland Gentry.’
Gentry.
That was his surname. This was the funeral of his older brother. The one that no one ever talked about. The one that Colt found remembering too painful, while Ryland was always too scared to tell Casey about because their foster parents didn’t like him, and Holland was never around anymore to answer Casey’s questions about.
The one that, according to one of Casey’s past foster siblings, had killed their father.
Maybe he should’ve been upset about that. He wasn’t.
He didn’t know his father, but he’d always felt weird about him, and Holland, Colt and Ryland all seemed to hate him. Or at least all refused to talk about or visit his grave.
The sound of Luke’s voice forced Casey back to the present. They were leaving now. Going back to Casey, Colt and Ryland’s foster home.
The drive from the cemetery back to the house was the same as the drive to the cemetery. And the service in the church. And the burial. It was unnervingly quiet.
Luke was driving, Holland in the passenger seat and Casey and the twins huddled together in the backseat, Ryland squished in the middle.
For all that Luke was unfamiliar to Casey, Holland clearly knew and was familiar and comfortable with him. Colt and Ryland less so, but they at least vaguely knew of him before Holland had introduced him to them. Casey had had no idea who he was. But Holland said that Luke was their uncle. Their mum’s sister. Casey trusted Holland.
The drive wasn’t very long, only about ten minutes and they were back at the house. Casey followed the twins out of the car, holding Ryland’s sleeve as non-restrictively as possible and sticking by his side as Colt paused to talk to Holland and Luke. He was probably trying to convince them to come inside, even if only for a short time. Casey wasn’t sure, he wasn’t really listening.
When he looked over, their foster mother was standing in the doorway, watching them. She didn’t say anything, merely glaring at where Luke and Holland remained in the car. Casey didn’t like her very much.
Eventually, Colt stepped back from the car, frowning at it and its occupants as he moved to stand on the other side of Ryland. Together, the three of them watched as Holland and Luke backed out of the driveway, likely going back to whatever hotel they were staying at.
They stood there for another thirty seconds before their foster mother—Mrs Simpson, though she only really answered to ‘ma’am’—cleared her throat pointedly. Colt exhaled heavily and Ryland sniffled, though both begrudgingly turned and marched up to the house, Casey having no choice but to follow despite wanting to be literally anywhere else.
Just a few minutes later, the five of them—Mrs Simpson, her husband, Casey, and the twins—are sitting at the dining room table supposedly eating dinner. Casey and the twins weren’t really eating. They weren’t really hungry.
Casey hadn’t even noticed that it had gotten so late in the day. The funeral hated begun at around three P.M. and he had been so distracted through all of it that he hadn’t noticed the passing of time.
No one spoke, as was normal for a dinner in the Simpsons house, but there was something heavy in the air that made the lack of voices almost unbearable. Everyone at the table seemed to agree.
“So,” Mrs Simpson started, her eyes flicking between the three brothers. “I thought we decided that you boys would not be going to that disgrace of a funeral.”
Ryland hunched in on himself and Colt all but slammed his cutlery down onto the table, glaring at Mrs Simpson. Casey frowned at the table, vaguely recalling the argument from the day before, where Mr and Mrs Simpson had attempted to forbid them from the leaving the house. He hadn’t payed it any mind. He pretty much never listened to what the Simpsons told him to do.
“I really don’t see why you care so much. This is about our family, not yours, it doesn’t affect you.” Colt snapped. Mrs Simpson narrowed her eyes.
“It affects our reputation.” She said, coldly.
“Right, yeah, and that’s all that matters.” Colt scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Our emotions and our wellbeing is irrelevant if it negatively impacts your flawless reputation.”
“We’re not going to apologise for wanting to honour our brother. Not after he saved our lives. The funeral was the bare minimum, we didn’t even had a wake because of you.” Ryland spoke up, his voice soft.
“Saved your lives,” Mr Simpson guffawed. “He killed a man.”
“He saved our lives.” Colt asserted, his voice cracking slightly as he pushed out of his chair. “If it weren’t for him we probably wouldn’t be alive right now. I don’t care what you think, I don’t care how you perceive him or the situation, you weren’t there, so you don’t get to say anything about it. Courtland Gentry is a hero. He’s our hero. And he deserves to be honoured the same as anyone else.”
“He deserves a grave stone.” Casey added quietly. The Simpsons both laughed condescendingly.
“Well good luck getting him one.” Mrs Simpson sneered, returning to her dinner. “You already spent all of your money on the funeral and there’s no way either of us will ever pay for such a thing.”
Casey and both twins stared at them in shock. The couple had always been vocal in their distaste of the Gentry family, usually behind their backs, but refusing to let them honour their older brother’s memory like this was just cruel.
“Fuck you.” Colt spat before turning and marching off up the stairs. Ryland got up to follow, tugging Casey along behind him. The Simpsons didn’t take such an insult lightly. They didn’t follow the boys up the stairs, but they did yell after them, screaming about ‘disrespect’, and ‘they had no right’ and ‘how dare they’.
The brothers didn’t care. They couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore. Casey studied his older brother carefully. Both were holding back tears to varying degrees of success.
They locked themselves in their shared bedroom, and Casey had no doubt that, after this, that lock would be removed at the first chance the Simpsons got. There would likely be more arguments to come in the morning, but for now, Ryland and Colt curled up together in Colt’s bed while Casey curled up in his own, the three of them drifting off into fitful sleeps.