1. The Funeral

The beginning of the worst trouble John could have imagined.

    It was raining. Of course it was. Today was the Balthazar's funeral. He was a mentor, friend, and father-figure to John unlike any he had before him. Balthazar was a benefactor and the administrator for Balthazar's Home for Unfortunate Children, John's last orphanage he ever lived in. The damned old man, of course he'd go and finally kick the bucket. He helped John more than he could be thankful for. He missed him.

    John sighed, looking in the mirror. Watching himself in the three-piece suit Balthazar helped him pick out not just a year before. If not for Balthazar, John wouldn't have the 1970 Charger he drove to the funeral. Darren and Wilson, two roommates of John's, also former orphans of BHUC, sat in the back seat of restored leather. They blasted a mix of hard and classic rock as they sped down the highway. John bit his lip and tried not to think about the closest thing he's ever had to a dad be taken away from him.

    But that's about how his life went, wasn't it? He was born into being an orphan. His formative years being spanked, swatted, kicked, underfed, and spit on. It was a wonder he ever lived through any of it. This lasted until he was sixteen, when he was transferred to Balthazar's Home for Unfortunate Children. John, given name of John Smith as he was brought to his original orphanage with no other name, He had become too much of a risk for the last orphanage to keep so they transferred him away. Balthazar took him in like a son. If it weren't for strict policies against such a thing, John believed Balthazar would have taken him as an adoptive son. Many other orphans envied John for this. Why did he get special treatment? He got into many fights. However, when we turned sixteen, John started to put on some muscle and grow a little taller. Getting to actually eat something wholesome seemed to spark a growth spurt in John that took him from five-foot, five-inches and 100 pounds at 16 to six-foot tall and 200 pounds of muscle at 18. John was able to adequately defend himself and even made friends with a few other orphans.

    John pulled to the side of the graveyard path, behind the rest of the procession that came from the service at the funeral home. As much as he probably should have, going to the service would have been too much. So, he skipped it. John, Darren, and Wilson walked up the hill to the tent-covered grave with the casket beside it. Bouquets of flowers lined around the grave. A few dozen people in black amassed around it with umbrellas raised, blocking the still-falling rain. John swallowed back his sadness. The funeral officiant began his speech, and John's mind wondered among his experiences with Balthazar. About the time the speech quieted down, some music started playing. A shiver went down John's spine. He shrugged it off and decided to look up.

    Across the semi-circle crowd, John saw two men staring at him. They were blank stares; no expression showed in their face even as John's eyes met theirs. He looked back down, confused about these men staring at them. Why? Who were they? Why were they looking at him? They looked like mobsters. Was it about the car Balthazar had given him? He'd seen too many movies. He was being ridiculous. John looked back up and the men weren't there. Just some lady holding her umbrella and blowing into a tissue. Had he made the two men up? He scanned over the crowd. No one was moving, not even readjusting as if they had been moved. Balthazar's death was getting to him. Was hallucinating a symptom of grieving? Maybe he should have payed more attention in health class.

    The music ended and the officiant began monologuing. The monologue was mournful, but hopeful. "He's moved on to better place," and, "he'll always live on in the hearts of those he's touched." John didn't subscribed to the bittersweet ideal that when someone dies there's 'the other side' for them to go to - that there was a heaven or hell. When you die, you die. That's the end of the line for you. Your consciousness ends, and your body becomes a corpse that decays. Sure, some nutrients will soak into the ground that enrich the soils for bugs and plants, that then fuel beings higher up in the food chain. That's just the cycle of life. But once you're dead, you're dead. 

    That was why John felt the pain he did. There was no heaven for Balthazar to move on to. There would never be another smile or laugh from him. There would never be another handshake or joke. Let alone a stern lecture. It felt like a knife was stabbed into his heart that kept being twisted, and John couldn't help but cry. He was a great man and didn't deserve to die, even if it's inevitable. He didn't deserve it.

    More music played as the casket was lowered. John wiped away his tears. He had to move passed this, and he would. The man gave him a future, and not one where he'd want John wallowing all the time. The funeral was over, and people began heading back to their cars to go on with their daily lives. People here and there gave John a hug, a few to Darren and Wilson as well. The three were solemnly walking back to the Charger when a stern voice stopped them in their tracks.

    "Mr. Smith?"

    John turned around. It was the two guys he caught eyeballing him from across the crowd! He didn't make them up. Their faces were still expressionless. No hint of remorse or sadness in their eyes. There was something hiding in them, but John couldn't tell what. 

    "Yes," John replied.

    The closest one to John took off his hat, held it to his chest, and gave a slight bow. "My condolences on your loss, Mr. Smith." Still no change in expression nor sound of sadness in his voice. 

    "Thanks," John replied dryly. He wasn't sure he wanted to keep talking to these people. While the one bowed and said sorry, the other continued his blank stare. John didn't speak further, hoping these strangers would get to the point of why they're bothering him at this funeral.

    "We'll cut this short."

    Thank god, John thought.

    "We worked with Balthazar for a time before his time as administrator at the orphanage you left. He trusted us with this." The strange-man-that-worked-with-Balthazar pulled out a flash drive and extended it toward John. "He wanted us to give it to you after his passing."

    John hesitantly took the flash drive and shoved it into his pocket. He kept his hand around it, rubbing his thumb along one of its smooth edges. "What's on this? Not going to get a virus on my computer am I? 

    "No. No virus. Just a last message Balthazar wanted you to have personally."

    John gripped the drive a little tighter. It was the last thing Balthazar was going to give him. What could it be? "Thank you."

    The forward man gave a slight bow again. "Of course, if you'll excuse us. Have a good day."

    John gave a curt nod as the two men walked off. Certainly not the weirdest interaction he's ever had, but it'd be up there.

Author's Note

My chapters will be (frequently) updated as I can get to them. The story will be set in the US, though I realize the US uses a foster care program, rather than a orphanage program. Lets just suspend disbelief for a bit here. Things are going to get really weird/supernatural as it is, anyway.