Aja Minor by Chris Bliersbach

Author:Chris Bliersbach
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery books, crime books, coming of age books, heroine series books, sex crimes books, superpower fiction books, psychic suspense thriller
Publisher: Chris Bliersbach

Chapter 26: Ashes to Ashes

I woke up fully clothed and oddly disoriented to find myself in my bedroom at home. The sudden realization that it was the day of Heather’s funeral then hit me hard, reminding me as subtlely as a gut-punch of the reason I was home.

I turned on the shower, peeled off my clothes, and took inventory of my body in the mirror. The bruising on my face was almost gone. Replaced by bruising on my left arm from the IV and on my right arm from blood draws. I stepped on the bathroom scale, and at 92 pounds, I was 8 pounds lighter than when I had entered the hospital. My ribs were more prominent, and I realized that I hadn’t had my period in nearly two months. My eyes seemed dull, and my skin pallid. Even my hair didn’t look as healthy. I stepped in the shower and washed and conditioned my hair, hoping to restore its sheen.

After a luxuriously long shower, I stepped out, dried off, and hoped I could work a miracle on my face with my make-up. There is only so much a shower, shampoo, conditioner, and make-up can do, however. Any way you cut it, the stress of my FBI training, Heather’s death, and my overdose and hospitalization had taken its toll. What had once been a form-fitting and flattering black dress that I chose to wear for the funeral hung loosely off of me without a hint of its former body-hugging qualities. My hair looked better after my conditioning treatment. Some make-up helped give my face some color, but the lack of sparkle in my eyes, gaunt appearance, and bruises on my arms made me look like some anorexic, drug-addled tweaker.

I finally descended the stairs to join my parents, who were having coffee and a light breakfast in the kitchen. Both of them commented on how nice I looked, proving that parents can actually see a silk purse in their sow’s ear child. I poured myself a cup of coffee. Or should I say I added some coffee to my mug, three-quarters full of milk with two spoonfuls of sugar? I wasn’t hungry and twice rejected my mother’s offer to prepare me a plate of food. Platitudes about the importance of the first meal of the day, be damned.

We got into the car, and I realized I didn’t even know anything about Heather’s funeral. Where was it being held, or who was going to be there? I don’t know why I assumed her parents would have a church service and burial ceremony. I guess I thought I was the only one who knew about Heather’s preferences in death. Unfortunately, growing old together and scattering our ashes in our home’s backyard garden, as we had discussed and imagined, wasn’t going to become a reality.

So I was surprised when my Dad drove to Heather’s house. We joined a small gathering in the backyard consisting of Heather’s parents, several relatives, Ms. Sylvester, and a few girls and her coach from her summer gymnastics academy.

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