All Souls
The last chime of midnight was still echoing through the dark
streets of Paris as Ray slipped out into the night. He left behind a silent
household, all but one of his companions asleep in their beds.
He was clad in black, but tonight he wasn’t Noir. His mission was nothing so
frivolous as thievery.
Solomon was already moving and they nodded but did not speak. If everything went
as planned no one else would know that the detective was out tonight.
Even if they were not the only ones on the street at this hour, Ray would
recognize Florian immediately. An old hat covered his bright blond hair, but the
worn garments did nothing to disguise his aristocratic bearing and purposeful
gait. He carried an old bucket full of cleaning supplies and a large bunch of
chrysanthemums.
It was not a long walk to the cemetery but Ray was impatient to be home. It was
his birthday and he resented sharing it with Florian’s ghosts.
The cemetery gate was open, as was tradition on this night. Florian bowed his
head as he entered and his pace slowed. There were torches lighting the paths,
but he didn’t need them.
The mausoleum was old, full of ancient Rocheforts. Newer family graves
surrounded it in uneven patterns with the most recently deceased relegated to an
inconspicuous corner. Florian knelt, head bowed, lips moving in an almost silent
greeting. He whisper-sang while he washed the plain little marker and trimmed a
few uneven blades of grass. He kissed the flowers before placing them just below
his mother’s name.
His father’s grave received the same care, as did his grandparents’. There was
no marker for Florian’s uncle Maurice or his wife – they were still considered
to be missing.
There were no tears shed, no sounds of sorrow. Ray knew from past experience
that Florian would return home, wash himself and climb into bed as if he’d
merely had a bit of insomnia. They’d make love at dawn and he would spend the
day alternately pampering and teasing Ray.
It wouldn’t be until the clock struck midnight and the day was officially over
that Florian would allow himself to cry. Alone. Hidden from Ray as if his grief
were something to be ashamed of.
But not this year.
Solomon was still out there, watching over them to make sure they wouldn’t be
disturbed. In previous years that was Ray’s job, but this year was different. He
made no effort to conceal himself as he walked towards Florian and dropped to
his knees beside him in the damp grass. He offered a smile but didn’t speak.
Florian arranged the flowers carefully, working at a steady pace while he
continued to sing. When his task was complete, he leaned back on his heels and
started the final verse. Ray mouthed the words silently, one hand brushing
lightly over Florian’s parent’s gravestones.
When the song was finished Florian stood, offering a hand to Ray. They walked
back to the house without speaking, arms brushing, the scrub brush making a soft
clinking noise in the bucket.
The household was dark and still but there was a cart with fresh coffee and
cakes waiting beside the coat rack. It could be Laila’s work, or Solomon’s, but
Ray chose simply to accept the kindness. The detective was practically part of
the household anyway, and he’d proven his trustworthiness.
Florian set the bucket aside along with his coat and hat. He picked up one of
the mugs and the platter, giving Ray a look before starting up the stairs
towards their bedroom. His steps were light.
Ray smiled, racing to catch up while still minding his coffee. He stole one of
the cakes as he passed Florian, stuffing it into his mouth before flinging open
their bedroom door. He was three steps inside when Florian’s unexpected laughter
stopped him.
He gave his lover a curious look before following his gaze. There, in the center
of the neatly remade bed was an enormous bottle of their favorite scented oil,
complete with gift bow, and beside it was a large stack of neatly folded sheets.
Placed neatly on the top was the sixty-carat heart-shaped ruby from Ray’s safe.
Ray turned back towards Florian ready to ignore Solomon’s little joke for the
moment. He wasn’t expecting to see Laila and Solomon standing in the doorway,
waving.
:::end:::
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