[John Thornton] Cold rain fell from the sky, like the tears of angels grown cold as they fell the eternity between Heaven and Earth. The place of Purgatory, more Hellish for some than others. The sky was dark, thick with clouds, as an inconsistent wind blew with varying degrees of chill furor. It was biting and gnawing and clawing of icy devils upon the skin…
It tugged at the trench coat of black that hung from a man’s solitary form. It pulled his wet mop of hair playfully, like a child attempting to spark some reaction, any reaction, even anger from an aloof sibling. It drew the smoke from the glowing cigarette in the man’s mouth and bore it swiftly away… Casting it to the scant mercies of the sky above.
One hand rests in John’s pocket, as dark socketed eyes begin moving about the graves. A flashlight shines as though white hot, and in the haze of the falling rain, casts its beam like the blade of a sword before him. His breath mists…
His brow furrows in thought or trepidation…
His face tells nothing of his inner turmoils.
And yet, to any who knew him, to any who dared look… Such torments were easily read, as plain as news type upon freshly printed papers.
[Resurrection Mary] There’s a new one in the cemetery tonight, and the spirits have noticed. His purity is not so bright as some of the others, but still it is a beacon to those who have fought so hard to get them to notice, to come and help, to just get here.
This one, though. This one is different.
In the distance, there’s a flash of white, there’s the glimpse of a little girl dancing among the graves, chanting in singsonging nursery rhymes… “3 little monkeys jumping on the bed…”
[John Thornton] John sees the flash of white, the glimpse of the girl. A curious brow rises upon his forehead. Wordlessly, the man in the trench coat begins to approach the girl. As he grows closer, he almost seems to whisper, perhaps as much to himself as anyone else… “One fell off and bumped his head.”
The cigarette dances merrily in his lips as he mumbles, a gloved hand taking it and tapping it lightly on the filter to dump some ash from the tip. Then, the cigarette is replaced in his mouth. His demeanor is calm, his approach slow… If one were to approach a human unaware of their presence, perhaps they would do so this way.
Seeing ghosts is strange; it’s something novel to John. Then again… What hasn’t he seen lately that isn’t a nightmare made flesh, where garou are concerned? What hasn’t been an exercise in unreality?
When he comes close enough that she could hear him speak, he does so in a calm voice, his tone light. “Mary?”
[Resurrection Mary] Mary he says, and there’s a childish giggle, as she continues the rhyme and peeks out from behind a random tombstone. “Mama called the doctor and the doctor said…”
She’s all big eyes, dark and luminous, her blond hair combed and neat, falling in a short bob and held back by a barrette. Her playdress is flirty, fun, knee length and she can’t be more than 12 if she’s a day.
She ducks behind the stone again, and runs to one farther, and peeks back at him from around her new vantage point and nods, vigorously, before sh waves him closer.. deeper into the maze of the cemetery.
[John Thornton] John follows diligently, neither hurrying nor lagging. His brow still raised curiously as he follows Mary down the rabbit hole. His voice is again calm and quiet. “No more monkeys jumping on the bed.”
The light moves among the tombstones, hazel eyes made gray to black in the darkness read names and dates… Absorbing of their own accord everything they could, years of training having long since taught him to be aware of every detail… Just in case.
[Resurrection Mary] She claps her hands in delight, and dances through the tombstones, leading him on a winding path, sing-songing. “Say, say my plaaaaaaaaaaymate, won’t you come play with me…” clap clap “And bring your dollies, three…”
Resurrection Cemetery is not a small cemetery by any means. It is home to over 150,000 souls, some more restless than others. Were it not for Mary’s guidance, it could be hours before he’d find himself climbing a small rise, revealing three graves, close together, under the watchful eyes and arms of an Angel Statue. It’s here that another awaits, her voice soft as she chides the younger Mary. “Shhh, now.” And then lifts her gaze to John.
Of the three described to to John, this one is the one with darker hair, with darker, more knowing eyes. She is more prone to smirking, than to the soft romantic smile than the other, more knowing than the innocence of the child.
“Is she bothering you?” Funny, such an innocent question, from a ghost.
[John Thornton] The beam of the flashlight falls upon the names on the three graves, and upon reading them, John shakes his head in dissent. “No… She’s just being a child. Time to do that seems far to rare to deprive her of an instant thereof.”
He takes a deep drag from the cigarette, considering the dark haired woman wordlessly for a time. Then, his gaze strays back to the younger of the two. “She’s actually been quite helpful. I would have wandered for some time on my own before meeting you, without her help.”
[Resurrection Mary] Little Mary gives Mama Mary a look that is CLEARLY a pre-teen version of ‘so there’ when John defends her, and then she’s skipping off and away, before taking off at a run. In the distance, the third Mary wanders. It’s to her the child is headed.
Leaving John alone with Mary Bregovy. “You have questions.” It’s an understatement. Many have come with questions, but only two were kinfolk; Moira, and this one.
[John Thornton] John nods… “They could be called such things.” He watches little Mary run off, before turning his attention to the elder Mary again. “You have answers…” That they might was self-evident. Ghosts without answers could just turn invisible and ignore you. It stood to reason so, anyway.
John takes another deep drag of the cigarette, before finding a wet, grassy area that was part of no grave. Tamping out the cigarette in a small puddle, he rises and considers the elder Mary again… As he starts to speak, he’s already fishing for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, the next fix for his rekindled nicotine habit.
“I understand you were related to… … Maija.”
Saying that was so hard. Saying that name. Why was recalling the name of the dead so difficult? Why did it seem to make it so real, all over again?
[Resurrection Mary] She tips her head, slightly, looking at him, and then she closes her eyes briefly, and nods. “Ah. Ms. Moira mentioned the similarity in names to our young Mary. Her name is spelled slightly different, but it is close.”
Mary settles to sit on the pedestal of the Angel statue, and smooths her hands over her skirts. “We are related by Tribe, and as such, we escorted your Maija to the edges of her homelands. We are not released to go in there – but we took her as far as we were able.”
A pause, and softly. “What do you wish to know?”
[John Thornton] John seems to consider this for a time, as though in all the time getting here, he’d been going through it in his mind… And in all that time, found every phrasing he picked equally unsuited to the task of conveying his thoughts. He lights up, his dark socketed eyes illumined in orange briefly as the lighter flashes in his eyes before going dark yet again. A solid drag… Smoke pouring out like a river on the exhale. “Perhaps it’s best I introduce myself first. I’m John… John Thornton. Maija and I were close… when…” she was killed.
He stops for a moment, collecting his thoughts yet again. Smoking his cigarette as he stares off into the darkness for awhile. Then… after what seems an eternity… His voice begins laying out the myriad questions that have plagued him of late. “Why? Why did this happen? Why didn’t she call me? Why couldn’t I stop it? Why…” does this keep happening? John’s lips tighten, his jaw clenching even as the lit end of the cigarette dances like a will o’ wisp in the dark.
“I just… don’t understand. Did I do something? Something that caused it…”
[Resurrection Mary] She waits, patiently, while he gathers his thoughts, while he figures what he wants to ask. The why’s the guilt at not being there, not being able to stop it. The souls in the cemetery have seen this over and over again.
Survivor’s Guilt.
It’s devastating, and sometimes impossible to work through. It takes more time than most would like, it takes forever, and sometimes, it never happens.
“You did nothing wrong, John. I know you don’t believe me now, and may not for some time, but all of us here have a loved one that has felt the same things that you are. A sense of responsibility, a wish that you had done something, anything to make things turn out differently.”
Mary sighs, softly, as she looks at the graves at her feet, at the other Mary’s in the distance, at some points in between. “Maija made this choice, she thought she could help her friend and rushed in recklessly.” a pause, a soft chuckle. “As I am sure you would have had she been the one calling for you.”
[John Thornton] John smokes… and smokes some more… Absently, he’s reaching for another one as the second one gutters in the puddle nearby. Clink… Flick… A flash of orange light. “Yeah… But I’m a cop. City pays me to do brave, stupid things every day.”
His brows furrowed, the gray nigh to black eyes turn again back to the apparition before him. “Did she suffer?”
[Resurrection Mary] “You are more. You are a man who cared for a woman that you would have thrown yourself into danger for. I know the signs, for our boys loved us well.”
Then he asks what he really wants to know. She sighs softly, and considers how to answer. Sometimes, the truth is too much. Other times, it is not enough. It leads to the question – can a Spirit lie? Would she?
In the end, it is truth. “She suffered the betrayal of a friend, one she cared deeply for – but she knew that he did not recognize her. She died quickly, and fought well. You should be very proud of your Maija.”
[John Thornton] John nods, taking another deep drag. His brows furrow, his tone bitter… “Friend…” He just shakes his head, and sighs deeply. His tone moderates to something more neutral as he considers it. “When the garou fix it, so you can move on… Would you tell her something for me?”
[Resurrection Mary] Friend, he says, bitterly, and Mary stands and closes the distance between them. “He was not himself. He had been tortured for a very long time. He did not know what he was doing. He will suffer for it for a very long time.”
Her touch is a cold thing, though surprisingly, comfortingly warm as well, sliding across his cheek, his jaw. Then she steps back and folds her hands together and nods. “I would be pleased to carry you’re message, John.”
[John Thornton] She speaks of Maija’s friends’s suffering, and John shakes his head, a dark and terrible look spreading upon his features. It was more than anger, more than that… It was Hate. Purest Hate. The object of which was undeniable.
Then, John takes a deep breath, and then a deep drag, before answering… Not the first part of her assertion, but the second.
“She may not like what I have to say, but it’s not fair for her not to know. She should know. Please tell her I’m sorry. Please tell her I tried… I wasn’t strong enough, to finish it. Tell her I miss her, and that she won’t be forgotten.
Please ask her to forgive my failings… I know I don’t meet what she had in mind for me when I found out the truth. I know she’d want me to let it go.
I can’t. And I’m sorry I disappoint her in that.”
And with that, John returns to smoking… His eyes searching the darkness.
[Resurrection Mary] She listens, this Mary, so that she can hold the message well. She closes her eyes, and murmurs it to herself, to be sure she has it true, and then she nods, and looks up at the Detective.
“I will tell her.”
She hesitates, a moment, and then softly. “When we were killed, the Chicago Times, our pack, went crazy for vengeance. They threw themselves at every wrym creature that they could, fiercely and without fear. They were on a suicide mission – they did not know how to live again, so they did the only thing they remembered; they fought. And they died for it. We have been here on watch since then, unable to rejoin them until we are released from our duty.”
She pauses, and then softly. “Do not be like them. Be as fierce a fighter, but smart enough to know what Maija wanted for you, what other’s who care for you want for you. What you want for yourself, though it is clouded for now. Remember her well, remember her laughter, and try to regain some of your own. You’ve a long road to travel, Detective Thornton. It is not a road you are destined to travel alone. A part of her remains with you. Make her proud.”
[John Thornton] John watches steadily, neither nodding nor shaking his head, taking another drag from the cigarette, the orange flame pushing its way steadily toward him, leaving ash in its wake.
“Thank you. For taking the message, and for your time. I hope your journey to rejoin your pack is swift and untroubled, and that it begins soon.”
[Resurrection Mary] “It was my pleasure, John. Be well.”
In those simple words, she seems to ask a lot of him, but it is as she said. He has a long road yet to travel. And moments later, she simply fades from view.
[John Thornton] With that, John turns and starts toward where his car is parked in the distance. As he does so, he does speak one final time… The cigarette bobbing in his mouth idly with each spoken syllable. “Time will tell.”
The wind pulls and tugs at him, trying to bend him to its will… John walks unerringly along the path back, resolute against such external urgings.
((Fade here; Thanks for the scene))
[Resurrection Mary] ((thank you!))