BoneSong [in draft] 

 

Chapter One 
 

      He’d been to many a disinterment, but very few funerals. Nevertheless, this had to be the weirdest burial ceremony he’d ever seen. In fact, he was so taken aback by the bizarre/ness, that it took him a while to recognise how very strange these people were.

      My relatives! Justin could see now why his father had always kept his distance. Nobody would rightfully claim this lot. They weren’t exactly normal.

      And they didn’t want to know him. That much was obvious. Those steely gazes held even more contempt for him than they did for his father.

      Justin didn’t get it. //, his father, was one of the foremost anthropologists in the world. He was well-respected - hero-worshipped by some younger grad students. It was...well, sickening...but Justin was used to it, and he’d even gleaned a few worshipful glances himself. Apparently, being related to greatness was nearly as suspect as being great yourself. The potential was always there...

      Besides, they seemed to think he’d gained some special treat...that being dragged along on digs, to sift through dusty /remains, was a great honour.

      Like hell, Justin thought, grimacing. All that dessicated skin and muscle, trapped in the dirt. Sick! When he blew his nose afterwards - expelled all the dirt and dust and snot - it made him feel like he was expelling human /remains - before they could contaminate him somehow.

      He’d tried to tell his dad how he felt, but the man hadn’t exactly been filled with remorse. His expression had held more pity than //regret.

      Yet now, here was the “family”, looking at Dad with the same kind of contempt Justin sometimes felt. But, for some reason, Justin didn’t feel /justified//on hisside. Instead, he felt angry...furious, even...that these strangers would dare to dice/diss his dad. No matter what Justin might personally think, his father was well-respected - and had worked hard to get that way.

      Which made the family’s attitude even more bizarre, considering the glory // had fed their arrogance.

      Arrogance. Here was an attitude Justin recognised. He shot his father a quick glance, a smile twitching his lips.

      Interesting... His sire/forebear looked slightly discomfited - something Justin had never seen before. His father’s self-image had always been bulletproof before. No newspaper report or interviewer or son shouting in his face could faze him. Apparently, his relatives possessed the insight/ability// to get to him the way nothing else could.

      For a moment - only a moment - the idea of gloating danced unworthily in Justin’s head. Gloating was reserved for those times when he and Dad were alone. He chased the temptation with a loud clearing of his throat and a newly intense expression of solemnity. Hell, this was a funeral.

      But, it didn’t stop him from damning his father for involving him in this. These were people he didn’t know and it was obvious they didn’t want to know him/him here. Him or his father. The corners of Justin’s mouth now twitched angrily, and he quickly closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. One of Justin, Sr’s, favourite sayings crept into his head: “Consequences may not be sought, but must be endured.” His father’s admission that he couldn’t control everything, despite how hard he tried.

      Unless it’s his fault...

      Was it possible? Justin glanced at his sire again. Had Dad been up to no good? These arrogant bastards were treating him like tainted meat/-/the garbage man with the taint of rubbish fouling their air.

      And, despite the facade, his father wasn’t totally/more than a little affected/unaffected. His father’s pride shuddered briefly, then reasserted itself in the stiffened spine, narrowed eyes and squaring of/ed jaw. “Disassociation/ from /taking responsibility/concrete///,” he explained. Since // never really bothered offering any explanations to Justin, he took it as a sign of just how far his father’s “honour” had been compromised.

      “Their needs are best served by distance.” Bitterness. Another emotion his father rarely exhibited.

      “The taint of the garbage man,” Justin offered, amused. “Tell me they don’t see anthro as glorified rubbish duty.”

      A rare glint of humour shone in //’s eyes. “Inglorious/vainglorious duty.” Even rarer, a glint of pride. //’s perspective had been enlightened by the presence of his dour relatives. “You’re a throwback, to your mother’s side.”

      His father hadn’t spoken of his mother in almost ten years. Justin could still remember the last time/the event clearly, even though he’d been only five.

      “Your mother’s people were a ‘revelation’. But she couldn’t understand the /duty[capital].” His father’s words. Not only had his father mentioned his mother, but he’d actually laughed. Both, major events. For a moment - only a moment - Justin’d had the distinct impression Dad missed her.

      Now, Justin made a conscious effort not to gawk at him.

      “You’d do better with them.”

      “‘Them’ who?” No response. “‘Do better’ how?”

      But, that was it - the extent of Magnus Hyde’s revelations.

      Typical. His father had not been exactly forthcoming about the location of his other relatives, and when Justin had started demanding answers, he’d been met with chilly disdain. Now, he only asked when he wanted to stir an emotional reaction from his father...any reaction.

      As the ceremony drew to a close, Justin prepared to leave. His father might intend to stay, but he certainly didn’t need a son’s support. He could face his family on his own. Whatever he’d done to stir up all that animosity was his problem.

      Justin shifted, fingering the change in his pocket. Enough for a bus, and he could walk the rest. I’m outa here...

      As the last ceremonial words were spoken, in a tongue as crusty as old bones/rusty as the voice which uttered it, Justin turned to go.

      //, his father, gripped his arm. “Don’t -”

      Justin lifted one brow, and faced the man. Other than a slight flaring of his nostrils in distaste, he kept his expression /masked/. No need for his father to know how all this had affected him. No need for him to suspect this’d/ had any effect at all.

      He’s taught me well...

      But, his father’s next words shocked him out of his faux complacency. “I’ll need your help.”

      “‘Help’?” Justin repeated, through stiff lips.

      “Yes.” A trace of amusement glittered again in the elder man’s eyes.

      It was enough to stir resentment in Justin’s own. “Gladly,” he retorted, the arrogance he’d been subjected to all afternoon very //clear in his own voice. “Why?” he asked, bluntly.

      His father glanced at his cousins, but they’d already turned away. It appeared he and Justin were to be the only ones left at gravesite/de. He smirked, and the amusement in his eyes grew as he anticipated his son’s reaction, but it didn’t stop him. He couldn’t afford to let it stop him. He replied, just as bluntly as Justin had, a moment before, “To bury her, of course.”

*