11. Epilogue

The attendance was neither big nor small. The guests ranged in age from fresh to decrepit. Most wore black, but not all did. They referred to the deceased with many names: "Mr. Owens" to some, he was also "Bod," or simply "that man," or in one exceptional case, "Nobby."

There were children and mothers and doctors and freelance historians. There were tramps and projectionists and secretarial assistants. There were students. There were those who only used the label "student" to get the 10% discount at the deli. There was a girl, who was now a woman, who wondered why no one, no one remembered what her father had been like as a boy.

They shook hands and chatted, and glanced nervously at the sky, which rumbled every now and then. As had been requested by the will, they took turns swapping stories, raising their voices to be heard over the wind. Mostly they were nice stories, standard rose-colored stuff, but there were few that were met with less conventional reactions: Hilarity. Skepticism. Complete and utter befuddlement.

Eventually all tales had been told, and their tongues were empty. People started pulling out their various timekeeping devices, eyeballing the darkening sky. Casting one last look at the newly filled grave, they trickled out the ivy-lined path, until at last the crowd had entirely disappeared.

The graveyard on top of the hill was empty. The night folk would arrive soon, in all their shapes and guises. But right now there was a lull.

A figure dropped out of the sky some distance away. It watched the taillights of the last car dwindle to nothing. Then it walked to stand in front of the sharp-cut headstone.

"Long time no see," said Jack. He shifted his weight from foot to bare foot.

Then he decided, Hell with tradition, it didn't know what it was talking about. He hopped up to perch on the headstone.

"You are there, right?" he said. "Because I'd feel like an idiot otherwise." Just for good measure, he sent some frost into the ground. Even though he knew better, Jack glanced around hopefully.

"I can't stay for long," he said, "Summer's already getting antsy." Right on cue, lightning flashed. "And she's got killer volts, not to mention a mean boot. So this is going to be a short one, okay?"

He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. It didn't matter.

"So," Jack began, "speaking of lightning, you won't believe who I ran into the other day…"

Beneath the earth, Bod rolled over, rested his head in his arms, and smiled.

Done. It's really done. I have some ideas about what happens to Bod in between, but they don't feature Jack hugely, so if I decide to write it, it will be its own separate thing.