A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

Epilogue

Four months later

They'd had snow overnight; about three inches, Remy figured, as they trudged down the winter-covered walkway through the Mount Auburn Cemetery.

It was still relatively early, the sun just over the rise, but he hadn't been sleeping much these days, and it helped him to get out and do things.

Helped to take his mind off missing her so much.

And besides, Marlowe could use the exercise.

The dog barked happily, his jet-black fur a severe contrast with the snow as he romped through the powdery white stuff on the trail of something that didn't hibernate through Boston's winter months.

"What is it?" Remy yelled to the dog, wanting to be a part of his excitement.

"Squirrel!" Marlowe answered, stopping for a moment, tail wagging like mad, before bounding toward the base of a large oak tree.

"Awesome, but remember what we said about not doing your business here, all right?"

"Right," the dog grumbled, more concerned with the squirrel's scent. But the Labrador had been really good about such things, after it had been explained to him a few times that this was a special place where people came to remember those who had gone away.

Remy didn't need this place to remind him; she was on his mind nearly every moment of every day and night.

It was pretty here just about any time of the year, but breathtaking after a new snow; the trees, headstones, and monuments draped in a puffy covering of cotton white.

Madeline loved this time of year, a New Englander through and through. She'd often talked about how it just wouldn't seem right without snow, that she'd lose her ability to gauge the passage of time without the seasons.

The passage of time; Remy had never been more aware of it.

He glanced around, making sure that Marlowe hadn't gotten himself into any mischief. The Labrador was getting dangerously close to a frozen pond, so he whistled shrilly to get the animal's attention.

"C'mon, pal," he hollered. "Back this way."

Marlowe stopped and turned in his direction. Remy could practically hear the gears moving around inside the animal's blocky head as he thought about whether or not he was going to acknowledge the request. He sniffed around beneath a willow tree for a little bit more before finally choosing to bound across a stretch of chest-deep snow yet untouched by man or beast.

The defiler smiled in a cloud of white as he made his way toward Remy.

Remy had no choice but to laugh at the sight. Marlowe loved it here, looking forward to their daily visits, lately even more than their walks to the Common.

He guessed it probably had something to do with Madeline being here as well.

"Run fast," Marlowe said, bringing himself to a skidding stop just before the path he was on. "Run fast in snow." There was a fine coating of ice crystals stuck to the Labrador's whiskers and powdered snow on his muzzle.

"You certainly do," Remy praised. "I bet you're the fastest dog on the planet."

"Yes," the dog agreed. In his mind, at that moment, he was the fastest dog around. There was no other reason for him to believe otherwise.

Rather like the world.

Remy didn't think humanity realized how close they'd come to the end. They had just convinced themselves that everything had been naturally occurring mayhem, and with a little perseverance, they'd made it through just fine.

Just like they always did.

Humans thought very highly of themselves and their abilities to hang in there. It was one of the things he'd learned to admire about them. Their optimism was amazing.

Even Steven Mulvehill, knowing more than most, chalked up weeks of the Angel of Death being missing — and the nearly devastating effects that followed — as a bit of a rough patch.

But things seemed to have evened out.

Remy had been willing to tell him, during the last of their rooftop drinking sessions, before it got too cold, about what had gone on at the Cape, but Steven didn't want to know. He'd made his comment about knowing too much, poured himself a double, and changed the subject to the Patriots' chances of making it to the Super Bowl.

Remy had to respect the man's decision not to know. Whatever helped to make it through the day was perfectly fine with him.

"Are you going to come with me to visit Madeline?" Remy asked the dog, who was now rolling on his back in the snow, legs flailing in the air.

"Not Madeline," Marlowe answered indignantly, climbing to his feet before shaking off the icy powder.

"No, not Madeline," Remy corrected himself.

They went through this at least a few times every week. The Labrador didn't quite grasp the concept of burial, even though he'd been in attendance at Madeline's graveside ceremony. Remy recalled something the animal had said as they bid their final good-byes while standing beside the mahogany coffin. In his simple way, he had told Remy that the female — that Madeline — was not in the box because he could not smell her there. Later on that evening, when the mourners who had stopped by the house for coffee and something to eat had finally left, out of curiosity he'd asked the animal to explain himself in more detail. It was difficult for him, but Marlowe explained that the female couldn't be in the box because she was there with them.

Remy still hadn't understood, and frustrated with his master, Marlowe had left the room, only to return pulling a tattered blanket that he often slept on. He left again, returning with a filthy stuffed teddy bear with half of its face missing. Marlowe had been ready to leave once more when Remy stopped him, asking what he was doing.

And the dog explained that Madeline hadn't been put into the ground because he could still smell her there. It took a moment, but Remy realized that the items that Marlowe had brought out to him were all items that Madeline had given to him, that had once belonged to her.

Her scent was on these things — permeating the house — and as far as Marlowe was concerned, Madeline had not left them; just her physical presence was missing.

"Coming?" he asked the dog, continuing down the path that would soon turn, taking them around a slight bend to an area of the cemetery that would be shaded by large pines in the summer months, but now would be laden with snow.

Marlowe bounded up ahead of him. It pleased him that the dog was doing so well with Madeline's loss. Now if only he could adjust as well.

He missed her more today than the day before, and the day before that. It didn't seem to be getting any better. Everything he saw, everything he read or listened to or did, reminded him of her and how much she had filled up his life.

But now she was gone, the one horrible inevitability that he'd always known would come from the joy of being with her. And though he had tried to be ready, tried to steel himself against the predetermined, nothing could have prepared him for the bottomless feeling of emptiness that was with him his every conscious moment.

Marlowe's sudden excited barking startled him from his funk, and he sped up down the snow-covered walkway, hoping that the rambunctious Labrador hadn't gotten himself into trouble with a groundskeeper or an early morning visitor to one of the other graves.

What Remy saw, as he rounded the corner, peering beneath the snow-weighted branches of an old pine, was like nothing he could ever have been prepared for.

"Look, Remy! Look!" Marlowe barked, sniffing the large patch of green grass that had replaced the snowfall around his wife's resting place.

Remy slowly approached, taking it all in, piece by piece.

It didn't stop with the grass. The trees in the general vicinity of the grave were filled with leaves, providing a gentle shadow across the face of the headstone.

The headstone.

A snaking vine had grown up over the marble surface; delicate purple flowers had bloomed in such a way as to encircle Madeline's name carved upon the stone. And below the grave marker, the ground had erupted in an explosion of color. Every kind of flower imaginable had sprung up from the earth, as if what had been buried there was the seed for all things beautiful.

Remy smiled, thinking that there could very well be some truth to it.

The area around his wife's grave was lush with life. Fragrant bushes, flowers, and plants of every conceivable variety had been given permission to ignore the inhospitable touch of winter and were allowed to bloom around her place of eternal slumber, in celebration of her life and in a show of gratitude for what he had done.

Although he could not sense him, Remy knew who was responsible. Israfil had been here.

Soaking in the signs of life, he turned back to the grave and slowly knelt down before the marble marker.

Madeline chandler: beloved, the inscribed words read, now embellished by the tiny purple flowers. He reached out, laying his hand upon the face of the stone, and was surprised at how warm it felt.

"Would you look at this?" he asked, imagining her somewhere close by. "Someone must be pretty darn special to deserve this sort of treatment."

He stroked the letters of her name, recalling the countless times he'd marveled at the touch of her skin, the feeling of her as he held her in his arms.

Missing her. Always missing her.

Marlowe had come to stand beside him, showing the marble headstone more attention than he ever had before.

"What do you think of this, bud?" he asked the dog, patting his square head. "Pretty nice, isn't it?"

The Labrador did not answer, instead closing his eyes and tilting his snout up to a very, un-winterlike breeze.

"She's here," Marlowe said.

And for a moment, he too could sense her. Remy could hear her in the rustle of leaves, smell her in the fragrance of the hundreds of flowers that bloomed in her honor, feel the warmth of her through the lush grass that he knelt upon.

And the tears that he'd held on to for so long began to flow, running down his face, as he basked in the loving presence.

Marlowe had been right, Remy thought, patting the dog's side as he lay beside him atop his wife's grave. Madeline was indeed here — all around them, in fact. And she couldn't have looked more beautiful.