For those who are curious, Lux Aeterna is Latin for "Eternal Light." Also, yes, this IS based on a true story. But no, I don't live in the Pacific Northwest. I live in the Northeast, the story just made it to our newspaper, and I was inspired.
Fifty years. Fifty years of her life. Gone.
She stared at the mahogany casket, the lid closed, with a flag draped over the top. The uniformed pallbearers folded the it. Brought it over to her. The woman didn’t move to accept the flag until the person on her left elbowed her.
She looked up, her sight blurred from age and slowly welling tears, and took the flag while remaining seated. She stared down at the blue and white fabric, unable to think about anything other than those years. Her sister, to her right, held her hand, soothing her. “He’s in a better place, Jane,” she murmured, voice thick.
She nodded absently. She was only physically there; in her mind, it was 1940 and she was a young woman of twenty. Her wedding day. She could see his face in front of her now. She’d walked down the aisle on the arm of her father, cheeks flushed and hands trembling. He had smiled at her from the altar, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
Lethargic moments ambled along, the glittering sun above mocking the crowd of mourners. Finally, the casket was lowered into the gaping mouth in the earth. Jane sobbed, burying her cries in a handkerchief.
---
She’d had the mourners over for dinner, but everyone had left. The house, once cozy and inviting, enveloped her in cold hollowness. She sat on the couch in the main living room, reaching for the remote to turn on the television. A program buzzed in the background as she sat there, eyes boring into the beige carpet as if it would answer her if she glowered at it fiercely enough.
A knock at the door. She didn’t hear it.
“If you don’t open the door this instant, I will bust it down!” The female outside threatened.
No response came; no immediate shouts of “I’m coming!” or “Just a moment!” resounded in the large house. The other female took this as her sign to use the key Jane’s son had given her. She wielded the small metal instrument as if it might injure her, turning the lock cautiously and opening the door.
She gasped and ran forward.
---
“I’m sorry, Jane, dear, but I just had to get you out of that dreadful old house,” Jane’s twin sister, JoAnne, remarked as the two walked out to JoAnne’s car.
“Really, Jo, I’m just fine.”
JoAnne gave her a pointed look. “Don’t even try that. You and I both know you’re a wreck.”
Jane glared at her. “I am not. I am perfectly fine in my house. I’m not a child, JoAnne.”
The sisters stood in front of the car. JoAnne held a bag and a small ring of keys in her hand. She seemed unsure of whether to be agitated or bemused. Jane held two duffel bags, a scowl contorting her features.
“You’re going to love Orlando. I promise. Besides, it’s only for three weeks.”
Jane lifted one bag slightly, examining it. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Exactly.”
---
Three weeks. JoAnne had stayed true to her words, for once.
Jane stared up at her home. The grass was growing up, taller and taller. She hefted her bags, bade goodbye to her sister, and re-entered the ghostly building.
Everything was where it was before, though now the air had a distinctly musty odor. Jane felt ill at ease. She dragged her bags upstairs, surprisingly able for an old woman. She tramped back down, turning on the television, stopping on a blaring, gaudy game show. She blasted the volume, and set to work.
---
Her house was clean. She could relax. Jane sat on the couch, staring at the TV. The pain from the death of George had faded somewhat, replaced by an aching loneliness. When he was alive, she had been content to be with just him; her family and friends, excluding JoAnne and her family, had become estranged.
She regretted it.
She wandered aimlessly, stopping in the library. She hadn’t the urge to read, but walked among the shelves. Inspected them. She’d already read most of the books in the front of the room. She didn’t know what was in the back.
Against the wall stood two large bookcases. The books this far back were covered in a thick layer of dust; Jane wasn’t one to venture into the library during her cleaning fits. She swiped a hand across the spines, reading the titles silently. She paused. Picked up a book. Left the room.
---
She had an idea. Jane picked up the phone. Dialed.
---
“Uh…how much’re we talkin’, Missus Waverly?” a tall, middle-aged man in coveralls said, his voice sounding as if his nose was permanently clogged. A younger man, his brother, stood behind him, silent.
“One thousand. After you bring it back.”
“Bring what back?”
“You must give me your word first. You will not back out.”
“’Kay. How can we help you, Missus?”
---
Jane wondered if it would work. She got the money out, and placed it in a white envelope. Set it down. Waited.
---
“Thank you,” she said softly. Handing over the money, she looked into each of their eyes. Tried to smile.
They nodded gruffly, the taller one taking the envelope and stuffing it into his coveralls. They didn’t return the look.
---
She smiled to herself, brushing off the legs of her pants though they weren’t dirty.
She wasn’t lonely anymore. She would never feel that way again.
---
The phone rang. Leisurely, Jane reached over to retrieve it. She answered with a casual, “Hello?”
“Aunt Jane? It’s your niece, Mara….”
Her heart plummeted.
---
First, her husband. Then, her sister. She was angry. Whoever was in charge, if there was anyone, seemed to be holding a grudge against her for something she‘d done in a past life. Or maybe it simply hated her, delighting in her suffering. But she remembered.
She could outsmart it.
---
Another exchange, another strained smile, and another wash of relief. Jane nodded to herself as the duo left. After eleven years, she was still mildly surprised at just what those two would do for cash. She supposed she could understand. The brothers, orphaned from an early age, had never escaped their impoverished beginnings. They struggled just to feed their families and avoid homelessness.
If it meant not worrying about rent or the next meal, they would do anything for money. Anything.
And for that, Jane was thankful.
---
Her new routine was simple. Get up, get ready for the day, run errands with the neighbors, return home, spend the rest of the day with George and JoAnne. Whenever she tended her garden, she’d sit with George and talk with him for a few moments. She knew he’d never reply, but it was relaxing. It was her revenge. All her life, she believed that death was finality, the culmination of everything a person did, and who he or she was. She believed death was the ultimate end. When she was young, it didn’t bother her.
When she was young, she was immortal.
She came to realize that nothing is static. She learned that everything and everyone is falling apart. Until she decided otherwise.
She chuckled to herself and glanced over at her long-dead husband.
---
She liked to dress her up. Jane sprayed her twin with the woman’s favorite perfume. It was fun. And kept away the smell.
She chatted idly with her, in the back of her mind, rejoicing. She’d done it. She cheated death, in a way. Death wasn’t final.
---
Night had fallen. Jane was in the sitting room with her twin. She was speaking softly to her of life, and how much she missed her. She was crying.
It had been three years. Thirteen or so for her husband. She had been alone, with them, for years.
It wasn’t working anymore. She knew they weren’t really here.
She would never outsmart Death.
---
A knock on the door. Jane scowled. The neighbors had left earlier. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, too early for one of the neighborhood kids to come over, asking to use the phone. She went to the door cautiously.
Opened it. Peered up at the woman standing in front of her. She was clad in a blue police uniform. A badge on her chest reflected the brutal sunlight into Jane’s eyes. Jane squinted.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you a Jane Waverly?”
“Yes….” the older woman divulged, not allowing her to come in.
“May I ask you a few questions, Ms. Waverly?”
Jane looked back into the house, knowing already why this officer was here. JoAnne’s widower had called a week ago. He’d gone to visit her grave. But something was amiss. The grass hadn’t quite grown back yet, and he was wondering, did she know why that could be?
In fear, she told him. Trusted him. She was wrong to do that.
She nodded. She was an ancient woman, what could they do to her, knowing what she knew?
"Come in."
