Still, I didn’t feel like heading to my bedroom.
Something sat at the back of my head.
Wyatt Day. Why would you hit your little girl like that? And your wife?
The whole night had been odd. I’d been in Titty Palace, minding my business. Next thing I knew, I was beating two men up. The rest of the evening should’ve been normal. But then, that nightmare came. I hadn’t experienced it in years, and then Ebony and her kids showed up on my doorstep, beaten, bruised, and terrified.
What’s going on, universe?
I walked over to the mantle—my shrine for all the loved ones I’d lost.
I’d never been to Japan, but my parents tried to teach me my culture as much as possible. I learned enough before going out to the streets for a different kind of education.
One of the things that stuck with me was our way of mourning. My mother always said that mourning the loss of a loved one was a very personal expression. We all did it in unique ways. But the Japanese tended to blend two strong spiritual traditions—Shinto and Buddhism. The Shinto religion emphasized the positive characteristics of life—weddings, birthdays, careers, and children. However, it dealt with the pain of those that had passed. Buddhism also guided us through the struggles of life—suffering, evil in the world, and death.
The Japanese mourned within a slow process. After the funeral details were met. Shinto periods of mourning relied on rituals and traditions to guide through grief. Buddhism offered spiritual chants and guidance.
In the warmth of my living room, I touched the gold urns on the mantel that held my wife and son.
After Seymore had killed them, I burned their bodies in the backyard and took their ashes with me.
When I made it to Washington and bought the first huge property I could find, Kevin and I worked on the house during the day. In the evening, I did my best at following my family’s traditions. During those moments, Kevin left me alone.
Each step focused on purification, preparing their spirit for the journey to the spirit world and cleansing the mourner from the weight of death and grief.
Due to running from the mob, I never got to do a kichu-fuda right after their deaths. It was a mourning custom that lasted one day. During that time, the priest gave the deceased a new name that would be used in their afterlife. This ceremony was called Tengoku. The tradition held that the new name would prevent the spirit from returning if their name was called.
Still, once I got to safety, I spent those days wearing only black clothing from head to toe, even when Kevin and I worked on the house. Eventually, he began to wear black with me. Constantly, I prayed and remembered the few chants from my childhood.
My wife’s and son’s bodies had already been burned, but I held a private funeral service in the backyard with more incense, prayers, and chanting. Who knew if any of it mattered to my wife and son? But it was the only thing that helped me wake up in the morning. If I didn’t have those things, I might’ve killed myself. Surely, I thought of taking my life a few times in those days. If not for Kevin, I might’ve.
I did as much as I could remember, wishing that my mother had forgiven me long ago. Perhaps, I could’ve asked her more about the old ways.
Still, I did what I could. I threw salt over my shoulder to ward off evil spirits. I also sprinkled the walkways leading to the front door with salt. I mourned for forty-nine days. Each week, I went to their urns, placed fresh flowers on the mantle, and burned incense.
On the forty-ninth day, I carved their names into the mantel and never spoke them out loud again. It hurt too much and I had to respect their spirits.
The following month, I decorated a small table near my bed with flowers, incense and a candle. By the third month, I had to move it. The sight kept me up at night. The sorrow never left. I gained peace by leaving the shrine downstairs, above the fire, knowing that those memories would remain warm.
But why did I have that nightmare and then this woman and her kids arrive? Did it matter? Or was it just the oddity of life?
I stared at the flames curling and dancing over the logs. I’d spent many nights, wishing I could save my wife and son. No matter what, it would never happen. They were long gone.
But Ebony and her kids gave me an opportunity to save someone.
Perhaps, that was why the universe had sent them my way. Or maybe I just had the taste for blood. Surely, I’d wanted to do more to those guys outside of the club.