Everything that had happened back then were all but memories of every pen inked in the book that is life. I for one, had to endure a lot for the ink of my pen not to dry out and forgotten over the years, and I still am, actually. I do not want to leave my past gone with the winds. Surely that includes that of who became important parts of my life.

After Amadeo’s untimely passing, Petrovitch published her final op-ed about the Woodsworth family before tendering her resignation to Le Héraut and applying to a far better alternative. About is the key word here; the lack of negative connotation served as the denouement to the long-time allegations she brought against them through her writings. She served as one of the key witnesses in the case of the Crown against Oakwood, R v Oakwood, to summarize. Believe it or not, her presence ultimately became the result of what they now call the Petrovitch Standard for Admissibility of Extra-judicial Evidence. The standard laid down guidelines for admissibility and weight of evidence obtained in extreme, high-duress, non-custodial circumstances deemed outside the legal process of obtaining. This won’t make the evidence I obtained years prior admissible. How sad. Still, Luke got what he deserved–a “life” sentence.

Sean and Julius got quite a decent burial, courtesy of Luke, whose life savings and company are now in the hands of his unpaid creditors and waiting investors, and a bit on me, Amadeo’s estate, your family, and the attorney. Turns out that the Benizi brothers are orphaned at a young age, and had been in various juvenile shenanigans, and has been in a friend’s apartment even since. Who died. Jumped in a bridge or what.

As for Gale, he’s persistently giving cherry blossom flowers to you, as though moving on was never an option. Never shaved his beard nor focused on fixing his hygiene. In a trance, I should say. I feel bad for him. It will take a vodka or two to wear him out. On the bright side, he’s back at The Espresso, which lost a hefty amount on potential sales believe most of us died in one way or another. Led a recruitment program since we’re three staff short.

I miss you, Arthur. I hope you’re here with us right now.

Kaizer

Kaizer took a sip of his matcha coffee before putting his pen down. It might have been months, but everything was but a second to him. The room was just the same as it had been all those years. Blue wallpapers, white closet to his left, opposite his window, rainbow stickers at the door haphazardly pasted, the flag of Canada hanging in front of him, his coat of arms to its left below the certificate of grant. His bed was a mixture of white and blue, and his pillows were neatly placed. The edges of his bedsheet were peeking out due to his excessive sleep movements, and due to his laziness, he did not give it a damn or what. His study desk was full of white folders stacked like he was in an office. This room he lives in is his office. Much to Kay’s dismay, he had nothing else to write in his letter. I’ve already written what he needs to know. His phone buzzed on cue, and Roxanna Caseys showed up as its caller.

“Bitch, where are you?” Roxie’s loud, bickering voice was an irony of how he did not, and had not, placed his phone on loudspeaker. You have to give it to Roxanna not having a sore throat after this; Kaizer knows his voice would meet its Creator should he talk like that. “It’s already past 10 in the morning, and your staff here are chickening out under pressure!” He smirked, and as he proceeded to face the mirror, all he could see was his unshaven beard that he grew to like.

“Tell them the boss will arrive soon, Roxie. I will.”

“Oh, great, because mind you, I did not sign my ass up to patch your hole here!”

He pressed the big red shiny button on his phone, and off her voice it did. He sighed. He took one last look at the mirror and sighed heavily again. He lifted the edges of his lips upward and took a quick trip to the shower, letting the cold drops of water run down his body. For the first time since events prior, he found solace in doing something he routinely did before. As he got out of the shower, he found himself wearing a green polo shirt, fitted to shape his once-chiseled body. I might need to hit the gym soon, I guess.

He pulled out a comb from the pile of self-hygiene kits carelessly jumbled in front of him. He brushed the comb gently to the left, his wet hair following obediently. There was no need for any pomade or gel; only the blow dryer would do the trick. He grabbed it from the rack beside him and did so alongside the comb, attaining his typical hairstyle, which, then again, doesn’t follow any pattern. It’s just messy. He took one last look at his image before the Kaizer’s in his head approved of the new outfit. Green was a first for him since he was eight, but there’s always a first for everything. As he hurried outside the room, the silence of his apartment was slowly lit alive by his rough breathing and loud stomping, as if he was brisk walking. He wore his white shoes before running toward the garage to get his big bike. Quite a change indeed after his old one got into the hands of the repo. Sulking deeply for months led to unpaid businesses; all was gone with the wind. Besides, the motorcycle isn’t that good, actually. Aesthetics-wise, yes, but functionality, it’s closer to being dead.

He hopped on the bike, gave it a good kick, springing the cold vehicle alive. The engines revved with the twist of his hand, and off he went past the speeding limit. Dangerous, yes. He’d definitely do it again.

The café operated as usual, and people came and went like nothing exciting had happened a few months back. Kaizer took out a damp cloth from his apron and gently sprayed disinfectant on Arthur’s usual spot at the counter, wiping down any dirt on it. His colleagues looked at him with confusion, yet from their boss’s eyes, they knew the answer already.

A figure held his hand firmly to the counter, Kaizer looking at it, only for him to see Gale Windsor, with eyes as dead as the sea. A faint smile etched on his lips, before nodding slowly. The sound of the ringing bell took Gale back to his work persona, Kaizer slowly sighing before putting on a smile on his face. Immediately, his novice colleagues tossed themselves back to what the hell they were doing earlier. Kaizer chuckled ever so slightly before manning the counter.

“Your order, mademoiselle?”

Zhenya Mikhaylov Petrovitch entered the Espresso, holding folders and a flower with her, walking with her legs overlapping the previous step. She would suit the runway if only it were not for Roxie spoiling the fun. She did not like the sound of defeat; she grabbed her luxury bags and made a twist and turn as she walked in front of the counter.

“Roxanna Caseys, co-partner. What is the pleasure of our dear journalist?”

“Cut the crap, Roxie,” Zhenya chuckled, “It’s nothing. I just want to drop by and check on Kay. With Deo gone, I guess there’s nothing else left for me to wage war to the guy.”

“You sure you ain’t just here for the matcha? We’re on sale; two for the price of one!”

“Maybe.” She looked at the people talking in their own tables, her eyes looking at the blank window from afar. “Or maybe I just needed a reason to remember I’m still breathing.” She put on a smile that even Roxie herself knew what it meant.

A shrug was all she needed to know. “A cup of ice-cold matcha, please!”

Gale stared at the three empty lockers sitting beside each other. All other lockers were full except these three; Kaizer decided it was for the better. “Arthur will come back. He should be.” Sean and Luke may be long gone, but even then, there exists a crack in his heart—three people were gone, just like that. He left a small candle on Sean’s locker and seven cherry blossoms on Art’s.

“Gale.” Kaizer’s voice shot through his ears. Gale tilted his head slightly as Kaizer seemed to hold his back.

“I know. I know.”

It was as if nothing happened.

Nighttime. Bone-weary. Everyone was about to collapse from the heavy toll of serving coffee to its devout customers. Kaizer himself slumped to the counter, sliding his finger aimlessly in the glossy finish. As though there was silence, a yawn broke from the inside, and a few bone cracks.

“My, my.” Roxie stretched her shoulder blades and her fingers intertwined. “How the hell did you even survive this, Kay?” She tiptoed for quite a second before setting her foot back to the ground.

Kaizer did not budge. As if all the energy in him had been sucked empty. His eyes started to blur, yet a slight nudge from Gale render his consciousness back to the present. Heavy still Gale’s eyes were, yet a weak smile still etched from his lips.

“Kay.”

The owner pushed himself up, his bones protesting. “I know. I know.”

Gale then stepped back and went to the locker to change. As if nothing happened.

The time was two hours before midnight. A black net was draped over every table at the café. Sounds of chairs turned on its feet, the chimes of the cash register, and the silence all happening at once. One of the novice staff got in charge of counting the total profit for the day. It was around 6,000 Canadian dollars.

A hefty sum, the staff thought. He took four dollars from it when no one was looking. No one will know. No one will care. A soft cough from nearby caught his quivering breath. He looked left to right and saw everyone in their own business. It’s just the wind.

Roxanna Caseys found herself doing the quality check. Everything’s in order. “Kay, all’s good here.” A sound, an engine revving to life, broke the silence, sprinting away to the void. “Okay, I guess everything’s up to you, Roxanna. You handle this, girl. Geez.” She tossed her hands in the air before going for a few bone cracks. She went to the workspace to glance at it one final time.

Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr. rammed the evening traffic of Edmonton. The city lights felt too dim as they became long strips going backwards, slowly entering the void of his peripheral vision. He did not notice the siren wailing behind him as he tunneled his sight to the Saskatchewan-Alberta border.

The moon was nowhere to be seen; the stars shone brighter in her place. The silence of the Buffalo Field was deafening; the sirens faded away in the void. He clicked a button on his motorcycle, lighting the path ahead of him. Speckles of dust danced and cast shadows in its light. He found himself swerving left and right to narrow roads and trees, pushing himself faster, as if he was running out of time. If only Lloydminster didn’t close its doors every bell’s strike at 9, he’d go slow.

As he drove past the border, he took a sharp left, straight to the eerie dark road where only the guard post lights the area. He slowed his gear, and for a moment, the guard looked at him as if he’d seen a stranger. He nodded his head and opened the black gates for him. As his head reached past the signage, he slowly carved a path to what seemed to be a new patch of soil dug and re-cemented. He parked his vehicle beside; he rode the rest in his shoes.

It was an unnamed epitaph. It only bore a cross and the symbol of wings and a moon above it. It was in its waxing moment. A worn-out candle, its fire long lost to the gust of wind flying from the east. Kaizer stood in front of the gravestone, still unsure if this whole thing was a bad dream or a good lie.

The wind blew gently—not cold, not warm. Just there. Just existing. Like him.

In his hand were two cups of ice-cold matcha. One for him, another for . . . Kaizer shook his head. Of course, it’s for him. It’s always him.

He sat down in the grass, placing one of the cups at the epitaph. An offering, he’d say. One that he’d not done for many years. Flowers are a no-talk exception, though. He took a lighter from his pants and lit the half-standing candle. As its wax flowed to the ground, it slowly took shape into the bottom part of both the cross and the wings. His lips uttered a small prayer. Notre Père qui êtes aux cieux . . .

As his lips uttered the last part of the Lord’s Prayer, he bowed and signed the cross. “May the heavens accept your soul and rest in peace.” His sigh was final. His eyes looked at the sky. His face tasted the scent of rain. There were no clouds around.

Beside the grave were wooden anemones, adorned in white. It was close to rotting, having been placed on the grave days ago. He took the best of those flowers, bundled it to itself, before gently letting it sit opposite the candle.

Kaizer remained there for a while longer, not moving, not thinking—just being. Then he picked up his cup, now half-cold from his grip, and took one last sip.

The wind blew stronger than ever. The sound of grass trodden closer to him. He could’ve sworn it carried a sigh. Maybe it was just the trees. He took a red keychain from his pocket, placing it at the grave.

“You’re late, Kaizer.”

Kaizer smirked faintly.

“Same old, same old; that, you are, Seymour.”

Kaizer stood up and took his hand, ambling away. All that was left were two cups sitting by the epitaph.

One half-touched, the other untouched.