Free From the Ashes by Jeremy Burns

But there was a gun in his hand – the murder weapon, they said – when I found him.”
    “But the cops didn’t know Michael so they didn’t factor that into their official assessment.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “So what evidence pointed the cops to a conclusion of suicide?”
    “They say there was no sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry, no evidence of anyone else in the apartment that night. They matched the bullet that killed him with the gun found by the body. And the gun was fired through the...” She paused, cringing. Her hand went instinctively to the small silver cross that hung around her neck, which she rubbed between her fingers.
    “Take your time.”
    “No, no, I’m fine.” She stared at a spot on the table and started picking at the chipping Formica with one fingernail. “The gun was fired from under his jaw through his b...” She looked like she was about to vomit, then regained her composure, “...through his brain. Typical suicide shot.”
    Jon made a face. “Not Michael.”
    “No, Jon. Not Michael at all. Especially what with everything that was going right in his life. He was really stoked about this new dissertation topic he had started a week or so ago. Some real breakthrough that was supposed to have helped ‘all the pieces fit’ and ‘make his career.’” She looked down at her hands resting on the table. “And of course, there was me...”
    Jon tilted his head at Mara, fixing her with a compassionate gaze. “There still is you, Mara.”
    “Yeah, I know. I know.” Mara raised her eyes to Jon, looking as though she were on the verge of tears. “Geez, Jon, how in the world are you holding up like this?”
    “I’m not. My jet lag is probably disguising how I’m feeling. Believe me, I’m pretty screwed up right now. I haven’t really lost anyone that close to me since Mom died. I was thirteen, Michael was fifteen, and the four of us – Dad, Mom, Michael, and I – were down in Mexico working on a Mayan dig site. Mom was the ancient linguistics specialist, and some mysterious glyphs had been discovered at some ruins a few miles away from our site. So she went off into the jungle with a pair of guides and a grad student of my Dad’s who was kind of serving as her assistant. Michael and I were content to explore our site and help Dad out with some of the less mundane aspects of the dig – we were teenagers after all – and...” Jon stopped and gave Mara an apologetic look. “Sorry, you’ve probably heard all of this before from Michael.”
    “Not all of it. Michael didn’t like to talk about it very much.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “And, please, let it all out. I’m sure it’s good for the healing process.”
    Jon exhaled a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay. So Michael and I are exploring the main ruins while Mom’s a few miles off in the jungle to decipher these new glyphs. She’s gone for a several hours, and when sunset arrives, and we still haven’t heard anything from Mom’s party, we start to worry. Just as Dad, Michael, and I start grabbing our flashlights and machetes to go looking for her, one of the guides stumbles out of the jungle, wide-eyed with fear. Dad grabbed him as he collapsed. The guide shivered violently, as though wracked with bone-chilling cold, even though the temperature was well into the nineties.”
    Jon stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Mara waited patiently.
    “‘ Muerto .’” He shook his head at the table. “‘Todo muerto.’ That was all the guide would say. He repeated it over and over again, like a mantra. All dead. The three of us all spoke Spanish, but the man wouldn’t elaborate on what happened. He died a few minutes later, still muttering his fearful mantra, still shivering violently, still wide-eyed in mortal terror.
    “Michael was the first to call for a search party. Dad and I were also thinking it, but Michael beat us to the punch. Dad wanted to wait ‘til the light