Death Never Sleeps by E.J. Simon Page B

times over the years to visit his own parents’ graves. He would watch as his father would plant flowers near their headstones. As he stood a few feet behind him, he tried to imagine what his father’s emotions were at that moment. He remembered wondering whether he himself would do the same when his father passed away. He didn’t. Most who knew Michael assumed that he simply wasn’t thoughtful enough. Michael allowed and even encouraged that assumption. In reality, however, he knew it would be just too painful to stand over a slab of granite and contemplate the loving parents who had raised him.
    As Michael looked out over the cemetery’s hills, he was filled with angst. He stared at the endless landscape of neatly placed grave markers in a perfect geometrical pattern. If life was chaotic, noisy, and random, certainly death appeared to bring perfect symmetry, order, and silence.
    But for Michael, the noise was deafening. Just being in Astoria always brought him an uneasy sense of nostalgia. Although he had never lived there, it was filled with the memories of all the long-departed Greek relatives he would visit as a child.
    He stood side by side with Lester, gazing at Alex’s grave. But Michael was distracted by the blizzard of thoughts—an attack of memories—brought to his consciousness by this bizarre place and scene. He believed that although people may come to graveyards to speak with the dead, instead, the dead speak to the living. And as Michael stood staring at his brother’s gravestone, he felt an overwhelming barrage of messages and recollections coming from every person now buried who ever touched his life. He now knew why he stayed away.
    In order to keep his emotions in check, Michael allowed his mind to wander to other simple, mundane topics. Although he felt intense emotions, he was never comfortable allowing them to show. He remembered how, at his father’s funeral service, sitting in the front row of pews and listening to the eulogy, he had to divert his mind to scenes from the World Series so he wouldn’t risk breaking down in front of his family and friends. He didn’t know exactly where this need to control the exhibition of emotions came from, only that he rarely saw his own parents cry.
    Michael had turned off the ringer on his BlackBerry, but he could now feel the vibration indicating an instant message. He took the phone out of his coat pocket and read the one that popped up.
    “What are you doing here?” It was from Alex.
    Michael continued to look at it until he was sure he had read it correctly. His eyes then moved to his brother’s grave, as though expecting some signal or apparition to appear. He turned to Skinny Lester who appeared to be somewhere else, lost in his own thoughts or memories.
    Not finding any clue or verification that the haunting message that he had just seen was either real or imagined, he looked back at his BlackBerry. He clicked on “Reply” and tapped out, “Who is this?”
    Seconds later, he watched the screen and felt the BlackBerry vibrate. “Trying to reach you. You must find my—”
    But the message stopped there. Michael felt a certain light-headedness as he waited for the remainder of the communication. His mind was racing. How could it be from Alex? It’s impossible. And what did it mean that I need to find something—what? Who is behind this?
    Michael kept glancing down at his phone, hoping there would be more to the message, but nothing else appeared. He scrolled back to reread what had been sent, but it was gone. He felt disoriented. Had he really seen it? He was sure he had, yet … Maybe it was all too much. Maybe he was feeling the strain. He would keep this to himself for now.
    He would have preferred not to speak, but it was apparent that Lester needed to. Michael had tuned him out, until something Lester said captured Michael’s full attention.
    As he spoke, Lester’s eyes darted between Alex’s gravestone and Michael. It was a nervous