The guard at the gate let Nick into Holy Cross Cemetery after hours, just as he had every Sunday for the past month. He didn’t seem to notice that it was Wednesday and didn’t ask about the change in routine. The sheer magnitude of stress Nick had gone through over the past few hours must have read like grief. As a cemetery guard, the man would have known to never be too cheery anyway, just the right amount of pleasant. Grieving cops got special privileges.
Nick wound his car around the paved curves carved through the peaceful grass. Save for a few monuments, all of the stones were set in the ground. A well-manicured lawn on the edge of a field. Fertilized with the loved ones of Los Angeles.
Crickets chirped in the grass as he scuffed his shoes across the dew. He usually brought out the l
