[June 5th] [Perry Mason] Lux Aeterna, 5

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Lux Aeterna, scene 5
Day/Theme: June 5th - Nameless hills
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Mignon Germaine, Hamilton Burger
Rating: K+/PG

Takes place after #4.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Mignon had sometimes wandered through the city cemeteries when she wanted to think. It was an ideal place for thinking, surrounded by those who would not create a commotion or otherwise interfere. Perhaps some of them were there in spirit, contemplating as well.

She still came now. One could say, in fact, that she was coming more frequently than ever. She roamed down the paths and up the silent hills, pausing by monuments that especially caught her eye for one reason or another.

She was standing by one today, studying the inverted torches that had been placed on either side of a mausoleum’s doors. Having learned a bit about funerary art, she was aware that this symbol could mean one of two things. If the torches still bore their flames, upsidedown, it meant that the spirit lived on in the next world. But if the torches were bare, it meant simply life extinguished.

These torches were bare.

It was a grim and macabre image, not one Mignon cared to see at the moment. She kept a prayer in her heart for the one entombed beyond the gate as she passed by.

Outside, the world was so strange and different. But here, everything proceeded as it had always done. Florence had no interest in altering the cemeteries. The dead mattered nothing to her. She cared only for the living, and among those living, just herself.

In some ways it was a pity; some of the projects to restore old and abandoned resting places had been discontinued. They were left to fall further into disrepair, the graves overtaken by nature.

In other ways, however, Mignon was grateful for Florence’s indifference. It let the dead remain at peace, unlike the living. And it gave the living an unconventional retreat when Florence’s new world order was too much.

The dead were the lucky ones, really. Their journey was over and, by and large, they could be at rest. But the living had to go on, even under the degrading conditions Florence had engineered.

Sometimes it took more courage to live than to die.

She stood at the top of the hill, overlooking another large section of the cemetery in the valley below and other slopes nearby. This land had existed for so many millennia before her time, before the time of the first person buried here. How many people had walked these hills in the past? What had their world been like? Would other people tread this same path centuries in the future and ponder on the past as she was now?

Would this spot even be a cemetery centuries into the future? How many other purposes had it served? It could yet serve countless others, once the caskets rotted away and the skeletons decomposed back into the earth. By that time many of the markers would likely be gone as well, collapsed from age or weather.

It was a melancholy train of thought. But another, undeniable effect of visiting the cemeteries was a very conscious awareness of human mortality.

How many would die before Florence was stopped? Would some of them end up buried right here, in this cemetery?

Would any of them be people Mignon knew?

The thought sickened her and left her fearful. It was something she had been afraid of long before this venture into the land of the dead. Hamilton could perish. Or Larry. Or any one of their dear friends.

She had called her family in New Orleans, concerned about their welfare. They were alright, her mother had assured her. But they worried about her, right in the middle of Florence’s capital city. Mignon had been firm with the truth that she was alright as well.

Her family did not know that she was part of the resistance. Mignon wondered if they suspected, at least. They might think instead that she would quietly bear Florence’s regime, not wanting harm to come to Larry.

That was certainly in her mind. But she also remembered when she had withdrawn her help to Hamilton during the course of Vivalene’s spell. She still felt sharply pained over that. Hamilton’s argument had made perfect sense; what kind of life could Larry have with Vivalene in control? Had Larry remembered, he would not have wanted her to abandon the cause.

Larry himself had insisted on becoming part of the movement against Florence. There were others in Hamilton’s office who were part of it too, including his secretary Leon and some of the other assistant D.A.s. Both Chamberlain and Sampson were involved.

Mignon had never been sure what to make of Sampson. Blustering and impulsive, he was many things that a stereotypical prosecutor had often been portrayed as being. But Hamilton kept him around, so Mignon supposed he must see some level of promise in the man.

She sighed quietly as she walked down the other side of the hill. It was time she was on her way; she was due at work before long.

Both she and Hamilton were equally surprised when she rounded the bend and nearly walked into him. “Hamilton,” she greeted with a bemused smile at the same time he addressed her. “What are you doing here? Larry didn’t send you after me, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Hamilton was quick to explain. “I . . .” He threw up his arms in a helpless shrug. “I decided on my own to come.”

“I remember you used to, during the time Paul was missing,” Mignon said.

Hamilton shoved his hands in his pockets. “That seems so long ago now,” he said. “Even though it was only a few months.”

“It seems longer because Florence was not in power at that time.” Mignon resumed her journey down the path, but took a left fork instead of the way she had intended. It still led out, but it would require a longer walk to get there.

Hamilton kept pace alongside her. “That’s true,” he said.

“So why have you come now, Hamilton?” Mignon queried. “No one is missing.”

“I don’t know,” Hamilton admitted. “Everything was so hectic at the office, and . . .”

“It isn’t hectic here,” Mignon deduced.

“No, it isn’t. Is that why you’re here too?” Mignon nodded. “. . . Heh. It still seems kind of morbid, all things considered.”

“I suppose it is at that. The memento mori effect.”

“And I don’t need any more reminders that I could die, that’s for sure.” Hamilton stared out at the sea of memorials. “Howie was worrying about it last night.”

Mignon quirked an eyebrow. “Martha said that Howie was still up when she and Douglas returned,” she remarked.

Hamilton rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh, he wanted to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. I told him we’d turn it off if he got tired or if his parents came back before it was over. It turned out that he stayed awake for the whole thing. And he still wasn’t tired when it was over. I was just trying to get him into his bedtime routine when his parents came home.” He shook his head. “I know I probably shouldn’t have let him stay up that long, but . . .”

“Howie was delighted,” Mignon said in amusement. “He said it was the first time the two of you had spent much time together in eons. And don’t tell me your decision wasn’t at least a little selfish.”

“I wanted to be with him, I admit it,” Hamilton sighed. “I needed a break from work, and the resistance, and this whole messed-up world. I’d be a terrible parent. I don’t know why you and the Petersons thought I should be Howie’s godfather.”

Mignon ignored the indirect question. “As long as you don’t take to customarily allowing him to stay up that late, I don’t see anything wrong with it as an occasional treat.”

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Peterson?” Hamilton returned. “They were pretty taken aback when they found Howie still awake.”

“Once they had time to process the situation they weren’t as appalled. Martha also said that Howie is happier than he’s been in weeks.”

“Well, that’s good.” Hamilton relaxed a bit, but it only lasted a moment. “Oh, Perry’s called a meeting tonight, at the place.”

Mignon made a mental note of it. “I’ll be there, if I’m off work by then.”

“It’s supposed to be late at night, as usual,” Hamilton said. “Everyone should be free then, unless the police aren’t. I don’t know what their schedules are today.”

“We’ll learn soon enough.”

“And Larry has to prosecute a case almost at the crack of dawn, so he probably won’t be there.”

Mignon could not keep the wistfulness out of her eyes and voice. “Ah, if only that was the largest problem facing any of us.”

Hamilton nodded. “Maybe someday.”

“Yes,” Mignon agreed. “Someday.”

They lapsed into a bittersweet yet comfortable silence. After their nearly thirty-year friendship, they had come to appreciate and understand the silences as much as the words.

As they came to the gate, Mignon stopped and turned, fully facing him. “I have to get to work now,” she said, apologetic and regretful. “Perhaps we can meet again soon ourselves to get our minds off of what’s happening in the world.”

“I’d like that,” Hamilton said.

Mignon turned to head out the gate. “Goodbye, Hamilton.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “. . . Incidentally, the Petersons wanted you to be Howie’s godfather because they thought it would be good for Howie. I wanted it because I felt it would be good for you, as well.” She gave him a quick, mischievous smile as she departed.

Hamilton stared after her. “Mignon . . . ?!” But he fell back, shaking his head. “I should’ve known,” he muttered.

A smile crept over his features as he turned away. He didn’t mind. Despite his confusion and the occasional exasperation, being Howie’s godfather was an honor. He was grateful to Mignon and the Petersons for wanting to see it come to pass.

And he imagined Mignon knew that, too.