by Hydrargentium

The old woman’s wavering voice held her last note surprisingly long, before fading into the church’s rafters.

“Amazing Grace — always brings a tear to my eye.”

Mason looked over his shoulder, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed the small man lounging against the wall behind him.

“Not a fan. I prefer the old hymns.”

With a shrug, the man pushed off the wall and stepped up beside him. Mason noticed his brown suit and matching shoes: older style, almost vintage, but still clean without signs of wear.


Mason shook his head, wondering if he should know who this guy was. He felt like it should be ringing a bell, but nothing about him seemed familiar.


“Mm. Were you close to the deceased?”

Now Mason really wondered who this guy was, and why he was here at all.

“More of a old acquaintance.”