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and a half years at MIT, he had decided he wasn’t interested in learning things he already knew about mechanical and chemical engineering. Ironically, he still couldn’t figure out how to fix the dishwasher. Roger banged on the side of the machine. 
    “This damn… Hey, Elvis. Can you get those tables in section four for me? I think I can fix this.” Roger often called Abigail, Elvis.
    “No Problem.” Abigail’s attention was still stuck on the black limos across the street. Frankie came into the room from the back. Frankie was a broad faced Irish man who always worked out and wore a white tank top.
    “Do your own damn tables, Rog.” Frankie interjected.
    “I’m trying to fix this washer,” Roger said with a struggle.
    “You’ve been fixing it for six months. You just don’t want to wash dishes by hand. Do something productive so I don’t feel like I’m wasting my money paying you for work you delegate to Abby.”
    “I don’t mind, Frankie.” Abigail tried to support Roger.
    “I’m serious, Roger. I’m gonna pay Abigail your wages.”
    “Frankie, you’re always complaining! One day I’m gonna get sick of your complaints, old man.”
    “And do what?” Frankie was ready for any challenge Roger was willing to offer.
    “You know I could kill you with this little pinky here?”
    They all laughed. 
    Abigail looked back and forth from the television report to the funeral. Samantha Callahan was mumbling about another body found 10 miles down the coast from Jiang’s body. They showed footage of the young man’s mother collapsing at his funeral a day earlier. There weren’t many details mentioned about the homicide investigation, and most of the executives remained quiet about the murders when questioned by reporters. Death never seemed to stir up Abby’s softer emotions. She didn’t get why people got so upset about it. She figured, “We all die. No point pretending that one day, there’ll be a cure for death. We can’t stop it. But, one thing we can do is rush it along.” This man’s life was over; someone felt it was time for him to die and made sure it happened.
    As the pre–funeral bustling went on, Abigail didn’t say a word. She curiously watched these posh snobs tip toe in and out of the church. Half of these people don’t give a shit about this man , she thought to herself. She could tell they were having frivolous conversations on their way in and out of the basilica. She saw a few people on their cell phones, barely taking their eyes off the screen to say hello to the family on their way in. The news report flashed a few pictures of the victim’s face across the screen, some family photos and a picture of his company. There were a few comments about the Chapel and Case stock price fluctuating up and down, gaining and losing, back and forth all week. Investors weren’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing that Jiang was out of the picture. Would they miss out on the next big price increase, or was the company doomed? No one could tell.
    From behind the bar Abigail dried her hands with a towel. She tossed it to the side and grabbed her hoodie from a hook against the wall.
    “I’m gonna grab a smoke. Gimme a minute,” Abigail said as she zipped up her hoodie and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of the bar. She exited the pub. There were a few patrons inside, but Frankie could handle them alone. When she got outside, she leaned against the building slightly shivering from the cold rain falling over every little piece of exposed flesh. She loved the smell of the rain, it was refreshing. But Abigail’s focus was on that funeral. She couldn’t resist getting closer to inspect the mournful day of the Jiang family. She fed off the sorrow that sat thick in the air. Sorrow seemed to follow her, or maybe she followed it. No one could be sure, but she was intrigued by the mourner’s discomfort and wondered if she would ever feel that much emotion for