Novel & Cerita Nat King Cole Grave

"Cole is dead." The silence that followed was different. Heavier. Castellan's arms unfolded slowly, his hands dropping to the table. One of the younger elders, Petr, she thought his name was, looked away sharply, his throat working. "And Bjorn," Natasha continued, her voice quieter now but no less steady. "He fell during the first ambush. Magnus's fighters hit our forward patrol before we could reinforce. Cole took a blade through the chest. Bjorn..." She paused. Not for drama, but because the image was still there, burned behind her eyelids.

“Well, then I should also guess you font know about the bodies we found in the rubble. Xaver, a great honorable man, your father, and your grandmother, was found dead, buried under it all. “I am sorry we couldn’t be there to save them.” I feel myself freeze but I don’t show. “I received that news yesterday night,” Cole’s jaw is clenched as he responds. “I am sorry son, ist not easy to lose a father, let alone both your grandmother and father,” he goes on and I can feel all the boys freeze like they are about to spring and snap his neck. “Since we couldn’t find any next of kin, nor you, we haven’t buried them. Maybe you will hold a funeral, and say your goodbyes.”

Dad and few unrecognizable men hops out from the car. We all watch as the men clad in black suits and white hand gloves pulls out the coffin from the back of the hearse, and carries the coffin by it's handle, pulls it up, and carries it for the short walk to Nana Jones supposed graveside. My friends and bodyguard stands at my side, and everyone present watch as the coffin is lowered to the ground by the men. And they step away once Nana Jones is laid the ground, next to Papa Jones. The priest did the graveside service, the choristers sang few farewell hymns and Dad was invited to give a speech.

Yekkel firmly said, Cole smile turned into a frown, "Can't you see me, can't you see all that I have done, do you only see John?" Yekkel nodded, "Goddamn it" Cole stood up, "If you are done venting your anger, you can go back to where you came from" Yekkel stood up leaving. Cole got so angry that he took a vase and smashed it on his head. Yekkel fell to the floor hitting his head and instantly died. When Cole saw that he wasn't moving, he became scared, "Grandfather" he shaked his body but they was no response. Cole hands were shaking, he had gone there with the intention of negotiating with him and if declined then he would threaten him with John's life.

The detail is gorgeous and intricate. What I've learned is that Cole's father's family is Scottish, and this is the Mathews family coat of arms. Under the shield is his dad's name, written in beautiful script, along with the dates of his birth and death. He inked it onto his skin when he turned eighteen in memory of his father who was killed a decade ago by a drunk driver. "I love the way you touch me," he growls. "Not half as much as I love touching you," I whisper against his warm flesh. I could do this all night long and never grow tired of it.

he said, maintaining the cold stare that he gave me. "Cole's body has been retrieved, and he'll be buried today too," He said, looking at Paula. She scoffed lowly, and I held onto her hand. "We have a burial to attend," he said before walking away. I hugged Paula immediately to stop her from tearing up. At least he had done the bare minimum by giving Cole a burial and not allow him rot in the middle of no where. "I'll be right beside you," I said to her, and then I held her hand.

She does not need to. I kneel and place the roses on the stone. The name is carved deep: David Cole. Beloved Father. Rest in Peace. "He was not at peace," I say. "He died fighting. Zoe kneels beside me. "Then he died as he lived." I trace the letters with my finger. The stone is cold, rough. I have been here a hundred times, but it has never felt like this. Never with her.

** **The grave belongs to a woman named Sophia Calloway. **Date of death: three years ago.** **Next of kin listed: Martha Calloway.**

Anything that might give her a lead. She finally found her. Natalie Cole. Age: 22. Graduated community college last spring. Working part-time at a nonprofit outreach center on 83rd. Lives in a rented apartment in Little Valley. Meekey stared at the listing for ten full minutes. Her daughter’s name looked strange on the screen. Familiar but distant, like a word spoken in another language. She picked up the payphone, dialed the number to the outreach center, and waited. One ring. Two. Click.

Mike Freeway wasn't the only man in Coal City with a nose for fast money. Joe Collins—just as well recognized in the back room's smoky atmosphere as J. Cole—had a gift for smelling opportunity where other men smelled gunpowder. Tall, dark, and patient, Cole lived on very little. His greasy black hair clung to his skull, his pencil-line moustache curled into a snarl, and his chin, shadowed blue from the previous night's shaving, was rarely tobacco-stained.