Fortin then told Cathy of his decision to be at the funeral.

“I’ll go with you, Will,” she said. “I want to be there with you.”

Her response gave him a measure of strength and comfort.

“I’d like that.”

-Chapter 12-

Medicine Hat, Alberta

Cathy put on waterproof mascara, a knee-length black wrap-around dress and her tiny cross necklace. She held Fortin’s hand or rubbed his shoulder for much of the two-hour drive to Medicine Hat for the funeral.

The church was atop a gentle slope that looked southeast toward the far-off and lonely Cypress Hills.

The parking lot was full and cars lined the streets. They’d spotted news trucks from Medicine Hat, Lethbridge, and Calgary.

Upon entering the church, Fortin and Cathy found seats midway on the right side of the main aisle. The air smelled of candle wax and fresh linen. Whispers and nervous throat-clearing echoed. As a choir sang hymns he looked at the funeral card and the program, which was outlined in calligraphy. A picture of Trudy laughing with Billy, Daisy, and Lori looked back at him from the cover and he touched his fingertips to their faces. Images of Trudy on the bed and the voices of the dead swirled in his mind.

We’ll work it out. We’ll be fine … Billy, Daisy, wake up.

The service commenced with the slow procession of the altar boys and the priest. Funeral staff rolled the caskets behind them. The first casket was the largest, then two smaller ones, trailing the fragrance of the flowers that draped them.

The last casket was followed by Trudy’s mother, her face a portrait of pain, sobbing softly while supported by her daughter and son-in-law on either side as they walked. They passed so close that Fortin could feel their agony cutting into him with such force his stomach quaked and his body went numb as he gripped the pew in front of him. Wave after wave of anguish tumbled over him, hurtling him back to the moment his gun was in his hand and he was ending lives.

Pop .. pop … pop … pop … pop … pop…

He shut his eyes, not realizing that he was trembling until he felt Cathy tugging his cuff, cuing him to sit. He looked at the light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

Few of the words spoken at the service had reached him.

Something the priest said “… As we struggle with this enormous loss of life, we search our hearts for an answer to the question: Why? Why did God let this happen?” Then an uncle or friend said, “Heaven took our angels but with each sunrise we’ll always remember their smiles.”

They buried Trudy and her children at a cemetery just south of the city.