Chapter 3 - Alabaster

The funeral was cheaply done. There were no flowers, few chairs, and there was no podium for eulogies to be delivered from. Few people even bothered to show up. One was obviously Tyler’s mother, a woman with silver streaked black hair and stunned eyes. The others were a cop and a girl about Ellie’s age. It felt wrong that no one came to pay their respects. She maneuvered to sit beside Tyler’s mother.
“Hello. Mrs. Martinez? I’m Ellie.” Ellie whispered,
Mrs. Martinez looked at her and a look of recognition crossed her face.
“You, my son used to sculpt you. There are dozens of sketches in his room. I didn’t realize that they were of a real person.”
“He did?”
“Yes. Every night when he got home, he would go and sculpt another one out of alabaster of you.”
“I… Thank you Mrs. Martinez. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Ellie walked to her mom’s van. The drive was a thankfully short one but an awkward and silent one. Her mom pulled into their driveway in a matter of a few minutes and Ellie stepped out of the vehicle. She froze. There was a sculpture of her in the yard, sitting in the empty bird bath. It was beautifully detailed, done by someone who desperately loved their subject. It was his work.,br>
“It must be from Mrs. Martinez. We talked at the funeral.” Ellie called to her mother.
“Well, bring it inside honey. Its really beautiful. Maybe daddy will like it in her office.” Ms. Begley answered.
Ellie nodded and walked over to the sculpture. The panic in her throat felt like stone and when she swallowed her throat froze momentarily. When had this one been painted? Mrs. Martinez said there were dozens. How many more will she be give me? Ellie walked upstairs and swung open her door, she sat down and stared at her likeness. His work was always beautiful. She cocked her head to one side and impulsively imitated the pose. She raised her arm to one side and smiled. But when she tried to move her arm she found that she couldn’t. Her eyes moved back and forth trying to find the source of her ailment. They froze on the hand poised above her face. Her mind was screaming, it wasn’t possible, she had to be dreaming. There was no way that this was real. The hand had taken on a whole new texture, the texture of alabaster.

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