The Greatest Showman #915 – Belated Farewell

The February sky stretched high and far, its icy blue hue tinged with a faint smoky gray. It was a cold, distant sight. Renly stretched out his fingers toward the sun, feeling its shallow warmth dance between his fingertips, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach the cloud in front of him.

He let his fingers fall together, leaving his index finger behind to trace the clouds, using the sky as his canvas, his finger as the brush, and his thoughts as the paint. The world brightened in his mind's eye.

"It's a shame about the weather," he murmured. "You know, in New York winters, there aren't many sunny afternoons. I thought I'd bring you out to fly a kite. You haven't been outside much, have you? You're always so lazy. Rehabilitation exercises, you know, they need to be done every day—you know that better than I do."

He sighed, smiling faintly. "By the way, what do you think of Alaska? I've been thinking about trying snow sports—maybe sledding. Paul did a sled dog movie once, and he said it was fun. Running across snowy fields, that must be something."

Renly paused, his voice lighter now. "Fox called yesterday. They want me to sing 'The Beast' live on American Idol next week. Ridiculous, right? How could I agree to that? But, I did agree to let them use the song's copyright. Andy suggested they have all the finalists sing it together, as part of the opening. It's kind of a joke, really. But, you know, entertainment's entertainment. I didn't say no."

He chuckled softly. "Still, I look forward to hearing your version more."

Lying on the grass, Renly rested with his legs crossed, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He gazed up at the sky, speaking casually as if Heather was still here, as if time had never passed. It felt like they were back at Mount Sinai Hospital, back to the little troubles and worries that always seemed to occupy their thoughts—but the sun was so warm.

The cemetery around him was silent, serene. The sounds of the outside world—the chaos of the media, the hype, the arguments—were shut out. It was as if he had stepped into another realm, one far removed from the frantic pulse of New York.

Heather was here, peacefully sleeping.

This was New Jersey, a quiet state bordering New York. Compared to New York's bustle, New Jersey felt still, calm, almost desolate. But there was a certain vitality in the quiet, a feeling that life had been etched into every inch of the soil beneath Renly's feet.

To a New Yorker, this "vitality" might seem dull, even comical. But to the deceased, it was a symbol—an echo that death did not mark an end, but rather the beginning of something new.

Renly couldn't help but feel, as always, that Heather hadn't truly left.

He knew the truth. She had died. The funeral had happened. Yet, here he was, sitting by her tombstone, as if the world had paused on a particular afternoon at Mount Sinai. It was as if everything had stopped, and in this frozen moment, she was still there.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"If George and Elizabeth could see me now, they'd be furious," Renly murmured to the air. "Oh, right. George is my father, and Elizabeth is my mother. I never had the chance to introduce you to them. You're my friend, and they're my family. I meant to, but when my second sister, Edith, came to New York... I thought about it, but didn't. It's a pity."

Renly chuckled softly, his words carrying a trace of sarcasm. "They're these poor aristocrats. Titles, but no fortune left. They still live in high society, but now they have to work for a living. They maintain the decorum of nobility, though, like a performance."

He shook his head, a bitter smile crossing his face. "They'd be ashamed to see me here, lying among the tombstones, enjoying this peaceful afternoon. No, not ashamed—that's not the word. They'd pretend not to know me, act like I was invisible. That's the way they are."

There was a pause, then Renly's expression softened.

"Sometimes I envy you, Heather. I envy how Ellie and Derek still care so much. After you died, they blamed me. I know they needed someone to blame, to direct their anger at. Losing you... it was too much for them to handle. I understand, and I don't mind. But it's hard. It's hard to be the one they resent. I really envy how they could hold onto something, even if it's anger."

He wiped his eyes and continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "You know, Heather, let me tell you something. This is my second life. My name used to be Chu Jiashu. I spent ten years bedridden in a hospital. I understand the pain you went through. I know it. And when I finally came to the end of my life, I woke up again, and became Renly Hall."

He paused, as if waiting for Heather to hear him.

"If you can hear me, remember: keep running, keep chasing that sliver of hope. If you get a second chance, don't give up on it. Don't."

His deepest secret, whispered to her tombstone, lingered in the air. It was a promise and a plea. A bond that transcended time and space. And for a moment, Renly felt connected to both his past self and Heather. The two images blurred into one.

That secret, shared only between them, was as real as it was fleeting.

The sunlight shifted, the warmth seeping into his soul. The sadness slowly dissolved, replaced by something lighter. Renly smiled again, his eyes returning to their usual calm.

Sitting up, he turned to the epitaph on the tombstone. "Heather Cross, 1995-2012. When the music flows, some things, after all, can't be taken away by the darkness."

Renly chuckled softly, his fingers brushing the stone. He read the inscription again, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and fondness. "Don Quixote may have regretted his life, but you were always a dreamer." He smiled and gently tapped the stone, as if patting Heather on the shoulder, then placed the butterfly kite in front of the tombstone once more.

"Goodbye, Heather Cross."

It was a farewell, though it came too late.

Without hesitation or regret, Renly stood up and walked away from the cemetery.

The wind stirred, picking up the kite beside the grave, lifting it into the air. It fluttered and twisted, catching the wind in a wild dance, soaring higher and higher until it disappeared into the cold, blue sky. Renly watched it go, knowing it was finally free.

With one last look, he turned and walked toward the cemetery gates.

The vast cemetery stretched before him, and though it might take an hour to walk across it, Renly had no rush. He hadn't driven here today. He'd taken a taxi into the quiet town, needing the time to say goodbye. No need to worry about leaving.

With slow, unhurried steps, he walked toward the town. The small town, so peaceful and full of life, stood in stark contrast to New York's frenzy. He walked without purpose, letting his feet guide him.

Eventually, hunger tugged at him. He stopped at a roadside bar and pushed open the door.

The old bar was dim and filled with the rich smell of history. A few locals sat, peeling peanuts and murmuring quietly. The place was calm, but there was a warmth in the air that made it feel familiar.

"Good afternoon. What can I get for you?" the young bartender asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

Renly's eyes drifted to the small stage in the corner, where a man sat tuning his guitar. His long, messy hair and unfinished beard told of long days and weary nights. He played for himself, with no lights, no microphones—just a quiet performance.

Renly smiled, then turned back to the bartender. "Is the kitchen open?" After hearing yes, he ordered a simple burger and fries, paired with a beer. For now, he would enjoy the afternoon, slow and easy.