interested in Susie's death. When it had finally dawned on him he had been shocked into silence, but when a kindly older detective, no doubt nursing a drink problem, alongside guilt from a hundred unsolved cases, took him to one side and told him that it was out of their jurisdiction he had listened and had begun to understand.
It seemed that any super powered death was handled by a specialist branch of the FBi.
The trouble was no one could tell him which specialist branch of the FBi
The police were either unable or unwilling to help, he suspected that it was more like unwilling.
It wasn't listed on the FBi website either.
So he rang them, and after 30 minutes of working his way through an automated voice system he ended up at a dead end.
"Did you say Powdered?"
In the end, when shouting down the phone at the automated system achieved nothing he pressed 5 # for the option to report a powers related crime on their voicemail and the line had gone dead.
The second time he had tried he had ended up speaking to a lovely woman at the milk marketing board. The third time someone who appeared to be Spanish, and could only say hello, goodbye and chicken in English. Somehow in their desperate 45 second conversation she had managed to use all three words, Stanley was still unsure how.
So he had given up, he had admitted defeat.
Admitted defeat for now at least, with his next drink he was determined to re-enter the angry stage of grief, and then he just wasn't going to let it go.
He had returned to work a couple of days later, and other than a derisory collection in her name, and two or three stilted consoling conversations no one seemed to care there either.
People were sorry yes, but Susie wasn't family, so their grief was absolutely limited. And, since only a few people even knew that he and Susie were going out, never mind engaged, their sympathy for him was also decidedly limited.
His grief was for him alone, no one shared it with him.
The funeral was short uneventful, and really miserable.
Stanley stood at the back, trying not to begrudge the complete lack of attention he was getting.
He knew it was selfish, he knew it was stupid, but he was in the feeling selfish, stupid and sorry for yourself phase of grief at that point.
He was in fact wallowing in it.
And, because he had no family, his parents were dead, and his sister imaginary, he wallowed in it alone.
The crowd were mainly work people, other than a woman who looked achingly like Susie, who it turned out was her sister.
Stanley had introduced himself but from the blank look in her eyes he knew that Susie had not mentioned him.
So he continued to wallow alone.
At one point he had turned away, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, and walked off crying.
When he came back the ceremony was pretty much over, Stanley stood back and watched the people leaving in dribs and drabs, her sister was one of the first to go.
When they had all left he was just about to go back to the grave when he had noticed a man, standing well back, staring at the grave.
He had not seen Stan yet, because Stan had been leaning against a large old gravestone, and now for some reason, he ducked down and pretended to be reading the epitaph.
Stan watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he approached the grave and knelt down beside it. He then ran his fingers through the soft freshly turned earth mumbled something and stood up.
He was tall, clearly well muscled, and had the chiseled good looking features of someone Stanley would have taken an instant dislike to.
He looked like the short of man who stood in the centre of a party holding forth.
He looked like the sort of man who women actively wanted to sleep with.
He looked like the sort of man who knew what it was like to be in hot tub
It seemed that any super powered death was handled by a specialist branch of the FBi.
The trouble was no one could tell him which specialist branch of the FBi
The police were either unable or unwilling to help, he suspected that it was more like unwilling.
It wasn't listed on the FBi website either.
So he rang them, and after 30 minutes of working his way through an automated voice system he ended up at a dead end.
"Did you say Powdered?"
In the end, when shouting down the phone at the automated system achieved nothing he pressed 5 # for the option to report a powers related crime on their voicemail and the line had gone dead.
The second time he had tried he had ended up speaking to a lovely woman at the milk marketing board. The third time someone who appeared to be Spanish, and could only say hello, goodbye and chicken in English. Somehow in their desperate 45 second conversation she had managed to use all three words, Stanley was still unsure how.
So he had given up, he had admitted defeat.
Admitted defeat for now at least, with his next drink he was determined to re-enter the angry stage of grief, and then he just wasn't going to let it go.
He had returned to work a couple of days later, and other than a derisory collection in her name, and two or three stilted consoling conversations no one seemed to care there either.
People were sorry yes, but Susie wasn't family, so their grief was absolutely limited. And, since only a few people even knew that he and Susie were going out, never mind engaged, their sympathy for him was also decidedly limited.
His grief was for him alone, no one shared it with him.
The funeral was short uneventful, and really miserable.
Stanley stood at the back, trying not to begrudge the complete lack of attention he was getting.
He knew it was selfish, he knew it was stupid, but he was in the feeling selfish, stupid and sorry for yourself phase of grief at that point.
He was in fact wallowing in it.
And, because he had no family, his parents were dead, and his sister imaginary, he wallowed in it alone.
The crowd were mainly work people, other than a woman who looked achingly like Susie, who it turned out was her sister.
Stanley had introduced himself but from the blank look in her eyes he knew that Susie had not mentioned him.
So he continued to wallow alone.
At one point he had turned away, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, and walked off crying.
When he came back the ceremony was pretty much over, Stanley stood back and watched the people leaving in dribs and drabs, her sister was one of the first to go.
When they had all left he was just about to go back to the grave when he had noticed a man, standing well back, staring at the grave.
He had not seen Stan yet, because Stan had been leaning against a large old gravestone, and now for some reason, he ducked down and pretended to be reading the epitaph.
Stan watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he approached the grave and knelt down beside it. He then ran his fingers through the soft freshly turned earth mumbled something and stood up.
He was tall, clearly well muscled, and had the chiseled good looking features of someone Stanley would have taken an instant dislike to.
He looked like the short of man who stood in the centre of a party holding forth.
He looked like the sort of man who women actively wanted to sleep with.
He looked like the sort of man who knew what it was like to be in hot tub
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