He was clutching the puppet, the puppet with bunches, like his life depended on it and his metal fingers were digging into its garment, his tears were dripping on the clothed face. But nobody saw him crying for one simple reason.
He was alone in the church.
How was he supposed to expect anybody else, of course he was alone in the church. A few days ago, she did kill two people and her internment pushed all her friends away. But still. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He was alone in the church.
There was no one for her funeral, no one to tell her goodbye.
There was only Eddie Oswald to see Wendy Bundy one last time.
It was his fault, thought the poor lonely soul sitting in the front row.
She did everything for him. She get him out of jail, she protected him from the cops, she helped him escape the asylum, she went with him to defeat Clive Butler.
She died because of him.
She was in this coffin because of him.
She was alone in this church because of him.
Fuck, she didn't deserve it. And he didn't deserve her.
She was so nice, and talented, and funny and pretty and brave and when everything went down she sacrificed everything for him. She didn't care to become public enemy, she didn't care to be chased in the entire country, she didn't care to lose her sanity. She could have followed him to the other side of the world.
If he could have done some shitty metaphor, he would say that he was the Joker and she was his Harley Quinn. Except... you know... that he wasn't an abusive asshole (at least to her) and that he really, truly, loved her. But she, like Harvey, she did everything for him while he did nothing for her. It was his fault. All of it was his fault.
"Shut up you bitch, whispered the puppet. This isn't about you."
He shivered. The drugs he was forced to take didn't completely wear off yet, and sometimes he felt like the paint was still there, under his skin. Oh, and that puppets talked to him.
"I miss you Wendy, he whispered back. So much."
If only the drugs could make him talk to the dead, that would have been magical. But no, there was nothing but silence in this empty church, it was deafening. At some point, the priest realized that only Eddie was going to stay and started the ceremony, but Eddie couldn't listen. What was the point anyway ? That old man, who looked so ridiculous with his long dress, didn't even know Wendy, why should he talk about her like he did ? That was a sick joke. So who was the clown ?
"A loving daughter, a loving colleague... who died in a very gruesome way..."
No you fucker, she didn't die, she was murdered ! Right in front of him.
The news were quick to explain how Eddie Oswald was innocent (thanks not to the police, obviously, but to Daniel who downloaded the security cameras where Clive Butler confessed the crimes he committed) but they didn't say a thing about how Wendy was brutally killed for no reason. It wasn't fair. They didn't say a thing about how in the morgue, after the detective released him (because yes, that good-for-nothing of a cop arrested right after she took Clive down while Wendy's corpse was still warm), how in the morgue Eddie was sobbing, his fingers intertwined to his dead girlfriend's, kneeling on the cold floor, kissing softly her joints. They didn't care about Wendy, didn't care about the love, about the pain, about the tears. All they wanted was blood and make-up.
So nobody cared about the burial, and no journalist was in sight. Just Eddie and his ghosts.
At some point, Eddie realized that he was supposed to talk, which was a thing he didn't plan at all. He stood up, the puppet still in his hands. He probably looked like an idiot but he didn't give a shit, nobody was here to see him anyway. And then, next to her coffin, for the first time he had no idea what to say into the microphone.
But it wasn't for an audience. It wasn't for some stupid people. It wasn't for the show.
It was for Wendy.
"Wendy... you're the reason why I'm alive today."
He tried his best not to cry again.
"You were the reason why I was still alive before. You were the sweetness into my days, you were the spice into my nights. I loved to work with you and to play with you and to love you and... you were the light in my darkest dreams, a clear path in my foggy existence..."
Where the hell did it come from, Eddie had no idea. But as mellow as it could be, he knew deep down that he meant every word.
"You were my hope. At work, at prison, at the asylum, you were..."
He clutched the puppet harder and gosh it was so difficult to not tear the fabric apart with his bare robot hands.
"You were my strength and even more. Wendy... I don't know what to do without you. But I know that I can't do nothing, because you deserve so much more and I'll make everything to make you proud, to make you unforgettable because... you're the only one that matters. Those who don't know that weren't just lucky enough to meet you."
And the finale.
"I love you Wendy. I always will. I miss you already and I'll miss you more."
When they took the coffin away for the cremation, Eddie slowly let go of the puppet and put it gently on the coffin so it could burn with it, resting for eternity where it belongs, with its creator. And so a very, very quiet voice blew into his ear : "I love you".
Was it the drugs ? Was it Wendy ? Was it his own mind ?
Eddie had no clue but he was sure of something : his future was in front of him so he needed to move on. For Wendy. For himself. But most importantly, for having the last laugh.