He stopped, his voice cracking. Looking away, he gave a shuddering breath, his body trembling. My grip tightened on the bark of the tree, the gnarled texture digging beneath my fingernails. There was a pause as Owen composed himself. When he looked back at the group, determination was stamped across his features.
“My brother didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t. He was too good for it, too pure. It wasn’t just, and it wasn’t fair. All I can hope is those responsible will be made to suffer for the injustice they brought him. And I hope that I’m there to witness it. I tried to save him, and now I will avenge him. This is the vow I make to him, in the hopes that someday, he will find peace.”
I blinked as his words hit me, the cold, angry bite of bitterness in them setting my teeth on edge. I knew Owen was hurting, but I hadn’t realized that hurt inside of him was a seed of anger and violence. I thought of the past he’d mentioned to me while we were dangling from the heloship in the dark, the past he’d mentioned again now. Maybe the old Owen, whoever that was, was reemerging. My heart was racing in my chest. I had played a part in creating this anger eating away at my friend.
Sadness and anger mixed up in my blood, strangling my tongue. Vengeance was a dark path. I vowed, right then and there, that I would be there for Owen, in whatever capacity he needed me. I might not be able to join him on that path, not if it called for cold-blooded murder, but I would try to help him back from that, if he let me.
Thomas picked something up off the ground and moved over to Owen, holding it out to him. As Owen reached out to take it, I saw it was a flat bit of metal with words burnt into the side. It took me a moment, and then I realized it was a makeshift gravestone. Thomas had probably put it together during the night.
As one, the rest of the group began pushing dirt back into the grave, first with their hands, then with shovels. Violet stood by one side with Owen, holding his hand in a comforting way as he watched the dirt fall into the grave. Thomas brought over a wheelbarrow full of small stones. I watched as he began lining them up atop the newly turned earth of the grave, piling them into a mound.
Owen let go of Violet’s hand and moved to stand above it, placing the grave marker against the small half-hill Thomas had created. He held it up while Thomas stacked more stones around it, bracing it from both sides. Once it was done, he stood up, placing a hand on Owen’s shoulder. He had to have said something too low for me to hear, because Owen nodded and offered him another attempted smile.
Eventually, the task was finished, and everyone began to move back to the house, Owen between them. Violet remained behind, her head turning as she looked around the area, clearly searching for me. I took a moment to collect myself, and then emerged from my hiding place as her eyes moved across the tree line.
Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a soft look, full of understanding that only twisted my guts up further. I knew I didn’t deserve that mercy, and I came to a halt before I reached her and looked away, ashamed. I hated that she was giving me that look. I hated that she was so blinded by her love for me she couldn’t see my limitations. Yet I loved her all the same for finding a strength that seemed to have deserted me, for having faith in me despite all evidence to the contrary.
That twisting hatred didn’t stop me from letting her cross over to me. Nor did I stop her as she slid her arms around my waist, stepping in close and resting her head against my chest. My arms came around her shoulders softly, needing to hold her, craving the comfort of her warmth and acceptance.
“Owen will forgive you eventually,” she murmured softly. I didn’t say anything, but she knew I didn’t believe her. “He will,” she insisted, her arm tightening around me. “He’s mad right now, but it will pass. He’ll realize it wasn’t your fault—it was Desmond and Elena’s. They are the ones who deserve his anger for what happened, not you. And he’ll remember that soon enough.”
I didn’t object, but I knew he wouldn’t. Losses like Owen’s were wounds that ran deep, cutting to the bone. They festered, and many never fully healed. He would carry the emotional scars for the rest of his life. Maybe he would get somewhat better, but the pain would linger. I knew, because the memory of Miriam still haunted me to this day, whispering that I had failed her.
There was no way to know how long we stood there, but eventually the sound of approaching feet forced me to put my growing melancholy aside. Letting go of Violet, I took a step back and saw Ms. Dale approaching, her hair, loose for once, getting caught up in the slight breeze and blowing wildly around her face.