Ostwall Cemetery, Amissah, 10416 P.C.

The cold winter wind whipped through the old country cemetery, teasing the coats and scarves of those gathered around the open grave on the far side of the fenced-in yard. Sparkling snow adorned the many tombstones lined up in painfully perfect rows, the names passionately carved into them giving the living a small glimpse of those passed on. Large, skeletal trees stretched their bare fingers over the graves as if trying to prevent the souls of the dead from rising to the heavens. Eerie and solemn, Ostwall Cemetery gave those who visited an uneasy feeling. Only a few ever ventured there alone.

Blood-red roses, freshly cut, lay on the polished wooden lid of the casket, giving colour to the otherwise bleak and dark setting. A young girl stood on the tips of her toes to place her rose with the others, and a tear dripped from her plump, rosy cheek onto the casket. She quickly wiped at her cheek with a gloved hand, turning away and hurrying back to the welcoming arms of her solemn mother.

Todd Vinson averted his gaze from the girl to the casket, the lump in his throat too large to swallow back. Deep within him, a raging sea of emotions threatened to tear him apart, and he fought to keep the emotionless facade plastered like a mask on his face. How embarrassing would it be to break down in front of all of these people? He pressed his lips together and clenched his fists in the pockets of his brother-in-law's old dress coat, ignoring the hole his right hand nearly slid through. Cathy had made him wear it, even though it was too big in the shoulders and could have wrapped around him twice if he had tried.

The casket blurred in his vision, and he blinked hard. He wouldn't cry. Not in public. He was much too stubborn. But then, so were his accusing thoughts:

It's all my fault.

The low voice of the celebrant was lulling, drifting to the back of Todd's hearing like static noise as his gaze drifted up and found one of his best friends, Mikayla Bowie. Her long, dark hair danced in the wind, flying in her face as if trying to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Even with her naturally tanned complexion, she was pale; he could see her hands shaking as she fought to tuck her uncooperative hair behind her ears. She sat in the row of chairs beside the casket, flanked on either side by her mother and father. She was a mess. A beautiful mess, he decided.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and a painful jolt rocketed through his chest. He looked away so fast it felt cruel. He couldn't bear to see the grief and agony in her eyes, for it would definitely cause his collected facade to crumble, cause the dam to break loose and the raging seas to crash forth. The twins had always been able to see right through him, and he couldn't watch her do it this time. His flitting gaze found the tombstone, and he focused on it, trying for a distraction.

Michael Doug Bowie

10398 - 10416

A loving son, brother, and friend. Forever in our hearts.

The distraction was a poor one, as it made things that much more unbearable. Todd let his gaze drop to the snow-covered ground as the lump in his throat burned. Michael's death was his fault. Entirely his fault. They shouldn't have been there in the first place. It was his own stupid choices that had gotten his best friend killed. If he could have given anything at that moment, anything in all of Amissah, it would have been to reverse time and do it differently. It was impossible, though. He could never go back. Michael was dead, and it was all Todd's fault.

Ducking his head, Todd silently cursed himself for the unbidden tears that burned his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to force them away; he couldn't cry here. He hated looking weak, even though Henry proved to him over and over that he was — if he cried now, he knew Henry would use it against him somehow. Everywhere he turned Todd found proof of his worthlessness, and crying wouldn't increase it any.

Taking a deep breath, Todd focused on the corner of the casket, hoping the concentration would distract him from everything happening around him. It didn't. It only reminded him of a day very similar to this one. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. Still, they came.

It had been a year and a half since the day his parents had been killed in a car accident. He remembered it all too vividly, and he couldn't help but blame himself for their deaths. It was him they had been going to watch, him in that stupid soccer game in the neighbouring town of Kilcrest. That day had flipped his world upside-down, shattering it like a snow-globe knocked off a nightstand. He had just turned sixteen and, having no plans for the future in any way, shape, or form, he had found himself moving across town to live with his sister, Cathy, and her husband, Henry.

Henry. Todd sensed his brother-in-law's presence near him, heard him whispering consoling words in Cathy's ear as she cried beside Todd. Todd hated Henry, who was a monster in every sense of the word. Todd's mother had raised Todd to be gentle and caring, and he was, therefore, weak and pathetic and in need of 'shaping up' in Henry's eyes. Todd kept his eyes closed, wishing...

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He wished too much.

Time dragged on slowly like a man struggling to pull along a thousand-pound weight. The celebrant went on about Michael's life, bemoaning the life that had been cut much too short. Todd kept his eyes closed, letting the emotional battle within him consume his senses. He just wanted to leave. To run away. To find someplace to be alone, to fall apart and let the storm of fury and grief explode out of him. It was suffocating. He was suffocating. Everything within him wanted to bolt and run, and yet he was frozen, the stone-cold facade nailing him to the ground where he stood. He shivered from the icy wind.

Before he knew it, a hand touched his arm, and he jumped in surprise. His eyes flew open, beholding Mikayla standing before him, looking up at him with brown eyes swollen from tears. He fought to collect himself, to gather his thoughts that had scattered like coins. Why did Mikayla have to look so much like her brother? Todd could have sworn that, for a split second, he had seen Michael instead of her. Looking into her face, he could still remember how happy she had been earlier the day of her brother's death when she had been teasing Todd about girls in the lunchroom at school. How different she looked now, so devastated, and so very far away was any thought of teasing or laughter.

"Todd," she murmured, studying his face with those beautiful, all-knowing eyes. "It's time to go inside."

He took a breath, glancing around and realizing that the casket had been lowered and the mourners were hastily moving down the path towards the sad, old wooden building that sat beyond the burying ground fence. It was where the funeral-goers gathered after to give their condolences to the family and whatnot. Todd hated it. Over a year ago, he had been made to sit there and talk to people wanting to talk about his parents when all he had wanted was to run away. He wanted to do that now. He didn't think he could enter that place again. He would definitely suffocate then.

Mikayla spoke again when he didn't respond. "Are you coming?"

He didn't want to. At all. "Not inside," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. "I don't think I'd survive that."

"I know. Me either." Then her face crumpled, and the tears returned. He let her lean against his chest, gently putting his arms around her as she sobbed into the rough fabric of his suit jacket. Her pitiful cries were enough to tear at the stone mask he wore, and he forced himself to put her tears and the reasons behind them to the back of his mind as he worked on fixing his emotions. Get over yourself, he told himself sharply. Be a man. Real men don't cry. It was a mantra Henry repeated often, one he had practically drilled into Todd's head. Real men don't cry.

Mikayla struggled to compose herself as she pulled away from him. "Come," she sniffled, tugging on his arm. "Come with me, please." She turned away from the hole in the ground, the one that several men were now filling with dirt. Every time the dirt hit the casket, it felt like it was hitting Todd instead. Thunk. Thunk. Sucker punches to his gut.

"Todd." He realized that he hadn't moved or responded yet again. Mikayla was looking worried. "Are you okay? Do you... you wanna talk about it?"

Her words reminded him of a meeting he had the following day. A meeting with the detective about the case of Michael's murder. Since Todd had been the only witness to Michael's last moments — the only one they knew of, that is — the detective wanted to speak to him. It was something Todd wasn't ready for. He wasn't ready to relive those moments. What if they thought he was the killer? What if they didn't believe him when he told them what had happened? It was all a blur to him; what if he slipped up and forgot something and it came back to bite him somehow? Todd hadn't murdered Michael, and that meant that someone else had. But who? Would they come after him, knowing he had been there? Did the murderer think they had seen them? He hadn't, but he nearly had, and if they had the slightest inkling that he might have seen them...

"Todd." Mikayla's grip on his arms was tightening.

He gave a start, shaking away the fears that had gripped him. He couldn't think about all of that right now. Not with Mikayla watching him with fear in her eyes, not when he was inches from falling apart as it was. He let out a pent up breath, strengthening his resolve.

"No. I'm not ready." I'm not okay, either.

She ducked her head. "Okay." Slowly, she turned and started down the path after the other mourners. He forced his feet to move after her as he threw a glance over his shoulder at the grave one last time. His heart was numb, yet it also felt like it was being hacked at by some kind of chisel. For several moments he felt as though the dirt being pushed into the grave was being dumped on him, trapping him, seeping into his lungs, killing him from the inside out. He wondered if he could ever escape from the choking misery creeping its way into the depths of his very soul.

As he and Mikayla reached the gate, one of Mikayla's friends grabbed her into a hug. Todd lingered behind them, not wanting to continue on into the mourning house. Beyond them, he caught sight of Cathy and Henry, standing near the mourning house door and conversing with another couple. Todd knew they were waiting for him. He didn't want to be anywhere near Henry. He didn't want to be anywhere near anyone.

He moved past Mikayla and her friend, putting his hand on Mikayla's arm for a moment as a farewell as he did. She gave him a small, grieving smile. He couldn't return it. Instead, he turned away, moving around the mourning building and retreating to the parking lot. A few people were already heading for their cars, so he didn't feel out of place as he climbed into the back of Henry's old truck and laid down on the backseat, shivering. Letting out a shuddering, frosty breath, Todd closed his eyes.