The Grave
John Abruzzi, former mob boss and now a convict on the run, turned to Theodore, straightening his tie and adjusting his collar almost gently before placing his large hands on thin shoulders and stooping slightly.
"Now, Theodore, are you sure you can handle this?" He asked seriously, staring into T-Bag's eyes.
"I hafta see him, John. I gotta." The smaller man replied thickly, trying to speak around the lump in his throat and the weight of his heart.
Abruzzi sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Alright then, let's go." The two men exited the building and stepped out into the graveyard in the early morning light, one carrying flowers, the other trying to hold himself together. They passed rows and rows of graves, breath expelling visibly into the chilly air, before stopping at one.
RIP James Bagwell, it read. It listed the date of his birth and death, and nothing else. The head stone was unembelished, blank, cold. Theodore stared at it for a moment, before taking the flowers from Abruzzi's hands and dropping to his knees. John respectfully stepped back, but could still catch most of Theodore's words.
"Jimmy, I'm so sorry." Theodore murmured, placing the flowers over the plain grave carefully. "Ya didn' deserve to die. An' I'm sorry about yer baby boy too. Only four years ol', he was." T-Bag could feel the tears rising up and hear them in his voice too, but he continued. "I promise ya this, James. Ya didn' die in vain. Ya didn'! It wasn' fair, but yer death freed me. I only wish I coulda help'd ya tha same way." The tears were flowing freely now, but he didn't care. "Goddamnit, Jimmy! Didn' we say one day we'd get outta here, that we wouldn' let our shithead papa ruin us? Where are ya now, Jimmy? Ya left me!" Screaming now, he stood up and kicked the headstone roughly, angrily. Abruzzi decided to step in.
He grabbed Theodore and, in a gesture extremely unlike him, pulled him close. The murderer collapsed against him, sobbing.
"He lef' me!" He cried, tears staining the other's jacket, "He lef' me an' it's your fault, ya killed him and he's gone an' I swear to God, I'll kill ya too!" Theodore sobbed, all the while clutching Abruzzi tighter to him and letting his emotions run free.
John put a hand up to T-Bag's head, holding him and whispering over and over, "I know, and I'm sorry, Theodore. So, so sorry. I swear to God, I swear on my wife's life, on my children's lives, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." They stayed like this for a time, tears escaping the corners of Abruzzi's eyes as well as he cried silently for all that he had become and all those he had hurt. Eventually, when Theodore's tears dried up, he pulled back from John and turned back to Jimmy's grave.
"I won' forget ya, Jimmy. An' I'll come back, an' visit, an' remember. I love ya, brother." And with that, T-Bag pressed his fingers to his lips, then to the grave, right over Jimmy's name, and walked away. Abruzzi watched him go, then knelt down.
"I'll take care of him for you, James. I took your life, so it is my duty to take your place, and I will. Rest in peace, Jimmy Bagwell." He made the sign of the cross over himself, whispered a quick prayer for Jimmy, and walked away.
He saw Theodore standing with his back turned, hands in the pockets of his suit, jacket tails blowing gently in the wind.
Yes, he thought to himself. I'll take care of him, for James, for his son, and as penance for all I've done. It's not enough, but it's a start.
And with that, he walked forwards to catch up to Theodore Bagwell.
