Guilt.

That is something he knew well.

Guilt over his brother's death. Blaming himself for not seeing it sooner. That his brother wasn't pushing him away to be an asshole. He was pushing him away so that he could have a better life.

Guilt over the little boy's death. The look of disbelief and horror, he saw on the mother's face, forever etched into his mind, almost as a permanent reminder. Seeing the little boy he was to watch over that day lying on the cold slab in the morgue, was one of his worst nightmares come true. The little boy wasn't his, but he had grown a kinship to him, he was like a nephew to him.

These were all things that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Guilt.

That was something she knew well.

Guilt of being the only survive, as her friends were slaughtered just beyond the door of the restroom she was in. The screams of terror permantly etched in her mind. She could still remember each of their faces. Their terrified looks, frozen in place.

These were all things that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Guilt.

That was something they knew well.

But they could find solace in each other.