A/N: This is the sequel to The Last Summer. I highly suggest reading it before this, if you haven't already.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Aside from the original characters and locations, this work is purely my own fiction.
Warnings: This story contains dark situations, violence, and mature (adult) scenes, along with strong language. Read with caution.
Also, special thanks once again to my dear friend Alys Hart for editing my work and letting me brainstorm ideas with her literally in the middle of the night.
The First Spring
"Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done."
Macbeth, Act III, scene 2
Preface
"I don't think that's deep enough." A concerned female voice called from above.
"It has to be." A determined male voice replied from below. "If we don't wrap this up soon someone will come looking for us."
"Did you really just say wrap this up?"
A pause. "Yeah, I did. Sorry."
Heaps of earth were thrown onto the wet grass above from the bottom of the six foot hole. The only illumination came from the headlights of a nearby truck and that of the full moon, shining on the hundreds of tiny flowers that littered the meadow.
Hands suddenly appeared, followed by a large man pulling himself out of the deep hole. He adjusted the leather work gloves against his jeans and then turned to look at the small woman who was knelt down next to him. She looked paler than normal, staring at the dark shape that lay in front of her.
"Ready?" He asked quietly.
She nodded her head and stood up. "Lets get this over with."
The two people bent down and lifted up the dark shape - each with a groan - the sound of plastic crinkling echoed throughout the meadow.
"Jesus, how much does this prick weigh?"
They shuffled sideways until they were standing parallel to the hole. With two long and slow swings, they tossed the heavy bundle. It landed at the bottom with a dull thud.
The man and woman both let out a sigh of exhaustion as they gazed down at their handiwork. The sound of the wind whipping through the grass and the rustling plastic was eerie and uncomfortable. The man shivered despite the heat while his companion looked around, suddenly nervous.
"You don't think anyone would come out here, do you?"
"Nah. We went in pretty far."
She nodded in agreement and watched him as he picked up the shovel and heaved it into the mound of dirt, sweat trickling down his forehead. Just as he was about to start filling in the hole she caught his eye.
He paused, shovel in the air. "Did you want to say a few words?" He was both sarcastic and curious.
She looked down into the dark pit and resisted the urge to spit. "Rot in Hell." She said.