"Jake, honey?"

Dull eyes blinked and looked away from the TV set. "Uh?"

"Don't you think maybe you should get up? Get dressed?"

"Yeah, later," he mumbled, flicking through the channels.

Mrs. Berenson stepped into the darkened room, glancing around at the empty wrappers and coke cans. Her son was flopped on the couch, a dull brown blanket half over his lap. He was watching TV with the glazed look of an alcoholic, there, but not seeing anything. She sighed and smoothed her hands over her thighs. "Jake? You need to get up."

He didn't respond.

"Jake?"

He jerked, surprised. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"You've been up here for days. It's time to get out."

"I will."

"We're worried about you…"

He gave her a weak smile, "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, honey," she said, smoothing his hair with her palm. "It's okay not to be fine."

"I know that, Mom. But I'm good. Seriously. I'm planning on going out tonight."

Mrs. Berenson stood there, helpless. She wanted to do something, to make her son get better. But what he saw, what he was forced to do, was a ball and chain around his neck. She knew there was nothing she could do to take the pain away from him and knowing she couldn't take care of her child—and failing the other one—hurt her more than anyone could understand. "Oh? Where are you going?"

"Oh, you know, Marco has something planned," he said, trying—failing—to sound lighthearted.

They both knew where he was going. To see her. It was always to see her.

"Alright. If you need anything, let me know."

"Kay," he said, already back to the TV.

Mrs. Berenson hesitated and watched Jake for a few moments. He had changed so much in the time since the war ended. Nothing seemed to reach him anymore. He was stuck by a translucent wall. You could make out an image of him, but no matter how close you were, you couldn't touch him, couldn't make out the expression on his face. A seventeen year old boy—hero of the world. And the world weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

He pulled into the gates of the graveyard, nodding thanks to the caretaker. The sunlight glittered off the water like a thousand captured stars, and he was violently reminded of the Yeerk bodies that must still float around somewhere above him. It had been two years to the day. His parents had tiptoed around him, tried not to mention it, but he knew. He wasn't completely unsound, not quite yet.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, blinked and looked up at the sky, her final resting place. The silhouette of a bird of prey circled over the grass, and Jake wondered for a fleeting second if it could possibly be Tobias. It didn't matter, of course. Tobias would never let Jake see him again, and Jake could completely understand. It didn't make anything better for Tobias to be standing vigil over the grave.

"Does it make you happy, Big Jake? To know you've destroyed everything he ever had? To know how many lives you ruined?"

The Drode couldn't be seen, of course. He never showed up in form anymore. But his voice still haunted Jake, sneaking up on him whenever grief burned the most. Jake shook his head, trying to clear the voice.

"Do you remember how beautiful she was? How strong? How her family cried at her funeral? Does it hurt to remember how Tobias refused to look at you? How could you have destroyed so many of the Visser's plans but failed to save her?"

"Go away."

"Have you heard what they're saying about you? They act like you're a hero, of course, but they know you're a monster. They say you're a murderer, a war criminal. What do you think, Big Jake, about people who order their cousin to kill their brother?"

He gazed up at the sky, expressionless. "Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

"They died at your word, Big Jake. There were other ways out, ways that didn't involve her death. You could have saved Tom. You failed. You killed your own brother."

"I know." The words hung in the heavily in the air. The voice laughed in his head, mocking him, and fell silent.

Jake paused, cast one more look over the graveyard and slowly backed the car out of the parking lot, driving out of the graveyard and deeper into his memories. Behind him, the red-tailed hawk circled, ever vigilant over the graveyard.