Prologue
"Don't fight back, Ryan," the voice sounded frantic, desperate. "Just cry. If you cry he'll stop. Just cry."
He hadn't cried.
…
In the dream, the gun moved slowly. Not in slow motion, but slowly. It seemed to take forever to pan down ... to find its target. It moved slowly enough to be stopped. If anyone had been watching … if anyone had been there.
He hadn't been there.
…
"Would you like to say something, Mr. Lavery?"
Startled, Ryan's head jerked up towards the kindly old priest. The eyes he met held more than a question. They held sympathy, understanding, and maybe forgiveness even. He looked back down almost immediately, knowing as he did that he deserved none of those things.
He had made the arrangements quickly … secretly. And since there would be no one to hear, he hadn't thought about saying anything. But, he was wrong about that too, he realized. There was someone.
He bent to one knee, a palm resting on the smooth lid of the box. It was cold, colder even than the dampness of the ground seeping into his knee. He closed his eyes, trying to feel something, anything, beyond the cold – a prayer, a reason, a path. There was nothing. He opened his eyes and looked at the name etched in the stone, and then down at his own hand. "I'm sorry." It was a whisper fighting it's way through the beginnings of tears. The next words were clearer, louder, "I am so sorry. I should have been there … with you … for you." He stopped again, gathering himself with a deep breath. "I didn't mean to leave you alone." But the words had no sooner left his mouth when Ryan shook his head, stopping himself, "I meant to leave, it's just … I just … I just didn't realize." He stopped again – that was wrong too. The next words were flat, "I didn't think about it. It was my job to protect you, and instead I left. You needed me back then … back then, now, all the times in between. And I wasn't … I didn't ..." Unable to finish, he stood, nodded at the priest and turned away.
He had only made it a few steps when he turned and looked back. The coffin had just begun its descent. The start of a sob escaped before he could stop it. He was silent for a moment, but then spoke again, "I wish I had been a brother to you, Jonathan. Please know that."
He had a long drive home. And those hours would be the last of his peace, such as it was. He felt spent … empty …hollow. And this … this was the easy part. Tomorrow was another funeral.