This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has been with this story from the beginning. I know this is what you all have been waiting for (and dreading). I'm so sorry it had to come to this, but I warned you, ya know? I warned you in the prologue that Forrest was still going to marry Maggie, but please know that I feel your pain. Trust me, I do. I didn't want this to happen any more than you did. I love Ellie May. I love her and Forrest together, but we knew it had to end this way. Though this isn't technically the ending. There are two more chapters after this and then an epilogue (also, in the epilogue it will be revealed who the old man telling this story is; twenty bucks says no one can guess who).

As usual, I would like to send out a major, holy-shit-thanks-a-bunch to: Dasiygirl95, Joe D, Slytherin Studios, JohnnyStormsGirl, jamdropsmarblecakes, Not. So. Typical. Girl., Wolflihood, IsYourH3artTaken, FeatherSun19994, MarvelWorksWonders, TomHardyGirl6489, enigmaofherself, merrygolds, ajubow, Kay1104, Kwiff, Kerry S, and, of course, everyone who reviewed as a Guest. You support means the world to me! I'm so, so damn happy you like the story. Please, still like it after this chapter, yeah?

Um, so, enjoy…though, admittedly, that might be a bit difficult this chapter.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

His skin tingled with warmth from the sun, his back tickled by the grass. His arms were at his sides. He could feel the Virginia clay beneath his fingertips. Tapping his fingers against the Earth, he soaked up the sunlight, enjoying the heat on his face and arms. Though, his eyes were closed but he could hear her approach. The corners of his mouth gave a subtle lift as she settled in the grass beside him.

"You know, lying in the dirt is usually my kinda thing. Not yours."

He could hear the smirk in her voice. It was there in the playful way the words rolled off her tongue and floated in the space between them before landing gently against his ears. She had the sweetest voice. Forrest briefly wondered if he would ever gather enough courage to tell her that. Peeking one eye open, he glanced at the young girl next to him. Her eyes were squinted, narrowed to block out as much of the sun's unyielding power as possible, and her mouth was set in a content line. Maybe he would tell her one day.

"What're you staring at?" she teased him and Forrest ignored the way his insides felt a little lighter when she spoke, "Nothin'."

His gaze shifted over her head as he glanced back the farm. "M'surprised you managed to get away."

Ellie May snickered. "I almost didn't. Era wanted me to braid her hair again but then Belva saved me. She mentioned something about the dance over at the Waldrop's place and, well, you know Era. They're busy sewing up a new dress now."

She squirmed in the dirt, a pebble digging into her back. Unlodging the pesky rock from the clay, she fidgeted until she was able to make herself comfortable against the flat, packed Earth. She ought to be back at the house with the girls, she reckoned. Belva was only just now warming up to her and they still had some serious bondin' to do. And yet, Ellie May found she was right where she wanted to be. Biting her lip, she stole a quick and curious peek at the boy next to her. Ever since she'd officially taken up residence at the Bondurant farm, Ellie May couldn't seem to stand it when Forrest was away from her. When they were together, she noticed the very second he left and was anxious until he returned. With an embarrassed frown, Ellie May realized she was clinging to Forrest the same way the littlest Bondurant, Emmy, clung to their mother.

Well, shit.

"Forrest…"

"Hmm?" he hummed, his eyes remaining firmly shut, the glorious sunlight soaking through his skin.

She drummed her fingers on her stomach. Her feet tapped absently, her toes swaying a cluster of weeds and flowers. "Um, I just…well, I wanted to…I never said 'thank you' for what you did with my-"

"You don't have to," he immediately cut her off. He may have enjoyed the sound of her voice, but this was one damn conversation he wasn't exactly itchin' to have.

"Yes, I do. Forrest, it's been months and I-"

"Ellie May, I'm tellin' you, you don't ha-"

"I want to."

Propping up on her elbows in the dirt, Ellie May peered down at him, her nose wrinkled. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "Let me say this and I'll leave you alone, alright? …thank you, Forrest. For everything. You didn't have to stick up for me yesterday against Howard, or last week with Belva. You didn't have to defend my honor against Clyde Eller at the Jamison wood choppin'. And you, by no means, had to protect me against my father…but you did and I want to thank you for that."

Forrest shifted uncomfortably. He didn't understand why she felt she had to do this. She was makin' a big deal outta nothin' at all. His actions weren't anything to fuss about. He was simply doing what he knew was right. And bringing her here? Welcoming her as a part of his family? Forrest had no doubt in his mind this was where she belonged. It had only been natural.

Recognizing the stubborn set in Forrest's jaw, Ellie May slumped back into the dirt and rubbed her face and sighed. "Shit, you've been protecting me this whole damn time, Forrest. And I'm so grateful. I want you to know that. You've…you've given me a life, Forrest. A good life. Your family is wonderful and…I wake up every morning and try to wrap my head around it. You and your family have been so good to me, so very, very kind. All because you wanted to protect me from my father."

She blinked, her stomach in a giant, emotional knot, and took another deep breath, steadying the powerful culmination of feelings inside her. Ellie May said it simply. "You saved me, Forrest. I can't begin to wonder why you would take on that responsibility, but I want to thank you all the same."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, with an excruciating slowness, his hand wormed through the grass like a snake as it reached for hers. Their fingers weaved together and Forrest could practically see the weight lifting off Ellie May's chest. She gave his hand a squeeze as he drawled, "You know why."

Because, she suspected, he loved her.

"I like to think so," she replied.

A secret smile hinted at the edges of his full lips.

Ellie May turned her head to look at him pointedly. A tuff of grass brushed her cheek. "Well?"

A grunt thumped the back of his throat. "Huh?"

"Typically, when someone says 'thank you,' its customary to say 'you're welcome' back." Her eyes glistened as she taunted him. The lift in his lips gradually turned upward, his mouth finally curving into a grin. She was unbelievable, his Ellie May. His eyes searching her face, Forrest grinned, "You're welcome."

Several long minutes passed as the young boy and girl lay in the dirt and grass, the sun beating down on them mercilessly. They bathed in the warmth and in one another's company. They had had enough of heavy conversation for today and their thoughts drifted off somewhere in the distance, to lighter, trivial things. Ellie May thought of the dance at the Waldrop's place. She wondered if she could coax a dance or two out of the surly boy at her side. And Forrest thought of his older brother Howard. A few months had passed since his brother's return from the war and Forrest was still trying to make heads or tails of the stranger who stalked their farm in the shape of his brother.

While they lay there, Forrest took note of the soft whistle coming passed Ellie May's lips with each breath. The soothing noise was so unlike the nasally rumble of Jack's breathing that lulled him to sleep each night, one arm slung over his baby brother's chest as they swayed in their rope bed. He was used to Jack's snores but acknowledged the part of him that suggested he'd much rather fall asleep next to the gentle noises of Ellie May. Studying the tones of her even breathing, Forrest examined her out the corner of his eye. He recalled his first impression of her on that fateful day when his father had brought her into their home, bloodied and beaten. Forrest had thought that she would've been beautiful if she'd been properly fed and cleaned up. Now, he knew that, while his protective inclinations toward her might've made him slightly biased, Ellie May Davis was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, even in spite of the faint scar that marred her left cheek. Damned if wasn't gonna tell her that someday.

She could feel his gaze on her. She always felt it when he stared. Often, she wondered what he saw when he watched her. Was he looking for something? Or studying something he'd already discovered? Whatever his reasons, Ellie May enjoyed teasing him whenever she caught him staring and often such jests led to a delightful shade of pink tinting Forrest's cheeks and the tips of his ears. "You're doing it again…"

Immediately, he turned away from her, grunting something along the lines of, "M'not."

A few dark clouds were approaching from the south. Forrest frowned. He didn't want the rain to ruin their day. Apparently Ellie May also noticed the black and gray clusters in the sky, because she murmured, "I heard your father talking this morning about the radio broadcast. Said those tornadoes in Alabama and Tennessee are headed straight our way. Supposed to get 'em by the end of the week."

She eyed the dark haze. "Maybe we should head back closer to the house."

Forrest lightly shook his head. "S'alright." Obviously, the woman didn't know much about the weather. Those were just some petty rain clouds. The tornadoes, assuming that they didn't die out before they reached Virginia, wouldn't be seen for another several days.

The young girl snickered. "What? You gone protect me from the tornadoes, too?"

Once more, the usually stoic boy grinned and a light laugh echoed in his chest. Her sassy comment had caught him off-guard yet again. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, Ellie May, I'll protect you from them, too."

She smiled at him and shook her head in disbelief. "You're just gonna protect me from everything, aren't cha?"

Forrest, his think lips still twisted in a half-grin, replied, "From everything. Always."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He continued to hold her hand in the grass.

Forrest made that promise to Ellie May a long time ago. It was a promise that he had fully intended to keep and a promise he wasn't prepared for when he broke it.

He was numbly aware of Howard's voice, desperate and strangled, trying to reach through the fog of his mind. He could feel the hands on his shoulders as he crumbled to his knees. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. How could everything he loved, everything that he had worked so damn hard his whole life to build, his family, be gone? Taken from him. Stolen from him. Murdered – viciously and savagely.

Ellie May was dead.

Her body was the first thing he saw. He didn't realize it in that moment, but it would later be clear to him that the position of her body had been stage. He would assume that it had been his father who had respectfully laid Ellie May's body as she was. Papa Bondurant had placed her on her back, arms folded over her stomach, her hair pulled over one shoulder. Her eyes had been closed. Her lower half had been covered by a torn tablecloth which, along with the bits of her dress that he could see, was drenched in her own blood, pools and ribbons of the crimson liquid decorating the hardwood flooring. There was so much blood. His wife's blood. There was so much on the floor and not enough in her body that already she had started to pale, the tell-tale signs of death flashing like big-city lights across her body.

The tables and chairs were in shambles, one chair busted in the center of the room, the others overturned, tables slammed against the wall. She must have put up one hell of a fight but whatever she had done it hadn't been enough. And he hadn't been there to save her. He hadn't been there to protect her like he promised he always would. He had broken his promise, had let Ellie May down, and it had cost her life.

And then the hands on his shoulders were gone. But he couldn't register the absence. All Forrest could do was stare in disbelief and shock, devastation coursing through his veins. His chest was seized with a foul, agonizing pain. Like the Devil had his fingers coiling around Forrest's lungs and was slowly squeezing the life out of him, ripping his every insides out. He couldn't tear his gaze from his wife's body.

Ellie May was dead.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening.

His attention training solely on his wife, Forrest didn't see Howard bolt passed him, the hands gone from his shoulders. He didn't see his older brother taking the stairs two at a time. Didn't hear the bang! of his bedroom door being throw open. Didn't register the absolute bitter wail of a grown man lying eyes on the still-form of his infant niece, dead in her crib, the crib Forrest built for her. Didn't feel the foundations of The County Line shaking as Howard collapsed upstairs, Dorothy Grace's limp body curled to his chest, his harsh, heartbreaking sobs ricocheting off the windows.

Oblivious to all of this, Forrest started forward towards her. His body moving of its own account, he crawled on his hands and knees until he was at his wife's side. His vision blurring, he reached for her face, his voice low and shaking, like a child's, "Ellie May…E-Ellie May, c-come back."

The second his fingertips brushed her cheek, his fingers twitched in surprise. Her skin was so cold. Her cheeks had sunken in, her eye lids droopy. "Ellie May, please," he pleaded weakly, his chest mere seconds away from caving in on itself. Fuck, he couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening. Forrest didn't feel the tears slip down his cheeks, the droplets dripping onto her soaked dress, as he cupped her face with one hand, the other desperately searching her body for the source of all the blood. She couldn't be dead. She could be saved. He could save her.

"Jack! Fetch the car!" he hollered, his hands now working with a desperate fervor, the tablecloth discarded at his side. He just had to staunch the blood long enough for doc to stitch her up. He'd had a blood transfusion before. They could do the same for Ellie May, now. But there were so many wounds, little nips and cuts here and there, and then three long, wide gashes that sliced deep into her abdomen. "Jack! The car!"

Only, Jack wouldn't get the car because his wife couldn't be saved. She was already dead. The woman he'd loved since he was fifteen years old, so passionately that even the angles in Heaven must have envied their affection, was dead. The perfect, beautiful daughter that he and Ellie May made was dead. The family he loved with his whole damn heart – they were dead.

Gone.

Taken. Stolen. Murdered.

Someone had come into his home and brutally taken what was his. There had been no mercy here today. No second guessing, no holding back. His wife and daughter had been ripped from his arms with all the brutality those men could muster.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Forrest recalled a bible verse that he'd made Ellie May read to him the day he proposed. "Solomon 8:6 - Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame."

For love is as strong as death… Forrest felt the loss of his wife in the very deepest pits of his soul. He felt her loss in the ache of his bones and in the emptiness that suddenly consumed him. Ellie May gone. She was not coming back. Ellie May had once told him that when they kissed, it felt like a volcano. She would erupt, in a great burst of heat and power that exploded from within. The sensation would bubble up, slow and fiery, until her entire being tingled from it. She told him kissing him had been overwhelming. He had never understood what she meant until now. He felt the internal eruption. Felt the slow and fiery build up. Felt the overwhelming burst of white-hot rage and power consume him. Love was indeed like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame, even in death.

Forrest gazed at the lifeless body of his beloved as she lay unmoving in his arms and he felt that flame inside.

He was going to burn them all.

Every single, last, son of a bitch who had a hand in his wife's murder, he was going to make them pay. He was going to sear their flesh, flay them over an open fire, until their skin melted from their bones and fell like wax to the floor. He going to watch them burn and hear their agonized screams and he would rejoice in their pain and suffering. He was going to burn them all. A blazing fire. A mighty flame.

Breaks your heart, doesn't it? Review and tell me all about it – it's like free therapy.