I headed in a westward direction, away from her town and city, and towards the ocean. I could smell the salty air as the trees thinned out and rocky cliffs began to emerge. Finally, after walking for hours perhaps-I couldn't be sure of the time anymore, for nothing mattered that much-I arrived at the ocean shore.
The sand was sparse, and the ground was mostly rocks. But, fortunately, there wasn't a soul in sight. Besides, who would come to the ocean ground that was hard on the feet and freezing on the skin?
Tenderly, I laid Carly's body down on the rocks and began to take off my leather jacket. I knew what I had to do. Once my jacket was off, I removed her backpack and pulled out the blanket Zane had given us.
I wrapped the thin blanket around her body, tightly. It was the only thing I had that was even close to a burial shroud. She shouldn't die as the way she was.
Finally, with Carly fully ready…or Carly's body should I say. There was no more Carly; she had died already. There was only a body, a corpse, the remains of someone who had been here and now was gone.
With no one in sight, I stripped down to my jeans, knowing that they needed to be washed of the blood anyhow. I probably should've taken them off because of the ocean water, but I had to be rid of Carly's blood. It would poison me otherwise.
Gently, I picked up Carly's body in my cold bare arms and began to walk out into the splashing water. The rocks were hard and rough against my feet, jabbing and cutting into them, but I paid no attention to them. Waves, not as high as I had feared, but waves nonetheless, splashed against my side, causing goosebumps to form up and down my skin. For miles on both sides of me there was nothing but rocks, and in front of me was an endless field of icy water.
Once I had gotten out to shoulder deep water, I began to do a crude dog-paddle. Carly deserved to have a final resting spot and dumping her body close to shore would not help anyone. After all she had done for me through putting up with my rages and Lydecker…and taking my bullet into her own side…she had a right to a decent grave.
Finally, when I was no longer able to touch bottom, and the shore seemed endlessly far away, did I let her body go. With a tiny push, I sent it out into the ocean.
The blanket flowed around her, ballooning upwards and giving her angel's wings, before becoming saturated with water and sinking downwards. Her body floated for sometime before the clothes became soaked, and her face disappeared completely under the white waves.
I floated in the water, treading it, so that I could stay afloat, watching the spot where she had gone down until I could no longer feel my fingers or feet. Reluctantly, I turned back around and headed towards the shore.
I swam back, struggling not to cry because that would be a sign of weakness, and right then, of all moments, I could not be weak.
When I reached shore, I hauled myself out of the water and back onto land. My soggy jeans made walking difficult, but at least the blood was off of them. Not even bothering to dry down, I put on the remainder of my clothes, grabbed Carly's backpack and hiked away.
So, now, I stand on top of a jutting cliff, which looks far out into the ocean. All around me is water and rock. Complete opposites of each other, if that's what you'd like to call them.
The backpack rests against my legs, waiting to be retrieved by me, almost like a dog waiting patiently for its owner. Zane didn't go back for his dog. I don't know if I'll pick up the backpack or not.
My left hand is tucked into the warmth of my jacket, while my right fingers run over the smooth barrel of the gun.
There's only one bullet left. I've checked it. One bullet that can take a life.
I don't know why I'm still alive. I should be dead. In fact, I should be dead many times over. Maybe it's my feline DNA and having nine lives, or maybe it's just too much luck on my part.
Yet, the guilt still hangs strong upon me, and I am forced to wonder why I am still alive. I shouldn't be. There are far better people in the world than me. Than me who is a murderer, lover, cheater, stealer.
So, the gun feeling extraordinarily heavy in my right hand, I bring it to my temple. My index finger dances over the trigger, knowing that the safety switch is off, and all I have to do is apply the tiniest bit of pressure, and my life will be over. I feel the definite shape of the gun pressing into my cold skin, and I take a deep breath, fully prepared.