Author's Note: Since the last chapter went over pretty well, I did another for the last episode: Dead Man Walking. Hope you enjoy! =)

~~MM~~MM~MM~~MM~~

It took Miles about 15 minutes after the shooting of Fry to snap back into action. He sent Aaron, Rachel, and Charlie back to Willoughby while he and Bass grabbed some old buckets from the mill and filled them with water. Next came cleaning up the "crime-scene." With the water and some rags, they scrubbed at the blood puddles until they were nothing but brownish-red stains in the wood. Nothing they could do about that so they scattered leaves and dirt over them, trying to cover them completely and at least making it look as if the stains had been there awhile. Then Miles strategically placed some blood droplets on the floor where the Rangers would surely see them but they weren't too obvious.

Bass dropped a shell casing he'd saved from using the Patriots' rifles a short distance from the blood drops. He caught Miles' eye and with one last sweep of the room to make sure everything was perfect, they moved to the body. Here was the part neither was looking forward to. They carried the body down to the river and tied it firmly to the cinder block they had waiting. Miles grasped Fry's arms while Bass took his legs and the cinder block. Slowly, they walked the body into the water and at about waist depth, they dropped him.

Miles released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, looking over at Bass silently.

Bass met his gaze head on, giving him an almost challenging look before his eyes softened and he glanced down, taking the lead and moving to their hiding spot behind the bushes across the river.

It didn't take long for the Rangers to find the mill and apparently piece together the evidence that was left for them. Miles watched through the binoculars as they rode off from the river. Regardless of how the plan had been put into action, he was glad it was over. Bass's voice sounded from beside him.

"Told you it would work," Bass said, turning his head to study Miles, "You wanted a war. You got one." He was hoping for a reply but Miles stayed silent just as he had been since Bass had shot Fry. Bass didn't push him. He knew Miles would have to work this out in his own head before he could deal with Bass. They walked down the bank and across the river again but Bass spoke up before they split, "You know that old junk yard about a half-mile west of the gates?" At Miles' answering nod, he continued, "There's a small shed at the back of the property. That's where I'll be."

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass didn't see Miles the next day so on the third day, he went out scouting, tracking some Patriots on a patrol on the outskirts of Willoughby. By a stroke of luck, one man decided he would branch off by himself so as soon as he lost sight of his compatriots, Bass jumped him. It was a short battle and Bass forced him, bound and gagged, back to his shed where they had a nice discussion about the Patriot occupation in the area. After Bass was absolutely sure the man would be of no more use, he quickly killed him, dragging his body out the door. Miles' voice stopped him.

"Ah, come on!" The exasperation in Miles' tone was evident, "You gotta be kidding me."

Bass dropped the body and turned to face Miles, "He was out on patrol, just wanted to sit him down for a little chat, okay? No one saw me." He was just as exasperated as Miles because, despite Miles' agreement that Bass would be helpful in the fight against the Patriots, Miles refused to let him do what needed to be done. The only thing keeping him from snapping at Miles was that he was slightly heartened that Miles was speaking to him again.

"Are you stupid?" Miles asked him, erasing Bass's thought that having Miles speaking to him was a good thing.

Bass rubbed a hand across his face as Miles continued, "The plan was to lay low, wait for Texas to start killing Patriots. Not you." Miles paused before asking, "By the way...where's Texas?"

"Relax, alright? They're on their way. It worked," Bass replied, reaching into the pocket of his jacket, "Until then, here you go." He held a folded piece of paper toward Miles.

Miles grabbed it but made no attempt to unfold it or read it, "What is this?"

Bass stopped himself from rolling his eyes or voicing the sarcastic reply he was thinking; instead telling him, "That's base coordinates, personnel rosters, target cities. This guy sang like a bird."

Miles scanned the paper before glancing up, not quite meeting Bass's eyes, "This is pretty good."

Bass was completely surprised by the small compliment, "Yeah? There ya go, huh?" He smirked, trying and failing to get Miles to make eye contact. He decided to push his luck, "How about a thank you?"

Miles did look at him then, brown eyes completely unamused, letting Bass know plain and simple he wasn't getting anything else from him.

"No? Alright," Bass nodded, turning back to the body at his feet, "I dug a hole around back, grab his legs." He caught sight of Miles' cast and couldn't help himself, "That's if you can, stumpy." Old habits die hard. He kept a concerned eye on Miles as he used his injured hand to grasp one of the man's legs. "You know, I was thinking," Bass told him, "I really hate the son of a bitch but you know who'd be handy against these guys?" He didn't give Miles a chance to answer, not that Miles would have, "Tom Neville."

Miles didn't even attempt a reply but it was something to consider.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles arrived back at his house to find Rachel standing with her back to the door, waiting for him. He almost groaned. He did not feel like dealing with her right now.

Rachel wasn't about to let him off easy though, "How's your friend? He hanging in there?" Her tone was sweet and Miles rolled his eyes.

"Hey, come on in. Make yourself at home," Miles answered her sarcastically, walking closer.

Rachel still wouldn't face him as she said in that same tone, "He need anything? Hot lunch? Cold beer?" She rubbed her hand, using it as an excuse to avoid eye contact with Miles.

Miles dropped his head and tried to keep his temper reined in. He hated this passive-aggressive shit Rachel pulled. "What do you want me to do?" He asked her, tone low.

She spun around to face him, eyes flashing, "Something. Anything. There is a monster in our backyard and you're not doing a damn thing about it!" She let out a wavering laugh, "Oh, actually you're bringing him lunch." She stopped talking, glaring at Miles angrily.

Miles pulled the piece of paper he'd gotten from Bass out of his pocket, showing it to Rachel as he remarked, "He got more intel off one of their guys in two hours than we've been able to get in days." He hoped Rachel would get what he was trying to say without actually making him say it.

Rachel stepped towards him until they were face-to-face, "Am I supposed to be impressed that he can torture people?"

Miles clenched his teeth. For supposedly being so intelligent, sometimes Rachel could be a complete idiot. "The Patriots are smart!" he snapped at her, "They're vicious! They got you on a wanted poster, God knows why. This is what we need!" He paused to see if it was sinking in. He couldn't tell so he elaborated, "We need somebody who is willing to do this. 'Cause if he doesn't do it, I'm gonna have to." He looked at her, trying to convey to her what that meant. Surely she didn't want him to go back to being what he used to be. Hell, he didn't want to go back to being General Matheson.

"I think you're full of crap," Rachel told him, walking by and out of the house, slamming the door as she went.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass was sitting in his shed, a small fire crackling in front of him as he roasted the piece of meat Miles had brought him. Absently, he poked the meat with his knife as it cooked, his thoughts a million miles away. A loud crash jolted him from his thoughts and his eyes tracked a small canister as it flew through his window and hit the floor. Knowing exactly what it was, he threw himself from his chair and into the corner, shielding his head from the debris of the explosion. Knife still in hand, he stumbled towards the door, disoriented and ears ringing. He felt absolute fury flood through him and he kicked the door open, teeth clenched and knife ready. He was met by a group of Patriots intermingled with Rangers. All had their rifles pointed at him in a semi-circle. He still clutched his knife as he shifted around, going through all the options in his head and daring them to try and get close. Two young Patriots rushed him from behind but Bass was ready, head butting them and putting them on the ground within seconds. A Ranger tackled him into the dirt while two Patriots slapped handcuffs on him, ignoring his struggles.

"Haul him up!" A voice commanded and Bass was forced to his feet. He was still fighting the three men holding him as he looked at the stranger. Snake. That was the first thought that entered Bass's mind as he studied the apparent leader of this band of Patriots.

"On behalf of the United States Government and the sovereign nation of Texas; Sebastian Monroe, you are under arrest," the stranger told him smugly, walking up so he was only about a foot from Bass.

Bass didn't give him a reaction, just glared at him, sparks of anger in his eyes as he sized him up. The guy was lucky he had all his guard dogs with him. Otherwise it wouldn't have been a match at all.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The tolling of the town bell brought everyone out to line the streets as the Patriots and Rangers brought their wagons through. Charlie, Aaron, Miles, and Rachel were scattered throughout the crowd, trying to get a look at what was causing the excitement.

Rachel, standing beside Miles, saw the commander of the Patriots riding with the Texas President, "There's Texas and the Patriots. Together. Not killing each other."

Miles gave her a stern look but then shook his head, "I...I got nothin'." His eyes widened when he caught sight of the rebar cage being drawn on the last wagon. He would recognize that figure anywhere. Bass.

As if feeling his gaze, Bass looked over, catching Miles' eye. His own eyes looked dull, the twinkle that had been there this morning had vanished.

Miles watched helplessly as they went by, him and Rachel quickly following them to the town square where they were met by Charlie and Aaron. The Texas president was speaking, solidifying the alliance between Texas and the Patriots and ending his speech with, "And working with our friends with the new United States Government, we arrested the continent's most wanted man; Sebastian Monroe." Miles felt dread pooling in his stomach as the cheers erupted around him and the president began talking again, "Justice demands the immediate trial for his numerous crimes. And if found guilty, by the power of Texas law, he won't live to see another sunrise." Miles couldn't react. He felt frozen. Of course they were going to find Bass guilty. There were no two ways about that. He couldn't force himself to look around at the people cheering and so missed the twisted smile that appeared on Rachel's face.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass was sitting in his cell, massaging his wrists where the handcuffs were biting into his skin. He actually welcomed the pain though; his mind kept wandering to past times. Bad times. He was hoping the pain would distract him but it just wasn't doing the trick. Was this what people meant when they said life flashes before your eyes as you prepare for death? You relive everything? Go over every small detail? Considering that the majority of his life had been filled with darkness, Bass really hoped that wasn't the case. There really wasn't much he wanted to relive. Besides, he remembered hearing at church, when he was a child, that you saw a review of your life at your Judgment Seat after you die. Was he really so cursed that he was forced to go through this torture twice? His cell door swinging open saved him from attempting to answer that question.

"Monroe. On your feet," A young Ranger stood there, waiting for him to comply. Bass thought fleetingly about fighting but instead let his shoulders sag and stood up. He had been fighting for so long, he thought he might be losing the will to keep at it.

Miles and Charlie darted along the roof of the jail, an escape plan fresh in their minds. They both glanced over the edge of the building and deflated at the sight below. There was Bass, cuffed, in the middle of a group of rangers with rifles trained on him and the surrounding area. "They're moving him," Miles stated, disbelief in his voice, "To the bank." They ducked down again, leaning against the wall that ran along the edge of the roof.

"Why the bank?" Charlie asked him, confused by the location change.

"Because it's got a damn vault," Miles replied, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

Charlie frowned, "Well, how are we gonna get him out?"

Miles looked at her earnestly, "We're not. Only one way in and out and they'll guard that with every guy they got." He sighed, shaking his head, "Jail break's one thing Charlie, but...bank job? No. No way." He closed his eyes and leaned back again, trying to calm his nerves.

"It doesn't make any sense," Charlie whispered to him, "Why would they move him all of a sudden?"

As soon as she said those words, something clicked in Miles' mind.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles stormed into Rachel's house, Charlie on his heels. "Rachel, did you do it?" he asked her sharply.

Rachel played dumb, "Did I do what?"

Miles set his jaw, "Oh, you know. Tip them off. To a jail break."

Rachel turned so she was facing Miles, ignoring Charlie standing to the side, "Damn right I did."

Miles stared at her. He couldn't believe she was so calm and uncaring about this. "Did you narc him out in the first place?" he asked, tone rising.

Rachel denied that, "No, I didn't. But now that they have him, he's not getting away."

Miles shook his head in disbelief, "Well. That's it. I don't know how to save this town. From the Patriots or anybody else, so when you figure it out, you let me know." He turned and walked out, fists clenched to keep from punching something. Did Rachel honestly think she could sell Bass out and Miles would still be working to start a resistance? She had to know how difficult all this had been for him. She knew how close Miles had been to Bass. Was she really that stupid?

Charlie was still standing against the counter, silent, as her mom began talking.

"If they had caught you, they would have put a bullet in your head. I am not losing another child to that man," Rachel told her firmly.

Charlie crossed her arms, "If you really cared about me then you would've asked me just once how I've been this whole time."

Rachel swallowed but Charlie didn't give her a chance to speak. "For one thing," she went on, "I almost died. You know who saved me? Monroe." Rachel rolled her eyes and Charlie remarked, "But you don't want to hear that, do you? That's the thing. You don't listen. Never have. Because you're smarter than everybody else. And you're always right..." she paused, looking straight into Rachel's eyes as she finished, "Even when you're dead wrong." She left her mom in the kitchen and followed Miles out of the house.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~MM~~

Bass stood before the judge in the courthouse listening as his fate was coldly dealt out, "By the power vested in me by the sovereign nation of Texas, I hereby sentence you to die by lethal injection to be administered by midnight." As the judge's voice faded, Bass cast his eyes to the ground, refusing to give any satisfaction to the Patriots gathered around him.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The memories were back. Worse than they were before. Bass sat on the cold, hard ground of the vault as he went through the flashbacks. He'd stopped trying to fight them; what was the point? Footsteps from outside the vault captured his attention and he looked towards the open door, not bothering to erase the evidence of tears from his eyes.

Miles stopped when he saw Bass. He'd never seen his friend look as helpless a he did at that instant, huddled against the wall where he was chained, piercing blue eyes dull.

Bass climbed to his feet as Miles walked into the cell with him. He wanted to speak but his mind went blank. Finally, "Isn't Texas adorable?"

Miles glanced down. He had been trying so hard to stay objective but every time Bass made a joke, Miles was reminded that this wasn't just some guy they were executing, this was his best friend for God's sake.

A small frown creased Bass's face but he continued, "Lethal injection. They should just put a bullet in my head, save the drama."

Miles tried to smile, tried to think of someway to reassure Bass...but he couldn't. His mind felt sluggish. Like he was in a dream. So instead, he kept his gaze on the ground and just listened. But as the silence encompassed them, he forced himself to speak. Unfortunately, he still couldn't look Bass in the eye and his words were far from comforting, "What am I doing here?"

The hurt flashed across Bass's face before he managed to conceal it, "Well, these bumpkins gave me one last request and I, uh..." he broke off, taking a moment to erase the waver from his voice, "I asked for you."

Miles tilted his head, finally looking Bass in the eye as he replied, "And why exactly would you want to see local nobody, Stu Redman?" Miles glanced back at the guards before looking to Bass again. Stupid thing to say, Miles thought to himself as he noticed the stony expression on Bass's face. This really wasn't the time to worry about his cover identity. There probably wasn't a point, anyway.

As if reading his thoughts and confirming them, Bass let out a small laugh that ended up sounding more like a sigh, "Do you really think that if these Patriots know who I am, they don't know who you are?"

Miles dropped his head and breathed in deeply, trying to keep his composure as he met Bass's gaze, "What do you want, Bass?"

Bass felt the tears fill his eyes again as he looked at Miles. Did he really think Bass wanted something from him? Now? Well, in a way...Miles was right. Bass knew he was going to die. Before he went, he wanted...he needed his brother's forgiveness. He loved Miles. For all of Charlie's comments about him being cold and empty, he still loved his brother more than anything in this world. All he wanted was some small sign that, somehow, Miles still loved him, too. He didn't try to keep his voice firm this time, "Everyone else wants me to go to hell, you-...not you...?" He could see the neutral mask slip from Miles' face as he went on, "At the end of the day, that's exactly what this is. We were friends..." He carefully watched Miles, looking for anything that might confirm his statement.

Miles glanced away from him, trying desperately to avoid showing any emotion. He could still fix this. There had to be something he could do. He just needed time. Just a little more time and he'd...he'd figure a way...

Despite Miles' protests, Bass did in fact know him very well and right now, he could see what was going through Miles' mind. Bass knew any escape would be hopeless but just knowing that Miles cared, that he might miss him when he was gone gave him the spark of courage he needed to accept his death. Now...it was time to help Miles accept it as well. "Shake my hand," Bass said, softly but steadily, "Say goodbye."

After a moment's hesitation, Miles held his injured hand out and Bass carefully grasped it, squeezing gently but making sure not to hurt him. They stood there like that, tears in their eyes belying how hard this was for both of them.

Bass found his voice first, choked up as he asked, "We had some good times, didn't we?" That's not what he was going to say but for some reason, he couldn't force his other statement out.

For the first time, it occurred to Miles that this was it. This was the end. No more chances to reconcile. Time's up. Realizing he was on the verge of hyperventilating, he forced himself to breathe regularly but only succeeded with choppy breaths. "Yeah. Yeah, we did," he answered, looking into Bass's blue eyes and seeing the understanding as his friend nodded. Miles was sure his own eyes were showing the desperation and pain he was feeling and he cursed himself for not being able to give Bass the comfort he needed. He couldn't handle this. He had to leave. Jerking his hand from Bass's, Miles turned and started to walk out of the vault.

Bass let him pull away. He could plainly see how hard this was for Miles. But there was something he still had to say, "I-..I have a kid." He saw Miles stop so he clarified, "I'm not talking about...about Shelley and the baby. I'm..." here was the most difficult part. After all, Emma had been Miles' fiancee at the time, "I'm talking about me and Emma..." Miles turned to face him and Bass could see the surprise clearly showing on his face. He still hadn't spoken though, so Bass ended with, "I'm sorry."

Miles couldn't believe this. How did Bass find out? He was never supposed to find out. Miles had had every intention of telling his friend but then everything happened and...the boy was an adult by now anyway, so...Miles stepped back to the doorway of the vault, not sure how to go about this. If he told Bass...it might just make things worse because Bass would never get the chance to find his son anyway...

Bass mistook Miles' behavior as anger and slumped against the wall, figuring he had nothing to lose by clearing everything up now, "It was while you and Emma were still..." he trailed off, trying to convey to Miles how guilty he still felt about that whole affair, "But it happened." Now for the request which, despite it all, he still trusted that Miles would honor, "I have a son out there...I've never met him...so, um..." he broke off, a tear running down his face as he tried to regain his composure, "I, uh, I want you to find him...and I want you to take care of him."

As he heard how broken up his friend sounded, Miles made up his mind. The only reason to keep this secret would be for his own benefit because there was no way in hell Bass would ever forgive him. But then...what did that really matter anymore? He nodded his head, "Don't worry. Your son is fine."

Bass stared at him, not sure he heard correctly, "I'm...I'm sorry?" Out of everything he thought Miles would say, that wasn't on the list.

Miles shook his head, "Yeah, I knew about him. Emma got word to me..." He paused. He didn't want this to come back on Emma because really...it wasn't her fault. "And I hid him from you."

Bass couldn't believe this. He could not comprehend what Miles was telling him, "...You what?"

Miles nodded, meeting Bass's gaze, "You were off the rails, Bass."

Bass glanced away, feeling like he was about to throw up, "Uh...you knew...how I felt..." He looked back at Miles, eyes still disbelieving but also slightly accusatory, "I had a kid that died...and you hid the one that lived from me?"

Miles forced himself to stay composed, "Nobody was safe around you, so I..." he stopped at the pain on Bass's face.

Bass just looked at him, eyes filled with disbelief and the same betrayal as the night Miles had tried to assassinate him, "How could you do that? Miles...what...why?" When Miles didn't answer, Bass dealt with this emotional turmoil the only way he knew how; he lashed out, throwing himself against the chains that anchored him to the wall, "You son of a bitch! How could you do that?!"

Miles couldn't bear to watch as the Rangers walked in to subdue their prisoner. He turned away and walked out of the vault, Bass's anguished voice following him out, "Get back here! How could you do that to me?!"

Miles shoved through the doors and stumbled outside, heaving for a few moments as he desperately tried to keep the bile in the back of his throat at bay. That entire time, Bass's only question was how could Miles do that to him? He never once told him to go to hell. Didn't tell him he hated him. Miles shook his head as he realized how misguided Bass's trust in him truly was. But now...now he would never have the chance to make it right. To be the brother that Bass always was to him. And Miles wasn't sure how he was going to make it through this time.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass walked slowly up the street to the courthouse where he would take his last breaths. He tried not to pay attention to the crowds on both sides or the fact that his death was going to cause a town-wide celebration. He didn't bother trying to drag his feet or fight back. He just wanted it to be over. One way or another. As a matter of fact, the only sign of life in his entire appearance was the flash of recognition in his eyes as he caught sight of Charlie. He stopped for a moment and gazed at her, eyes softening when he saw the bit of sadness that showed in her face. "Take care of your uncle, kid," he told her quietly before they gave him a sharp nudge to keep him moving.

Bass had had a couple of hours to think about what Miles told him. He couldn't deny that it hurt to know the person he trusted more than anything had kept something like that from him...but he could see why Miles did it. And in an odd sort of way, he was grateful. Miles had been protecting him and his son the only way he knew how. He knew that his death was going to be hard on his brother but he prayed that having Charlie back and Rachel around would help him move past it.

Bass's thoughts were cut short as he entered the court room. His gaze took in the chair with the leather straps sitting at the front and Rachel beside it, preparing a needle. Everyone looked up as he walked down the aisle but Bass caught Rachel's gaze and held it until the older gentleman to the side stepped directly in front of him.

"I'm Doctor Gene Porter," the man told him coldly, "Danny Matheson's grandfather. I've been asked to prepare you for execution and may I say...it's an honor."

Bass didn't even try to reply to that. As he'd told Miles, he knew everyone here hated him. But as they took the shackles off and prepared to move him to the chair, he gazed at Rachel again. She was the only familiar person in this room and even though Bass knew she hated him probably more than anyone, he wanted someone around that he knew as he succumbed to whatever chemicals they pumped into his blood stream.

It wasn't until they began strapping him to the chair that Bass finally felt the panic rush through him. On the verge of hyperventilating, he sucked oxygen into his lungs that did nothing to take away the suffocating feeling that had settled in his chest. Still looking at Rachel, he didn't even glance over as Doctor Porter took the needle and went around to his other side. Mustering up all the strength he had left, voice barely above a whisper and wavering with sincerity, he spoke two simple words just loud enough for Rachel to hear, "I'm sorry." Rachel's expression never changed and Bass finally looked away from her, gaze locking on the needle as he tracked it to its entry point. From there, all he felt was white-hot pain coursing throughout his veins, causing his body to spasm against the leather bindings. He took a few gasping breaths...and his chest stilled. His eyes were blank. He was gone. I'm sorry...

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles was sitting at the bar when he heard the bell tolling, announcing the death of his brother to the town. He held up a shot glass for a moment in silent acknowledgment before downing the liquid, focusing on the burn down his throat instead of the tears in his eyes.

About 45 minutes later, Miles was still attempting to drink himself away from this entire situation. The only difference was Aaron and Charlie had joined him in the bar. He felt a surge of gratefulness that Aaron was staying with Charlie and apparently comforting her because Miles knew he just could not do that right now. He was having a tough enough time with himself. He's started drinking with the hope that he would blackout for awhile but instead, the alcohol was making his memories and feelings more vivid. He was just reminiscing about his and Bass's time together in the Marines when he noticed Charlie walk up to his table cautiously.

"Hey," she said softly, looking at her uncle with pity. Miles didn't answer and Charlie laid her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze as she said, "I'm around, k?" She had taken Bass's words to heart; she would watch out for Miles and do her best to make sure he made it through this. Try and protect him like he'd always protected her.

Miles again felt tears in his eyes at Charlie's words. He grabbed her hand as she started to walk away, not able to speak but wanting someone close. He wished he could tell her everything that was running through his mind but...what good would that do? The one person it would've made a difference to was dead. He squeezed Charlie's hand then loosened her grip, allowing her to walk back to her seat beside Aaron at the bar. Miles was angry at himself. Now that he knew it was too late, there were a thousand things he wanted to say to Bass. Like, sorry I left. Sorry I let you down when you needed me the most. He shook his head in disgust. He couldn't even manage to show Bass how much he cared about him when he'd been with his brother three hours before the execution. Another thought entered his mind; Bass was completely alone during his death. Miles cursed himself; because of his cowardice, he'd allowed his brother to be surrounded by strangers that hated him while he took his last breaths. He should've gone, at least let Bass see him there even if they didn't allow him to be at Bass's side. Miles felt the tears run down his face and he dropped his head into his arm. He knew how badly he screwed up. He also knew that he'd lost every chance he'd been given to make it right.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Unbeknownst to the others, Rachel had followed the wagon carrying Bass's coffin into the woods and watched from concealment as they buried him. Once she was absolutely sure no one would come back, she hurried out with a shovel, staring at the new mound of dirt in front of her. With the full moon shimmering in the sky casting a soft light, Rachel gave a sigh and dug her shovel into the fresh soil.