Disclaimer: Jericho is not mine.
"I killed Mitchell Cafferty."
He lets the words hang in the air between them. He has thought about saying them so many times to so many different people. He has imagined them as a confessional whisper and an angry announcement both. He never pictured the matter of fact way that the words have just fallen out of his mouth. There was no emotion attached to them. There was only a blank statement of fact. She was never the one he had imagined saying them to either. He did not even know that he intended to do it until he was sitting there and the words were making themselves known. It was most definitely not something that he had planned. Now, though, he can't really remember thinking about doing this any other way. He said the words the proper way; he said them to the correct person. He does not know why he did not think of it before.
There is no denouncement or denial in the aftermath of his admission. He takes that as permission to continue. He could have expected as much. She has always been a good listener. In another time and place (in another lifetime), that could have been considered ironic. From his perspective, that has always been a part of who she is. He has never known anything different. It never occurred to him that there was anything different to think about it. He needs her to just listen now. He did not plan this, and he is not quite sure what he should say next - he's just grateful that he has this chance. He has been holding on to this knowledge of what it is that he has done for quite some time, and he thinks that there is something about being the solitary bearer of that sort of a secret that takes a toll on you. He knows that when he is feeling overwhelmed by the pressures of trying to keep the store going that talking it out with Skylar makes it all easier. This isn't the same thing, but he figures it is worth the shot. It isn't, however, Skylar with whom he is sharing this particular burden. This isn't for her. He has chosen a different confidant, and he knows that whether this changes the way that he feels about what he has done or not, that his secret is safe with her. She has been his friend for a very long time, and he knows that she is every bit as loyal as she is a good listener. He hasn't been the greatest friend for a while now, but he figures that she will forgive him for that.
He lets the words spill out. He doesn't rush them; he takes his time. She doesn't interrupt. The two of them always did have more patience for each other than they did for the rest of the world in general. It has been that way ever since they were children before they were even old enough to understand all the ins and outs and whys and wherefores. They had just instinctively known that they were both outsiders in their own ways.
"I'm not sorry," he tells her half expecting a semi reproachful look that never comes. "He killed Gracie. I know he did, and he was going to get away with it. Either people didn't care or they couldn't do anything, so I handled it. I shot him, and he died. And I'm not sorry. But maybe," he admits, "I'm a little sorry that I'm not sorry. It shouldn't be easy, right? Sometimes, I wonder if the fact that it was easy means that I'm like him somehow. I don't want that, but I can't just let the bad guys win. The bad guys aren't supposed to win. You get that. I know you do. I know you understand why we can't just let things play out. That's why you're here."
He sighs and tugs at his hair as he collects his thoughts.
"No one has ever asked any questions. I don't even know if anyone ever found the body. Maybe the people who did just didn't care. It's not like anyone was waiting up nights worrying about whether or not he came home. It's just weird, you know? To know that I did this and that no one will ever bother to care enough to try to find out that I did. It feels wrong. More wrong than actually shooting him did in the first place. It just . . . it just shouldn't have been easy. That's the part that bothers me. Things like that should never be easy."
He rests his arms against his knees and allows his head to settle against them. He waits, and he listens. There is no one else around to bother them, and he lets himself soak up the moment. He doesn't feel better exactly, but he does feel different - like some of his thoughts have shifted around a little and found a more comfortable place to rest inside of his head. It's nice, and he is once again sure that this was the right time to admit what he has done and that she was the obvious person to tell. He actually feels a little bit silly knowing how long it took him to figure out that this was the way.
He pushes himself up from the ground and dusts his jeans off with his hands. He needs to go. There are runs to organize. There is a store to manage. There is craziness of all kinds to be found inside their apparently rebellious little piece of the world. Skylar will be wondering where he is. He has to get back, but he may come again. He has other things that he could tell her - happier things, more interesting things, things that aren't closely held secrets. He can do that. He should do that.
He resolves to make time for that as he walks away from Bonnie Richmond's grave.