What Could Have Been

Epilogue "I have never known love, only possession..."


Nowhere cemetary was an odd place. Parts of the cemetary had eroded to the point where there were cavernous sections, graves still residing at the bottom of such ravines. He made his way down the staircase, partailly made of crumbling stone and partially buried into the side of the hill, the iron rails scarcely just as intact as the rest of the staircase. And there, at the bottom of the ravine, he found his father's grave.

Frederick Bertram Burns

The Raven

Beloved son, friend, husband, father

He had visited his father many times as a boy, walking to the cemetary by himself after school. He would read him poetry he had written for english class as well as other poems he wouldn't share with anyone.

After a few moments, he turned and made his way to the iron staircase once again. Much like Muriel's grave, he would rather look at her face than her grave. They were with him just as much staring at their photographs as they were standing at their graves.

Climbing up the iron staircase and crumbling stone steps, he made his way to a familiar spot adorned with withering lillies. He placed a filled glass vase filled with snow white lillies and just enough water to keep them alive. He stayed there longer than he had at Muriel and his father's grave.

He saved the one that hurt the most for last. He never avoided her grave, he made it a point not to, but he always had to prepare himself. No matter how much he grieved for her, her death hurt the most.

With one last look at his mother's name, he made his way to a particular tree, his eyes blurring before he got to her gravestone. Allowing the tears to spill down his face, he gazed at her name.

Lindsey Burns-Crane

Beloved daughter, best friend, wife

He had requested that they place best friend before wife. She had always been his best friend first and foremost.

He placed a bouquet of pink and white roses ("She always loved pink and white roses-") before her, secured within their clear blue water filled vase. Every delicate pink rose he had placed on her pillow, every white rose he had presented to her as a surprise, an attempt to make up for what he had done.

Who he had been to her...


Doing his best to ignore Muriel calling for Courage outside, he dialed Lindey's number. What if she had moved on? What if she found someone else? What if it was too late to reach out to her? What if he had pushed her away for good? After what felt like the tenth ring, his stomach crumpled in disappointment. Just as he made to hang up the phone, he heard someone pick up.

"Hello?" Came a familiar, out of breath, feminine voice.

"Lindsey?"

"Oh, Fred! Did you see the meteor? I thought I was going to die-"

"That's precisely why I called you," He said, deciding that this was the more organic approach, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah - are you?"

"Forgive me for not calling you sooner. I was teribly sick and I couldn't get out of bed."

That wasn't exactly a lie.

"Pish posh! As long as you're okay, that's all that matters to me! I honestly thought you were dead because you didn't call me to check-" She paused, "But then again, because of our last conversation, I thought maybe you didn't want to talk to me. I've been debating whether or not to drive over and make sure if you were still alive or if I should just leave you alone-"

"I want to see you."

"Oh yeah?" He could hear a supressed, girlish giggle from the other end.

"There's-"

Once he said this, there was no turning back, he had to go through with this.

"There's something I want to tell you," He swallowed, "I want to explain why I've been so...off."

"Of course!"

"Would you like to meet me for coffee this afternoon?"

"I can hardly wait!"


...He had taken the photographs out of their frame so they would fit better in the safety deposit box, glancing at Muriel and his parents before placing them into the box with his other possessions. His father's music box. His journal from all those years ago, the taped pages reminding him of what he had overcome...

...As if that still mattered.

Placing the picture of Lindsey and their wedding photo side by side, he covered his face with his hand so that the resplendent kilt Muriel had made for him was the only part of him that he could see.

He didn't want to look at himself.

For a long time, he couldn't bring himself to put her pictures into the safety deposit box. When he was able to, he slipped off his wedding ring, placing it beneath her smiling face, along side her own wedding ring. Her engagement ring beset with a deepening garnet, their shared birthstone. After a long moment, he shut the box, never to see her face or his possessions ever again...


"Hey!" She grinned, her short blonde hair cut shorter than the last time he saw her, "You got a haircut too! Great minds think alike-"

Her face fell at once and she gasped.

"What happened to your neck?"

He had considered hiding the dark bruises on his neck, deciding that it didn't matter if anyone saw them.

"I tried to strangle myself to death."

She stared at him as though she didn't know what to say.

Attempting to make things less awkward, he asked about her mother and whether she or anyone had been hurt during the meteor. He felt relieved to hear that, as far as Lindsey was aware, no one had been seriously hurt. Between slices of frosted zucchini bread and several refills of coffee, he asked her as many questions as he could about her mother and herself, wishing to dely the inevitable for as long as he could.

He took a deep breath. She smelled of strawberries and cream, how strawberries tasted and how cream smelled.

Talking about Enid wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, no longer hiding his true feelings behind a grin or a smile. No part of him wanted to cry, having already cried and screamed out his sorrows long ago. If anything, he found himself eager to get everything out, talking mostly to his half drunken cup of coffee. He told her memories he had completely forgotten about until that very moment, making a note to himself to write them down in his journal later.

He didn't know what he would gain from this. There was nothing to gain from this. He decided that he didn't care if anyone else in the coffee shop heard him murmuring all of this. He didn't care about his reputation anymore.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." Her gentle whisper cracked like glass, "I didn't mean it. I didn't do it on purpose. Had I known-"

"Shh..." He whispered, mostly to his cup, "I'm not angry at you."

"I feel like you were angry at me."

"I wasn't angry at you, never you..."

He met her moldavite green eyes.

"...But I did take my anger out on you."

She held his eyes, searching him.

"...And I'm so sorry."

He touched his chin, indicating his mouth, "I'm sorry I was...rough to you in that motel room."

She chuckled through her nose.

"Hey, I liked it. I like it rough."

She gave him a wink and his heart lifted in hope.

"I loved everything you did to me in that motel room, Fred, you don't even know..."

He saw her pull her hand away as though she had intended to touch him. He studied her deepening eyes.

"Fred? Can I hold your hand? I know you said that you didn't want to be touched..."

He glanced at his hands, having rested his arms around his coffee cup and turned his left hand over, his fingers and palm open to her. She took gentle hold of his fingers and he returned the gesture, squeezing her fingers in his own,

He tried to recall the last time they had held hands.

If they had ever held hands before...


...He stood outside the bank, taking a moment to place the safety deposit key on the key ring. He wondered what would become of his possessions once he died, if anyone would care enough to take care of them or if they would be thrown away upon opening the safety deposit box. Perhaps his possessions and what he treasured most would only be cared for as long as he was alive, that once he died, everything that mattered to him would die too.

He made his way to Eustace's truck, climbing inside and started up the truck. He had one more stop to make.

He parked Eustace's truck and pocketed the key ring before he crossed the unpaved road, towards the array of tents contained within an enclosure made up of several wooden fencing and a cornfield that surrounded the bazaar. Within the enclosure, several of the stalls had closed up and a few people still milled about here and there, though it was clear that it was nearing closing time. It wasn't long before he spotted a caravan and it's familar owner seated behind a table filled with an array of items.

"Shirley."

"I read your wife's obiturary in the paper. So sad. My condolences."

"Did you cause my wife's death?"

Shirley glared at him.

"I'm not responsible for every bad thing that happens around here."

"Did you know she was going to die?"

"Your wife never did anything to me or to Courage, so I have no reason to curse her. So get off my back already."

"You wanted to hurt me."

"As much as I hate you, I wouldn't kill your wife just to spite you. I'd rather kill you instead." She glowered at him, "However, Courage insisted that I leave the dirty work to him."

"Do you know where Courage is?"

"That is for me to know and for you to find out."

Shirley held his gaze.

"I also read in the paper that Enid is dead. She tried stabbing another inmate and said inmate overpowered her and stabbed her to death. She got what she deserved, didn't she?"

Fred strode out of the bazaar, refusing to look back at her.

With nothing else to do but wait for death, he headed homewards...


...Stopping the truck in front of the farmhouse, he already felt as though someone or something were there. He glanced around, studying the treeless fields and each glinting window of the farmhouse. There was no sign of anyone.

Climbing out of Eustace's truck, he glanced around the vast empty land once more before he made his way towards the farmhouse. At the door, he paused, his feet cementing him to the spot. He could sense that someone was inside the house, his instincts barking at him to get in the truck and drive off, and for a moment, he considered it. Had Lindsey been there with him, he would have carried her back to the truck, determined to get her as far away from the farmhouse as he could.

Where could he go?

What else was left to do?

With this decided, he turned the key and stepped into the house, the otherwise dimly lit living room awashed with the dying sun.

Placing Eustace's truck key and the safety deposit key on the kitchen table, he strode to the sink and filled a glass of water suddenly finding himself very thirsty. From behind him came a sudden click.

As slowly as he could, he placed his half drunken glass of water on the counter, expecting to feel a sudden pain in his back at any moment. Just as slowly, he held his hands up and slowly, slowly, turned to see Courage standing in the doorway, the end of his revolver pointing straight at him.


He thought he had grown numb to the thought of losing Muriel. However, seeing her obituary in the newspaper proved him wrong. Running to the highest rock in Nowhere, he had screamed and yelled until he couldn't anymore. Once he had calmed down, he told himself that if he had met with her before she died, she still wouldn't have acknowledged what Fred had done to him. He watched her funeral from afar, promising her that he would visit her later.

"Get in the basement." Courage nodded towards the door.

"Might I suggest that you get a bag to put over my head? You wouldn't want to dirty their basement."

"I'm burning the place down. So it won't matter if I get the basement dirty. Besides, I want to look into your eyes when I pull the trigger."

Courage followed closely behind the freaky barber, who took his time walking down the stairs.

"I've boarded up the windows and put a padlock on the basement doors." He said, "No one will see what we're doing and you won't be able to get out. On your knees."

He watched as the freaky barber did as he was told.

"I'll be honest, I'm kind of disappointed," Courage said, "I kind of hoped I would have to chase you down. I was really looking forward to hunting you down. And now, you're just going to die on your knees..."

"If my wife were still alive, I would have run."

"So, you managed to get married, huh? Tell me, what horrible things did you do to your wife?"

Fred gave an audible smirk.

"Does it matter anymore?"

Courage returned his smirk.

"No. It doesn't."

All the while, Courage tried to ignore his pounding heart and the adrenaline that caused his voice to waver.

This was really it.

He was really going to kill Fred.

He was actually going to kill Fred.

He should have felt elated.

But instead, he was trying his best not to hyperventilate.

"Any last words?" He stammered, "Any last words you want to say before I pull the trigger? You want to tell me that you love me again? Go ahead. Say it. I know you want to say it. Look me in the eyes and tell me you love me. I know you want to. Go on. Say it."

Fred took a deep breath, his adam's apple bobbing within his milky throat and met Courage's gaze. His green eyes felt as though the freaky barber were physically holding onto him.

"...I love you, Lindsey."

Courage hadn't expected that, having to catch himself from lowering his gun.

"...What happened to her?"

"She's dead. She died the night we were married."

"...That's awful. She always seemed like a good person."

"She was a good person."

"She didn't deserve you. She didn't deserve to be married to you..."

"For your information, she was the one who proposed to me-"

"I don't care. Just the fact that she married you of all people on this earth makes me sick. She deserved better."

"Might I make another suggestion? Might I suggest that you shoot me here-" Fred pointed to a particular spot on his head, "That way you'll kill me instantly...Unless you want me to suffer-"

Pointing his gun towards the ceiling, Courage pulled the trigger.

The deafeaning painful noise nearly caused him to drop the gun onto the concrete.

As the pain in his ears subsided, he dared to look at the freaky barber, looking him over for any sign of blood, any indication that he had somehow been shot despite the fact that he had pointed the gun away from him.

He hated himself for feeling relieved.

Relieved that the gun was no longer cocked and a threat to them.

Relieved that he had not shot the freaky barber.

The very reason he was here in the first place.

"I want you to shut up, that's what I want." He snapped, checking to make sure the safety was on, "I thought a lot of how I wanted to kill you. I had a dream that I suffocated you with a pillow. But then it occurred to me that I didn't want to suffocate you or strangle you or deprive you of air in any way. You know- just how Crane wanted to kill you?"

The glimmer in the freaky barber's green eyes caused him to point his gun at Fred once again, checking again to make sure the safety was on.

"I thought of a more fitting way to kill you."

"How so?"

"Open your mouth."

Fred opened his mouth without a moment's hesitation. Checking the safety once more, Courage placed the gun in the freaky barber's mouth as gingerly as he could.

"Close your mouth."

Fred wrapped his mouth around the gun barrel without hesitation. Courage could feel the pressure and how hard the freaky barber was holding the gun with his mouth. It made him nauseous. Fred chuckled through his nose. The vibration against his hand made Courage want to throw up.

"Stop laughing, you sicko!"

Courage felt his paws sweat, scared the gun would slip and fall from his hands and it would go off and kill Fred, or that it would slip and he would accidentally pull the trigger anyway.

The world stopped.

He was scared of killing Fred.

Scared.

More scared than he had ever been in his life.

Why?

Why now?

Why now when he had him exactly where he wanted him?

"Stop-" He said unsure whether to himself or Fred, or both, "Let go-"

Fred looked at him in confusion. The fact that Fred was holding onto his gun with his mouth freaked him out.

"Fred, let go-"

Heart pounding, Courage took the gun out of the freaky barber's mouth as gingerly as he had placed it in his mouth.

He ignored the string of saliva.

"You forced pancakes into my mouth. You forced your finger into my mouth. It's only fitting that I forced something into your mouth."

"I put pancakes in your mouth because I was trying to quiet you. It wasn't a sex thing. I didn't get off on it."

"You raped me. It's only fitting that I rape you as well-"

He knew this wasn't technically rape. The pancakes in his mouth weren't rape. He didn't want to put his paw or any part of his body into the freaky barber's mouth. This was the closest that he could get to raping the freaky barber.

"So, I deserve to be raped now? I thought you said that I didn't deserve to be raped-"

"I never said that!"

"I asked you if I deserved to be raped and you said no. I suppose you changed your mind since then?"

"You don't know how I feel. You can't compare what happened to you to what you did to me. You don't know how I feel-"

When Lindsey kissed him in Fred's memories, he had thought this is how Fred must have felt.

Being kissed when he didn't want to be kissed.

He didn't want Lindsey's mouth on his.

Because he felt like he was intruding on a private memory.

Seeing, hearing and feeling things he shouldn't know about.

Because she was a human and he was a dog and he wasn't supposed to know what it felt like.

"...But I tried Courage. I really tried."

He was sick of sympathizing with Fred when the freaky barber had no idea how he felt.

"You were raped by a woman!" Courage snapped, "You were raped by a woman! It's not the same thing! You don't know how it feels to be raped by another man!"

"...How do you know I wasn't?"

Courage stopped.

"Little Freddy."

Why the wolf with Crane's voice always spoke to the freaky barber in a...

...Sexual tone.

Why the wolves always touched him.

Rubbing their bodies against his.

He remembered the wolf with Crane's voice putting his hand on Fred's pelvis.

"...If you know how it feels, then why did you do that to me? Why did you shave me?"

"Because it wasn't sexual! It wasn't sexual to me! I didn't think of it as sexual until Enid raped me! Shaving you wasn't sexual-"

"Well, it was-"

"I know it was, damnit!" His voice crumpled into a watery laugh, "I know it was..."

"...Both your rapists are dead." Courage said, "Both your rapists were punished. But you were never punished. You were showered with cookies and pancakes."

He ground his teeth, the sound loud in his head.

"That's what I hate most about you. You were loved-"

He hated the sob that tightened his throat.

"Muriel didn't get angry at you. Everytime I expressed my anger, she punished me. She never punished you."

"I'm here, Courage. I'm right here-"

"No! It's not the same! I don't want to punish you! I want Muriel to punish you! If I punish you, it won't be enough! It will never be enough-"

Tears glazed his vision.

"I wish I never met Muriel. I wish I went with my parents into outer space. I wish I never stayed on Earth-"

Sobbing loudly, he placed the barrel against his own head.

"Courage, don't! Please-"

"I wish I was never born! I wish I was never alive! I don't want to be alive-"

Tears blinded him and he stood screaming and sobbing at the top of his lungs. The freaky barber bawling and pleading with him as though he were a frightened child instead of a grown man.

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture his parent's smiling faces, the love in their eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

"Courage-"

He pulled the trigger-

-starting, he opened his eyes, still blinded by tears.

He forgot to take the safety off.

Fred smacking his hand felt more jarring than anything else. He heard the gun clattering away from them, feeling himself being pulled against the freaky barber's chest.

"Get off of me-"

"Courage-"

"I hate you. I hate you-" He sobbed against Fred's neck, hating him, hating his smell, hating Muriel, hating himself.

"I'm sorry, Courage. I'm so sorry..."


"...When I was thirteen years old, I had...I suppose what you would call a psychotic break. But it was more than a psychotic break. It felt as though my entire brain had changed overnight."

He touched the side of his empty glass.

"If I touched this glass, I would turn into a tape worm. The fears always changed. The thought pattern was always the same. If you do this, this will happen. But the fears always changed. I remember when it first started, there was a knot in the floor. Our floors were made of wood and there was a particular knot that looked like a worm curled on it's side and my brain said if I stepped on it, I would turn into a tape worm. If I drank certain drinks or ate certain foods I would turn into a tape worm. I remember brushing my hand against the logs for our woodstove and there was a small patch of lichen on the wood and I tried removing the bark so that the lichen wouldn't get burned in the fire and I recalled my brain saying if I burnt this particular log or this lichen I would turn into a lichen and get burned in the woodstove. I actually hid the log in my room and I kept it hidden, I didn't want to put it in the woods because I was afraid someone would find it and burn it. From that moment on, anything that I touched or eat or drank could turn me into a lichen. I had these fears that I would turn into crystal and once I turned to crystal I would shatter. As a boy, that really scared me for some reason, the thought of turning into crystal and shattering. Because I refused to eat, I actually ended up going to the hospital and they had to feed me through a tube."

Fred held up his arm, touching the spot where the tube had been inserted.

"I went to the hospital several times when I was a boy because I wouldn't eat."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Courage murmured.

"What I used to be scared of doesn't scare me anymore. In a way..."

Fred laughed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

"...I miss having those fears. I miss being afraid of death..."


...It was sometime after the two of them had stopped crying that Courage felt the freaky barber carry him upstairs into the kitchen, placing him in a chair at the kitchen table. Courage sat there, hearing a glass being filled behind him.

"Courage?"

Fred placed a glass of water in front of him, placing his own glass of water on the table and pulling his chair closer to him.

"You lost a lot of water. It'll make you feel better."

Fred knew.

They both knew.

That nothing would make him feel better...

...But they were past arguing about this.

Headache pounding behind his eyes, Courage sipped at the ice water, not caring if Fred had slipped something in it. He didn't care anymore.

He was past caring about anything.

For a long moment, they just sat, sipping their water, as the last array of firey light vanished and the world shrouded them in deep purple shadows and he could barely make out Fred's green eyes in the dim. The air smelled like tears.

The freaky barber cleared his throat thickly.

"Courage? Would you feel better if-" He heard the freaky barber swallow, "If I went back to the Home? If you wanted to stay here, I could go back..."

"I wish you would stop pretending to do the right thing. I know you don't want to go back."

Fred laughed in such a way that made Courage feel as though he were looking at Fred for the very first time. The real Fred. Without any of the personas that the freaky barber had displayed up until that point.

"...No. I don't."


Courage sighed.

"I'm going for a walk."

Fred hesitated before following him out into the moonlit night.

"Courage-"

Courage held his eyes as though waiting for him to say something. Panicked, Fred felt around, trying to think of what he wanted to say.

What was left that could be said?

"...I'm just going for a walk." Courage muttered.

Fred nodded, holding his eyes.

He watched as Courage, ears and tail drooped, made his way down the moonlit road, straining to keep him in his sight for as long as he could.

He never saw Courage again.

He stood long after Courage had disappeared from view, rubbing his arms. He would have stayed there longer had he not felt cold, the instincts that caused him to rub at his arms urged him to get out of the starlit cold and warm himself up.

The instincts that drove him to eat, to use the bathroom, to warm himself up, to make himself comfortable had always made him feel as though he weren't as heartbroken or as grief stricken as he thought he was. Though he knew, deep down in his very heart, that had never been the case.


"I have never known love, only possession

And despite such a confession

I must make mention

That I still long for what could have been.

Fred."