Nobody said anything.
The full weight of the confession suddenly dawned on Nick and he didn’t like the way so many sets of eyes were suddenly staring at him. He didn’t want their judgment – not about what had happened to James. They could never understand his loss, or what had occurred in that kitchen. Nick wished he hadn’t spoken, but the words had exploded from him like pus from an infected wound. He hadn’t been able to stem it once it began flowing.
And now they all know. They know what I did.
Nick stood up and tromped his way deeper into the woods, wanting to escape their stares and judgments.
And my own guilt.
A few minutes later he slumped down against an old spruce tree that came up out of the ground at a weird angle. He leant back against its trunk and started bashing his head against the bark, again and again, harder and harder. Eventually he saw stars.
He burst into tears, crying so hard that he thought he might suffocate as the sobs seized his chest and cramped his diaphragm.
James, Deana…I miss you both so much. You’re my world, and you’re not here. I’m alone and going through hell.
What do I do?
How do I go on without you?
As Nick’s grief took hold of him, he wanted to die. He wanted it all to be over.
I can’t go on.
Eventually his body became so weak from sobbing that he could no longer even sustain his own weight. He slid sideways down the spruce’s bark and fell onto his back. He found himself staring up at the grey sky, wondering if it might rain. Covered in dirt and blood, the thought of being cleansed by Mother Nature was comforting. Perhaps the heaven’s themselves would open and drown him in a downpour. He hoped so.
A twig snapped nearby.
Nick rolled onto his chest and looked up in the direction of the noise.
“Hey,” said Eve, stepping over the undergrowth and hiking towards him. She came and knelt down on the ground nearby, stretched out her legs and then lay down right next to him.
Nick sighed. “Hey.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just…getting some stuff out of my system.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For the things I said earlier. Well, pretty much for everything I’ve said to you since we met. I know I’ve been a bit up and down. I’m hormonal at the best of times and this situation certainly isn’t helping.”
“You said I rescued you.” Nick recalled the words she had used.
“Yeah, well…that’s because you did. I just don’t like feeling like I owe anybody anything. It’s a flaw I have. I’m sorry I called your family monsters.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said. “I just don’t want to think of my family as being beyond help. I keep trying to convince myself that this will all blow over and that Deana and James will be waiting for me as soon as I get back home.”
“James is your son?”
“He was my son. I’m pretty sure he’s gone.”
“What happened?”
“He was sick, just like Jake was, and the little girl – and everybody else, I guess. He came running at me in the kitchen like a wild animal, and I-I….I slipped. We both fell down and his head hit the chair.”
“He didn’t come back, like Mr Curtis?”
“No. I was in the house for another ten minutes after that and he stayed…still. Mr Curtis was back on his feet almost right away.”
“Maybe it has something to do with their injuries,” said Eve.
Nick shrugged. “Dead is dead, isn’t it? Why would it matter how they die?”
Another twig snapped.
“You have to go for the head,” said the deep voice of a stranger.
Chapter eight