The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

So I had come up with the next best thing. Or maybe it was the next worst, depending on one’s point of view. I waited for the funeral procession to make its way closer to the gravesite, and then moved around the opposite side of the tents, heading for the gap in between the tents and the barn. I moved quickly, businesslike but unassuming, not wanting to arrive late and draw attention to myself.

I headed directly for the tree line, pushing a few yards into the wooded area, then hooked back around so that I could come from the opposite direction, the light lower canopy of saplings shrouding me somewhat from view. As I neared the site, I heard the soft sound of voices and slowed down, picking my path as quietly as possible through the dead leaves and twigs littering the forest floor.

An old oak tree with gnarled branches was my destination. It sat far enough back that it blended in with the forest, but was close enough for me to watch the funeral without having to peer past dozens of trees. I approached the grizzled tree, coming to a stop next to it. From my vantage point, I was mostly out of view of the others, but I still had a clear view of the grave.

I watched as Owen placed Ian inside a small wooden box, resting the young boy inside the bright, freshly cut lumber and taking one last look at him. After a minute, he and Amber closed the lid, and Owen began hammering the nails into it one by one. It was hard to watch. With each nail he drove home, Owen’s face grew more and more bleak.

Somehow, he managed to finish the task, pounding in the last nail with a decisive strike from the hammer. He stood up and tossed the hammer to the side in one fluid motion, taking a moment to scrub at his cheeks. Amber and Thomas moved toward him, but he held up a hand and shook his head.

“I’m all right,” he announced hoarsely, his voice carrying to me. I could hear in his words the tears he was fighting back. I reached out and rested my hand on the tree to steady myself, feeling the churning twist of guilt in my gut.

Owen didn’t break down completely. He managed to pull himself together, and, at his nod, Ms. Dale, Thomas, and Amber helped him lower the coffin into the ground, using the two ropes draped across the grave. The box hit the earth, the ropes were pulled up and placed to one side, and then Owen moved to the head of the grave. I could hear his voice clearly from my spot, and though it was faint, none of the emotion was lost.

“My brother was one of the gentlest humans I’ve ever known,” he said. “He cared deeply for every living thing. I was ten when he was born, and even as a baby, he was full of smiles. I promised to be the best big brother I could, but I failed more often than I care to recall. It was only after he was taken that I realized how much I really cared about him, and when our parents didn’t want to help him, I knew what I had to do. I became a better person for him. I started to care about the people around me, forced myself to, really, and after a while, I realized I liked it. And I have him to thank for that.”

He stopped, his voice cracking. Looking away, he gave a shuddering breath, his body trembling. My grip tightened on the bark of the tree, the gnarled texture digging beneath my fingernails. There was a pause as Owen composed himself. When he looked back at the group, determination was stamped across his features.

“My brother didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t. He was too good for it, too pure. It wasn’t just, and it wasn’t fair. All I can hope is those responsible will be made to suffer for the injustice they brought him. And I hope that I’m there to witness it. I tried to save him, and now I will avenge him. This is the vow I make to him, in the hopes that someday, he will find peace.”

I blinked as his words hit me, the cold, angry bite of bitterness in them setting my teeth on edge. I knew Owen was hurting, but I hadn’t realized that hurt inside of him was a seed of anger and violence. I thought of the past he’d mentioned to me while we were dangling from the heloship in the dark, the past he’d mentioned again now. Maybe the old Owen, whoever that was, was reemerging. My heart was racing in my chest. I had played a part in creating this anger eating away at my friend.

Sadness and anger mixed up in my blood, strangling my tongue. Vengeance was a dark path. I vowed, right then and there, that I would be there for Owen, in whatever capacity he needed me. I might not be able to join him on that path, not if it called for cold-blooded murder, but I would try to help him back from that, if he let me.

Thomas picked something up off the ground and moved over to Owen, holding it out to him. As Owen reached out to take it, I saw it was a flat bit of metal with words burnt into the side. It took me a moment, and then I realized it was a makeshift gravestone. Thomas had probably put it together during the night.

As one, the rest of the group began pushing dirt back into the grave, first with their hands, then with shovels. Violet stood by one side with Owen, holding his hand in a comforting way as he watched the dirt fall into the grave. Thomas brought over a wheelbarrow full of small stones. I watched as he began lining them up atop the newly turned earth of the grave, piling them into a mound.

Owen let go of Violet’s hand and moved to stand above it, placing the grave marker against the small half-hill Thomas had created. He held it up while Thomas stacked more stones around it, bracing it from both sides. Once it was done, he stood up, placing a hand on Owen’s shoulder. He had to have said something too low for me to hear, because Owen nodded and offered him another attempted smile.