The weight of taking a man’s life has pressed down on me for so long.
This is simply more of the same. The physical as well as the mental.
Like my body has finally caught up to my head. To my soul.
I let myself believe I’d made peace with it. That what I did was justified, that Angie and Jason walked away alive because I pulled the trigger.
But there’s no escaping it. The image comes back every time I close my eyes.
The sound.
The silence that followed.
The way it’s never left me.
Now I’m truly crushed under something I can’t fight.
I don’t know where I am exactly. Somewhere between the moment of the crack, the groan of old wood, the sickening rush of air…and here.
Here feels like nowhere.
But then I sense it.
Warm breath against my palm.
A nudge.
Gentle at first but then more insistent.
A whine.
A low and mournful whine.
It cuts through the disorder in my head.
My dog. Zach.
Loyal. Always loyal.
He’s here, which must mean I’m not completely gone.
I try to move my hand, try to reassure him the way I always do—scratch behind his ears, murmur “good boy”—but nothing happens.
My body doesn’t obey my mind.
Another whine.
A paw pressing into my chest.
The vibration of his throat when he lets out a bark that sounds sharp. Desperate.
And then…
Her.
Tabitha.
A rush of warmth breaks through the numbness.
