“You don’t have any idea where he might have gone?”
Sorrow crept into the woman’s eyes. “Maybe John’s grave? Today is the anniversary of his…” She blinked as tears formed.
“I’m so sorry about John,” Patrick murmured. “Brian didn’t tell me what happened until just recently. I-I didn’t know.”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it. He’s never gotten over the way it happened.”
“Which cemetery is John buried at?”
Brian’s mom told him the name and general location on the grounds where John’s grave could be found.
“I’ll see if he’s there.”
“Patrick.” She touched his arm. “I know things have been bad between you and Brian lately, but he misses you. You’ve always been such a good friend to him, and I think you coming into his life so soon after John’s death helped him deal with it so much better. Thank you.”
Patrick nodded, his throat tight. “Brian’s been a good friend to me, too. This stuff that’s happened recently, we’ll get past it, I have faith in that.”
“So, do I.”
Patrick drove straight to the cemetery and pulled onto the gravel drive that wound through the grounds. When he spotted Brian’s car, he parked behind it and got out. He looked for Brian, but he was nowhere to be seen. Patrick headed off in the general direction of John’s grave. When he found it, Brian wasn’t there.
“Brian!” he called. “It’s Patrick—are you here?”
Silence came back to him.
A sick feeling crept into Patrick’s gut. “Brian!”
A few yards away, a small stand of trees littered the cemetery. Patrick walked that way, calling out to his friend. His voice grew hoarse as he shouted louder and louder.
“Brian—” He stopped short when he came around to the other side of the trees.
Brian sat on the ground, his back against a tree trunk, staring vacantly across the cemetery.
“Hey…” Patrick went to him and knelt. “Brian… are you okay?”
Swallowing slowly, thickly, Brian dragged his hand from beneath his thigh—revealing the handgun.
Instant terror stabbed Patrick. “What… what’re you doing with agun?Where did you get it?”
“My dad’s,” Brian mumbled, his eyes unfocused. “From when he was in the military.”
“Why doyouhave it? Why did you bring ithere?”
Brian’s face crumpled as tears drained from his vacant eyes. “So, I could die with John.”
“What?” Patrick covered his mouth, tears rising. “Brian, what’re you talking about? Why would you…”
“I thought maybe they would tell me it wasn’t my fault,” he whispered hollowly. “I think… deep down… that’s why I went… because I thought they would say it wasn’t my fault.”
“Who?”
Brian swallowed again, a steady stream of tears running down his face. “But they didn’t. They said it was me being afaggotthat killed John… that I was right… I should feel guilty… guilty enough tofixwhat was wrong with me.”
“There’snothingwrong with you,” Patrick choked. “And John’s deathwas not your fault.”A sob broke in his throat. “Just come with me, Brian. You need real help. Someone who can help you deal with all of this.”
Brian trembled, not looking at Patrick. “I tried,” he whispered. “I tried to pull the trigger…” Sobs bubbled up inside him. “But I couldn’t make my parents bury another son… even if I don’t deserve to be alive.”
“Youdo,”Patrick cried. “All this stuff, this pain, it's just got you so messed up inside. But there are people who can help you.” Patrick cautiously reached for the gun, carefully taking it from his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home and get some help.”
