Page 68 of The Dearly Departed

No. My hands gripped the wheel tighter as my eyes widened with fear. I couldn’t tell them what had truly happened. What the hell would I even say? It was bad enough that I’d been to Gerald’s house, even worse in the most tragic way that Leonard had been murdered. I might have been able to tell them all of that, and I might’ve gotten away with their forgiveness, had it not been for the fact that I’d killed a man.

As I pulled up to a red light, I covered my mouth with my palm and squeezed my eyes shut, instantly envisioning the waiter convulsing at my feet as his life rapidly slipped away.

“Oh God,” I groaned, my voice muffled as tears sprang to my eyes. “Oh my God, what the hell am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this shit?”

If I could undo it all, I would, and in a perfect world, maybe even in another realm coexisting alongside this one, none of this would’ve happened at all. Leonard would still be alive. He never would’ve been at Gerald’s fucking birthday party, and neither would I.

But I never would’ve met Analise, I reminded myself, and then I laughed, a sound on the brink of mania. Because meeting a woman who was entirely off-limits was not at all a consolation prize for the things I’d experienced tonight. Leonard’s life was worth more than a few moments of happiness with her, and I would’ve traded anything to simply get him back.

That wasn’t the world I lived in though, and, oh fuck, what I would’ve given to live there instead. But even as I wished to wage war against reality, I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

I was a murderer. Coerced, sure, but that didn’t make me any less guilty. And although I loved my brothers, I didn’t trust them to not turn me in if they knew the truth about what had happened tonight at Seint Manor.

I have to lie.

What I would say, I wasn’t sure yet as I pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot. I supposed I had some time to figure it out, considering the time. Shawn wouldn’t be awake for another couple of hours, and Ike usually slept in until nine, unless there was a funeral to run.

I’d nearly calmed myself down when I parked the hearse, but as I got out, the panic was quick to return when I saw Isaac standing on the porch, just outside the storage room door.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I resisted the urge to beat my fist against the roof of the car as I rounded the rear and headed toward the porch’s backsteps.

“Hey,” I greeted him in as casual of a tone as I could muster while hoping he didn’t say anything about the clothes I was wearing that were very clearly not mine.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ike was quick to ask as I entered the side door into the storage room.

"Where's Shawn?" I asked, figuring I should get this all over with as soon as possible.

I walked through the room full of boxes and supplies, stopping only momentarily inside the doorway to remember that one fateful day when I had been sixteen. That morning when Leonard had found three runaway kids asleep in his funeral home.

He could've called the cops. He could've kicked us out. He could've done a lot of things that day, but instead, he'd seen our desperation for help and taken us in. He fed us, clothed us, gave us work and an education.

But more importantly, he gave us love and guidance. He had made us a family—a real one.

I pressed my hand to the wall and hung my head, fighting the overwhelming urge to crumple to the floor and grieve the man I’d loved more than anyone else I’d ever known. I needed to desperately, as the lump in my throat grew and grew alongside the gaping hole in my chest, and eventually, I would.

But there wasn't time for that now.

First, I needed to talk to my brothers. Somehow, I had to tell them that Leonard was gone, and maybe I could do it without them asking too many questions.

"What the fuck is going on with you?" Ike asked, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you high?"

I wish, I thought as I hesitated, then shook my head. "No."

His nose wrinkled as he raked his scrutinizing gaze over me entirely, and my heart sped toward panic, as I hoped he wouldn’t say anything about what I was wearing.

"What the fuck are you wearing, dude?"

Shit, shit, shit.

I glanced down at the black sweatpants, gray sweatshirt, and too-small sneakers Dean had given me.

"I …"

I slowly shook my head as I thought about every bodily fluid that had splattered onto my clothes, my shoes. All my things that Jesse had taken and tossed into an incinerator to be burned up to nothing but ash after I saw, experienced, did far too much, and, God, what I would've done to simply rewind and put myself back in that library with Analise. Because even though I knew I should have, I couldn't bring myself to regret meeting her.

But I would’ve left immediately after.

I never would’ve sat down for dinner—that was for damn sure.