“Jack,” I rasped, forcing my thoughts into something useful. “Have you seen James? I need to speak with him. I—” I stopped short as the man himself stepped out from the house, his slim frame silhouetted against the dim light spilling from the doorway. His expression was hard, unreadable, but his eyes took me in with something that sat uncomfortably close to pity. “Sayre,” James said, shaking his head, “you can’t be here like this.” It was a strange thing—he was the one wanted for murder, yet here he was, looking at me as though I was the one in need of saving. That absurdity, tangled with exhaustion and too many days of grief rotting in my gut, clawed its way up my throat in a fit of laughter. A mad, broken sound. I sometimes wish I was a drunk of the “blackout” variety. Alas, I am not. So I will get to keep that scene forever. A disapproving old maid, a serious farmer, an alarmed child, and a raving lunatic. What a scene it was.
Grief begins to swallow Sayre whole and his descent into madness begins
#WIPsnips #gravewater #quearying
