Screams, lights, blood and the smell of the entire world burning were the last things Seb Taylor remembered as the darkness swam before his eyes and he fell into an endless pit of despair.
He walked from the church, numb, never lifting his eyes from the ground. He’d sat at the back on purpose, trying to keep a low profile. His parents sat either side of him. His arm throbbed and ached, but not as badly as his heart. The car trip out to the cemetery was a blur of dry grass and an endless row of people lining the streets. They stared at him accusingly and he felt their hate burning his flesh like a blow torch.
At the graveside, he tried to listen to the minister’s voice, hear the words that would comfort him, but all he heard was the veiled message that these two young, vibrant lives had been stolen away too soon – by him.
He knew she was standing at the edge of the graves, but he couldn’t look at her. Her face was battered and bruised, the white sling holding her broken arm stark against her black dress. She leaned heavily on her father. This was the second funeral in two days. He refused to look across at the freshly dug earth in the far corner of the cemetery where Marty lay. Seb forced his gaze to remain on the hole between them. It was deep, dark and cold, but nowhere as deep as the hole he carried inside him.
Finally, the droning voice finished and he was free to leave.
And never come back.