path surrounded with flowers and grass. The place is pretty nice for a cemetery. No spider webs. It’s not creepy-looking.
Turning my head, I realize we have lost most of our audience. They must have figured going to a grave was less interesting tha n witnessing an act of heroism.
Some curious kids from the park trail us , along with some older kids.
Kale stops us before a white grave. It’s very long, most likely because Stretch’s body was stretched out when he died and he couldn’t fit into a regular sized coffin. As I study it, I swallow and blink repeatedly to prevent tears. I didn’t realize how hard this would be. I doubt I’ll last long before breaking down.
Kale places his hand on my arm. I barely feel it.
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I curse Vlayne and the Blades for causing this. They should be the ones lying in here, not my best friend.
I look at the plaque nailed onto the tombstone. Herein lies a hero fallen before his time. Stretch will always be remembered for his bravery, courage, and honesty.
He was never a brave guy—was scared of his own shadow. But that day in the dungeon, moments before his death, he was the bravest person I knew. He was willing to risk his life to save Samson, who was about to be assassinated.
“Do you feel him?” Kale asks.
I close my eyes as something blows around my head, th rough my mask. It’s only the wind. “No.”
A twig cracks, and Kale and I whirl around. The kids and teens from the park are staring at us. Kale waves them over. “Do you know who this is?”
Their faces are blank .
“He was our best friend,” Kale says. “His name was Stretch.” He tells them a few stories. How funny Stretch was, how his favorite hobby was eating, how he made weird shapes with his body.
“How did he die?” a little girl asks.
Kale hesitates, his head lowered. “Villains.” He motions for them to follow him as he shows them other heroes’ graves.
I bend down and run my fingers along Stretch’s grave. Let the tears roll over my mask, down my cheeks, and drip onto my uniform.
“This isn’t fair,” I whisper, lying down on the grave and spreading my arms over it. “You shouldn’t be down there. I should be.” Because it was my idea to escape. My stupid idea.
The wind blows at me, stronger this time. Maybe Kale’s right. Maybe I do feel him. If he’s sending me a message, it’s probably to tell me not to cry over him.
“I don’t care,” I mutter, not bothering to wipe my new tears. “I’m going to kill her for you. I promise. Just wish you can do this with Kale and me. I miss the three of us conspiring. Was fun.”
I remain slumped over his grave for a while. Then I walk down a narrow pathway to Glen’s grave. I drop down on that one, too. “I’ll kill her for you, Glen,” I whisper. “I’ll make sure she suffers.” Even though he died peacefully in his sleep, he didn’t live in peace. Those few months of not remembering what day it was, or what he thought about, or what visions he had—that was suffering. Many lives were lost because of that. Tragedies could have been prevented.
Damn, Vlayne. Damn her.
When I hear Kale and the kids returning, I raise my head and wipe my eyes.
Kale’s eyes are wide. Stealth sent me a message. The Nightmares called an emergency meeting.
I jump to my feet. Let’s go.
We wave to the kids, telling the teens to make sure they get the younger ones home safe, and leave. It’s a long bike ride home for us. I hope Stealth will be okay.
Can you contact her ? I ask him.
She’s not answering .
My stomach twists . Something doesn’t feel right.
As we ride, I try to push the worry out of my head and focus on something else. My thoughts go to Stretch—to our friendship, the moment before, during, and after his death. I think about Glen and the close bond we formed. Shutting my eyes for a second, I try to push the thoughts away, too, but they’re stubborn.
Maybe we can do this again , Kale says.
Turning my head, I realize we have lost most of our audience. They must have figured going to a grave was less interesting tha n witnessing an act of heroism.
Some curious kids from the park trail us , along with some older kids.
Kale stops us before a white grave. It’s very long, most likely because Stretch’s body was stretched out when he died and he couldn’t fit into a regular sized coffin. As I study it, I swallow and blink repeatedly to prevent tears. I didn’t realize how hard this would be. I doubt I’ll last long before breaking down.
Kale places his hand on my arm. I barely feel it.
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I curse Vlayne and the Blades for causing this. They should be the ones lying in here, not my best friend.
I look at the plaque nailed onto the tombstone. Herein lies a hero fallen before his time. Stretch will always be remembered for his bravery, courage, and honesty.
He was never a brave guy—was scared of his own shadow. But that day in the dungeon, moments before his death, he was the bravest person I knew. He was willing to risk his life to save Samson, who was about to be assassinated.
“Do you feel him?” Kale asks.
I close my eyes as something blows around my head, th rough my mask. It’s only the wind. “No.”
A twig cracks, and Kale and I whirl around. The kids and teens from the park are staring at us. Kale waves them over. “Do you know who this is?”
Their faces are blank .
“He was our best friend,” Kale says. “His name was Stretch.” He tells them a few stories. How funny Stretch was, how his favorite hobby was eating, how he made weird shapes with his body.
“How did he die?” a little girl asks.
Kale hesitates, his head lowered. “Villains.” He motions for them to follow him as he shows them other heroes’ graves.
I bend down and run my fingers along Stretch’s grave. Let the tears roll over my mask, down my cheeks, and drip onto my uniform.
“This isn’t fair,” I whisper, lying down on the grave and spreading my arms over it. “You shouldn’t be down there. I should be.” Because it was my idea to escape. My stupid idea.
The wind blows at me, stronger this time. Maybe Kale’s right. Maybe I do feel him. If he’s sending me a message, it’s probably to tell me not to cry over him.
“I don’t care,” I mutter, not bothering to wipe my new tears. “I’m going to kill her for you. I promise. Just wish you can do this with Kale and me. I miss the three of us conspiring. Was fun.”
I remain slumped over his grave for a while. Then I walk down a narrow pathway to Glen’s grave. I drop down on that one, too. “I’ll kill her for you, Glen,” I whisper. “I’ll make sure she suffers.” Even though he died peacefully in his sleep, he didn’t live in peace. Those few months of not remembering what day it was, or what he thought about, or what visions he had—that was suffering. Many lives were lost because of that. Tragedies could have been prevented.
Damn, Vlayne. Damn her.
When I hear Kale and the kids returning, I raise my head and wipe my eyes.
Kale’s eyes are wide. Stealth sent me a message. The Nightmares called an emergency meeting.
I jump to my feet. Let’s go.
We wave to the kids, telling the teens to make sure they get the younger ones home safe, and leave. It’s a long bike ride home for us. I hope Stealth will be okay.
Can you contact her ? I ask him.
She’s not answering .
My stomach twists . Something doesn’t feel right.
As we ride, I try to push the worry out of my head and focus on something else. My thoughts go to Stretch—to our friendship, the moment before, during, and after his death. I think about Glen and the close bond we formed. Shutting my eyes for a second, I try to push the thoughts away, too, but they’re stubborn.
Maybe we can do this again , Kale says.
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