Chapter 36 Xade, 17 Years Old
The sky hangs heavy with clouds, casting a pall of shadows over the unmarked grave. Rain pours in a relentless deluge, quickly turning the dirt beneath my feet into a muddy pit as I stand there. The air lies thick with the wet stench of exhumed earth, perfect for this godforsaken place.
I stand at the edge of my brother's grave, staring at the small plastic placard sticking out of the mud. White raised text against black plastic reads simply: J.S.
No name.
Just initials.
My father's final insult to my only brother.
The death certificate says he committed suicide. I know better than that, though.
Each drop of rain is a frigid slap to my face, pouring through my clothes and nipping at my bones. The storm drums relentlessly as thunder booms overhead.
The longer I stand there, the more my chest tightens with a rage that feels like a living thing trying to claw its way out of me.
My father couldn't even bother to give the state Jonathan's full name. He refused to pay for services, leaving him to rot in this pathetic excuse for a grave.
I never got to know my brother, not like I should have. He was kept at reformatory academies and then orphanages for years, a dirty secret hidden away.
I hate my father for it.
Rain falls from my black hair and runs down my face. It's cold and numbing, but it does nothing to quell the fire of my anger.
Mud squelches beneath my feet as I shift on my heels. It pulls at my boots as though trying to drag me down into the grave with Jonathan.
I wish it would. Anything still human inside of me not destroyed by my father died with my brother.
I stand there for a long time, letting the icy rain pelt my skin. Each drop carves whatever is left of me.
A figure approaches from under the tree, dressed in dark, dingy jeans and a white Henley that has seen better days.
I look over and spot Ezra. He's only a few years older than me, but he's seen too much shit too soon, just like Jonathan, and it makes him seem older than his twenty years.
He stops beside me, looking down at my brother's marker.
Rain runs off the brim of an old, battered hat he wears, pouring in a steady stream to the sodden ground beneath our feet.
"He was a good kid," Ezra says quietly.
I kneel, the mud slopping under my weight, and reach out to run my hand across the placard. I choke on a sob, my anger burning hotter than ever. My father denied Jonathan even a shred of dignity.
I trace the initials "J.S." etched into the surface, the letters a stark reminder of my brother's existence, reduced to anonymity, his last name changed to pose no resemblance to our surname.
The wind picks up, howling as it whips through the nearby trees, their branches swaying and creaking under its force. I look up, the rain blurring my vision, and see Ezra, his head bowed, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
I take a deep breath, the air cold and damp, and force myself to stand.
"I never even got to really know him," I say, more to myself than to Ezra.
"He knew you cared," Ezra says softly. "He remembered better times with your mom."
His words break something inside me, and tears spill over, mingling with the rain on my cheeks. My legs give out, and Ezra kneels beside me, letting me cry.
I'm not sure how long we stay there in the muddy earth, atop my brother's final resting place. Cold wetness from the ground seeps through my pants across my knees and shins, but I hardly notice.
"I should have been there," I choke out after a while. "I should have done something."
Ezra shakes his head. "This isn't your fault, Xade."
As the rain eases, I force myself to stand, and Ezra rises with me. We walk away from the grave in silence, but as we reach the edge of the cemetery, I turn back one last time. My brother's final resting place is barely visible now, obscured by the storm, but I know it's there.
"Thank you for what you did for him," I tell Ezra. "You were there for him when I couldn't be."
Ezra nods, his lips thinning before he bites the inside of his cheek.
"Help me put an end to it?" he asks.
"Anything," I agree instantly.
"The odds are against us."
"Since when have they ever been fair?"
He swallows and nods, his golden-brown eyes finding mine as rain drips from his hat to his shoulders.
"Let's burn it all then," he tells me.
"To hell and back," I say the moment before lightning cleaves the sky to pieces above us.
If we only knew back then, how deep hell really was and what it would require from both of us.