Page 18 of Infamous
He said nothing as I left, but I could feel his eyes on me the whole way out.
The cold hit me hard outside. The air burned my lungs as I walked fast, nowhere to go but the only place that ever made sense.
The cemetery.
The gate creaked open, metal screaming against the quiet. I followed the path by instinct, feet remembering what my heart always tried to forget.
Her grave waited, quiet and wrong. The air felt colder there, thick with something that rejected my presence. The ground was slick with dew, the soil soft like it had been disturbed too recently. My knees hit the dirt before I could stop them.
Billie Underwood.
The name carved into the stone felt cruel. Final.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
The words tore out of me, shattering the quiet. My forehead pressed to the cold granite. The silence answered back, thick and alive. I felt it crawl under my skin, whispering that I’d never be free.
I stayed like that, breath ragged, the taste of salt and soil heavy on my lips. My fingers dug into the damp earth, clawing at it like I could reach her if I just went deep enough. The smell of wet grass, of stone and decay, clung to me until I couldn’t tell where I ended and the grave began.
Time didn’t move. It just folded in on itself. My sobs came slower, weaker, breaking apart until all that was left was soundless shaking. The air burned in my throat, and every breath burned like a confession.
I whispered her name again. Once. Then again. Nothing. Only the wind moving through the grass, soft and cruel. I wanted a sign. A voice. Anything. But the dead don’t answer, and the living eventually stop trying.
So I stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, broken open and waiting for forgiveness that would never come.
And then I heard the faint crunch of gravel. I spun around, breath catching.
He was there. The man from the café. He looked out of place among the graves; tall, still, half in shadow.
“I was worried,” he said. There he was with that too calm tone again. “You seemed off tonight. I followed you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
It should’ve scared me. A man following me into the cemetery should’ve sent me running. But I didn’t run. Maybe because I didn’t have the energy. Maybe because I’d been waiting for someone to finally see me.
“It’s today,” I whispered. “Four years.”
His eyes flicked to the headstone. He didn’t speak.
“I can still hear it,” I said. “The sound she made when she hit the ground. That thud, it doesn’t fade. It just stays.”
My throat closed, breath breaking apart.
“We were high,” I said. “Stacy was gone. Rita laughed. Billie wouldn’t touch it. She was scared, and Stacy hated that. She hated fear.”
I dug my nails into the wet grass. “They pushed her. Cornered her. She cried. Begged them to stop, but they didn’t.”
I shook all over. “I screamed at them. Told them to stop. They laughed. So I left. I thought leaving would make it stop.” A laugh escaped me, hollow and ruined. “It didn’t. It just meant she was alone when she died.”
I wiped at my face, but the tears kept coming. “I heard it minutes later. That sound. Her body hitting the concrete. I ran back and there was blood everywhere. I tried to save her, but she was gone.”
The night held its breath.
“I don’t know if she jumped,” I whispered. “Or if Stacy pushed her. I just know we all killed her. Every one of us who stood there and let it happen.”
My body folded forward as I turned to her grave again. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “Billie, I’m so fucking sorry.”
The silence after was unbearable. And still, he didn’t move. He just stood there behind me, steady and unflinching.
“I’ve carried that night every day since,” I said. “And it’s killing me.”
