♡

The house is quiet when I arrive back that morning.

My body aches.

I'm not sure if its from the night in the RV or the pain manifesting from witnessing Kenny finding his father dead.

Torn apart by those monsters.

I can still hear him crying.

Wailing.

I drag my feet to the kitchen.

Under the aching of my muscles lies a hungry stomach.

Screaming for anything to satiate it.

I find Nathan and Sarah in the kitchen.

Its strangely quiet.

Nathan looks up from the kitchen table.

His expression immediately changes.

"Oh, thank God."

The relief in his voice catches me off guard.

Like he'd been waiting.

Like he'd been worried.

Sarah stands by the sink.

Her back turned.

Completely motionless.

For a second, I think she hasn't heard me.

Then-

"I heard what happened."

Her voice is soft.

Too soft.

I swallow.

"Yeah."

Nothing else comes out.

The image of Kenny still sits behind my eyes.

Nathan rubs a hand down his face.

"Jesus," he mutters.

"Poor Kenny."

Sarah doesn't say anything.

Doesn't turn around.

Doesn't ask questions.

Doesn't ask if anyone else got hurt.

The silence stretches.

Uncomfortable.

Wrong.

I look at her.

"Sarah?"

Her shoulders tense.

Just for a second.

Then relax.

"I'm okay," she says.

The answer comes too quickly.

Nathan stands.

Walks over to her.

His hand finds her shoulder naturally.

Protectively.

Something about the gesture makes my stomach twist.

Not because it's strange.

Because it feels practiced.

Like he's been doing it all day.

Like he's already calming her down from something.

The thought disappears as quickly as it comes.

I sink onto a chair at the little table in the kitchen.

My hands still won't stop shaking.

"Kenny found him," I whisper.

The words sound foreign.

Nathan closes his eyes.

Sarah grips the edge of the counter.

Hard.

So hard her knuckles turn white.

I find myself rising from the chai and making my way over to her.

"Sarah-"

She doesn't let me finish my sentence before she turns around and crushes into me.

The forces rocks me back a bit.

"Hey, it's okay. I got you."

I hold onto her as tight as I can muster.

Her breath is quick and I can feel her heart racing.

"I-I wish you here last night. I was so scared."

Her voice is small. Weak.

A choked sound escapes her.

Her hands clutch the back of my shirt.

Tight.

Desperate.

My chest tightens.

God.

Of course she's falling apart.

Everyone is.

Everything that happened today-

Kenny-

Mr. Liu-

None of it feels real.

I hold her tighter.

"It's okay," I whisper.

The biggest lie I've ever told.

Because none of this is okay.

Nothing about this place is okay.

Sarah shakes against me.

Nathan stands but doesn't move closer.

He just watches.

A strange expression on his face.

Sadness.

Worry.

And something else.

Something heavier.

Like he's afraid of what might happen if she lets go.

"I know," Sarah whispers.

The words are so quiet I almost miss them.

"I know."

I assume she's talking about Mr. Liu.

About Kenny.

About all of us.

--

The house is quiet again.

After staring at the wall for about an hour, I mustered up the strength to shower and find some clean clothes.

A pair of jeans a size too big and a turtleneck probably from two decades ago.

Sighing, I look at myself in the mirror.

My eyes are red.

Tired.

Overwhelmed.

I barely recognize myself.

Shaking my head, I push the thought down and make my way downstairs.

A walk.

A walk should do me some good.

Before all of this, I would walk all the time.

I found solace in the quiet. In nature.

But now, I find myself walking through town with the echoes of Kenny's cries running in my brain.

The church was the last place I wanted to be.

Which was probably why I ended up there.

The afternoon sun hung high over the town.

People moved slower than usual.

Nobody spoke above a murmur.

The entire place felt bruised.

Like everyone was trying very hard not to touch the wound.

I stopped at the bottom of the church steps.

The doors stood open.

Warm light spilled onto the wooden porch.

Father Khatri sat near the entrance with a cup of coffee in his hands.

He wasn't reading.

Wasn't praying.

Sitting.

Watching the town.

Thinking.

The sight of him made something uncomfortable twist in my stomach.

Because if I was being honest-

I'd been avoiding him.

Ever since I got here.

It wasn't personal.

I didn't dislike him.

Actually, that was part of the problem.

He was too kind.

Too patient.

Too priest-like.

Growing up, priests only ever appeared when things had already gone wrong.

Funerals.

Hospital rooms.

Family tragedies people whispered about behind closed doors.

You didn't talk to a priest because things were fine.

You talked to one because something terrible had happened.

And some irrational part of me had apparently decided that if I never stepped inside the church-

if I never sat down with Father Khatri-

then maybe this place wouldn't become real.

Maybe it would stay temporary.

Manageable.

Something I could wake up from.

It was stupid.

I knew it was stupid.

But fear made people superstitious.

Then Kenny found his father.

And suddenly-

none of that mattered anymore.

Because there are certain things that break through every wall you've built.

Certain moments that leave no room for pretending.

I swallowed.

Father Khatri looked up.

For a moment, I considered turning around.

Pretending I had somewhere else to be.

But his expression softened.

Not surprised.

Not curious.

Expectant.

As though he'd been waiting.

"Afternoon," he said.

His voice was warm.

Easy.

Like we had spoken a hundred times before.

I climbed the steps.

"Hi."

The wooden boards creaked beneath my feet.

I lingered awkwardly near the railing.

He looked at the empty spot beside him.

Then back at me.

A small smile.

"I promise I don't bite."

The joke was gentle.

Careful.

Enough to ease the tension without drawing attention to it.

Despite myself, I laughed.

A quiet, tired sound.

"I know."

"Do you?"

One eyebrow lifted.

The smile never left his face.

"I was beginning to think I'd done something to offend you."

Heat immediately flooded my cheeks.

Oh.

Oh no.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

I looked down at my shoes.

"I didn't offend you, did I?"

The question wasn't accusatory.

Just curious.

I sighed.

"I think..."

The words caught.

How was I supposed to explain something so ridiculous?

"I think I've been avoiding you."

Father Khatri took a sip of his coffee.

"That much I've gathered."

The lack of judgment somehow made it worse.

"I don't know why."

A lie.

A terrible one.

Because I did know.

I just didn't want to say it out loud.

The silence stretched.

Patient.

Waiting.

"I mean..." I continued, "...I know why."

The breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

"Growing up, priests meant bad news."

The confession came quietly.

"Funerals. Hospitals. Family emergencies."

I folded my hands together.

"You talked to priests when somebody died."

A pause.

"When things got serious."

Father Khatri nodded.

Not interrupting.

Not correcting me.

"So I guess..."

I laughed softly.

"...some part of me thought that if I stayed away from the church, then maybe none of this was actually happening."

The words sounded childish.

Embarrassing.

Yet completely true.

For several moments, he said nothing.

Then-

"That's remarkably human."

I looked over.

His expression was thoughtful.

Understanding.

"Really?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"My dear, people avoid reminders of pain all the time."

He glanced toward the church behind us.

"Mine just happens to have a makeshift alter"

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound surprised me.

The warmth in his eyes softened.

And neither of us mentioned this morning.

Neither of us mentioned the clinic.

Or Kenny.

Or the fact that, in the worst moment I'd experienced since arriving here-

I'd found myself standing beside him.

Some things didn't need to be spoken aloud.

The silence held them anyway.

For a while, we simply sat.

Watching people move through town.

Listening to distant conversations carried by the wind.

The world continuing despite everything.

And somehow-

that felt heavier than anything else.

Because life was still happening.

The sun was still shining.

People were still drinking coffee.

Still fixing fences.

Still talking.

As though Kenny hadn't fallen apart in front of all of us.

My throat tightened.

"I keep hearing him," I said quietly.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Father Khatri didn't ask who.

He already knew.

And in that moment-

I realized why I'd come here at all.

Not because he was a priest.

But because he was the only person in town who had seen exactly what I'd seen.

And that mattered more than either of us needed to say.

The silence stretched between us.

Heavy.

Full of things neither of us had to explain.

People moved through town below the church steps.

Life continuing.

People carrying groceries.

Talking.

Fixing things.

As if this morning had happened to somebody else.

As if Kenny hadn't shattered right in front of us.

I hated that.

I hated how normal everything looked.

My fingers twisted together.

The words left me before I could stop them.

"I keep hearing him."

The confession was barely above a whisper.

Father Khatri didn't ask who.

Didn't make me say it.

He simply nodded.

The understanding hurt more than if he'd asked.

"I know."

The gentleness in his voice nearly undid me.

I stared out at the road.

The sunlight was too bright.

The air too warm.

Everything felt wrong.

"He sounded..."

The sentence died.

I swallowed.

Tried again.

"He sounded like a kid."

My throat tightened.

"Not... not an adult."

The memory hit all over again.

Kenny dropping to his knees.

The disbelief.

The panic.

The absolute devastation in his voice.

My breathing became uneven.

"He sounded like somebody who needed his dad."

The tears came faster than I expected.

Hot.

Sudden.

Embarrassing.

I looked away.

Wiping at my face.

"God."

A shaky laugh escaped me.

"I don't even know why this is hitting me so hard."

Father Khatri was quiet.

For a long time.

"Because you're human."

The answer was so simple that I almost laughed.

Instead-

more tears came.

I hated crying.

Always had.

Especially in front of other people.

Especially in front of people I barely knew.

"I barely knew Mr. Liu," I whispered.

My voice cracked.

"And I know that sounds awful, but I just..."

I shook my head.

"I shouldn't be this upset."

Father Khatri turned toward me.

"Who told you that?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"Who told you that grief has to be earned?"

The question caught me completely off guard.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because...

Nobody.

Nobody had ever actually said that.

Yet somehow, I'd always believed it.

"I just..." I began.

"I keep thinking..."

The words stuck.

Something heavier sitting underneath them.

Something I hadn't wanted to touch.

Father Khatri waited.

Patient.

No pressure.

Just waiting.

And for some reason-

that made it impossible to keep avoiding.

"I keep thinking about..."

I stopped.

"What if it was somebody I loved?"

The words came out small.

Fragile.

The world seemed to stop.

My hands gripped my knees.

"What if I walked into that room..."

I swallowed hard.

"...and it was somebody I cared about?"

The tears spilled over completely now.

No stopping them.

No controlling them.

The fear was suddenly enormous.

Crushing.

Because this place had already proven something terrible.

The people you loved could disappear.

Just like that.

No warning.

No fairness.

Nothing.

A broken sound escaped me.

"I don't know how anybody survives that."

The confession hung in the air.

Raw.

Honest.

And for the first time since arriving in here, I wasn't trying to hold myself together.

Beside me, Father Khatri looked out at the town.

The afternoon breeze moved through the trees.

And when he finally spoke,

his voice was softer than before.

"Can I tell you something?"

I nodded.

He folded his hands together.

"When I first came here..."

A pause.

"I thought faith meant being unafraid."

The admission surprised me enough to look at him.

He smiled.

A tired, almost embarrassed smile.

"I thought if I trusted God enough, I'd know what to do."

His gaze remained fixed on the road.

"That I'd have answers for people."

The smile faded.

"That I'd always know the right thing to say."

The silence afterward felt impossibly heavy.

"Then I came here."

A quiet laugh.

Without humor.

"And I realized something."

I waited.

He took a slow breath.

"The people I admire most in this town..."

His eyes softened.

"...aren't the people who aren't afraid."

A beat.

"They're the people who love anyway."

The tears blurred my vision.

I looked down.

Unable to meet his eyes.

Because suddenly-

I understood.

The pain wasn't just about Kenny.

Or Mr. Liu.

Or this town.

It was about knowing that loving someone meant accepting that one day,

you could lose them.

And doing it anyway.

The realization cracked something open inside me.

A sob escaped before I could stop it.

Mortifying.

Ugly.

Human.

I covered my face.

"I'm sorry."

The apology came automatically.

Immediately.

Father Khatri laughed.

Softly.

Kindly.

"My dear," he said.

"If anyone should apologize, it's me."

I lowered my hands.

Confused.

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And for the first time, I didn't see a priest.

Just a tired man.

One who had witnessed the same horror I had.

One who was carrying it too.

"Because the truth is..."

His voice was quiet.

"I don't know how anybody survives it either."

The honesty shattered whatever walls I had left.

And suddenly-

for the first time since arriving in this impossible place-

I let myself cry in front of someone.

Not because he had answers.

Not because he was a priest.

But because, somehow...

he understood that neither of us had them.

The crying eventually stopped.

Not all at once.

Just...

Less.

The kind of exhaustion that came after holding something in for too long.

I sat there with my face turned toward the road.

Embarrassed.

Drained.

The afternoon sun warmed the church steps.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us spoke.

the silence didn't demand anything from me.

For the first time since arriving here,

I didn't feel like I needed to explain myself.

Father Khatri let out a quiet sigh.

Then reached beside him.

"Well."

His voice was lighter now.

"Since you've already cried in front of me, I suppose we're past formal introductions."

A laugh escaped me.

Small.

Wet.

Pathetic.

But real.

I wiped at my face.

"I think this might be the worst first conversation I've ever had with somebody."

"Oh, I don't know."

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"I once met a man who confessed to stealing a lawnmower before telling me his name."

I stared at him.

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"He was a wonderful gardener."

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound startled me.

Because I hadn't expected it.

Hadn't expected anything except feeling terrible.

The warmth in his expression softened.

Not triumphant.

Not relieved.

Glad.

He picked up his coffee.

Made a face.

"Terrible."

I looked over.

"The coffee?"

"The conversation has been lovely."

Another smile.

"The coffee, however, is unforgivable."

A strange feeling settled in my chest.

Light.

Small.

But there.

I pulled my knees closer.

The wind moved through the trees above us.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

I hesitated.

"Did you ever think I'd come up here?"

The question left my mouth before I could stop it.

The smile on his face became thoughtful.

He looked out at the town.

"Eventually."

The answer was so immediate that it caught me off guard.

I blinked.

"What?"

He shrugged.

"People arrive here carrying all sorts of things."

A pause.

"Fear. Anger. Grief. Guilt."

His voice remained gentle.

"And sometimes, they need time before they're willing to let someone else see it."

The breeze stirred his sleeves.

"I never took it personally."

My chest tightened.

Somehow, that was worse.

Worse in the best possible way.

I looked down at my hands.

"You noticed?"

The question came out quieter than intended.

Father Khatri chuckled.

"My dear..."

A small smile.

"You are a very observant person."

The statement confused me.

"I am?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He leaned back against the steps.

"You watch people before speaking to them."

"You're polite."

"Careful."

"You always stand near exits."

The words made my stomach flip.

"You notice who comforts whom."

"Who eats alone."

"Who pretends they're okay."

The smile softened.

"But nobody ever notices when the observer needs looking after too."

The world seemed to still.

Because nobody,

absolutely nobody,

had ever said something like that to me before.

And somehow,

he was right.

The realization made my eyes sting all over again.

"Oh no," I muttered.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"More tears?"

I covered my face.

"I hate you."

"An impressive turnaround," he replied.

"We've only just become acquainted."

The joke pulled another laugh from me.

And for a brief, impossible moment,

sitting on the church steps with a man I'd spent weeks avoiding,

I felt safe.

Not safe from the monsters.

Or the town.

Or whatever waited for us tomorrow.

Just...

Safe enough to breathe.

Safe enough to be tired.

Safe enough to let somebody else carry a small piece of the weight for a while.

And, in a place like this,

that felt dangerously close to a miracle.

--

I had spent the rest of the day helping out where I could.

An hour at the diner.

An hour or so at Colony House.

Even helped with the livestock.

It was almost the evening when I remembered.

Frank.

The father of the young girl who was murdered with her mother.

He was too drunk.

It was pure negligence.

So,

the box.

The box was something everyone in this town knew about.

We all walked by it.

It was made to deter anyone from doing anything stupid.

It worked for the most part. We haven't used it.

Well, till now.

By the time I reached the crowd, Boyd was already standing near the box.

The structure looked almost ordinary in the fading light.

Small.

Made of scraps.

Simple.

It was horrifying precisely because it wasn't.

Frank stood nearby with his hands bound in front of him.

His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something far heavier than rope.

Grief.

Regret.

Acceptance.

Nobody shouted.

Nobody protested.

The silence was almost unbearable.

I stood near the back of the crowd.

Unable to look away.

Unable to convince myself this was really happening.

Then...

Across the gathering...

I saw him.

Father Khatri.

He stood several yards away, his hands folded loosely in front of him.

He wasn't watching Frank.

He was watching the people.

Watching the town carry another impossible burden.

As though trying to bear a piece of it himself.

For reasons I couldn't explain, he lifted his head.

His gaze found mine almost immediately.

Neither of us smiled.

There wasn't anything to smile about.

We simply looked at one another.

Across the distance.

Across the crowd.

And somehow...

I understood.

The conversation we'd shared that afternoon didn't need repeating.

He didn't ask if I was alright.

I didn't have to pretend I was.

There was only that quiet acknowledgment.

A look that seemed to say:

You don't have to carry this by yourself.

It lasted only a few seconds.

Then Boyd's voice broke the silence.

The crowd shifted.

My attention returned to Frank.

I heard the box door creak open.

He walked inside without resistance.

Without looking back.

Someone beside me quietly began to cry.

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until the door closed.

The sound echoed through the square.

Solid.

Final.

No one moved.

The sun dipped lower behind the trees.

I looked back toward Father Khatri.

He had bowed his head.

Not dramatically.

Not as though putting on a display of faith.

Simply...

A man mourning another soul.

I found myself doing the same.

Though I wasn't sure who, if anyone, I was praying to.

--

The town was quieter.

Not peaceful.

Just... exhausted.

Grief had a way of draining the sound from everything.

People spoke in hushed voices.

Doors closed gently.

Even the younger people seemed to understand something had changed.

I rounded the corner toward the little house I shared with Sarah and Nathan.

At first, I thought the front steps were empty.

Then the figure shifted.

Kenny.

He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt between his boots.

His hands were clasped so tightly together that his knuckles had gone white.

For a second, I simply stopped walking.

"...Kenny?"

He looked up slowly.

His eyes were swollen.

Not red from fresh tears.

Red from someone who'd cried until there was nothing left.

"I hope it's okay I came here."

His voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

"I didn't really know where else to go."

Something in my chest tightened.

"Of course it's okay."

I climbed the steps slowly and sat beside him.

Neither of us spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

Full.

After a long while, Kenny let out a shaky breath.

"I've been trying not to think about it."

I looked over.

"It's not working."

His laugh came out broken.

"No."

His hands tightened together again.

"I close my eyes..."

He swallowed hard.

"And I keep seeing him."

My throat closed.

"I keep hearing myself."

His breathing began to quicken.

"I keep hearing me yell for him."

His voice cracked so suddenly it startled both of us.

"I thought..."

He stopped.

Pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I thought maybe if I got there fast enough..."

His shoulders shook.

"I really thought..."

The sentence wouldn't come.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Just another broken breath.

I felt utterly useless.

There wasn't a single thing I could say that would change what had happened.

So instead...

Very carefully...

I reached over and rested my hand against his forearm.

Not forcing anything.

Just...

There.

He looked down at it.

Then, without warning, he folded forward.

His elbows landed on his knees as both hands covered his face.

And finally,

finally,

he broke.

Not quiet tears.

Not controlled breathing.

Real grief.

The kind that stole the air from your lungs.

"I wasn't there."

His words came apart between sobs.

"I left him."

His entire body shook.

"I should've been there."

My own eyes burned.

"Kenny..."

"I should've been there."

"You couldn't have known."

"I should've!"

The words tore out of him.

"I was his son!"

His breathing became ragged.

"I was supposed to protect him!"

Before I could think, I moved closer.

My arms wrapped around him almost instinctively.

For one heartbeat, he stayed frozen.

Then everything inside him collapsed.

He leaned into me so suddenly I nearly lost my balance.

His forehead pressed against my shoulder.

His hands gripped the back of my jacket like he was trying to hold himself together.

The sob that escaped him was quiet.

Painfully quiet.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

The confession broke me.

Not because it was dramatic.

Because it was Kenny.

Steady.

Reliable.

Always the one helping everyone else.

And now...

He sounded like a little boy who had just lost the person he loved most.

I tightened my arms around him.

"I know."

"I don't."

He shook his head against my shoulder.

"I don't know who I am without him."

The words settled between us.

Heavy.

Terrible.

Honest.

I closed my eyes.

"You don't have to know tonight."

His breathing hitched.

"You don't have to know tomorrow either."

The tears I'd fought all afternoon finally escaped.

"We're all just..."

I laughed weakly through my own tears.

"...trying to survive one day at a time."

For a long while, neither of us spoke.

The sun slipped lower behind the trees.

The porch creaked softly beneath our weight.

Eventually, Kenny's breathing slowed.

He didn't pull away.

Didn't seem embarrassed that he'd fallen apart in front of me.

If anything...

He looked exhausted.

Like crying had drained the last of his strength.

After another long silence, he spoke so quietly I almost missed it.

"...I didn't want to be alone tonight."

I looked at him.

"You don't have to be."

He nodded once.

A tiny movement.

Almost imperceptible.

"I think..."

His eyes remained fixed on the road.

"I think everybody else keeps trying to make me feel better."

A pause.

"You didn't."

I frowned slightly.

"I don't think anyone can."

He gave the smallest nod.

"No."

Another silence.

"That's why I came here."

Those words would stay with me long after that night.

Because out of everyone in town, Kenny hadn't come looking for answers.

He'd come looking for someone willing to sit beside his grief without asking it to leave.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

im not sure how i feel about this chapter. it was more filler than anything but building the friendship with khatri will prove devastating when he is killed in the future.....

hope you guys enjoy :)

-nora