Heâs too exhausted to hold onto the anger long. It washes over his face, mingles with confusion, and dies quietly.
âWhat do you want, Gravedigger.â
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@rottingdown
Heâs too exhausted to hold onto the anger long. It washes over his face, mingles with confusion, and dies quietly.
âWhat do you want, Gravedigger.â

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He looks up, frowning, forehead creased.
âWhat do you mean?â He says slowly. âRostenâs dead. You just said that--â
â-- theyâre saying I..?â
Makes sense, he supposes. Makes more sense than anything that actually--
âSkinny, red hair--thereâs probably pictures, somewhere. Why dâyou keep asking about...â He trails off. There goes that muscle below his eye again.
âSheâs still alive, isnât she.â And then, quieter, like heâs still not quite sure if itâs real or not, âShe shot me.â
âNah,â Dale rasps a laugh. âHeâd have-- heâd have hated everything about you. Uppity little outsider, thinks heâs gonna learn the truth if he digs us enough holes-- You canât find those books, then they werenât meant for you, Gravedigger.â

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âHe didnât tell you, then he wouldnât want you to have âem, outsider.â
As he snarls, his edges sharpen. Angerâs good, angerâs tangible.
He does stare, more out of confusion than anything else.
âThey gave those to you? Youâre not even...â He sits back, shaking his head. âThe hell did you do, Gravedigger? How longâs it--â
He blinks, his outline skittering in the gloom.
âIâm dead. Alice-- how longâve I--â
Daleâs lips pull into a smile thatâs all teeth.
âOh, we donât do a lot of things, anymore. Did you know we stopped branding people around the turn of the century? Howâs your back, Gravedigger? It heal up alright?â
âNo, no, what goodâs a vessel if you kill it as soon as you-- it didnât take. Figured sheâd off herself, âs what she was supposed to do. Ran away instead. Watched her go. Hoped sheâd stay gone, die anywhere else. Not here.â
His eyes narrow, his brow pinches.
âWhy would she come back to--â
âI became bitter and untouchable. I craved affection but even the mere thought of someone caring made my stomach turn.â
â (stay away but come closer) //Â mxe.

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âAlice Stephens. Ward, like me. No family, used to-- used to hide in the old apple tree, behind the church.â
A muscle under his eyes works.
â-- Held the rope tight til her face turned blue, but the ritual wouldnât take. Paul said to keep going, she was dying, wasnât working, but we kept-- whyâd she come back? Why the fuck would she come back after--â
â-- which books.â His eyes narrow, his mouth twists. âFather wouldnât want some outsiderâs mitts on any of his... Alice wouldnât have âem anyways. Probably-- probably died in some ditch somewhere. Probably...â
No, no that wasnât right, was it? The skin over Daleâs forehead warps and flickers, the smell of flowers creeps into the air.
âDepends on your definition. Taught me everything I know about the scriptures. Seemed to think there was something real special about Alice, too, til she ran off... Not sure if youâd call that âclose,â though...â
The corner of his mouth twists, his eyes narrow.
âWhy? Heâs dead now, whyâs it matter?â
âWell as anyone ever did, I guess.â
His eyes canât seem to focus on one place for too long, his attention keeps-- drifting. To a spot on Tobyâs shirt, to a stain on the wall, to dust motes in the dim light.
âNot exactly the most-- touchy feely sort of guy.â
@rottingdown
âRemember me, Ellroy?â
His hairlineâs receding at the temples. Specks of dried blood cling to one nostril.
It takes him a minute.
âYou look like shit, Gravedigger.â
Heâs one to talk.

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âShe wouldnât-- wouldnât stop crying, when they brought her in. I remember, just-- this little girl, too little to even be real, and they stuck her with me because we were the same age, and she wouldnât stop crying...â
đ
âGravedigger was never supposed to last. Came out here with his soft hands and his fancy education, acting like he was better than us-- like he understood everything so much better than us. Shoulda-- shoulda seen his face the first time someone handed him a shovel and told him to start digging. Youâd think someone just told him to shoot his own willie off. We had to-- had to move the first few bodies he buried, couldnât even dig a hole right. First serious storm to roll in washed most of the dirt away. How the-- how the hell did someone like that last so long..?â