The Weeping Willows

Writer's Note:

A little under two years later, here I am with an edited version of this story. When I first posted the original version here, I was eager to get started, thinking that every story I put on paper had to be shared immediately. I've come a long way since then. The edits and revisions on this one have been extensive, but as they say, "perfection is like chasing the horizon." So, I'm going to let this piece go in its current state and move on to other characters who want their tales told.

***

It was a night like many before it. The sky wasn’t chock-full of blinking stars and no storm was brewing in the heart of the mountains. It was a night as ordinary as the town it enveloped, yet Andy kept looking over his shoulder scanning the room, as if waiting for something to happen. 

After Hours wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. Too posh, too pretentious, and almost ridiculously expensive. It was the allure of free booze that had brought him there. After all, who’s ever heard of a healthy young man in the prime of his life turning down free booze?

But no amount of free alcohol could transform the bland crowd into something worth ogling. The music blaring from the speakers was a rape of the senses while the bodies swaying on the dance floor looked like they were drowning in an angry ocean. Desperate for an escape, Andy spotted the exit just as the door opened, and the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen walked in, turning every head. 

The newcomer had a runner’s body—healthy and trim without looking overworked, fitting inside that black suit and white shirt as if they were tailor-made for him. His dark brown eyes were warm and deep, set in an oval-shaped, clean-shaven face with a jawline that demanded attention. His silky silver hair, styled like a businessman’s, added to his charm. Though his mouth was set in a straight line, it looked like it had once been addicted to smiling. Andy placed him in his 50s, his seasoned demeanor and crow's feet hinting at a lifetime of experiences. As he walked in, undoing his tie, Andy almost felt the room sigh and swoon.

For a brief second, their glances clashed. Those deep, dark eyes beckoned Andy with promises he wanted to taste.

“Ooh, la la!” Caleb, Andy's childhood friend, whispered. He'd also been gawking at the man who'd just entered After Hours, changing the atmosphere. “My, my, I'd totally let him do me.” 

That was bullshit, of course. Caleb was a control freak in bed, and, in his own delicate words, he was the fucker, not the fuckee. 

“And I'd swallow my shoe,” Andy nudged his friend, not taking his eyes off the man. For a second, the friends were quiet until Caleb said, “You're gonna jump him, ain't choo?” 

Chugging the last of his beer, Andy stood and smirked down at his friend. “Need you ask?” 

Caleb rolled his eyes and shoved him forward. “Go get him or something.” That was the plan anyway.

Tall and lanky, with a body that had never known exercise, Andy admired the man. His buzzcut blond hair and hazel eyes, which always held a healthy level of mischief, seemed almost boyish compared to the man's sophisticated allure. Wearing a blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves, jeans, and a pair of white Nikes, Andy could feel their differences, but it only increased his attraction. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be the object of that man's attention.

The crowd was drawn to this man like sparks to a bonfire, mesmerized by his obliviousness to his own radiance, leaving chaos in his wake. Sober and drunk alike stared at him, slack-jawed and open-mouthed. The room came alive with new anxious energy as everyone drank some more for liquid courage, trying to approach the man. Meanwhile, the silver fox ordered his drink, oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, sitting alone like the most desired trophy for everyone to ogle and drool over. Seeing the graceful silver fox alone in a wilderness like After Hours felt blasphemous.

Lost in his own world, the man made everyone around him feel like ghosts; invisible and see-through. His beauty, wrapped in a shroud of mystery and loneliness, was both intriguing and unnerving. Not enough to make someone like Andy run for the hills, but enough to ensnare him, to make him want to unwrap the mystery and get to the heart of the loneliness. Before anyone could snatch the man up, Andy strode over confidently and whispered his most successful and filthiest line into the man’s ear, fully expecting it to work its usual magic. 

Andy pulled back, expecting the usual result, but met a raised, unimpressed eyebrow and eyes that asked, "Really? Is that all you’ve got?" This lethal beauty wasn't easily swayed. That fact sent tingles up and down Andy’s spine. Before he could be dismissed, Andy flashed his famous killer smile and changed his approach.

“Let me start again. My name is Andy Parrino, and I’d love to get to know you over a drink. I think you and I can have a really good time together.”

It seemed like the man hadn’t heard him. He sat there staring at Andy with a blank expression and distant eyes. Just as Andy was about to speak again, the man returned, a bright sparkle in his dark, chocolaty eyes. “Parrino, you say?” The silver fox smiled, drawn to Andy like a moth to a flame. “Italian?”

“Only half.” With the confidence of a winner and a smile that blinded the open-mouthed losers around them, Andy sat on the bar stool next to him, smug as a king on his throne. “Mum tried to erase those genes, but apparently, biology doesn’t work that way.”

They both chuckled.

“It is nice meeting you, Andy Parrino.” The man nodded, shaking Andy’s hand. “Matt Everett." After a moment of soulful staring on both parts, he added, “I gotta ask, why was your mum against the Italian genes? From where I’m standing, you’ve been blessed.”

Subtle flirting, Andy liked that. He wanted to say, 'My dad was a good-for-nothing excuse of a man who brought misery and chaos wherever he went. A coward afraid of his own shadow who was on the run all his life, as if the hounds of hell were looking for him.' Not that Andy would be surprised. His supposed father had a talent for doing the wrong thing all the time. According to his mum, Bernardo Parrino was just a sperm donor who owed his fatherhood to a bottle of chardonnay. His Mum never failed to mention how much she regretted that man. She often said, “His only redeeming quality was that he gave you to me, baby. And that he stayed away. Even when he got sick at the end, he didn’t reach out.”

But he neither had the energy nor the enthusiasm to open up about an absent father whose biggest achievement was his legendary gang of misfits in high school. So he nodded and grinned, “And that is why you’re going to get so lucky tonight. Matt Everett, why don't you buy me a drink and get even luckier?”

Andy thought he saw reluctance in Matt, but the man’s charming smile dispelled any doubts. “Of course. What’s your poison, Andy?”

Matt waited for Andy to place his order first. The bartender, visibly green with envy, kept sending suggestive winks and lingering glances at Matt. Andy pitied men like him who never knew when to give up, making a spectacle of themselves. To Andy, seduction was a game of finesse, and only those who knew when to walk away could hold their head high.

Andy’s request for beer elicited a chuckle and a head shake from his companion. Matt, of course, wanted an ‘Old Fashioned.’

“Do I sense judgment, mister Old Fashioned?”

The older man threw his head back, laughing loudly, drawing more wistful eyes towards them. The envious attention made Andy glow even brighter. Matt’s laughter was like music. They should turn off that noise they call music and just listen to this man laugh instead. 

“Touché.” Matt nodded. “The gap is indubitable.”

Andy shrugged, dismissing the thought. Did it matter? They weren’t going to build a life together; it was just a one-night stand. Two nights, tops, given that it was the weekend.

“Think of it this way,” Andy leaned closer, wanting to whisper in the man’s ear, knowing it could do wonders. The woody whiff of the whiskey made the silver fox even more irresistible. Andy’s nostrils flared as he greedily inhaled Matt Everett's intoxicating scent. Andy allowed his thoughts to take a nosedive into the gutter. His voice came out scratchy and breathy. “You’re gonna benefit from the… err… ‘gap’ tonight. Younger means stamina. Under thirty means more than once, you know.”

Instead of the expected slobbering mess, he was once again faced with an anomaly. Matt wasn’t hot and bothered; he was… amused. Like he’d walked into an abandoned place expecting ghosts and creepy crawlies only to find himself in a candy store. 

“Is that so?”

Andy nodded, enjoying the challenge. Eyes fixed on the captivating man before him, he vowed to make a mess of him before the morning sun rose its flaming head over the mountains.

“Have you ever seen the sunrise on the Buxshire Tops?”

The Buxshire Tops was a range of mountains running through Oakbury, where some of the wealthiest Oakburians had built cabins. Going there was like partying with celebrities—it gave you a badass reputation. Andy couldn’t believe his time had finally come.

“Tell me you’re not shitting me,” he pleaded, uncontained excitement pouring out of him. Matt flashed a winning smile. “Oh my God, you’re not shitting me!”

“It’s a long drive to my cabin.” Matt finished his Old Fashioned, paid for their drinks, and leaned close, whispering, “That means you can be as loud as you want when I make you scream.”

Those sinfully fascinating eyes, promised all the things Andy hungered for. Those words entered his bloodstream, making him vibrate with need as a thought crossed his mind: this man could easily be the death of him and Andy would be a willing victim. 

Andy shuddered. It was going to be a wild night.

***

They had been sitting on the porch since arriving at Matt’s remote and lonesome cabin, waiting for the sun to peek over the mountains in a thick silence. It was comfortable at first, but after a while, as the silences grew longer and deeper, Andy's intrusive thoughts grew louder. Perhaps spending an entire night in the most secluded place with a complete stranger wasn't the brightest idea. The situation had the perfect ingredients for an easy murder. But he was young, drunk, and horny. That is to say, he'd allowed his dick to guide him into where he was. It wasn't dangerous per se; it was the possibility that it could be that made Andy shiver.

But every time Andy's thoughts turned dark, Matt would say or do something to bring him back, silencing the voices in his head. Yet the silence always returned, and the doubts never failed to creep back in. His friends often labeled his daring acts as stupidity, and maybe they were right this time. He’d strutted out of After Hours without telling anyone where he was going. Reckless. Only Caleb knew Andy was going to get laid, and a drunk Caleb was the least reliable and most forgetful person in the world. It was too late now; there was no signal in the mountains. Besides every time Andy resolved to leave, Matt would start talking, charming him back into his seat and into sipping the detestable wine.

To quiet these unhelpful, mood-killing, panicky thoughts, Andy decided to start a conversation, hoping that in the absence of silence, his worries would shut the hell up.

“It’s true what they say.” Andy finished his drink with a cringe he tried to hide. Of all the drinks in the world, Matt had to pick the one Andy always avoided. Oh, the things we do for love—or sex in this case, he thought. “It’s darkest before dawn.”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “In poetry, maybe,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin with a single slender finger.

“Hm?”

Matt kept his gaze fixed on the faint shapes of the trees, his profile bathed in the dim light of the porch lamp burning over the door. The light attracted moths and other flying insects in abundance. Andy wished they could turn the blasted thing off; the constant buzzing and exaggerated shadows bothered him, but it was too dark in the mountains without it.

Andy’s seasoned heartthrob seemed noticeably different since they'd arrived at the cabin. To anyone else, it would seem like Matt was deliberately ignoring Andy, but Andy had seen it for what it was and wasn’t taking it personally. Something about this place, this tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, had caused Matt to withdraw and go inward. A bunch of dark silhouettes not too far away, which Andy assumed to be trees, had become Matt’s  focus. Having a conversation with Matt that Andy wasn't privy to. Andy felt like an outsider; a guest standing at the door, never getting invited inside. But instead of heeding the sign, Andy let his eyes feast on the man's side profile all night, envious of the trees he couldn't clearly see in the dark.

Matt shrugged. “Scientifically, it’s darkest when there are no moon or stars, not before dawn. Coldest? Yes. But darkest? Only in literature.”

Andy scowled. There went his plan to show off, look confident, and lighten the mood. He’d made several attempts to steer the night in a different direction, but each time, Matt skillfully deflected his advances. It was becoming apparent that when a man like Matt Everett promised you a beautiful sunrise in the heart of the mountains, he meant it.

Defeated and drowsy, Andy felt his eyelids dropping like a weighted curtain that wouldn’t lift, even in a storm. This wasn’t his first rodeo staying up all night, but maybe it was the lack of sex that was putting him to sleep. The remedy was to talk, so he probed again, picking another topic of conversation. 

“Tell me, Matt, would you kill to save the one you love?” he asked. “You know, in the ‘you touch my love, and I will end you’ way.”

Would you kill to save the one you love?

A juvenile question, perhaps, but then again, Andy was young. 

Matt had gone still and quiet, looking lost and far away. His absent presence sent a chill down Andy’s spine, like a ghost floating over his head—there but not really. It was chilling, but Andy chalked it up to the bleak mountainous atmosphere. He took another sip of that detested wine, feeling his face contort in uncontrollable disgust. Was there anything more ludicrous and repulsive? Probably, but there are things in life you’d do for a hot man you’re about to bed, and drinking white wine was one of them.

After a long pause, Matt finished his drink and turned those warm, mysterious eyes on Andy, drawing him in like a magnet. Gods, the man was supernaturally irresistible, stirring mixed feelings inside Andy. Returning the look of amusement with an expectant one of his own, Andy was taken off guard by Matt’s response. “Did I tell you how I lost my Sebastian?”

Andy shook his head. Throughout their staccato conversation all night, Matt had mentioned his first love but never talked about losing him. Andy knew Sebastian was an artist who loved experimenting with different mediums and owned the famous Willow’s Gallery in Oakbury. It was the only gallery in town that gave young artists the opportunity to showcase their work and make connections—something endearingly noble in a world constantly in pursuit of money and fame. Though every time Matt mentioned Sebastian, he got a sorrowful and faraway look in his eyes, so Andy wasn’t sure talking about Sebastian was a good idea.

Draining the last of his wine, Andy set the glass down with a shaky hand, nearly dropping it. His triumphant smile faded as Matt got up to refill their glasses. “I think I’ve had enough alcohol for one night, Matt,” he muttered. That wasn’t entirely true. Andy could drink all night and still walk in a straight line, but wine was a new experience, and he didn’t like its effects—the headache, the dizziness, the weird tingling on his arms and the pit of his stomach.

“Nonsense,” Matt said, handing him the filled glass with a strange smile. It didn’t fit on his face, looking more like a clown's unsettling grin than a genuine smile. Not a sad clown either, but a terrifying one, like those that probably caused coulrophobia to come into existence. “We haven’t even had two bottles.”

Fucking wine. Fucking distinguished charmers and their infatuation with wine and doing right by their date. Andy would give anything now to see Matt shed his poised-gentleman facade, morph into a lion, and pounce on him.

“Are you trying to distract me, mister?” Andy aimed for lighthearted, and thankfully, Matt huffed out a small laugh. They were entering serious territory. It didn’t feel right for a one-night stand to turn serious, but Andy couldn’t stop it.

Matt clinked their glasses. “Drink up, kid, because I’ve got a story for you.”

Andy took two big gulps from his cursed glass and leaned back in his chair, giving Matt his full attention. A story, huh? He could only hope it would be one hell of a story because he had a nice buzz going on and the chair was so comfortable he might fall asleep otherwise. Matt was back to staring at those damned willows as if the story was written on their leaves.

“It wasn’t a statement or a ‘fuck you’ to the world when we moved into our house,” Matt began with a wistful smile. “We weren’t out and proud, as the kids tend to say these days, but we weren’t in the closet either. I guess Seb and I were just… private people. Lost in our own small world, naively believing we could live by our own rules, we disregarded the fact that this is a world of consequences. Live and let live, that was our motto. Little did we know that letting people live their lives however they wanted wasn’t a guarantee that they’d extend the same courtesy. We forgot that some people took personal offense at our being gay. But we were young and young people by nature are forgetful. Life was a painting of a sun-drenched bouquet of sunflowers. Mesmerizing. Riveting. Life was ours, and we were good at it.”

Matt sighed heavily, breathing out a lungful of regrets. Andy would’ve loved to hold Matt’s hand, but it seemed that Matt was protective of his pain. The older man’s body was closed off, wrapping his pain around himself like a cocoon he’d outgrown but couldn’t leave behind. 

“See, kid, life is a wonder. It’s a comfortable thrill that’s perfectly unpredictable. Despite knowing this, we often take it for granted, thinking we have limitless time. But life has a way of catching up to you. Ours caught up with us when we least expected it. Some lucky people get a wake-up call in time to change their ways. For us, life slapped us across the face so hard its handprint still stings.”

Matt went quiet for a long time, looking mysterious and breathtaking in the pale darkness surrounding them. Maybe Andy was too drunk, maybe he was sleepy, but Matt reminded him of the moon, with a dark side that added to his charisma. The thrill of uncovering the mystery raised the hair on Andy’s arms. Matt's prolonged silence was eerie, sucking out all the noise. An unnamed feeling started growing inside Andy, tightening by the second. Just then, he heard a rustle from the willows—probably a squirrel or a bird. Then the squirrel was gone, and the bird flew off to spread its joy elsewhere.

Looking down at the wineglass in his hands, Andy tried to take a sip. Despite his wish, his hands remained motionless on his lap. “What the hell?” he muttered with a frown.

Another sigh of regret filled the space between them as Matt began to soliloquize, “The questions hold more power than the event itself. They’re persistent, and unrelenting in their assault. They’re adamant about remaining unanswered. The force of not knowing can pull a strong man beneath the sea of madness and keep him there for eternity. Why didn’t I come home that night? Why didn’t I bring my work home instead of staying at the office? Why was work so much more important than date night with my man? Why? Why… why…” He chugged the last of his wine, smacking his lips. “I’m plagued by a terminal disease of questions that will never give me the final release of death but keeps me floating in a constant state of decay.”

Matt looked like he needed a hug, but he was so out of reach Andy was sure he could never touch him again. He could try, though. Andy leaned forward—or, he meant to, but an invisible resistance kept him in place. His body was sluggish as if he was moving through water and not air. What was going on? He was no wine expert, but this shouldn’t—couldn’t—be the side effects of the drink.

“We were supposed to go on a date that night, but like many times before, I had to cancel because of work. I was the new sales guy aiming high, and Seb always understood my need for success. I was a lucky bastard to have a partner like him,” he said with a faraway smile, as if he were smiling at someone who was miles away. “A little after midnight, I finally got home, hoping it wasn’t too late to join my man for his nightly bath. Lost in my fantasies, I went to unlock the door when I noticed the lock was broken and the door was open. A surge of fear gripped my heart, squeezing so hard I stopped breathing for a beat. I rushed inside. Our home was in such a perfect disarray that it almost felt like the scene of a horror movie: staged and unreal. Broken glass all over the floor, frames on the walls sad-looking and askew, a chair broken here, the couch lying on its side over there, the microwave with its door hanging open lying broken on the floor, as milk and juice spilled out from beneath the fridge,” he snorted. “Just like a damn movie.”

It could have been the early morning breeze or Matt’s tale of horror that gave Andy the chills. Whatever it was, he sensed an odd eeriness on the mountain that morning. The sky had that predawn quality where the sun is not yet visible, but its pale light’s preceding itself, heralding its own royal entry to the world. The bright morning unraveling around them was a stark contrast to the sinister tale Matt was pouring into his ears, darkness fighting the light of the oncoming day. Andy, caught in the middle, felt an inexplicable weight of guilt. Why guilt? Why him? The willows, no longer mere shadows, swayed gently, resembling giggling girls whispering secrets to each other. 

“Even as I looked around, trying to find my man in the mess that no longer resembled our home, my brain couldn’t grasp the situation,” Matt continued. He had such control over his feelings, over himself, that if Andy didn’t know any better, he’d think Matt was talking about someone else’s tragedy. This level of control seemed terrifying. “These things almost never happen to you, you know? They belong in stories, happening to distant neighbors or cousins in far-off places. It always happens to other people.”

During another one of Matt's lengthy pauses, Andy, mentally on the edge of his seat, filled his lungs to ask a question and get Matt talking again. But the breath wasn't deep enough, and his jaw, like the rest of his body, rebelled. He tried again with the same result. It felt as if someone had reached inside his brain and turned off a switch, disconnecting it from his body. But...

"Seb was lying face down on the stairs. The police later told me that he’d probably tripped, and the assailants had used the steps to bash his head in.” Andy noticed Matt white-knuckling the glass in his hand and feared he might actually break it. “I couldn’t recognize his face when I turned him over. It was covered in blood and bruises. He had broken ribs, fingers, and a dislocated shoulder. His artist’s arm was busted, one eye swollen shut, and he was missing a front tooth. But my strong man was still breathing, holding on to life.

“Breathing doesn’t mean being alive, and not dying doesn’t mean living. The doctors told me my man was breathing but would never wake up. Ever. My smart, beautiful, talented artist was turned into a vegetable in the blink of an eye. The police weren’t doing much. Some barely hid their indifference to a crime against people like us. Most didn’t bother being decent. We were on our own, and you better believe me, Andy, I wanted revenge. They’d harmed my man, and I was going to make sure they paid for it.

“Outraged and out of my mind with fury, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Martha, our friendly neighbor, told me she’d seen that Brendon boy and his gang lurking around a couple of nights ago. I knew them. They’d harassed us before, and we ignored them because they were just kids. Not anymore though. Never again.”

The warm and gentle smile Andy had gotten used to during the night was replaced by a deranged grin just as the sun peeked over the mountaintops. The face that had captivated Andy now terrified him. It looked different—rearranged, as though possessed by a different person, chilling his bones to their marrow. Panic began to rise within him. He wanted to stand, to put some distance between himself and this new Matt, but that wasn’t possible. His body was just a useless pile of limbs, his brain was an uproar of hysteria, and his heart was booming in his own ears. What the hell was going on?The wineglass fell from his hands as Andy’s eyes rounded in shock. Even on his wildest nights, when fueled by a mix of alcohol, pills, and adrenaline, Andy could pilot this body. Clumsily, perhaps, but it worked nonetheless. Now… he sucked in a breath as the least likely answer flashed before his mind. He’d been drugged. Accepting the truth broke the dam. Fear poured into his mind, invading every nook and cranny, coloring every thought a deep shade of purple. Like a mouse with its pink tail stuck in a trap, he struggled and squeaked, sensing his own doom yet unable to do anything about it. Andy Parrino was trapped, locked inside his own body. 

Matt was right; these things almost always happened to other people or  in the movies.

As Matt’s story delved into darker chambers of suspense and fear, his control began to slip, and the emotions on his face grew increasingly unhinged. 

“Finding Simon Brendon wasn’t difficult,” he rose and drew in a deep breath, his smile shapeshifting constantly, getting creepier by the second. Andy’s harsh intakes of air became the background music to the story. Yet it wasn’t the oxygen levels that unnerved him; it was the unconsciousness luring him under. “He was just a dumb bully who thought he’d scare the fucking faggots in the neighborhood—his words, not mine. He wasn’t in the least troubled by the damage he’d done. But when I treated him to only a third of what he’d done to my Seb, he was a pathetic, blubbering mess, crying for his mommy and soiling his pants. By the time I’d carved a second smile over his belly, he’d told me the names of his little friends. Five more names. Five more idiots to find and end.” 

Andy’s heart was a caged bird, slamming against its impenetrable prison as realization hit him hard: there was no way he was getting out alive. The lunatic serial killer was recounting his crimes. This was going to be Andy’s first and last trip to Buxshire Tops. It is true what they say—be afraid of what you wish for. While his heart pounded, his body remained still as a rock. This was his end. A life unlived. A youth depetaled savagely before it could even bloom.

Slowly, Matt approached Andy’s chair, placing both hands on the armrests and leaning forward with that deranged smile. Andy couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was staring Death in the face, yet all his body could do was crave sleep. Matt’s face was blurry, like a wrongly developed photo, and his voice reached Andy as if through water. 

“I’d given up hope.” He looked at Andy adoringly, as if he were a gift, which didn’t add up. How mad was this man? Andy wasn’t old enough to be connected to this story. Did he maybe resemble one of the boys? That would be his luck. “But then you sauntered up to me, Andy Parrino, serving yourself up on a silver platter. I couldn’t believe my luck. There you were, an unexpected answer to my prayers.” He was smiling down at Andy as the icy fingers of Death closed around his heart. “Your dad had run, gone underground. Every time I thought I had him, he slipped away. I couldn’t risk following him or losing control. Seb is still depending on me. I had to be cautious. But then Bernardo, being the pathetic coward he was, went and died an easy death. Unacceptable.” 

Bernardo Parrino. This was about his dad? The man Andy had never properly known was the reason he was going to die? Bernardo had been a stupid teenager. Given the situation, Andy had to admit that stupidity apparently was genetically transferred. He had heard enough stories from his mum to know his dad had made enemies. It wasn’t shocking that Bernardo had been involved in something sinister or that someone wanted him dead. But Bernardo was dead. And Andy was innocent. He had never harmed anyone.

“He was a murderer and a coward who ran from me for years, only to be taken by cancer. It was a kinder enemy. But today, boy, you’re going to pay for your father’s sins.” 

Matt knelt in front of Andy, picking up the empty glass and showing him the drug residue. When he looked at Andy again, despite the madness, Andy saw the paralyzing pain in Matt’s eyes. Heartbreak. Loss. That was this man’s allure. He wore loss so well. 

“See, kid, when your father and his friends invaded my home and assaulted Seb, they erased my humanity and took my sanity. Seb was my dream, my life, my everything. Without him, I had no reason to be kind, nice, forgiving, gentle. Without him, I had no compassion. So, I punished those who dared to take from me.” Matt counted on his fingers the names of the boys, “Simon, Toni, Benji, Xander, Jonny, and because Bernardo Parrino couldn’t join the party, his son is going to do the honors. You must, Andy. All night I’ve been thinking about this, and I know I have to do this. Someone has to pay, and who’s to say you wouldn’t turn out to be like your dad? Blood is blood, and Bernardo’s runs through your veins.”

It was almost funny how this had all come together, how the gods had sided with a murderer instead of the innocent. But Andy couldn’t laugh. Neither could he defend himself nor plead his case. He’d bleed himself dry of the Parrino blood if he could, given the chance. Madmen don’t offer second chances. They take. They bring balance to their own world however they see fit. The cold look in Matt's once-warm eyes chilled the sweat on Andy's skin, sending a shiver through his paralyzed body.

What a fool he’d been, ignoring the signs and his gut feeling all night. How easily he had offered himself up when his dad had evaded this persistent reaper all his life. He couldn’t even blame Matt for this. It was all Bernardo Parrino’s fault. Even from beyond the grave, he was causing pain, as he always had. 

***

He must’ve fallen asleep, but the familiar and comforting smell of freshly dug earth, or maybe the resounding noise of the shovel hitting the ground, brought him back to the land of the living. The first thing his eyes settled on was the weeping willows standing overhead. Matt was digging not too far away, his movements deliberate and determined. Andy realized then that this wasn’t the first grave the man had dug in his life.

Matt was sweating, his body probably aching. Digging a grave for an adult is not easy, nor is it fast. But he kept going. Relentless. On a mission.  

Noticing Andy’s open eyes, Matt spoke, picking up the thread of their conversation, "Seb loved weeping willows. He once told me to plant one over his grave if he left me sooner. He believed the trees to be joyful and lively, always swaying in the wind and dancing with the breeze.”

Andy tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the paralysis that had taken over his body. His voice barely escaped his throat, a strangled cry that was more of a whimper. Not that it mattered. Matt's ears caught it, and he turned his attention back to Andy, his eyes gleaming manically.

"I told you I'd make you scream," he leaned over the shovel, smiling big, "I told you you can be as loud as you want. Didn’t I?"

Matt then threw the shovel away, satisfied with the depth of Andy’s grave. Andy was so paralyzed he couldn’t even panic as Matt dragged him by his arms with a brutal, unyielding grip and rolled him into the pit. Standing over the grave, Matt looked at the willow trees. His words sent icy shivers down Andy's spine. “Well, he’s still breathing, attached to a million different machines in a depressing hospital room. But I’ve already built him a beautiful resting place for when he’s ready to let go. Don’t you agree?”

Five willows were swaying in the morning breeze. Five boys, dead. Five lives, taken. 

Before delivering the final blow, Matt, looking both sad and relieved, caressed Andy's cheek, wiping away the tears. When had he started crying? Andy wondered as his soon-to-be murderer whispered in a mad yet sorrowful voice, "This is for Sebastian." Then, firmer, he added, "Blame your daddy, boy. You’re paying for his crime."

All his tragically short life, Andy had heard people say, "Your life flashes before your eyes at the moment of your death." He’d always thought he’d see his mother’s smiling face or remember his childhood with Caleb. But as the shovel came toward his face, Andy’s drugged, sluggish mind mocked him with an untimely reminder of an earlier thought: in the end, Matt Everett was his undoing, just as Andy had feared.