Page 4 of Tortured Eyes

I’m about to turn and counter that argument, perhaps show some kind of acknowledgement of my own to bring some sense into my head, when Carter comes into view and breaks the tranquillity I was falling into. Everything in me tenses. And every fibre of my being channels Vico’s last words to me before I left him that last time.

“Take hold of what I've left. It's yours, Logan. They'll follow you. Build on it. Make it stronger."

Samuel turns and looks at me, then back at Carter. He’s quick enough to cover the ground between us before Carter can get to me, his hand outstretched. Whether that’s because he’s bothered about me, or worried about bloodshed on his consecrated ground, I don’t know, but I watch him deal with the situation regardless and turn Carter away from me. Part of me might be thankful for the fact that he’s in between us for now. It's probably not the right time for family feuds anyway. I haven't got the patience to deal with this shit today, not when death is so prevalent in my mind.

I glance behind me again at the burial mound, still able to see the oak casket lowered there less than an hour ago in my mind and steady my frustrated breath. I'll do that confession later. Let the words and thoughts pour out to the only person left who even tries to understand who I am. And then, when I'm absolved of my sins, I'll fuck the words down his throat until he begs me to stop. Sounds fucked up, but that's who I am. I'll honour this ground today and shed no blood for two reasons alone.

Benjamin Vico's death.

And Samuel Cleary's life.

Tomorrow, when I have to go back to Chicago, might prove a different fucking mood altogether.