Chapter 3

The bluestone tombstone had been savagely smashed, leaving several cracks and crumbled edges. Even Grandma's name carved into it had been scratched until it was a blur.

Ralph stood frozen in place, his fists clenched so tightly his fingertips went white, and even his voice carried a slight tremor. "Who did this!"

Samuel's face was white as paper, his lips trembling uncontrollably, his eyes full of heartbreak as he looked at the tombstone.

He couldn't believe that Grandma, who had doted on him most in life, couldn't even rest in peace after death.

Samuel dropped to his knees before the tombstone in anguish, tracing Grandma's name over and over, the tiny shards of stone cutting his fingers. In a hoarse voice, he apologized again and again. "Grandma, I'm sorry! It's all my fault for not coming to see you sooner, for letting you suffer. It's all my fault."

Cassandra's eyes were red as she reached out and pulled Samuel to his feet. Her voice was soft and sweet, yet deliberately choked with sobs. "Samuel, don't blame yourself too much. This isn't your fault."

But the more she comforted him, the more it sounded like an accusation.

Samuel buried his face and wept bitterly, swearing he would find the culprit who had damaged Grandma's tombstone.

Cassandra patted his back gently, lowered her eyes, and looked as though she wanted to say something but held back.

Ralph caught the hint and asked, "Cassie, do you know who wrecked Grandma's tombstone?"

"I…" Cassandra shook her head, but her eyes drifted toward the road they had come in on.

Ralph suddenly remembered something. His once-gentle features twisted completely, and fury welled in his bloodshot eyes. "Was it Jean Henson who did this?"

Cassandra paused, her fingertips curling slightly. She seemed to be defending me, but every word pointed straight at me. "Yesterday I saw Jean come to the grave alone and stay for a long time before she left, and today Grandma's tombstone looks like this… I'm not saying I suspect her, I'm just afraid she might have lost her head for a moment and done something wrong."

The moment she finished, Ralph's rage flared even higher, and he said with total certainty, "It had to be Jean Henson! No wonder she'd rather play dead and take my beating than come to Grandma's grave. It's because she has a guilty conscience!"

Ralph beat his chest and stamped his feet in bitter regret. "It's all my fault for spoiling her, that's why she'd do something so unforgivable!"

His voice echoed again and again through the empty cemetery.

The next second, the rain that had been building finally came pouring down. I drifted above it all and saw my own corpse washed by the rain, flesh and bone turned outward, utterly horrifying.

I even found myself a little eager to see how my brothers would react when they saw my dead body.

Would it be regret, or relief that I really had died just as they'd wanted?

But the scene I imagined never happened, because the group chose the other route, the fastest way down the mountain.

Soaked to the bone, Ralph returned home from the cemetery, the menace around him more piercing than the cold rain.

He kicked my door open. "Jean Henson, get out here!"