just a warning -- this chapter may be a little intense for some people, there is a description of death in here. please take care of yourself if that isn't something you're comfortable reading atm. xx

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"Hello, Nathaniel."

Cold metal presses against her skull. "Phone," he instructs, his voice clipped. "Now. Pass it behind your head. Don't turn around."

Boo complies, her hands shaking as she hands him her phone. "You're supposed to be on duty."

Nathaniel chuckles darkly. "Took some leave, I felt I earned a break. I don't appreciate you trying to ruin my night off."

She can't answer him; her heart is in her throat, and she's afraid that one wrong word will set him off. He nudges the gun against her head, prompting her to gasp instinctively. "Let's go. Turn around, slowly."

Once more, she obeys him. When she turns, her whole body trembles at the sight; his face, cast in a sick green glow from the moonlight filtering in through a tiny garage window, is incredibly close to hers. She can smell his rotten breath from here; can practically feel the death radiating from him. Frozen into submission, she allows him to bind her hands in front of her with his handcuffs.

"Full circle. I've waited too long for this," he says in a hushed voice. He taps the muzzle of the gun against Boo's forehead, tsking quietly, and tears silently begin to leak from the corners of her eyes. "But first, let's talk."

He orders her to sit on the concrete ground while he settles on top of the wooden card table, propping his feet up onto the chair. Black eyes watch her as he pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his shirt pocket. She knows he's baiting her; willing to provide her answers because he knows she won't live to see morning light. Boo is willing to play along, if only to buy herself time. Damien deserves for someone else to know his fate, whether or not hers is the same.

"Alright. How did you convince Warren to help you the first time?"

Nathaniel smirks coldly. "Tell me, Boo, what are the three oldest motives in the book?"

Her blood turns to ice in her veins as he sneers her name. Even a nickname as ill-born as hers sounds like sin in the mouth of someone like Nathaniel. "Money, sex, revenge."

"Very good," he nods. His temper now quelled for an indeterminate amount of time, Nathaniel places the filtered end of a cigarette between his thin lips. "Warren is an honorable man," he mutters, flicking on his lighter. Yellow light dances across his colorless skin. No reflection sits in his eyes, any semblance of color devoured by the emotionless black of his irises. "But he's a businessman before anything else."

Boo listens closely over her pounding heart as Nathaniel leans his cigarette into the dancing flame. Sparks ignite and he inhales deeply, shoving the lighter back into his pocket before blowing out a wispy stream of smoke. "Being who I am around here puts me in the delicious position of knowing everything about every-fucking-one." He smirks coldly. "When I heard that good ol' Warren had run into financial trouble, I knew all I had to do was make him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Gears turn inside her head. "So you paid him to help you bury Damien, and I'm assuming also to keep his mother's grave where it is now?"

His sharp eyes flit to her, and Boo knows this is her answer. "Where is he now?"

Nathaniel laughs humorlessly. Boo swallows the lump in her throat as the moonlight glints off the piece in his hands. He inhales once more on his cigarette, sending a gentle crackling noise into the quiet air. "Doesn't matter."

"Then why kill Nana?" she asks, her voice cracking.

Smoke trails lazily from his mouth, dripping down like fresh blood. "We tried to reason with her, truly. You'd think forty plus years of keeping the same secret would mean she'd be eager to continue. We barely spoke about that night since it happened—and for good reason, too. When I brought it up, it had been almost ten years since we acknowledged it. Took me by surprise when she said she wasn't having it. About a year ago she started acting strange around me, and that's when I realized she was getting cold feet. Tried again one more time, even took Warren with me, but she sealed her own fate with that conversation."

His jaw hardens. "Something changed her mind, but I wasn't about to let some woman with a conscience ruin forty-five fucking years of service!"

Boo's throat tightens. Some little part of her already knows what happened to change Martha's mind.

Harry. Sweet, guilty Harry provided the catalyst for Martha's change of heart, and he had no idea.

In a fit of rage, Nathaniel shoves the card table and sends his whiskey glass tumbling to the concrete floor, where it shatters on impact. Wood splinters and slides across the floor as Boo shrinks back in shock, narrowly avoiding getting sprayed with debris.

Silence ripples across the air. Nathaniel now stands with his back to Boo, shoulders heaving as he stares at the wall before him, gathering himself. Boo's lips tremble as the weight of her greatest desire and her greatest fear finally finds the courage to leave her mouth.

"How did you do it?" she murmurs, her voice hoarse. "How did you kill her?"

His shoulders sag with the weight of her questions, and for the briefest of moments, like lightning across a dark sky, Boo wonders if the guilt is too much for him. But then he turns, his expression murderous. Her heart takes off in fear; it isn't remorse that holds him down, it's the weight of his cruelty.

"Monroe made it easy to look like an accident," is all he says.

"So that's it then?" Boo says louder, her fear quickly morphing into rage. "You're too much of a coward to own up to your own choices so you used a cover? Couldn't just get on with it, could you?"

"She was going to implicate herself and take us all down," Nathaniel says through gritted teeth. "I saved her from making that mistake. What I did was mercy."

"God," Boo laughs, doing her best to keep from crying, "you really don't understand what you did to her, do you?"

"I did what I had to do," he bites back, his voice swelling.

"You didn't have to kill Damien!" Boo retorts. "You chose this path, Nathaniel, you chose all of this!"

"We tried to scare some sense into him!" Nathaniel yells in return, turning away momentarily. "But he just wouldn't leave good enough alone."

Boo knows why. "Nana was pregnant," she says quietly.

Black eyes snap back to meet her gaze. "Shut your mouth," Nathaniel warns.

"She kept a diary," Boo continues firmly. "There was a baby; Damien's baby. But the stress of what she saw—"

Nathaniel interrupts her with a shrill bark of laughter. "What she saw?" he leers. "It's her fault he's dead. She did more than just watch."

flashback — may 21, 1969

Before long, dusk is falling and Martha is racing to get to her and Damien's secret spot, completely blinded to the world around her. With her, she carries a small carpet bag stuffed with the few belongings she can't live without. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, her eyes bright and wild as she pedals to the clearing, dying to see her sunflower. When she finally reaches their spot, she sees him standing by the riverbed, putting away the last of his fishing gear. Without words, he looks up and greets her with a blinding smile.

"Atta," he says, relief flooding his face. "You're here."

"Of course I am," she breathes, rushing across to hug him. They hold each other for a moment, eyes closed and hearts beating in time.

"Well isn't this sweet."

A cold voice cuts through the warm air. Martha and Damien turn, confronted by the unwelcome sight of Randall Taylor and Nathaniel Waters standing at the tree line, spying on the lovers' reunion.

"R-Randy," Martha stammers, her voice cut down from fear. Instinctively she moves to pull Damien behind her. "I can explain."

"I would love to hear you try," Randall jeers. "Why don't you start with the baby?"

Martha gapes at him, her words stolen by terror and confusion. "How . . . how did you . . ."

From his jacket, Randall wordlessly pulls out her journal and throws it onto the ground at her feet. The pages fly open, landing face down in the soft dirt. "One thing you should really learn is that if you want to keep something secret, don't write it down. And definitely don't leave your diary laying open for just anyone to read. Rookie mistake, really."

She looks up at him in horror once more. Randall ambles closer, clearly enjoying the fear he's inflicting. "I went to your house looking for you. Your mother said you'd be in your room, but clearly you weren't there. It was really nice of you to leave a note for me though."

Martha turns and looks at Damien behind her, her face pleading for forgiveness. "It, it wasn't meant for him," she whispers mournfully. "My parents were supposed to find it in the morning, I'm sorry."

Damien's face is wrought with betrayal. "I told you not to tell anyone."

"Please f-forgive me," she chokes out through tears. "I didn't say where we were going, I don't know how he found us."

"You're not very sneaky," Randall cuts in, looking bored. "It was way too easy to just follow you."

Damien and Martha turn back to face Randall once more, who is still circling closer. "I asked you a question, Martha," he says, his voice dark. "What about the baby?"

She shakes her head quietly. "Just let us go, Randall. Please."

Randall's face blackens; with rage or with sick pleasure at hearing the fear in her voice, Martha isn't sure. He advances further, the soft ground squishing beneath his heavy boots. Nathaniel flanks his left side, the same murderous expression on his face. "Oh you can leave, Martha. Just not with him."

Abruptly, Damien moves to place himself in front of Martha. His face, normally calm, is now wrought with anger. "You don't scare me, Taylor," he bites. "And I won't let you scare her anymore."

A sneer appears on Randall's face. He seems entertained by this challenge. "What you gonna do about it, gator bait?"

Damien's muscles twitch as the slur cuts deep. "Say what you want. We're leavin' together, whether you like it or not."

Martha grips Damien's arm tightly, her fingers pressing deep into his bicep. Randall's eyes dart to her hand, and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

"Have it your way," he snarls. Without warning, he rears back and punches Damien square in the face, sending him falling to the ground like a sack of bricks. Damien lands hard on the muddy riverbank, clutching his face to try and stop the bleeding. Randall grabs Martha and begins dragging her back toward the parking lot, despite her fighting to get him off of her. Damien comes to his feet, his hands coated in his blood, and pushes past Nathaniel as he tries to get to Martha.

But Nathaniel knows his role as crony well and doesn't let him pass. He shoves Damien with all his strength and he flies back, tumbling to the ground once more and landing hard on the metal tackle box just behind him.

"Stop!" Martha screams, still struggling against Randall's unforgiving grip. But it's too late. She hears the crack of Damien's head against the corner of the box, and he goes frighteningly still.

A beat passes. The world rushes to a halt around Martha, who falls to her knees, screaming.

"NO!"

The blood pouring from the back of his head is starting to pool beneath his motionless body. Martha rips her arm from Randall and scrambles to Damien's side, frantically tugging on his jacket to pull him closer to her.

"Look at me, darling, look—look at me, I'm here," she stammers, gently patting his cheeks. His eyes are wide open in shock, staring aimlessly at the treetops above them. Hers are beginning to blur with hot, panicked tears. "Please look at me, please."

She puts an ear to his chest and her fingers dig into his neck, desperate to find the pulse she knows is quickly fading. Abruptly she feels a rough hand on her arm as she is mercilessly dragged away from Damien once more.

"Get off the ground, Martha," Randall spits. "Don't touch him."

"Let go of me!" she screeches, fighting back against the vice-hold he has on her. Bony fingers dig into her skin, adding pressure to the crawling sensation already overwhelming her.

"Get away from him!" Randall yells. He forcefully whirls her around until her wild eyes meet his. He shakes her roughly, his grip tightening. "Don't you ever breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you understand?"

His words twist the knife already embedded in her chest. She gasps for breath, for an answer, a rebuttal, anything. He shakes her again, harder. More tears pour down her full cheeks as she cries out.

"Answer me!" he demands, inching closer.

"I-I won't!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "Just let me see him, please!"

Randall throws her to the ground with a sound of disgust. She hits the damp soil with a muted thud, immediately scrambling back over to Damien, who is still laying motionless with an ever-growing pool of blood soaking into the soil beneath him.

"Baby," she says quietly, fearfully. She cradles his face with shaking hands. "Look at me, please."

But he won't. And she knows he won't ever again. Her head hangs in guilt, her forehead pressed gently to his. Her belly twitches, as if the life inside her knows a piece of the world has just died.

"I'm so sorry, Sunflower," she gasps, her sorrow swallowing her words for a moment. "I'll never forgive myself."

end

Boo can't begin to contemplate the guilt that must have haunted Martha over the decades; that she tried fruitlessly to heal with service and prayer. She feels sick to her stomach now. "You didn't have to kill him," she says weakly. "All they wanted was to be together. You could have let them leave."

Nathaniel shrugs indifferently. "Suppose you're right, I didn't have to."

Boo fights back angry, tired tears. This admission breaks her heart deeper than she could have imagined. "Then why?"

Cold eyes, dark as the void, tack onto her terrified face. "Randall was like a brother to me. We look out for our own around here."

There was that twisted mentality once more; the one Martha followed religiously while Boo had spent her lifetime trying to escape it—that family was family, no matter their vices, and you laid down your life for your blood.

"You spilt blood over a fight that wasn't even yours to begin with," Boo seethes, her vigor renewed. "What happened? Randall didn't want to get his hands dirty? Or are you so weak that he could bend your resolve to murder another man for no good reason?"

"There was a reason!" Nathaniel bellows, his words spilling over with hatred. Boo cowers away from him, frightened by the unexpected spike of anger in his voice. "Your grandmother was a whore and deserved to watch that man die for what he helped her do to Randall!"

"He beat her!" Boo shouts in return. "He was a sorry excuse for a man and so are you!"

He shifts at her words. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. Boo's anger is so far past the point of no return, all she cares about now is seeing how far she can push Nathaniel.

"You're a fucking coward," she says, her voice cold level. "You've never been anything but. You killed Damien for nothing, you killed Hazel for nothing, and you killed my grandmother for nothing."

Nathaniel glowers down at her, his empty hand clenching and unclenching—a sign he is still fighting to quell the beast within. His eyes are black with rage. "I did what I had to do."

"Why did Hazel have to die then?" Boo crows.

Nathaniel scoffs derisively. "You put that mark on her back, not me."

Boo's fury is akin to Nathaniel's now. "What did she know?!" she screams, drawn to a peak by his poisonous words.

Without warning, Nathaniel is across the room and Boo is hit with a splitting pain across her jaw. She falls backwards, her head hitting the hard floor beneath her, and looks up in a daze to see the back of Nathaniel's hand hovering over her. He leans in as his anger pours forth, unabated.

"She knew everything! The relationship, the baby, what we'd done—and she never said anything for years because nobody had any reason to believe her! Then you come poking around, asking questions you have no damn business askin', and suddenly Hazel is another fucking Martha! Talking about forgiveness and wanting to come clean! She kept quiet, she was fine, but you dragged her back in! You killed her!"

"No!" Boo shouts back, struggling to return to a sitting position against her restraints. "She wasn't going to say anything! She wouldn't have! She was terrified!"

"As she should have been!" Nathaniel rebuts.

"Why her then? Why not me?" Boo yells. "If it's my fault, then why not me?"

"She was just an easier target than you," Nathaniel mutters, the beast suddenly receding. He paces around the room, gently turning the gun over in his hand. The cigarette in his other hand is tossed to the ground and crushed underfoot. "You with your stupid friend, and that idiot new hire from Harrisford, and your secret meetings with my detective. I couldn't risk it, not yet."

"So what's stopping you now?" Boo bites.

His eyes meet hers and she abruptly regrets asking. A ghoulish smile appears on his face, and Boo is suddenly facing down the pitch-black barrel of a pistol. "Absolutely nothing."

Her heart hammers nervously but she can't show her hand. She needs to buy some time, take Nathaniel away from the confines of his garage. "You wouldn't shoot me. You like the thrill of it too much. A gun is impersonal—it isn't your style."

He glares at her for a few moments, the longest moments of Boo's life, as he contemplates her words. Finally, the gun disappears. Even in the dark, Boo can see the evil shining in his eyes. "You're right. I've got something even better for you."

whoa that was a lot. everyone okay out there? hope this was worth the wait! we are reaching the end of dandelion!! xx