I did as Dale told me. Even though I didn't believe that Julian deserved to live life as a free man, I kept my mouth shut when the police asked me if the man who stumbled into my shop told me anything about the person who shot him.

I never told anyone the story Dale had told me, not even my wife. This would be the one thing I would carry with me to my grave. Every now and then I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about what had happened. Some days I believe it, other days... I don't.

That January after the winter storms outside had died down, I had a buddy of mine help me destroy the revolver. He asked me what for, and if he could keep the gun for himself, but I insisted that it must be destroyed. I went as far as watching him do it, I suddenly felt as though I couldn't trust anyone.

They buried Dale Fletcher in one of Missouri's cemeteries. I would go there once in a while with a bouquet of flowers, thinking about how much he lived through it such a short time. Nineteen? That's not a good age to die. Maybe if he fought for his life I wouldn't have been so distraught. But he wanted to die. In his world, there was nothing left to live for.

Last time I went, I noticed another bouquet of yellow flowers lying next to mine. They had a ribbon tying them together that read - Halsey Fletcher, Mary Fletcher, Jonas Fletcher. After that I felt better, as though a weight was lifted off my chest. I stopped going, because I knew that Dale Fletcher would never be forgotten, at heart, he was still loved.