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It is very late. Logan’s lost track of how much alcohol he’s consumed this evening, trying desperately to find oblivion. He walks slowly towards a spot he knows all too well. His feet feel heavy, his emotions too raw.
The crescent moon is high in the sky. The stone bearing her name is cool grey granite. Anger boils in him, stronger than any berserker rage he’s ever felt.
"Can I kill him now, Jeannie? He's taken up with that witch - it's been less than a week and she is there, right now in his bed - your bed. Do you know? Are you mad?" He swallowed hard.
"I’m furious. I want to murder him. Rip his throat out and watch his blood spray all over the walls. All over her. Drench her in red. He never deserved you. Not even for a second. You were the most precious gift and he squandered it. For her. How could he want her over you?” He glanced over his shoulder at the house and looked back down to where she lay.
“This is not how you mourn. This is not how you respect the woman you claimed to love.”
He crouched low, put his hand flat against the quiet earth.
Logan closed his eyes and whispered, “I will never forget you, Jean. I swear. Not if I live another thousand years. Never. And I am sorry Scott did this to you - to your memory. Here of all places.”
“I believed that bastard when he said he wanted to work things out with you. God help me, I actually believed him. And he was screwing her behind your back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never slit his throat. I’m sorry he hurt you. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to kill him today. Maybe tomorrow.”