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Leon digs deeper, sweating the more the shovel digs into the earth, a wet patch of grass splits in four. The dark brown earth is gouged, carved into like a pumpkin, deeper and deeper, until it is enough, until the smell of soil is too strong for his nose. He lets go of the shovel, instead sitting down on his knees, simple leather boots tucked under his butt for him to sit on. His hands shakily clean the hole, getting rid of all the ants, worms and other small life, dusting out the corners.
A tidy place to rest is all he can give.
Meeting Ashley wasn’t a joyful experience. Of course not, when you have to kill so many people and chase the clock to get a parasite out of your body, all the while affronting possessed cultists. But it got better. So much better.
They got closer, friends, and soon married. He couldn’t help his missions, because he was still the government’s pet. If they said go, he’d have to, have to leave his ray of light to go back to the dark, hold his breath for a few days, breathe the nauseous smell of death and perfid treason until he’d be back home to her.
And he did come back home, every time. To her smile, to her laugh, to her gentle touch, delicate skin, tenacious teasing and adorable enthusiasm.
The wind blows, and the birds stop singing. Maybe there’s a storm coming. They have a sense, an instinct, that pushes them back home, to a safe place whenever a storm approaches.
Maybe the storm already passed, and they remain silent for him, for them.
Ashley’s the more enthusiastic of them. He knows it, joked about it with her. She shrugged, explaining that life is easier when you try to look at the bright side of it. He can only agree, even if he doesn’t have the spirit to see everything in a good light. Not with his job, anyway.
She’s not enthusiastic anymore.
The young woman who could get happy that a way had been opened after being attacked by raging Spanish cultists, cheering him on for him to get into those carnival rides and fight his motion sickness, the one to cry in happiness while bringing his hand to her belly so he could feel the kick of their child. Now she’s only a shadow of herself.
Leon contemplates the hole, eyes dead if not for the tears building up. He dug it deep and large. The size of an actual baby. Because he’s not a miscarriage. He’s not a blob of tissues and cells. He breathed, he cried, until he didn’t anymore. In the eternal and minute seconds he was their son.
Leon stands back up, not bothering to brush the dirt off his knees, gulping down his cry of pain. His back still hurts from long-gone fights, his shoulder can be achy from the same old pistol scar. His heart is here, aching, bleeding, tired, torn. His heart is gone, because how else could it hurt so much?
He walks back inside the home he shares with Ashley. It’s a big home, spacious and neat. Spacious, because they wanted a lot of rooms to sit in, have a drink in, read in, play in, sleep in. See their child waddle in. It’s neat, from the kitchen to the cellar, from the rooms to the washing room and the pantry. Painfully neat and clean for new parents. Ashley is in their room. She doesn’t like to walk around anymore. Strut around the house while playing her music, pulling a few faces at him. Planning what to buy from which magazines for which room. She prefers to stay in bed, to recover, to cry in peace, to have a few hours free of pain, where she can hold her child against her breasts, caressing his head, pecking his forehead. Loving their baby boy as they should have.
“Ashley.” He doesn’t scare her, or surprises her. They’ve talked about it. Cried about it together. She knows why he’s at their door, more miserable than he ever has been. “It’s ready.”
He should find better words. Use a softer tone. For both of them. He raises a hand to her, gently, like petting a wounded lioness, caressing her back.
She has been a lioness. Giving birth is a horrible experience when the medicine doesn’t do its job. Pain killers halfway working, losing too much blood, pushing for so long, she still kept going, because the only thing that mattered was that their baby boy was right here, a few pushes away. They would see him soon, would clean him up and give the infant to his parents, so he would feel the warmth of their love. They would bring him home to grow, to meet their few family and friends, to learn, to laugh and to pout. To sing silly songs and play with anything. To read his first books, watch his first movies. To get his first angry times and sad ones, that would be kissed away. To live his life.
But he didn’t. And as strong and willing as Ashley had been, her wishes alone were not strong enough to bring him back.
She’s holding him. Their baby boy, their child, their son. He’s wrapped in pure white sheets, secured tightly around him. Only his shape is visible, but his little nose, tiny fists and small smile are carved in their minds.
Ashley doesn’t speak, only nods at him, standing up from the edge of the bed. She’s thinner than before, too tired and miserable to eat anything more than soup. Leon doesn’t dare say anything. He doesn’t eat much more, but his body is used to it, so it doesn’t show. She cradles the infant in her arms, carrying him with care, watching every step, every turn. Don’t bump his head, mind his shoulders. Months of learning how to care for a dead child. Leon wishes he could pledge he wouldn’t do it. He can’t pledge. The hole awaits them outside, the wind harshly shaking their hair, ruffling their clothes, rattling the dead trees in a haunting sound. Leon stops in his tracks, inspecting the hole again. Ashley does the same, wet eyes examining every strand of grass, every patch of dirt. She tightens her grip against the baby, instinctively lulling him. Of course, he doesn’t coo.
Eyes sunk, hands shaky, Leon holds out his hands, a silent plea for the mother to let go of her baby so he can be laid in the dirt.
Her look of hurt pierces his heart again, stomping it like a glass, almost entirely shattering his resolve. But she does get closer to him, leaning into his shoulder to pass the infant into his arms, without letting go entirely. Her hand rests on his belly, while Leon endures the weight of their stillborn child once again. As heavy as he should have been. As perfectly still as the rocks resting in their hearts.
They get down at the same time, because neither wants to let go, neither believes it’s actually time to say goodbye. One more minute, one more hour to have him with them, would it hurt?
They cry, silent at first. Tears rolling down their cheeks, traitorous and unwanted. Then, they sob. Quiet but present, shoulders shaking. It’s only when the cries get close to shouts of despair that the wind breaks down, and Ashley curls her arms around her midsection, and he places their dead child in the dirt.
Covering the hole is just as hard. Both of them yearn to dig him out of here. They don’t. This is his resting place. He’s sleeping, they don’t want to bother him. On top of him will grow a flower, a beautiful green rose.
Ashley hugs Leon tight, and he abandons his hands around her, as close as possible, tangling his breath in her hair. The hardest is done. That’s what he wants to believe, wants to whisper to her, but he’s too weak. Too tired. Tomorrow, they’ll cry for him again.
Regret every second that separates them from him.
From them.
They hug tight until the night comes, never mind the wind, the rain or the snow, in front of their 3 rose bushes.