Sitting among the trees after the funeral, Ren Chambers wondered if he was the world's youngest murderer. He was fairly certain he wasn't, but thirteen was still pretty young to have killed someone. He wondered if this boulder-in-the-stomach feeling would be with him forever, or if it might possibly subside over time.

Ma always said that guilt could eat you alive; it was her standard homily when she'd noticed some indiscretion and was unsure which of her sons to blame. Ren knew she hoped that saying this would cause the guilty party to step forward, but it never did. Even now, when Ren felt as though guilt were consuming him from the inside out, chewing his vital organs with large, fanged teeth, he wasn't sure he wanted to confess.

Of course, the fact that no one even suspected murder and that he would never be accused of a crime might have something to do with his reluctance. Even if he did go to his parents, or the sheriff, and told them all the facts, they would most likely scoff at him. There was only a very slight chance that anyone would be as horrified as he himself.

He couldn't decide which was worse, being scoffed at or agreed with, so he kept quiet.

He went over the facts in his own mind, stacking them up like his little brother's building blocks. He could remember when those blocks had been his, and how the grain of the wood made some of them look like they had faces. He saw those faces now, the brown mouths shrieking, "Murderer! Murderer!"

© 2009 by Valerie Hunter