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The first sound of dirt landing on top of me has me opening my mouth, willing a sound to come out . . . anything. But nothing comes. The dirt keeps piling on top of me as the tears roll down my face.

Please come for me, please, I beg silently.

I can’t die like this.

I haven’t told Vero that I think I love him back, or told Clay I actually like him calling me his. Nor have I confided in Brawley how he makes me feel just because he loves Vero so much, and how I want him to love me with even a sliver of that intensity. And I want to tell Ares that I need him.

The dirt keeps coming, but it’s more muffled now, along with the words, “It didn’t have to end like this. You brought this on yourself.”

I would rather die than be with him again. My body suddenly feels heavier, my head leaden, and my eyes close even as I will them open. I just need to be patient; I know they will come for me.

“Roses are red, and the dead know your name. I take what is buried. I devour what came. I am patient, I am waiting, I never forget.

I am the field that swallows your footprints. I am the dark at the end of the row. I am the thing that was here before you arrived, and I will be here long after you go.

You cannot bargain with me. You cannot run. I have already decided what has to be done.”

“Your riddle doesn’t make sense.”

“For I am the Scarecrow, and that now makes two.”