The Strays ⎈John B Routledge⎈

The Five Stages of Grief

Chapter 15: The Five Stages of Grief

"W-what?"

That was the only word John B could muster before his vision fell out of focus. He could just barely register CJ calling his name, felt her hands pressed to his chest and back as she guided his falling body to the pull-out. Everything seemed like it was underwater and he glanced around in a panic, searching for something familiar. When his gaze landed on CJ's worried and devastated eyes, he fixated on her. It was easier to feel her hands now, pressed in between his own as she crouched in front of him. He squeezed tightly and she let him, even though in his inebriated state, it was much tighter than he believed.

It took a few moments before his hearing cleared up, able to hear JJ telling Peterkin that there had to be a mistake. He knew that as much as all of them wanted that to be true, there was only one person on the island that wore those glasses. Peterkin wouldn't be here if she wasn't sure.

"I'm afraid there's no mistake. I found and ID'd him myself."

"I want to see him." John B called, his entire body tensing so hard he began to shake. He was staring blankly in front of him - at CJ's hair - so many thoughts whirling through his head with too little time. This wasn't happening. His dad wasn't dead.

"I can't do that, John B." Before the Pogue could protest, his head having snapped in her direction, the sheriff explained. "His body...it got thrown around in the hurricane. Sustained a lot more damage than the wound that killed him. I brought a picture, so you could see his face, but I simply can't condone a sixteen-year-old boy seeing his father that way. I wouldn't even show you this if I didn't think you needed to see it."

Holding the boy's gaze for a moment, John B's turned glazed once again before he nodded, almost robotically. Reaching into one of the files, she pulled out the still. She faltered for a moment, hating every part of this, before handing it over.

John B just held it for a moment. It was flipped slightly to the side so that he could see the colors on one side but not the entire picture. He breathed in deeply while CJ rubbed his knee, the girl full of worry as guilt and tears built up in her throat. She knew she had no reason to feel guilty, but once again the fleeting thought passed through her brain that things would be so much better if it was Luke Maybank instead of Big John. He didn't deserve this and neither did his son.

When he found the strength within himself to do so, the Routledge boy flipped the photo over. There, was his father, his face papery and sunken in. The man had started decomposing, something John B already knew, and it made him sick. There were cuts all over his face and he could tell pieces of his father's hair were missing. He could just barely see a hole where something had stabbed into the base of his throat.

This was real.

Becoming choked up, John B's head fell and his lip trembled as a small whimper fell from his lips. His hand dropped, moving the photo so that he couldn't see it but CJ could. The girl's breath trembled from her mouth and she couldn't tear her gaze from the picture as tears filled her eyes.

When John B looked back up, his eyes were glassy. A single tear fell from his eye and his lower lip wouldn't stop trembling. His hold on CJ was so tight; it was the only thing keeping him sane. "What happened?"

Peterkin took a deep breath, looking at the boy sadly before explaining. "We went out to one of the uninhabited islands out of OBX working on a case. We found him there, by a structure we think he built to try and protect himself. He was hit over the head by something, or fell and hit his head. We believe he became stranded at sea and washed up on shore."