Power of Will, a SAW Fanfiction

Ch. 34 Pre-SAW: He Swore Revenge

Angelina Acomb

When she heard Amazing Grace on the bagpipes, she felt herself collapse with sobs. Mark caught her, keeping her up on her feet as she buried her face into his shoulder and wailed underneath the roar of the hymn. She felt his arm press into her chest, protective of the folded triangle of the American flag that she loosely held, so she wouldn't drop it.

She could still hear the pops of their rifles from the Three-Volley Salute. She wasn't sure when the blasts would stop echoing. Besides Peter's tombstone, their parents' names gleamed in the sunlight on their markers to his left.

As Peter was lowered down into the ground, she wept harder. She wept for the loss of her husband, her parents, for everything.

Mark stayed by her side long after most of the other mourners left. Despite the clear skies that morning, it was still deep winter. "Angie, it's time," Mark gently pulled her from the rectangular pit.

She turned, seeing Will and Allison, both who approached to hug her.

"Let's get you out of the cold, hon," Allison comforted gently.

Angelina felt a wave of overwhelming emotion. But he's here. Out here, in the cold ground.

But she knew there was nothing she could do but be led to the car.

She let them take her home. All three hovered over her, trying to help.

But she didn't want their help.

All she wanted was to collapse on her bed and just sleep forever. She wanted to stop feeling. To stop breathing.

Long days had passed. She felt like a leaf blowing in the wind.

She somehow managed to get to work. Food was constantly sent back, customers complained, and her supporting staff stepped in.

"Don't worry, Chef," Charles, her sous chef, would pat her shoulder when she would burn whatever she had in the frying pan. "You're pushing yourself too hard. You should head home early."

"I'm fine," she would feel anger bubble up whenever she was told to leave. She couldn't go back home. She would rather be anywhere but there. "I - I'll clean this up and start over."

She took the still smoking pan to the scullery as the dishwashers quickly sprayed their high pressured hoses over the sinks full of greasy plates.

"Hanging in there, Chef?" Seth Baxter gave her a half curled grin before nodding towards his station. "Happens to me, too."

She stared, confused. "What?"

"Forget I had the stove running," Baxter pulled at his beanie, scratching his forehead. "You okay?"

She blinked and nodded. "I'm fine." She turned to where freshly cleaned pots were and took one, returned to the kitchen, filled it with water, and set it on the gas burner.

"Chef!" Her line cook, Jared, called out to her. "We're behind on orders!"

She blinked, recognizing the line of waitress notes suspended above the center station and walked to the farthest slip to the right. "Two spaghetti, one BLT, and a salmon," she called out.

"Yes, Chef."

"I need back up with the garnish," shouted Charles and she joined him chopping vegetables and lining plates with them.

She felt bursts of focus, when she forgot about her life, but then the pang of memory would paralyze her, in the middle of her work.

She tried to shove it down. To just move on. To get through it all without falling apart to tears.