Rhivera (Complete Novel)

~Chapter Thirty-Three- The Rios Family~

~Chapter Thirty Three- The Rios Family~

~Raul~

~February~

         It's unnatural, going before your children. Impossibly difficult when you're responsible for their death.

         I remember... Juaquin and I sat there in silence with Melissa's body on the floor. She was Miro all along. With her dead, my forces outside were able to turn the tide of the battle and send Miro's Army running. My soldiers were celebrating our victory as I continued to mourn.

         No one could know it was her. I wouldn't allow it. At the first opportunity, Juaquin and I left the base with Melissa's body and headed for the jungle. We dug up the hole for her, it was something to keep us occupied. Juaquin took her radio and kept it on his person. I didn't have the strength to ask for it from him. His cold sorrowful expression made me doubt he'd hand it over.

         When it came time for us to bury her, we froze. That moment I saw her lying in the grave we had dug for her was when it truly sunk in that my daughter was dead.

         I sobbed. It was no use trying to fight it. It was Juaquin that fought through the sorrow and started to bury her. I suppose he's stronger than me.

         It's an unspoken thing that people shouldn't let their thoughts linger on those they've lost. Most in Rhivera aren't given graves when they pass, only those that were renown in the country. Even Eugenio didn't get a burial when he died, he was cremated just like anyone else. I took some solace that I could at least give my little girl a grave, as modest as it was.

         "I could've stopped this." I muttered. "If I kept a closer eye on her. I could've her from getting involved with that revolution."

         Juaquin clutched her helmet in his hands. Miro's helmet. Blood had dried around the crack in its visor. "Raul, I think she was the revolution. She started it."

         "No... Not my Melissa." I insisted. That couldn't be true.

         We stood over her grave for a while. Wordlessly, Juaquin stepped away and leaves. He didn't return to the base. He didn't go back to the Neruda household. I don't know where he left to.

         I returned to the base alone, in the daylight I saw the field of bodies surrounding the base, mostly of the soldiers from Miro's army. Many had the unenviable task of burning the dead. Our casualties weren't terrible, all things considered.

         The Colonel of Sotra directed the base to pursue Miro's fleeing forces. I dissuaded him from doing so, "By now they've returned to Joldair. Their defenses there will be strong. Now is the not the time to counterattack."

         I spend some days in Sotra, working with them to help recover from the attack, while Miro's southern forces regroup in Joldair after the fall of their leader. Once things stabilize in Sotra, I return home for brief respite from the war.

         When I'm nearly home, I stop myself and look at the Rios and Neruda households side by side.

         "I'm sorry." I mutter under my breath, looking at the Neruda household. The home Eugenio worked for. I told myself I'd protect his family when he was gone. But Maria and Junior are gone, and I have no idea where Juaquin is. It's an empty home.

         My own home had only Yolanda. I thought of Melissa and lurched over again. How could I tell her what happened? How could I say our daughter was dead? How could I tell her I was responsible?

         I enter the house and Yolanda embraced me, grateful that I was alive. "What's wrong?" She asks when she looked at my pitiable expression.