The rain hammers the tin roof. It sounds like nails. You are bleeding from the nose. The blood is red. The air is cold. You grip the rifle. The wood is slick. Your hands shake. They do not stop. You are in the cellar of the old mill. The stone walls weep. Water drips. It mixes with the rust. You look at the object in your hands. It is a brass pocket watch. The face is cracked. The glass is shattered. It is not a watch. It is a key. You know this now. You have always known.

Captain Halloway stands above you. He holds a pistol. His face is wet. He smiles. It is a thin smile. It cuts his mouth.

"Drop it," he says. His voice is soft. It is the voice of a man who has forgotten how to shout. "Drop it, Thomas."

You do not drop it. You hold it tighter. The brass bites into your palm. The metal is warm. It is warm as skin. It is warm as a fever.

"Thomas," he says again. He steps down. His boots crunch on the gravel. "Do not do this. You are a good soldier. You are a good friend. Let it go."

You look at the watch. The hands are still. They point to three. It is not three o'clock. It is never three o'clock. The time is wrong. The time is broken. Just like you.

"I found it," you whisper. Your voice is a rasp. It scrapes against your throat. "In the mud. Near the body."

Halloway lowers the gun. He looks tired. His eyes are deep. They are hollow. He looks at the watch. He does not look at you.

"It is not a watch," you say. "It is a door."

He sighs. It is a long breath. It leaves his body in a cloud of mist.

"Put it in your pocket," he says. "We will talk later. Upstairs. In the warm."

You obey. You slide the watch into your coat. The brass is cold now. It is cold as ice. You feel the weight of it. It is heavy. It is heavier than iron. It is heavier than guilt.

You climb the stairs. Your legs hurt. The muscles burn. The pain is good. The pain is real. Halloway follows. He moves slowly. He moves like a ghost. The mill is dark. The shadows are long. They stretch across the floor. They reach for you. They touch your heels.

You reach the top floor. The room is small. There is a table. There is a chair. There is a window. The glass is frosted. You can see the town outside. The lights are out. The streets are empty. The rain is still falling. It falls without end. It falls without mercy.

Halloway sits. He puts his feet up. He looks at the ceiling. The plaster is peeling. It looks like dry skin.

"Sit," he says.

You sit. Your knees knock together. You cannot stop them. You look at the watch in your hand. You pull it out. You hold it up to the light. The light is dim. The light is yellow. The crack in the glass is visible. It looks like a vein. It looks like a crack in the earth.

"What is it?" Halloway asks. He does not look at you. He looks at the wall.

"I don't know," you say. "I think it is a memory."

He turns his head. He looks at you. His eyes are sharp. They are blue. They are cold.

"Memories do not have cracks," he says. "Memories do not bleed."

"This one does," you say. "I felt it. When I picked it up. I felt the pain. I felt the fear. I felt the end."

Halloway laughs. It is a dry laugh. It is like a bone breaking.

"You are tired, Thomas," he says. "You have been out in the rain for days. You are sick. You have the fever."

"I am not sick," you say. "I am awake."

He stops laughing. He looks at you. He looks at the watch. He reaches for it. You pull it back. He pulls harder. You pull harder. Your hands lock. Your fingers tighten. The brass is hot. It burns your skin.

"Let go," he hisses. "Let go, Thomas."

You do not let go. You look into his eyes. You see something there. You see the truth. It is hidden. It is buried. But it is there. It is under the skin. It is under the uniform. It is under the rank.

"You know," you say. "You know what it is."

He struggles. He is strong. You are weak. But you are stubborn. You are angry. You are afraid. The fear is a cold stone in your stomach. It does not move. It does not leave.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he says. His voice is tight. It is a wire. It is about to snap.

"The town," you say. "The people. The silence. It is not quiet. It is dead. The air is thick. It is thick with rot. It is thick with lies."

Halloway pulls. He yanks the watch from your grip. You stumble back. You hit the wall. The pain is sharp. It is bright. It fades.

He holds the watch. He looks at it. His face is pale. His lips are white. He closes his eyes. He opens them. He looks at you.

"You were not supposed to find it," he says. His voice is low. It is a whisper. It is a threat.

"Who am I not supposed to find?" you ask. "Who are you?"

He does not answer. He puts the watch in his pocket. He stands up. He is taller than you. He is stronger. He is the captain. He is the law.

"Go home," he says. "Go to your house. Go to your bed. Sleep. When you wake up, you will forget. You will forget the cellar. You will forget the watch. You will forget this night."

"You are a liar," you say.

He smiles. It is not a smile. It is a grimace. It is a mask.

"I am your friend," he says. "I am the only one who cares for you. I am the only one who keeps you safe. Do you understand? If you keep looking, you will break. If you keep looking, you will die. Not your body. Your mind. It will shatter. Like the glass."

You look at him. You see the fear in his eyes. It is deep. It is dark. It is the fear of a man who has seen the bottom.

"I will not forget," you say. "I cannot forget. I am too old. I am too tired. I have done enough. I have fought enough. I have bled enough."

Halloway nods. He nods slowly. He nods sadly.

"Then you must leave," he says. "Leave the town. Leave the mill. Leave the rain. Go south. Go to the coast. Do not look back. Do not speak of this. If you speak, I will come for you. I will end it."

You stand up. Your legs are stiff. Your joints crack. You walk to the door. You open it. The air hits you. It is cold. It is wet. It smells of mud. It smells of iron.

You step out. The rain falls on your face. It feels like needles. It feels like tears. You walk down the stairs. You walk out of the mill. The night is dark. The stars are hidden. The clouds are low. They press down on you. They press down on the town.

You walk to the edge of the town. The road is empty. The streetlights are off. The houses are dark. You walk to the main street. You see the shop. It is closed. The sign is faded. It says "Whitmore & Sons". You remember. You remember the name. You remember the man. You remember the death.

You stop. You look at the shop. The window is broken. The glass is on the floor. The door is open. The darkness inside is deep. It is a hole. It is a mouth. It is waiting.

You turn away. You walk faster. Your boots splash in the puddles. The sound is loud. It is the only sound. The rain is loud. The wind is loud. The world is loud.

You reach the edge of the town. There is a bridge. It is old. It is made of stone. It crosses the river. The river is black. It moves fast. It moves angry. It roars.

You stand on the bridge. You look at the water. The water is deep. The water is cold. The water is hungry.

You look at your hand. You reach into your pocket. The watch is gone. Halloway took it. You reach for it. You feel the air. You feel the cold. You feel the emptiness.

You remember. You remember the cellar. You remember the crack. You remember the pain. You remember the truth.

The truth is simple. The truth is heavy. The truth is a curse.

You are not a soldier. You are not a man. You are a ghost. You have been dead for ten years. You died in the war. You died in the mud. You died in the rain.

But you are here. You are walking. You are breathing. You are feeling.

Why?

You look at the river. You look at the dark. You look at the bridge.

The bridge is cracking. The stones are shifting. The river is rising. The water is climbing. It is coming up the steps. It is coming for you.

You close your eyes. You let go. You let go of the fear. You let go of the anger. You let go of the name. You let go of the rank. You let go of the town.

You step back.

The water hits you. It is cold. It is sharp. It wraps around you. It pulls you. It pulls you under.

You sink.

The darkness takes you.

The pain fades.

The silence comes.

It is complete.

It is total.

It is yours.