The silence swept over him, like a shroud of some sort, concealing him from the world outside and locking him back in his cage. He fought it—but then again, he always fought it. He pressed his hands to his lips, begging them to speak, urging his mouth to whisper words...

But nothing came and he only sat there.

“Owen?” the word was spoken softly, then a hand touched his.

He jumped and scooted farther back. Speak. If he could only speak, if he could only make it stop...

“Owen, listen to me!” The words were shrill, panicked, and when she touched his face, he felt something odd stir through him.

Then it happened. Her face blacked out, even her words. There were different eyes staring at him. Bullets. Canons. Bodies, falling across the field like tiny blades of grass, bending to the wind...

He screamed, kicking backwards. Don't kill me. The words tore through him. He tried to stop seeing it. He tried to make it go away. But the bayonets were ever before him, flashing beneath their blood, pointing at him. I have to. I have to hide. He was running again. Faster and faster. Dodging trees and leaping logs, but still running. He heard the men crying out in death, but he kept running. He just kept running away...

“Owen!”

He jerked, toppling over into the floor...

“Owen, no.” She was next to him, touching his face, wiping his tears. “Owen, I'm here.”

“Beth,” he breathed her name, jerking her to him.

She fell across his chest and stared wildly into his eyes.

“Beth, don't look at me like that.”

She put a hand to each of his cheeks, sobbing even as she rasped the words, “What's happened to you, Owen?”

He pulled her head down, resting it against him. “You know what I did. I'm a coward, Beth. I'm not the man you married. Don't you see? I let those men die—”

“Stop it, Owen!” She jerked away from him, standing to weak feet.

He stood and faced her. He met her eyes. He looked as far into her as he could and wished a thousand million times he'd have died in that war.

Her brows pushed together, the agony settling around her eyes. “You heard what the doctor said. Owen, you're going insane.”

Insane. The word bounced back at him. In one flash, he saw the bodies of a hundred and three soldiers, sprawled out across a blood-soaked field. He'd been in command. He could have retreated. He could surrendered. Anything but run. Anything but leave them helpless. Anything but leave them dead...

“Beth.” He jerked the wedding band off his finger. It made a noise and danced on the floor. “Beth, I wish I could stop it, but I can't.”

Her eyes got wide, lips started trembling. She glanced at the ring, then back at him. “What are you saying?”

“I can't put you through this. I can't be the husband you want me to be. I can't live with myself—and you shouldn't have to either.” He reached out and grabbed her finger. Gently, he tugged off the ring and let it drop. “I'm sorry, Beth, but I can't hurt you, too.”

Her head tipped back, staring in horror into his face. “You're right, Owen,” came her whisper. “You run from everything that's hard. No matter what kind of hurt you leave behind, you just run.” She stepped away from him, one tiny step at a time. “Turn your back on me, Owen—just like you did those men. Because you are a coward. In more ways than I ever could have known.” With those words, she walked out of the room and left him alone.

Completely alone. So alone that his next steps took him to the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled out the gun. It was cold against his sweaty palms, but he wasn't afraid to pull the trigger. He was ready. He was tired of fighting himself. He was tired of fighting his insanities. He was tired of fighting his guilt.

Please forgive me, Beth. The plea sank him to his knees, even as he pulled the gun to his head. Please forgive me...

He gripped the stand. Gripping. Gripping. Gripping so hard and so long that his knuckles turned white. And that was when he felt it. Something papery and thin, brushed against his fingers.

He lowered the gun, just for an instant, and let his eyes pear atop the little oak stand.

There it sat, thin page mounted on thin page until the worn out Book stood tall and thick. It was Beth's Bible.

Oh, God, what am I doing? He looked at the gun, then gently laid it down until it rested beside one of the wedding rings he'd tossed away earlier. He groped for the Bible, fingers trembling so bad that he could hardly open it.

But he needn't have worried. The old Book gently fell open within his weak hands, and though his eyes were blurred, the words still stared up at him. “From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

Owen's soul mirrored the words, his lips cried them into existence, his very being trembled with them. The gun lay cold and untouched somewhere beside him, but he had forgotten it. In fact, maybe Owen had forgotten everything. In that sweet moment of passion, in that divine moment of prayer, even the war seemed to fade from his troubled mind, and for the first time since that battle, he felt a smile threaten his lips, even amidst the tears.

Slowly and very quietly, Beth stole into the room. Her eyes met his, glistening and sparkling, though she spoke not a word. Bending down, she found the ring and slipped it back onto her finger.

Then she smiled.