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He'd started having dreams about it. When he- pulled the trigger, he hadn’t thought much of anything at all. Only the feeling, and the silence that followed the crack, the split in the sky, the momentary quiet before the crickets started up again. He'd stared into the pitch dark in front of him after opening his eyes, and Werner was gone. Like he'd disappeared.
Mike was happy to believe that. Mike was happy to think about nothing. And he turned around and trudged back, sweeping through the grass, keeping his eyes off the stars.
He had dreams about that now. About the absence of Werner in front of him. How he hadn't disappeared, how his body had slumped and fell, how it had gone- crack! And his knees gave and he tumbled down, crashing into the ground. Mike wondered if his glasses had broken when he hit the floor. It hadn't made a sound at all. Maybe disguised by the echo of the shot, maybe disguised by its ringing in Mike's ears. He hadn't looked. He'd gone and walked away.
He dreamt about looking. About crawling over, kneeling, and looking. There wouldn't be much to see. It was only one gunshot. He would be laying face-down, and it was the middle of the night. But his body would still be warm. Mike could touch his shoulder and he would stay absolutely still. No nothing. What had been so fervent only a few moments ago. Werner had looked up and around, curled into himself tucking his hands under his arms. Glanced at Mike, pained, beneath his soon-broken glasses.
It felt all wrong to see him dead. Not him, he wasn't- couldn't be a part of this. And nevertheless he was dead. He had accepted it. Mike hoped for that, guessed it was better than not.
Werner had trusted him. They had moved like one, like they'd been working together. Werner leading and Mike following. Werner trusted him. Dependable Mike. Mike would set everything right. It would all turn out. Besides, they were friends- In Werner's head, and maybe Mike's, too. Killing aside.
Better Mike than not. Just close your eyes, let it be. Look at the stars.
Mike hoped that was the case.
When his silhouette had stopped in front of him, standing still, Mike knew what to do. It was as if his hand was separate from his mind, and his mind separate from his heart. His detached body, coated in black, hand leading and his arm following, pistol leading and his finger following.
Crack, bang, the job was done.
Mike could have cried, but he didn't. He didn't look. He went and walked away.
He couldn't live with what he had done, and yet he lived. Maybe that was his punishment. Having enough idea of what's good, just enough to hurt him. Werner was good. Mike should have bargained for it. If there had been a way to trade their lives, he should have done it. He should have done anything. Mike lived, and it should have been him. Werner was in his heart now, looking up and asking him, with his pleading face- is there no another way? Truly?
There had been no other way. This was true. And yet Mike still dreamt it. With Werner lodged in his heart.