Malarkey rolls it carefully in his hands, with a touch so gentle as if he's afraid to break it, the corner of his mouth quirks up and suddenly his head is filled with memories; a lot of memories, all of them fighting with each other like they were waiting impatiently for him to touch the cross to come back to life. All of them so confusing, but he is so vivid it's like having him here in this very moment.
But he's not.
