Gravestone

by Travis Thrasher

  “Oh, I’m, uh, from up north. But now I live just outside of town.”

  “That right? Whereabouts up north?”

  “New York,” I say. It’s just the first thing out of my mouth. I know I don’t sound like I’m from New York. I’m trying to think of more of the story when Newt’s grandfather starts talking to him about his day.

  “Sometimes Grandpa picks me up when my parents can’t,” Newt tells me.

  The more I listen to his grandfather, the more he sounds like any ordinary old guy. Slower and more reflective, without much of a care in the world.

  Soon I find myself in Newt’s basement, just like the other time I went over to his house to try and learn a few things. His grandfather is somewhere upstairs, babysitting or maybe just sticking around to see what he can find in the pantry.

  “Do you know what happened to her?”

  Newt shakes his head. The door to the basement is closed, and he must know that nobody is around. He’s finally not telling me to hush.

  “I know what happened,” I say.

  I’m like a convict who wants to confess to the judge and jury and get the crime off his chest.

  “Chris.”

  “What?”

  “Just—just listen. The less you tell me, the less I know.”

  I don’t quite get that logic. “What’s that mean?”

  “You need to tell people who can do something about it.”

  “But—why’d you bring me here?”

  “I know that Jocelyn is gone. That she moved.”

  “Newt, she died!”

  He doesn’t give me a white-faced, shocked glance. He knows.

  This whole freaking town knows.

  “She died. I saw her die. She died right in front of me. You don’t get it. You don’t understand.”

  I take a deep breath and wait.

  “The official word is that Jocelyn and her aunt moved.”

  “She didn’t move,” I say.

  “I’m just telling you this so you know.”

  I guess if you’ve been living in the insanity that is Solitary for so long, you’d be able to appear as nonchalant as Newt.

  “The stuff that happened with Wade—people believe that her aunt had enough and disappeared.”

  “People really believe that?”

  “Not everybody knows the truth, Chris. Not everybody around here is—”

  “Crazy?” I say, then add a few more colorful descriptions.

  “Not everybody knows. Not everybody is a part of them.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “I’m doing all I can,” Newt says. “And this is it.”

  I look around at the basement.

  So you told me Jocelyn’s officially missing. Great. Fabulous. Thanks. A lot.

  “Rachel is gone too.”

  For a second I think he means she’s gone, like Jocelyn is gone. That someone killed Rachel.

  “She moved with her family.”

  “What?”

  Newt nods. “They have a way of making things like this happen.”

  “Things like what?”

  “People disappearing. People moving. People moving on.”

  I think of what Jared said about Uncle Robert and his mother. One disappeared and one “moved on.”

  “Jocelyn didn’t move. Do you get it?”

  “Don’t get angry at me. I hear you. But Rachel did move.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she knows too much and cares too much.”

  “She’s not the only one who cares.”

  “Caring is a dangerous thing around here,” he says.

  “That why you’re talking like a robot?”

  The guy with the messy hair and the face of a ten-year-old shoots me a glance that I actually admire. It’s a look that’s the equivalent of a curse word.

  “There are reasons why I remain quiet.”

  I think of the scars he has on the outside. I wonder if he carries just as many on the inside.

  “So, what? Just like that? Rachel is gone?”

  “Just like that. It’s that easy.”

  “She didn’t say good-bye.”

  “She couldn’t.”

  Now I know why Poe was so angry.

  But I had nothing to do with this. It wasn’t my fault.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.”

  “But why then—I was there—I saw it happen. I was there, Newt. I saw them. I saw what they did. Yet they let me go.”

  “I know.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why make Rachel and her family move? What about me? What about my mother?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  I think of telling him about Jared. But Jared told me not to tell another person.

  Don’t trust anybody, Chris.

  There’s no need to tell Newt about Jared.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I ask him.

  “There’s no ‘we,’” he says. “I’m not in this equation.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “If I were you, I’d get as far away from this place as I could.”

  10. Take a Deep Breath

  In town, in the heart of this beating Zombieville, after Newt and his chauffeuring grandfather drop me off in front of the restaurant where Mom works, I still think about doing it. I can see the door just down the street, the one with the sign that says Sheriff on it, and I contemplate going through it.

  Last time I went in there, one of the sheriff’s deputies threatened me.

  Maybe Sheriff Wells will be there now. Maybe his invitation to contact him if anything “funny” happens is still applicable.

  Yeah, a lot of funny things have happened, Sheriff. A lot.

  I still have his business card. I still have his cell phone number.

  I also would bet a hundred bucks he knows more than I do and that sweet Southern attitude is nothing more than cologne doused to cover up the stench.

  It’s freezing outside, and that’s what makes up my mind.

  When I go inside Brennan’s Grill and Tavern, I find things a lot more warm and cozy. Not just for me, but for Mom and the guy she’s talking to at the end of the bar.

  Is that what a hostess does?

  Then I see her raise her glass, and I assume she’s off the clock or else this place really has a good benefits plan. A couple coming out of the restaurant partially blocks my view, making me invisible for the moment. I think what a cool concept, to really be invisible.

  Considering the fact that she’s drinking it up without a word from me, I’m already halfway there.

  I slip out the door and back into the cold.

  It’s already dark out, even though it’s just around six. I have no idea what the forecast is except for doom and gloom.

  I pause and glance down the sidewalk at the buildings lined together. Across the street in the darkness lie the train tracks. Maybe I’ll walk down past the rusty railroad signal, head into the woods, and find the barn that Jocelyn showed me, the one where she kept Midnight.

  Maybe Jocelyn’s ghost haunts the old farmhouse. Maybe I’ll just set up camp there for a while, just me and Midnight, until warmer weather comes and I can finally make sense of everything.

  There’s nothing to make sense of, Chris.

  Am I going to live in this cold darkness for the next six months? The next year and a half? Enough’s enough. I start walking toward the sheriff’s office.

  Night is coming. Night is coming for us all.

  This is exactly like my father telling me not to do something. Every single time he did, I managed to go right ahead and do it. The same with my guidance counselor. The same with my friends.

  I hear the warnings in the wind as I reach the door, expecting to find it locked.

  It’s open.

  I hear the siren sound as I enter the building. I expect to find Deputy Ross chewing his gum and getting ready to backhand me before sending me bac
k outside. Instead, I see the sheriff.

  “Chris,” he says.

  He’s standing with a cup of coffee in his hand. Busy day at work, obviously.

  “I need your help,” I blurt out before I can persuade myself not to.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. Everything’s wrong. Everything, starting with Jocelyn.”

  “It’s okay, just relax. You okay? Your mother okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. She’s more than fine. We’re fine.”

  “And Jocelyn?” He looks at me with a grim face.

  Whatever I say next could have major consequences.

  Don’t do it, man. Feel him out. See if he acts like he knows more than he does. Just wait before you—

  “Jocelyn’s dead. She’s dead, and I saw it with my own eyes. I swear. I know that sounds crazy, but I saw it. I saw everything. I know it, and I don’t care who I have to tell. I’m going to tell it if it’s the last thing I do.”

  I take a deep breath and feel like passing out.

  Way to think about things, buddy.

  Sheriff Wells remains composed and cool as he puts down his mug and tells me to have a seat. I’ve seen enough cop shows to know that he’s gotta be careful. He doesn’t know if I’m high as a kite and did it myself.

  “Look, I know how this sounds,” I say.

  “Do you?” he asks.

  And I search to see if there is any sort of hint, any sort of tone, any kind of giveaway. Does he know? Could he know? Am I making a mistake?

  “Go on, have a seat,” he says in his thick accent.

  The sheriff is wearing a short-sleeved uniform shirt even though it’s winter and quite chilly even inside his office. He doesn’t seem to mind. As I sit at a desk, I keep wondering if Kevin or someone else is around.

  “This better not be some kind of joke, Chris.”

  He says it in a manner that seems to mean especially not after the kind of day I’ve had. He looks tired, at least from what I can tell. His thick goatee is unruly, the stubble on his face a few days old.

  I think of the first time I saw him, the night when my mother was drugged and knocked out in her car after work. All so that they could prove a point and send us—and me—a message.

  “Ross told me you were in shortly after Christmas looking for her.”

  “That’s right.” I can feel my heart beating against my tongue and gums. Maybe I should tell him about Ross threatening me.

  I almost do.

  “Why do you think something happened to her?”

  “Know. I know what happened to her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was there. It was New Year’s Eve.”

  His gaze dims. “That was four nights ago.”

  I nod.

  “What did you do, son?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I found her. It was a group of men. Or people, I don’t know. Like some Ku Klux Klan meeting. Men in robes. They killed her. I found her not far from where she lived. On a mountain ridge. A place with a bunch of rocks. Her throat was cut and so were her wrists. She was dead. They burned her body and told me if I told anybody someone else would be harmed. Someone like my mother or my father.”

  “Slow down, Chris. Take a deep breath.”

  “I’m not making this up.”

  “Why didn’t you come in here right away?”

  “I don’t—I couldn’t. I tried. I mean—I was afraid. My mom—I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Did you tell your mother?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because I was—did you just hear what I said?”

  He nods. I don’t see him strapping on a gun and getting a rifle and calling reinforcements.

  Does he even believe me?

  “I’m not making this up.”

  “So who did this? Who were these people you saw?”

  “I have some ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know—I just—I don’t know who around this place I can trust. People have told me not to trust anybody. Including you. So I just—I couldn’t contact anybody. Then the storm came and just shut down everything. Almost like—almost as if it was deliberately done. And I didn’t know what to do.”

  The sheriff gives me a serious look. “I’ve had a lot of strange stuff come through these doors in my time here, Chris.”

  “It’s Staunch. I know it. It’s gotta be. And—and a whole bunch of other people, too.”

  He nods and waves his hand. “Look, Chris. Let’s do this, okay? Let’s go take a drive.”

  “Where?”

  “To this place you’re talking about.”

  “But I—I’m sure it’s gone. I mean, the snow. I’m sure she’s not there.”

  “So what do you want me to do, then? Go chase down men in robes?”

  “I’m not making this up,” I say.

  “I’m just suggesting we go for a drive and you show me. I can take a look around.”

  “Should you call anybody?”

  He shakes his head without even thinking about it. The look he gives me is unsettling.

  You know something, but you can’t tell me, right?

  I suddenly wish I hadn’t come in here.

  Just like I wish I hadn’t waited until it was too late to save Jocelyn.

  “Come on. I’ll take you home afterward.”

  I’m about to say something like You just don’t get it or This is serious, this isn’t some funny game, but instead I just stand and follow him outside.

  The door shuts, and I watch the sheriff lock it.

  As if he’s hiding something.

  As if he’s about ready to bury something.

  Something, or someone.

  11. Stories and Troubles

  The evening swallows the squad car. We drive slowly toward Jocelyn’s home. Toward the place she used to live. The place where she used to breathe and eat and sleep.

  The sheriff has sports radio on in the old car that smells like cigarettes and old man’s aftershave. The lights cut into the dark woods we pass as we drive in silence for a few minutes.

  “And you’ve had no contact with Jocelyn since when?” He obviously is not buying what I have to sell.

  “Since—since I don’t know when. Right after Christmas.”

  “When you came in to report her missing.”

  “I found her. I know what happened to her.”

  “Yeah, okay, but let me just ask you this, Chris. You come to a new town and you fall for the pretty girl. In a span of just over a month, let’s recount what happens. They find a revolver in your locker.”

  “Didn’t belong to me.”

  “You have numerous run-ins with Gus Staunch. A reason not to like the Staunch family, who lives right next to you. Someone attacks your mother—chloroforms her, for cripes’ sake. Could be anybody. Could be people just scaring off the newcomers. Then I come to find out that you’ve turned into some vigilante with another gun that you’ve fired to save the pretty little girl from her wicked step-uncle, or whatever that greasy little Wade was.”

  What are you saying, Sheriff?

  I keep quiet with my face hidden in the darkness, looking at him.

  “A lot of others, people like Ross, people who don’t have patience like I do—a lot of them would’ve already handled this situation.”

  “What situation?”

  “You, Chris. The situation of you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Why don’t we find Wade and ask him? I’m sure he’d say you did something.”

  “So you don’t believe me?”

  “Ross gave me a nice little write-up about you at your last school. I didn’t ask him to do that—he went snooping around on his own. But it seems to me that drama follows you around.”

  I say it again. “I’m not making this up.”

  The sheriff nods gently, then remains quiet until we pull up to the small house. It’s dark
and untouched, with snow covering it like a concrete casing. No tracks can be seen anywhere on the driveway. No footprints in the snow, nothing.

  The sheriff keeps the car running as the headlights beam down on the door.

  “I’ve been by this house several times now since you came in to see me, since your little talk with Ross. Nobody’s been around. Jocelyn and her aunt disappeared. I’ve spoken with Helen twice. Once just today.”

  I feel like I’m back at Six Flags Great America on that falling chair ride. My stomach’s still hovering in the air as I’m dropping to the ground.

  “Where is she?”

  “Not she, Chris. They. They are in Florida.”

  “No.”

  “Now look here.” He turns to me, and I suddenly have the urge to open the door and run away. “I’m not from around here. Just like you, I moved when I was in high school. This was when I lived in Kentucky years ago. So I get it. I get it. These people—they just don’t like outsiders. Many Southerners don’t. They act charming with their ‘aw shucks’ attitude, but they can be cold and mean. But the days of the Klan are gone, Chris. They’re not around here.”

  “I saw them. I’m not—why would I make up something like that?”

  “Because teen love can cause you to do a lot of things. Some pretty stupid.”

  He thinks this is because of … teen love?

  Seriously?

  Boy, you picked this wrong.

  I wonder if Jared is watching me. Or if he knows.

  I’m sure he’s probably wondering what in the world I did.

  The sheriff doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know.

  Unless he’s the best actor in the world.

  “That place you’re referring to—it exists. It’s called The Grounds, and it’s got a bit of a legend around it. With the stones and all that. Kids like to go there. And something tells me Jocelyn took you there. Maybe for something more than just ghost hunting, right?”

  I feel my bottom lip grow heavy. I really want to tell this guy what I’m thinking. But I don’t.

  I keep quiet.

  This is my fault.

  “Now listen to me, Chris. Okay? If there is any more trouble coming from your direction—whatever it might be—I’m going to become the not-so-patient guy. People rarely see that, but they don’t like it when they do. Do you understand?”