She doesn’t know exactly how far I’m driving, but she doesn’t need to know.
It takes me longer than I expected to find it. The place Jocelyn took me, where she showed me the church and the cemetery that used to be.
The tall grass and weeds aren’t as high as I remember, and the church seems more desolate than I remember. The ground is hard and it takes me a while to find them, but I eventually see the pair of gravestones.
I place a rock between them.
I’m not exactly sure what else to do.
Is she watching me from above or around like in The Sixth Sense?
It’s a nice thought, thinking she might be seeing me, but that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m doing it out of respect. And love. And need.
The rock is one I found down by the creek, thin and about the length of a football. I carved some crude markings on it with a small pickaxe I bought in town. They’re undecipherable except by me.
And by Jocelyn.
At the top is a large J. Then at the center, resembling the cuttings of a caveman, it says December 31. At the bottom, a round thing that’s supposed to resemble a heart.
I look at the flat rock between the two short tombstones. I breathe in and feel the cold emptiness of winter. Then I look up to the sky. “You once called me your guardian angel. Remember that?”
I’m talking out loud, unafraid of being overheard. For some reason, I think this is a special place uninfected by Solitary.
Then again, the church did burn to the ground. What do I know?
“You called me an answer to prayer. But I couldn’t guard you, Joss. I couldn’t save you. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there.”
I look at the sky. I don’t have tears, not anymore. There’s just this big gaping hole inside, like the remnants of a dissolving asteroid plummeting to the ground and disintegrating. All I’m left with is a crater full of ashes and rock.
“You told me that you came here and asked God to send you a sign. As a reminder of the brightness. So I’m going to do the same thing. I’m going to ask. Maybe this is a magical place where God doesn’t exist but wishes can come true. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that you’re gone and I failed you. I miss you.”
Once again I glance at the rock I made, this ugly scratched excuse for a gravestone.
“If it’s true—if what you believed is true—then you’re okay. And that also means you can look out for me. So I’m asking you—I’m asking God—I’m asking whoever can hear me: Help me. Send something to help me out. Because I’m lost in this darkness and I’m not sure where I’m going to go or what I’m going to do.”
The wind is slight and cold. I would love to say that I suddenly have a premonition, that I hear a whisper, that I see something. But there’s nothing.
It’s just a boy standing over the makeshift grave of the girl he loved, praying a prayer he doesn’t really believe.
Faith isn’t an easy thing. Whoever tells you it is, is just wrong.
I bend down and touch the rock one more time.
I know I’ll never come back to this place.
When I’m back in my mom’s car, I see it.
I wonder if it’s the same wolf I’ve seen before.
No, this one is darker and not as tall. It’s standing near the grave site. It doesn’t sniff, doesn’t seem to be looking for anything. It walks as if it’s
That’s stupid.
I shut my voice up before it goes further.
No wolf is patrolling these hidden graves.
It’s just that this place is so remote that wolves and other animals seem to be everywhere.
Good thing wolfie didn’t decide to bite like the birdie did.
It’s getting dark, and the outline of the wolf makes me shiver for a second. I start up the car and drive away.
48. 1000 Reasons
My prayer is answered the following day.
I’m sitting in the lunchroom trying to make conversation with Newt, who’s playing with an app on his iPhone and pretty much ignoring me.
Until he says, “Oh yeah, I finally got to see what was on that zip drive.”
I stop chewing and just stare at him. If he was closer I’d hit him. Seriously. “What? When?”
“Yesterday. I asked my guy, and he finally emailed me the contents.”
“And you were going to tell—”
Before I can finish my sentence I hear an Oops! and something slams straight over my head. Something cold and thick and gooey drips down on my forehead and nose and shoulders.
I smell it. The unmistakable scent of Thousand Island dressing.
I jerk back as the bowl bounces on the ground. I hear a snicker and Newt’s “Gross” and the fat pig’s stupid voice say, “Oh man, I’m really sorry.”
Gus is literally beaming.
Here’s my bright ray of sunshine. Thanks a lot, all you who hear prayers.
Riley is right next to Gus and asks if I’d like a little lettuce with my dressing.
I stand and wipe a thick slab of the stuff off my head.
Everybody is watching us.
“Great.”
That’s all I can say.
Gus stands there with Burt and Riley at his side, daring me to do something.
He knows that I can’t. He knows that one more straw or infraction or anything will result in a suspension.
“I must’ve tripped,” he says, his smile showing his ugly teeth. “I’m really sorry.”
For a second I look at Newt, but he only looks away.
This all started with you, remember that?
I hesitate for a brief second. A really brief second.
Then I brush past Gus and head to the bathroom.
As I go, I hear the laughter and discussion turn into something even worse.
Applause.
I’m running water over my head in the sink when I sense someone standing next to me. I look up to see Poe.
I’m surprised, not because she’s standing in the guys’ bathroom, but because she’s about the last person I’d expect to see. I’d probably be less surprised if Jocelyn were to walk in.
“What are you doing?” Poe asks, looking at the mess I’ve made on my T-shirt by trying to rub out the puke-color Thousand Island stains. “You have to take that off.”
I want to ask her why she’s bothering to talk to me all of a sudden, but I don’t. I can use someone, anyone, at this point.
A kid walks in wearing headphones, takes one look at us, then promptly turns around and walks back out.
“I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“Just take it off and wait a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”
For a second she glances at the shirt. Of course, it’s another of Uncle Robert’s. It says “All Cats Are Grey” and has a faded-out shadow on it. On the back is a picture of the band The Cure. “I really liked that shirt,” Poe says.
She leaves me standing there, clueless. Suddenly I’m no longer thinking about Gus. I’m wondering why Poe decided to break her vow of silence.
When she comes back carrying a black T-shirt, she wonders why I haven’t taken off my shirt. I do so with a bit of reluctance. I’m not the guy who loves being on the skins team. I’m pale and don’t work out and have a nice collection of moles and freckles. I’m dripping on my bare chest and jeans as I take the shirt from her.
“That’s all I have, but it’s a guy’s large. You know me—I like wearing oversized stuff.”
It’s a long-sleeved black T-shirt with the words Sorry if I looked interested. I’m not.
I look at myself in the mirror. My hair sopping wet, my face still lined with remnants of salad dressing, my pants and shoes speckled as well.
Poe laughs. “I love the shirt.”
“What are you doing?”
“I can only go so far.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You need some new friends,” Poe says. “I might not have a heart to loan out, but I�
�m not heartless either.”
I’m standing there looking at her, still confused. “Look—just—”
Then she bursts out in laughter.
It’s nice to see a smile on her face. Underneath the eyeliner and lipstick and all that other stuff she’s hiding behind, Poe’s actually really pretty.
“What did I do to you?” I ask her.
“It’s done. I’m over it. Plus, Joss is getting on my nerves lately. It’s fine, really.”
For a second I thought she said Joss is getting on my nerves lately.
She’s talking about someone else.
Something or someone that rhymes with Joss.
Either that or she’s crazy.
“Just return the shirt to me after you wash it, okay? And Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Just—just take care of yourself. Okay?”
She leaves me in the bathroom, still wet, still smelly, and still totally confused.
As I head to my locker, I see Newt there with my books. He wants to say something, but I just shake my head. He doesn’t have to. This is a sad boat we’re in. I never thought I’d be in any kind of boat with Newt, but here I am.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Finish my conversation.”
“With whom?”
“With you.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What’d you find?”
“Just some Word documents.”
“Did you read them?”
Newt shakes his head. “The less I know, the better.”
“So, do you have them here?”
Newt opens his locker and produces a file folder. It’s got twenty or so pages in it.
“You didn’t read any of it?”
“The first page,” he says. “Then I got a bit scared and stopped.”
“What about your friend?”
“Trust me. He won’t tell anybody. Last thing he wants or needs is to get into more trouble.”
I take the folder and head to my next class.
I suddenly have a thousand more reasons why I hate this place.
49. Emails
They look like emails, copied and pasted into a document.
As Mr. Nivel drones on about something that I’m assuming has to do with Algebra II, I carefully slip out the first page and read it. It’s not addressed to anybody, nor is there a name at the bottom. But it doesn’t take me long to figure out that this must be an email to my uncle rather than one he sent.
THIS IS AN ACCOUNT THAT NOBODY KNOWS AND THE ONLY WAY I’LL BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE. THEY CAN SEE WHO CALLS WHOM, WHO EMAILS WHOM, WHO TALKS TO WHOM. I DON’T KNOW HOW, BUT THEY KNOW. AND THEY SILENCE THOSE WHO TALK.
HE SAYS HE CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE SPECIAL. OTHERWISE THEY WOULD. BUT IT’S A CHOICE—IT’S YOUR CHOICE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS. DO YOU?
ALL I KNOW IS THAT THE MAN I THOUGHT I FELL IN LOVE WITH AND MARRIED IS NOT THE SAME MAN. SOMETHING HAPPENED. SOMETHING OUT THERE IN THE DARKNESS. IT’S AS IF HE WENT OUT INTO THE WOODS AND CAME BACK A DIFFERENT PERSON.
I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM DO SOME OF THE THINGS I’M IMAGINING, BUT I FEEL IT. I JUST—I JUST HAVE THIS IDEA. THAT’S WHY I CAME TO YOU. I THOUGHT YOU NEEDED TO KNOW. I CAN GET IN TROUBLE FOR SAYING THESE THINGS. BOTH OF US CAN. BUT YOU NEED TO KNOW THE TRUTH.
I’LL TELL YOU ANYTHING I FIND OUT. I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO EMAIL YOU FROM THIS ACCOUNT. IF NOT, THERE HAS TO BE ANOTHER WAY TO COMMUNICATE. I’LL LET YOU KNOW. SOON.
I slip the page back into the folder and then realize I can’t keep reading these here. If I’m caught and this ends up in the hands of the wrong person, something bad might happen.
You don’t know who it’s from or who it’s for.
But I would guess that it’s from Heidi Marsh, the wife of the pastor.
Jared was right. He keeps being right.
I decide to read the rest of the emails later tonight. And then try and contact Jared to share them with him.
The rest of the day I just get stares.
Including from my former art friend.
I’m so distracted and disjointed from the lunch incident and the emails that I forget to do the obvious. It takes me about fifteen minutes to finally tell a silent Kelsey thanks for the card.
She nods.
“It was really nice.”
“Yeah, sure.” She doesn’t say anything else.
And you know, I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t say anything to me either. I’d stay far away. And I want her to stay far away. I belong on a salad bar with various ingredients that people pick from and pick at every day. Nothing that will amount to a hearty meal.
A few times I’m about to say something. A wisecrack. A comment on my shirt and messy hair. A statement that shows I have a pulse and a soul.
But I say nothing.
Nothing at all.
And the bell rings and Kelsey goes, and I figure it’s probably better this way.
I see Gus by his locker at the end of the day.
“Love the shirt, Chris. It really fits you.”
I want to say more. Do more.
But I remember Mr. Meiners’ reaction, his jerking of my hand and his yelling at me.
Mind your own business.
I want him to see me like this, a portrait of me minding my business.
I just walk away from Gus, doing what Mr. Meiners says even though he’s not around to see me doing it.
I feel a little more alone tonight. I used to be fine with this. I used to not even think about whether I felt alone or not. I could lose myself in hours of video games or watching television. If I really had nothing to do I could go online and see what people were posting on Facebook. But tonight I have things to do. Homework, of course—the given in every high schooler’s life. But I’m talking about things to read.
Maybe that’s why I feel so alone. Because I’d like someone to be here when I’m reading them.
Mom is working (of course) and Midnight is sleeping (of course). I’ve been putting it off even though it’s all I can think about.
I can hear the wind picking up and know that snow is coming. Just a sprinkling, nothing major, just enough to remind a person to stay inside.
I open the folder and pick up where I stopped, with the next printed-off email that only has the text and no addresses.
IT WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE THIS. I’VE STRUGGLED TO BE THE GOOD WIFE, TO KEEP MY VOWS. WE MET IN CAMBRIDGE WHERE HE WAS STUDYING AT HARVARD DIVINITY SCHOOL. ALL I CAN SAY ABOUT THAT TIME—ABOUT THAT YEAR AND A HALF WE DATED—WAS THAT IT WAS MAGICAL. HE WAS MAGICAL. HE WANTED TO CHANGE THE WORLD, AND I WANTED TO BE AT HIS SIDE. I REALLY FELT LIKE HE LOVED ME. MAYBE HE DID. I DON’T KNOW. I DON’T KNOW MUCH NOW.
THE ONLY REASON I’M SHARING THIS IS BECAUSE I’M SCARED. AND I THINK YOU NEED TO KNOW. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO, AND THE FEW PEOPLE I’VE REACHED OUT TO HAVE CLOSED THE DOOR COMPLETELY. PEOPLE LIKE SHERIFF WELLS, LIKE GRETTA, LIKE SOME OF THE CHURCH PEOPLE. THEY IGNORE WHAT I SAY AND JUST KEEP GOING. I NEED SOMEONE TO KNOW.
IT ALL STARTED WHEN WE MOVED BACK HERE FIVE YEARS AGO. I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHY SOMEONE WHO COULD GO ANYWHERE WOULD CHOOSE TO COME BACK HERE. HE SAID THAT IT WAS ABOUT GOING BACK TO HIS CHILDHOOD HOME AND STARTING FRESH AND BUILDING SOMETHING TREMENDOUS. I WAS WILLING TO GO BECAUSE HE SAID THAT IT WAS WHERE GOD WANTED HIM TO BE.
I FEAR THAT THE GOD HE WAS TALKING ABOUT ISN’T THE SAME GOD THAT I KNOW AND BELIEVE IN.
EVERYTHING CHANGED FROM THE START. EVERYTHING. BUT I FIGURED IT WAS ALL ABOUT GETTING THE NEW BEGINNINGS CHURCH OFF THE GROUND. BEFORE WE CAME, THERE WERE NO CHURCHES. THERE WERE THE UNDERGROUND CHURCHES, OF COURSE. I WOULD COME TO DISCOVER THEM LATER ON, AS YOU DID. BUT THERE WAS NO OFFICIAL CHURCH. NOTHING. AND THAT WAS THE CREEPIEST THING TO ME ABOUT SOLITARY. HERE WE WERE IN THE HEART OF THE SO-CALLED BIBLE BELT, BUT THERE WASN’T A CHURCH AROUND. BUT HE WOULD ALWAYS SAY THAT WAS WHY HE WANTED TO START ONE, WHY HE DEEMED IT A NEW BEGINNING.
BUT FOR US, IT WAS THE BEG
INNING OF THE END.
I NEED TO GO—THAT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW.
PLEASE DELETE THIS AND MAKE SURE NOBODY SEES IT. WE CAN’T TALK ABOUT IT—EVEN AT CHURCH. NOT NOW.
SEE YOU SOON.
I put down the email and then shuffle through the pages. There’s a whole book here, almost. This is going to tell me everything.
Never once in the two emails I’ve read does the woman mention a name. But there’s no question she’s talking about Pastor Jeremiah Marsh.
I go to the next one and begin reading.
And I keep reading for the next two hours.
I learn a lot of random bits of information about the town itself, about Heidi Marsh and how terrified she was, about the church. But several key things stick out.
The first is that as the New Beginnings Church grew larger, the pastor and his wife grew apart. She refers to the “baby issue,” which makes me think they were trying to have one but couldn’t. She never gets specific. Heidi mentions that she kept seeing less and less of her husband and felt alone and isolated in this place.
But I remember the pastor talking about his little girl the first time I heard him preach.
Then strange things started happening. She calls these “the visions.” Again, she doesn’t get too specific. The few people she spoke to about them, including her husband, didn’t do anything. Just called it stress and told her to keep taking pills.
The seventh email is a big one.
THEN CAME FINN. I DON’T REMEMBER HIS LAST NAME. I’VE TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT HIM. BUT ALL I KNOW IS THAT HE WAS THE START OF SOMETHING BLACK AND HEINOUS AND THE REASON WHY THIS PLACE AND THESE PEOPLE NEED TO BE EXPOSED.
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