Gravestone

by Travis Thrasher

  I’m sitting there not just being accused this time, but being told.

  “There are two options here, Chris. Making up for this year by taking summer school and retaking your failed classes, or being expelled.”

  I think of a split cantaloupe and how they scoop out the brains—I mean seeds—before slicing it.

  “Chris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  So far, this is what I think the principal has told me. We’re the only ones here—no cops or my mom or Gus or whoever.

  First she tells me that it was reported that I pulled a knife on Gus in art. I don’t yell in my defense. Frankly, I’m too tired to yell. I think I laugh and tell her the truth. But the truth is some sickly orphan around this place. Nobody wants anything to do with the truth. Nobody.

  The thin red line in front of me known as Principal Harking says in an automated fashion that since she can’t prove that I wielded the knife, it’s simply going in my file. On my record. Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.

  “But your grades are another matter.”

  My grades?

  She proceeds to tell me that I’m failing three classes.

  Failing.

  Three.

  Classes.

  French, which surprises me but not really.

  Talk to the guy whose name is on the tombstone. He’ll help.

  Algebra II, which does surprise me because I’ve been doing halfway decent.

  And English, which is crazy.

  “I can’t be failing three classes.”

  But she shows me. She’s talked to the teachers. Since I’m a bad egg, they need to throw the bad egg out before it gets salmonella.

  This town should be renamed Salmonella.

  “So your option is to finish this week and then report to summer school the following week.”

  What about my plans to vacation in Maui? I want to protest, but really, how and why?

  This is beyond a conspiracy.

  This is like the rest of everything that’s happened here.

  “Poe didn’t deserve to get expelled,” I tell the principal.

  “We’re not talking about her today.”

  “I am.”

  The principal steadies herself in her chair like a pencil sharpening its tip.

  “It does not surprise me in the least that the two of you are friends.”

  “She doesn’t use drugs.”

  “With more of that attitude, I can make your stay at this school extremely unpleasant.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s been wonderful so far.”

  She looks at me.

  I suddenly feel like I’m waking up and filling in.

  And once again, it’s anger and rage inside of me.

  She can see the look on my face.

  I’m staring right at her.

  She doesn’t frighten me. No way. Not around here, not when there are a hundred other things to frighten me.

  “You will need to fill these out for summer school. Part of that will involve detention.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Chris.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re heading down the wrong path.”

  “And what path is that?”

  “You still have one more year here,” she says.

  “Do I? Do you really know that?”

  “Chris.”

  “I might not be here tomorrow. You might not be either. You never know, do you?”

  I stand up and grab the papers from her and walk out.

  I’m wide awake now.

  Wide awake and feeling just absolutely awesome that I get to see this hellhole for the summer.

  104. The Two Ladies

  Kelsey and I have an intense, moving conversation in art class.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Hey in this case means Look, I’m really exhausted since this guy I’ve been trusting turned out to be a liar and knocked me unconscious and ended up burning down this inn I work at along with Oh, and yeah, I just learned I’m failing half my classes and need to take summer school.

  “Hi,” Kelsey says back.

  Hi in this case might mean I had a really great dance with you the other night and have been thinking about it ever since and really hope that maybe we can have that dance again.

  I’m not saying this because I feel really good about myself. But I see it in Kelsey’s eyes and in everything about her. I saw it on her face the other night.

  The same way she saw it on my face.

  That’s the gist of our conversation. Deep, insightful.

  At the end of the class, she continues our conversation.

  “See you later,” she says.

  Which means Why didn’t you bother to ask me anything at all about the rest of my night or my weekend and why don’t you bother talking or walking out with me because I’d really enjoy that but oh well that’s your loss.

  “Yeah, see ya,” I say.

  Which means just that.

  I’ll see her again, sometime.

  If I see Poe, a very big if since I have no idea what happened when I went by her house yesterday, it will end up going very differently from the limited interaction I had with Kelsey.

  I take the bus home and then ride my bike out of town, heading to see Poe.

  When I get to her house, I honestly expect it to be empty.

  But as I put my bike on the driveway and start to walk to the door, Poe opens it and rushes toward me. She hugs me for a long time. Not saying anything, just hugging me. Then she tells me to come on inside before someone sees us.

  I need to tell her about what happened, but I also need to know what happened to her.

  “Who is this?”

  The man speaking must be her father. I offer my hand and am about to say my name when Poe interrupts me.

  “This is Steve. From school. A friend.”

  The guy doesn’t shake my hand. He just looks at me with suspicious eyes, as if I did something or am about to do something.

  Look, baldie, I’m not the problem here.

  “He should leave before your mother gets back,” Poe’s father says to her as if I’m not even in the room.

  “Fine.”

  She leads me to the family room, where we sit on the couch.

  “I saw her. Pictures of her.”

  I shake my head, not understanding what she’s talking about.

  “Jocelyn.”

  “Pictures of Jocelyn?”

  She shakes her head and begins to cry.

  “Poe, what?”

  “Somebody came here and threatened me.”

  “Who? How?”

  So for the next ten minutes or ten hours, I can’t really tell, through tears and gasps of air and confused dialogue, Poe tells me what happened. She says certain things in barely a whisper, not wanting her father to hear.

  Someone sneaked into her house Sunday after lunch while her parents were gone. They came up to her room and opened the door and forced her to look at pictures of Jocelyn. Pictures of Jocelyn after she died.

  I ask who and what they wanted and why, but Poe just ignores my comments and continues her story.

  Whoever came to her house was wearing a Halloween mask, but she could tell it was a man. Probably a young guy. He showed her the pictures and then said that’s what happens to girls who hang around with guys like me.

  “They said my name?” I ask.

  It was a warning. Whoever came in wanted her to stop everything and anything to do with me. As if they were watching. As if they knew what we were doing.

  “Did you tell—”

  “I told my parents someone came in and threatened me. I told them everything except the part about you.”

  “Poe—”

  “Shhh. He doesn’t know. Mom is gone to Walgreens to get some meds the doctor prescribed for my nerves. I think she’s going to take half the pills herself.”

  I no longer want to tell Poe what happened.


  I can’t.

  “The guy said one thing before he left, Chris. One thing that—I didn’t tell the police. But you need to know.”

  “What?”

  “He said that this is what happens to those who get close to you. It happened to Jocelyn. It happened to the lady at the inn you worked at. It’ll happen to me.”

  “Iris?”

  The word explodes like a firecracker, leaving a burning scent in the air.

  “Then he told me that we’re all going to die. We can be afraid, or we can embrace our last breath. Something like that.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Chris?”

  I know exactly who sent this guy to threaten her. It’s as if he’s begging to be found out. As if there’s no mystery about who’s wearing the mask, who’s behind the dark curtain.

  It’s like he’s wanting you to go to him.

  “Chris, what is it?”

  She knows. She can see it on my face.

  I’ve made up my mind.

  That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  105. One Moment

  I started this year angry and desperate and searching for answers. I didn’t wait for them, either. I went out to search. Yet before I could get to anybody, I ended up being saved from the creepy mountain man by Jared.

  Jared who happened to be there and who proceeded to fill me with lies.

  I never got a chance to follow through with what I wanted to do. I wanted to not only find out the truth. I wanted to hurt whoever was responsible for Jocelyn’s death.

  Now, without any doubt whatsoever, I know.

  That’s why I’m skipping school today. What are they going to do? Threaten my life?

  That’s why I’m holding a rock in my hand.

  That’s why I’m throwing it through the glass window and then taking the rest of the shards out with a stick.

  And that’s why I’m climbing through the window at the back of the little, seemingly abandoned and desolate cabin. The one wearing the mask, just like everybody else around here. The one with a false front, just like the guy I’m pretty sure owns it.

  I stand there with misty light coming through the windows. It rained earlier, but now it’s clearing and sun is drizzling down. There’s a desk and a computer and files and books.

  I guess if it was the middle of the night I’d be creeped out. Maybe it should be pouring rain or something. But no. It’s bright and I’m angry and the only fear that I have is what I’m going to do. What I might end up doing to hurt myself.

  I find a bunch of files about the church, confirming that this office does indeed belong to Pastor Marsh.

  Another drawer is full of cards—the same type of cards I saw a bunch of kids playing with at Ray Spencer’s party the first time I ever went over there. They have different images on them, strange images. A leaf or a flower or an animal.

  Another drawer reveals a knife, which I decide to take. I wish I still had Uncle Robert’s gun.

  There’re a lot of things I wish.

  The bottom drawer is locked. I find a letter opener that I use to unlodge the drawer and break through the wood. It’s not even wood, just particle board. The lock that’s hiding whatever secrets are behind it breaks easily.

  Inside are folders stacked on top of each other. Ordinary manila folders. Each one is marked in black pen. The folder on top says #6.

  I take them out and then look out at the woods. Nothing. Nothing but nature talking back at me and sunlight spilling in.

  You don’t want to see what’s inside these.

  But I open the folder marked #6, and I see her looking back at me. Jocelyn. It looks like a school picture. She looks younger.

  You don’t want to do this, Chris.

  I keep going through the file. Pictures, information, copies of emails, more pictures, information on Aunt Alice and Wade. There’s a stack of pages paper-clipped together that are all about my mom. Copies of a birth certificate, driver’s license, family photos back when there was a family to photograph.

  My hands are shaking.

  I have to keep looking. I want to know. I want to see.

  I want to know why they killed her.

  Then the door behind me opens, and the folders in my lap spill out as I stand.

  At the door is the man responsible for this. His evil eyes behind the slivers of his glasses don’t appear surprised.

  “Hello, Chris,” he says, his voice as casual as the white polo shirt and jeans he wears.

  The fan of pages that litter the top of the desk from where they spilled out show enough. For just one brief second, I see.

  She’s hurting and bleeding but she’s still alive, at least in those pictures.

  The man at the door just stands there. “I have a lot more than just photos I can show you,” the pastor tells me. “I have video, too.”

  I swallow, but my mouth and throat are dry. My body goes numb, hot and cold, my eyes fill with dizzy red rage.

  “She screamed your name, Chris. Over and over again.”

  With that, I find that knife on the top of the desk and take it out of its sheath.

  As I do, the pastor bolts away from the doorway. I hear hurried steps rushing through the woods.

  I think of Wade, the monster who was hurting Jocelyn.

  I dealt with him, and I can deal with this.

  I follow him, knowing exactly what I’m meant to do.

  Whatever—whoever—was left of Chris Buckley after Jocelyn died stays in that little cabin next to those horrific pictures I only saw for a moment.

  But one moment is all you need in this life.

  And that one moment is all I need to end the pastor’s.

  106. The Big Bad Wolf

  Evil wears a mask, and I can finally see its face.

  The rushing waters surround us as sunlight plays tricks on my eyes. Gold glitters in these woods, damp from the earlier rain, foggy from the temperature change. My legs splash in the cool stream that comes up to my shins.

  He’s standing on the edge where the water drops fifty feet to the jutting rocks below. He faces me with his sick smile. “What are you going to do now, Chris?”

  I’m no longer scared, no longer running away.

  “It’s done,” I say. “You’re done.”

  The voice talking is not mine. The hand holding this knife doesn’t belong to me.

  Chris Buckley is gone. Long gone.

  It’s been six months, but I can still taste it in my mouth. The anger, the bitterness, the absolute hunger for revenge.

  You don’t have to do this, not here, not like this.

  He smiles. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

  “Whatever you’re doing to this place and these people—it’s over. Right now.”

  His laugh twists into my skin.

  “There are things you need to know,” he says.

  “I know enough.”

  “You know only what you’re supposed to know. That’s why I brought you here.”

  “I followed you.”

  “I could break your neck if I wanted to.”

  I smile. Because something in me says he’s wrong. Something in me believes that if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.

  “You’re not going to do anything to anybody ever again,” I say.

  “So what happens after you kill the Big Bad Wolf?” he asks. “There are others lurking in these woods and in this town. I’m just the obvious one. Killing me achieves nothing.”

  My hand shakes, but I steady it as I walk closer to him. Streaks of sunlight circle us like a laser show.

  You can’t really do this, Chris, no matter how you feel and how right it is.

  “So the pastor stands at Marsh Falls,” he says. “How ironic. How fitting. And how utterly predictable.”

  “You killed her,” I say to him.

  He laughs and looks at me through his short glasses, and I want to take them and break them just like I want to break him.
/>   “Six months and you’re still seething,” Pastor Marsh says. “That’s good.”

  “People are going to know.”

  “Haven’t these past months taught you anything? You’re smart, but you’re not that smart. You’re not here because you’re some bright young star chosen because of your intelligence, Chris. You’re really rather unremarkable, to tell you the truth.”

  I inch closer.

  He’s now about five feet away from me. He looks behind him, then glances back at me.

  This is the first time I think I see fear on his face.

  Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t see fear in mine.

  One more step.

  The echoes of the falls smother all other sounds.

  Hell is not dying, Chris. It’s knowing and living.

  Whoever said that was right.

  I think whoever said that is standing before me right now.

  “Do you want to know the truth?” he asks.

  “I know the truth. The new church. I know where it is. I found the folders. The pictures. I have proof. Everybody is going to know about Solitary. Everybody is going to know what’s really going on.”

  “Have you ever been surprised, Chris?”

  “You’re a sick man.”

  “Have you ever believed in something with all your heart, only to discover it was an ugly little lie?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Everything you think you know about this town and about your mother and her family—all those things are pretty little lies covering up the ugly, awful truth.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes, Chris. Maybe this has all been some elaborate test.”

  I move closer.

  “Maybe we never wanted Jocelyn. That sweet but dirty little thing you professed to love.”

  I curse at him.

  “Maybe all we ever wanted was you.”

  My hand is steady and I know it’s because I’ve used a weapon before and I’ll do it again. Even though a gun’s a lot different from a knife, it doesn’t matter.

  I’m not Chris Buckley because that boy died on New Year’s Eve along with something far more precious.

  Stop before it’s too late.

  “We’re watching, but all you see is the scene before you,” Pastor Marsh says. “You don’t see anybody but a face you hate and fear and a boy you hate and fear even more.”