Gravestone (27 page)

61. Creeper

I don’t wait for art class to talk to Kelsey. I find her between first and second periods. I see her walking with Georgia and interrupt them.

“Hey—can we talk?”

Georgia glances at me like I just walked off the set of a zombie movie. Kelsey nods, and this just seems to disgust her friend, who walks off.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Georgia seems really happy.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Kelsey—I didn’t expect that to happen.”

“What to happen?”

Something did happen, or almost happened before Poe interrupted us.

“Just—leaving you like that. It was rude. I can explain, but not now.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, and I don’t want—” I fully intended to apologize, but then I hear myself say, “Look, would you want to do something again?”

She glances at me and seems genuinely surprised.

“Something without Dan. Just—just us.”

“Sure.” Everything about Kelsey and the way she says
sure
is different.

“Great.”

I walk away and wonder why I just asked this girl out when all I wanted to do was save face.

You couldn’t help it.

But I could. I’m not interested and I have ten thousand other things going on right now.

You have unfinished business.

But that’s crazy. I know that I just hate having someone angry or disappointed in me.

That’s all and nothing more.

The clouds look threatening as we stand at the edge of the clearing and look out at the set of boulders. It looks different during the day, without the flickering of the fire coating the trees. Poe was easily able to drive here, to this place Sheriff Wells called The Grounds.

“This place has always creeped me out,” she says.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Sure. With Stuart. He liked coming up here—he thought it was the perfect place to smoke in peace.”

I gather that Stuart wasn’t just smoking cigarettes.

“There was another place Jocelyn showed me, by Marsh Falls,” I say. “Do you know where that is?”

“Sure.”

“I saw people meeting there, a group of people. Like some underground church thing or something. Jocelyn had started meeting with them.”

“Was the pastor one of them?”

“Pastor Marsh? No. I think they were meeting in secret
because
of people like the pastor. Maybe they can help us.”

“Have you been back there?”

I shake my head.

“And this Jared guy—you trust him?”

“Yeah. He’s been right with everything he’s told me, everything I can prove anyway.”

“So why doesn’t
he
just go tell someone who can help?”

“He’s still looking around—hoping to find his father.”

Poe’s eyes shift over the scene of the rocks on the top of the hill in front of us. I glance at her and count the five earrings in her ear.

“I don’t think you should say anything to him for now. Until we’re sure we can trust him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We have to find some kind of proof, and then we have to tell someone who’s away from here.”

“I have the proof I need. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“But nobody’s going to believe you. I mean—Chris, I still barely believe you. It’s a crazy story.”

“I know.”

“Everybody believes Jocelyn moved away. I mean—she sent me emails. That’s how ridiculous this is. You say the sheriff is even in on it, right?”

“I don’t know about that. I just know that he didn’t believe me. He thinks just because I got into some trouble back at my old high school, I’m not telling the truth.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Stupid stuff. Partying. Nothing major.”

“You? Partying? You seem a little too good to do that.”

“You really don’t know me, Poe.”

“No, I don’t.”

She looks like she’s about to say something else, then stops herself.

“How do we go about getting proof that Jocelyn was killed?”

“I want to know what the pastor is hiding,” Poe says. “Because I’m betting it’s going to be pretty ugly. Just like them all.”

“What do you mean ‘just like them all’?”

“Every week you hear of some priest caught molesting kids or some big-name preacher who condemns gays caught with some male ‘buddy.’ It’s all a crock. They’re all the same.”

“I don’t think Marsh is going to sit down for an interview.”

“I want to see those emails from his wife.”

“They’re in the car. I’ll leave them with you.”

“I think you need to find out what he’s hiding at his house.”

“Are you kidding?”

Poe shakes her head, and her dark hair falls over her face. She brushes it back as if it annoys her. “Doesn’t he spend all his time at that church?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably.”

“So you go when he’s onstage preaching.”

“What? Break into his house?”

“Why not?”

“What if someone catches me?”

“The only way we can get someone to believe you—to believe us—is to give them proof.”

“And you think Pastor Marsh has some kind of proof at his home?”

“A creeper like that? Absolutely.”

62. Alone

The next day, Poe comes up to me. “Here’s that book I borrowed from you. Make sure you look at it before returning it to the library.”

I’ve never seen the book before, and I’ve never loaned a book to Poe.

In my English class, I open it and find a folded sheet of paper inside. It’s one of the emails from the stack I gave to her. Written at the top is a note:
Did you read this?

I’
M
A
PRISONER
IN
MY
OWN
HOUSE
.

I
DON
’
T
KNOW
HOW
MUCH
LONGER
I’
M
GOING
TO
BE
ABLE
TO
COMMUNICATE
.

I’
M
LIVING
WITH
A
MONSTER
. S
OMEBODY
,
BUT
NOT
THE
MAN
I
MARRIED
.
NOT
A
MAN
.

H
ERE
’
S
A
PERSON
WHO
FEIGNS
HAVING
A
CHILD
IN
ORDER
TO
TELL
STORIES
ABOUT
HER
IN
HIS
SERMONS
. W
HO
WOULD
DO
THAT
? P
EOPLE
BELIEVE
IT
,
TOO
. E
VERYBODY
AROUND
HERE
IS
DRINKING
THE
K
OOL-
A
ID
.

I
F
YOU
GET
THIS
—
IF
YOU
’
RE
STILL
THERE
—
THEN
YOU
NEED
TO
COME
GET
ME
.

W
E
’
RE
NO
DIFFERENT
FROM
THE
REST
. T
HE
TENTACLES
OF
TUNNELS
REACH
US
.

F
IND
THE
SOUTH
SIDE
OF
THE
HOUSE
IN
THE
WOODS
,
MAYBE
A
HUNDRED
YARDS
AWAY
. T
HERE
IS
A
DOOR
THAT
LEADS
DOWN
INTO
THE
TUNNEL
. F
ROM
THERE
YOU
CAN
GET
IN
.

I
F
YOU
CAN
GET
IN
,
THEN
MAYBE
I
CAN
GET
OUT
.

I
HOPE
THERE
’
S
TIME
.

I
HOPE
HE
DOESN
’
T
FIND
OUT
.

P
LEASE
HELP
.

I look up and stare at the teacher and see her looking at me, waiting.

“Chris, do you have any thoughts on this passage?”

“Yeah.”

“Then please share.”

“It’s dark. It’s brutal. It’s the point of no return.”

Mrs. Norton gives me a puzzled glance.

“What does it mean to you?”

“That we’re all alone,” I say. “That we’re all alone and that nobody’s ever going to get there in time to help. Nobody.”