Page 133 of Stay Buried

Sometimes, I’ll admit it, I catch myself playing the game alone at home. I walk into the kitchen, start making supper, and I let myself imagine you’ll be coming through the front door at any moment.

I pour you a glass of brandy.

I set a place for you at the table.

I sit on the other side of the table and I close my eyes, and say your name.

And I wait.

And I wait.

EPILOGUEASHLEY

October 23, 2016

You look like shit,” Ashley told her brother when he stumbled downstairs and made his way into the kitchen. He’d been staying at Gram’s house—she couldn’t stop thinking of it as Gram’s house even now that it was theirs—since they got back from Boone’s Ferry.

Ash was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her with several open tabs. She’d been following all the latest news updates from Boone’s Ferry. The town had been overrun with the state police and FBI.

It had made the national news: every outlet was running stories on it.

All the unsolved-mystery forums her mom used to love were blowing up with posts about Boone’s Ferry: the little town time forgot, where they worshipped and did sacrifices for a strange deity who was, in some ways, the guilty conscience of the town—their fears personified.

The other tab she had open was a spreadsheet she’d started, listing everything she had to tackle in order to try to get back into medschool for the spring semester. She’d reached out to the director of the program a couple of days after they got back from Boone’s Ferry, and she had been very encouraging.

“Thanks for the kind words, Ash.” Mal scowled at her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Is there coffee?”

“There was this morning.”

He blinked at her. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two,” Ash said.

Mal looked around the kitchen, ran his bandaged hand over the stubble on his face. He’d shaved his beard off right after they’d returned from Boone’s Ferry, and Ash was still getting used to the new clean-cut Mal. “I’ve gotta hit the road. Check-in for the seminar starts at four and the opening remarks are at five.”

He’d been talking about it for days, how the author ofThe Reason You Haven’t Succeededwas doing a seminar in Boston. Mal had gotten one of the last tickets for the low, low price of $3,500. It was his money, thanks to the inheritance from Gram, so Ashley didn’t say a word.

“It’s gonna be life-changing,” he said. “Thousands of people from all over the world have signed up. I’ve seen videos and reviews and blog posts about the other seminars he’s done in LA and Chicago. People are leaving with businesses mapped out, five-year plans, action steps. People leave this thing totally on fire.”

“If it’s going to be so life-changing, shouldn’t you have set an alarm to get yourself there on time?” she teased.

“I did set an alarm,” he admitted. “But it seems my piece-of-shit phone finally bit the dust. It’s not turning on at all, no matter what I do. I had it charging all night. I’ll pick up a new one when I’m back from Boston. Or maybe I’ll try to grab one there—but I don’t want to miss any of the conference.”

He coughed.

“You didn’t do a wake-and-bake thing again, did you?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Just allergies.”

He’d been smoking a lot of weed since they’d returned fromBoone’s Ferry. Ashley had been on his case about it a little—he said it was helping him process everything that had happened. She thought it was more likely that he was using it to try to erase it all, to make it feel far away, not quite real.

Erasing what they’d seen and learned would be impossible, though, especially with the seemingly endless interviews with the state police and the FBI. Just when they thought they were through, they needed to give another statement or clarify some detail.

The press continued to call and knock on their door. They’d been approached by a woman who wanted to buy the rights to their story; she said she was writing a book about the “Boone’s Ferry Cult” and was sure there’d be interest from Netflix. Mal had slammed the door in her face.

Ashley had talked to Mini on the phone a few times. She and her family were with relatives down in Maryland. She was doing as well as could be expected.

The authorities assured Ash and Mal that their mother’s remains could be moved to their family plot when they were through processing them—she’d be laid to rest beside Gram. Ash and Mal could properly grieve their mother, say their good-byes, and maybe have some small sense of closure.