The Dead and the Dark(5)

“I kind of do.” Ashley squished a dandelion under the toe of her black flat. “It would look weird if I left, since I planned it.”

“Yeah, you planned it, so they already owe you.”

Ashley groaned. “I can’t just—”

She was interrupted by a car door slamming at the base of the hill. A white minivan was parked haphazardly at the side of the valley highway with one tire on the road and the other sunken into the gravel shoulder. Ashley couldn’t quite read the lime-green writing on the side of the van, but she was almost positive it involved a cartoonish drawing of a ghost. A lanky man with brown skin and dark hair stepped out of the car, stretching his arms to the sky. He leaned into the passenger window, muttered a few words, and ambled to the gated dirt patch at the bottom of the road with a fistful of lilies.

Ashley had lived in Snakebite her entire life, but she’d never seen someone visit Pioneer Cemetery on purpose. Where Snakebite Memorial was a rolling hilltop of gold grass and neat headstones, Pioneer Cemetery at the bottom of the hill was nothing but mounds of gray dirt over unnamed bodies. It was a historical landmark, a dedication to those who died on the Oregon Trail more than anything else. A stone slab stood at the front of the lot with an approximation of who was buried there—Gunderson Baby, Mattison Girl, Anderson Boy—but no one really knew who they were. Anyone who belonged to Snakebite was buried at the top of the hill, beneath supple lawns, facing the wide-open valley.

The man knew exactly where he was going, though. He strode past the stone key and approached a mound of dirt somewhat isolated from the rest. He paused there, eyes closed in a silent prayer, before gently laying the flowers over the dirt.

The graves were only names without memory, but the man mourned.

It twisted in Ashley’s stomach like a knot.

“Who’s that?” Bug asked.

She wasn’t looking at the grave or the lilies or the mystery man. Ashley traced Bug’s gaze back to the parked van. A girl had climbed out of the passenger seat and now stood in the road, propped against the car door to pop her back. Ashley tried to get a better look, but the girl’s face was half obscured by a pair of overlarge sunglasses. Her hair was a shoulder-length straight crop with the black sheen of crow feathers. Even from a distance, it reflected the thin sunlight overhead.

“This is so rude,” Fran said. She folded her arms over her chest. “Not really the time for a pit stop.”

“I don’t think it’s a pit stop,” Ashley said. She watched the man at the grave. His posture was solemn; it was grief. “Maybe he knows someone buried there?”

“Who?”

Ashley shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s like they don’t even realize there’s a funeral up here,” Fran said.

Ashley gritted her teeth at funeral.

Around them, there was silence. The sound of the crowd mingling was gone, replaced by the hushed hissing of the wind. The rest of the vigil had stopped talking and joined them at the edge of the cemetery, peering down the hillside at the newcomers with an eerie sort of knowing. It was like Brandon Woodley’s arrival all over again. The silence was pointed like a weapon. These strangers weren’t strangers at all.

They were enemies.

The girl on the road noticed the crowd. She stiffened and stared up the hillside, frozen for a moment like an animal who’d just realized she was on display. She called something to the man at the grave then quickly clambered back into the van.

The man turned and looked up the hill, but he was unfazed. He looked at the crowd like it was a challenge. Like he dared someone to say something. The man’s face was familiar. Ashley was sure she’d seen him before.

The man remained in the cemetery for a few more moments before wordlessly making his way back to the van. The strangers pulled away from the highway shoulder and puttered south toward Snakebite itself.

“Well, there’s a face I didn’t expect.”

Sheriff Paris stood next to Ashley, but he wasn’t talking to her. His uneasy smile was aimed at her mother.

Tammy pursed her lips. “Yeah.”

“Who was that?” Ashley asked.

Paris and her mother eyed each other. After a moment, her mother shook her head. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Whispers erupted around them and Ashley felt sick. This was all wrong; the vigil was supposed to be about Tristan. It was supposed to be a way to bring him home. Even if everyone here thought he was dead, Ashley knew he wasn’t. She could still feel him here, like there was a line connecting them. Wherever he was, he just needed someone to find him. He just needed someone to bring him home.

“Mrs. Granger,” Ashley said, sharp enough to cut through the crowd. “I know you asked everyone to bring a memory of Tristan. I think we should share now.”

For a moment, all eyes turned to her. The morning smelled like soil and hurt, and the inside of Ashley’s mouth was swollen with unspent tears. The crowd slowly gathered around Tristan’s photo. Shakily, Ashley pulled a notecard from the pocket of her dress.

Before she could speak, Sheriff Paris cleared his throat.

“Ashley,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind if I start us off.”

Ashley blinked.

“Right. This isn’t so much a memory as a promise. I know we’re a pretty small town and when something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us. And I know it’s easy for us to point fingers at people who’re different.” Sheriff Paris cleared his throat. His blond hair was bright and slick in the summer sun, eyes clear and blue as the sky behind him. “I love Tristan like he’s my own kid. Even if we’ve officially called the case cold, I’m not done looking. I won’t stop until we find him alive. I won’t stop until he’s home.”