Istared at the letter the film crew had taped to my door.I’d read it to Kansas before he left and then read it again alone. Then again, with a bottle of wine.
Why hadn’t they mailed it? It seemed so unprofessional. And creepy. Someone who knew about my traumatic childhood and wanted to use me to make money had been on my porch. Had they looked through my curtains? Checked out my backyard?Did they try the doorknob? The possibilities were endless, and I hated every dark thought.
I’d spent the afternoon in my bed drunk crying, eventually falling asleep. When I woke up, I was still holding the letter, but the bottle of wine was empty. Guilt swam in my stomach, knowing I hadn’t taken my meds the entire time Kansas was here, and now, the alcohol?
Steeling my nerves, I went downstairs and to the kitchen to find something to put in my stomach.I’d deal with that later.
The first thing I saw was the birthday cake I’d made to celebrate Constantine, my dead friend. I couldn’t even stomach looking at it or eat it, so I lifted it out of its glass case and tossed it in the trash without a single bite having been taken out of it.
I paced the house, allowing the alcohol to wear off. I was unsure of what exactly to do. I wanted to go to the police and demand the film crew leave me alone, but I knew exactly what they’d say:
The film crew was bringing in money for the town.
If I called the police, they’d want to see the letter and then they’d know my secret. They’d know that I was held captive by the Minister for almost five years before escaping. And once they knew, the whole town would too.I tossed the letter in the trash on top of the cake and grabbed my car keys. I couldn’t be in this house right now.I drove around aimlessly, trying to clear my head, but nothing worked. I put the windows down and blasted Stevie Nicks, but I was still hopelessly miserable.
I should have taken my meds. The little alarm rang in my brain, telling me I was wrong for not doing so, but I ignored it. I hated the pills.
Somehow, I found myself outside of town, across the street from the woods where the Church lay rotting.I parked my car on the other side, away from the trees. I hadn’t been back on that side since Kansas and I had pulled ourselves out. But there was some solace on the other side.A small wooden cross.
Constantine hadn’t made it to the road, but Kansas thought it’d be good for us to have a representation of him somewhere so we could properly grieve.It helped.
When it was first erected, three years ago, I came here often. I made sure the area was kept tidy and the grass was cut. I would wash off gunk from birds or other animals and I’d always bring flowers. Sometimes I’d spend hours perusing flower shops for the perfect bouquet, despite knowing he’d never see them.
“You don’t think he’s in heaven looking down at them?” Kansas asked.
“I don’t think there is a heaven.” I shrugged. “Or a hell. I don’t know, the idea that people are watching us from up above creeps me out. Same with the concept of god.”
Kansas smirked. “You mean to tell me, we spent five years having god screamed at us and now you don’t think he exists?”
“I don’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have let us stay there so long.”
“So, I guess Constantine won’t get to enjoy the flowers after all.” Kansas frowned.
“I guess not. He’s dead,” I looked back toward the woods, where he most likely died. “That’s where his story ends.”
I shoved the brief memory out of my mind and returned to the present, where I stood in front of his memorial. The grass was overgrown and birds had taken it as their own. What was once a pretty, sleek black, now sat a sun-faded cross covered in white bird shit. I crouched down to clean it up some and drew back instantly. Sitting at the base of the cross was a pure white envelope, crisp and clean, with my name on it.
How did anyone know I was coming? How did anyone know what this cross even was?
Cautiously, I picked up the envelope. It was light, but something was definitely in it. I sat down on my ass and crossed my legs.With slightly shaky hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out its contents, unfolding the thick, formal-looking paper. As soon as I recognized the words, I let out a sharp gasp and dropped it. I scurried back and stood.
Who—How—
A scream came from the woods that chilled me to the core. Teenagers often used the Church as a place to get drunk, make out, and spook each other. I’d been here plenty of times and heard kids playing hide and seek, screaming and laughing like idiots. This one felt different. The same scream rang out again, and I turned and ran to my car. Maybe someone ran into a tree or fell and broke their leg. Either way, I wanted no part of it.
I started the car and then looked back at Constantine’s marker. The document lay on top of the tall grass, almost as if it were begging me not to leave it there. With a sigh, I quickly opened my door, ran out, snatched the document back up, and flew back to my car. I only stopped once my car was parked safely in my driveway.
I sat for a moment, staring at the front door, searching for another unwelcome letter, but saw none, and relaxed.Then, I turned and took a deep breath, picking up the thick folded paper that I’d tossed on the passenger side while I drove.I opened it and reread it carefully. It was all there, including my shaky, childhood signature.
Someone had found my wedding license to Constantine.
Rule 14 - Eisley
Don’t count anyone out.
“Idon’t want to go.”
I clutched Constantine tight. Our hands shook as we squeezed them together on the filthy, worn mattress. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the cold, because we hadn’t been fed in days, or because of how terrified we were of what was waiting for us on the other side.
