Dead and Gone

I blocked out most of the press conference. A guy named Chris Dixon had shown up to field most of it, introducing himself as director of the FBI. Or one of them, I wasn't sure.

He'd spun the government-sanctioned cover story about terrorists and recon missions, citing that most of it was still too top-secret to disclose.

Some reporters asked me questions, I'd answered them the best I could, and Dixon shot down any that were too hard. It had all been mostly painless, especially with the 5-4-3-2-1 method Ava had given me.

Only minor panic attacks for me.

The hardest part, however, was the fact that we had a fucking funeral to attend to right after.

I didn't know if anyone just failed to mention it to me or it had completely slipped my mind, but the memorial slash funeral service was scheduled to be held after the conference.

Somehow, I was looking even less forward to that than I had been to the conference.

As much as I wanted to weasel my way out of going, though, I knew I couldn't. I wanted to pay my respects, make an appearance, but the idea of facing all those people . . .

It made me feel sick with worry.

At least we'd been able to go home for an hour or two. It gave me enough time to collect myself after the stress of the conference and change clothes, then it was off to the Stanley.

The turnout was even greater than the press meet: it seemed like the whole town had arrived to pay their respects.

There was a sea of bodies out in the cold, all clad in varying shades of black with a speck of color here or there. Snow covered everything and the gray clouds above swathed the sky in dim lighting, making it seem like the color had been drained from the entire world.

All that was missing was some god damn rain.

The funeral home wasn't anywhere near big enough for the entire city, it was being held at the Stanley Hotel which was popular for weddings Ava's parties.

Their various venues were more than large enough to accommodate the sheer number of people who were attending.

Everyone was still piling into the iconic hotel well after the event was supposed to begin. Finally, though visitors were still trickling in, the memorial service began and everyone took their seats in the large MacGregor Ballroom.

Even then, it was still basically standing room only.

Against the back wall, a slideshow was playing. I didn't know who had set it up, but it was full of various pictures of the victims with a few home movies thrown in.

My family had seats reserved in the front row, but I wished I could stay in the back where I wouldn't have giant versions of my friends' faces staring at me.

But no, I had to sit right up front and try to avoid looking directly at the slideshow while each speaker came up, in turn, to make a short speech before a priest from one of the local churches could do his thing.

The constantly sniffling and muffled sobbing coming from the crowd drowned out the soft, somber music playing through a sound system.

After everyone who wanted to speak did (to my relief, I wasn't asked to say anything), people were allowed to mill around and socialize. There was some finger food set up in the back, too.

Up until the speeches had been concluded, I had managed to keep my emotions in check. I couldn't quite keep tears from falling, but I wasn't a mess like some of the others. I had kept up a stony expression and focused on anything I could to keep from losing my composure.

With the reception in full swing and people coming together to chat, I knew it was only a matter of time before my poise crumbled.

I was actually approached quite often, mostly by parents, all wanting to know if their kid had suffered or gone quietly. If they had been tortured by the "terrorists".

Of course, I couldn't tell them that they'd died having their chest torn open from the inside out.

They wanted some good news. I could do that. So i always told them it had been quick.

If I could bring them even an ounce of comfort, why wouldn't I?

The person I didn't want to see the most never tried to talk to me. I could see her on the fringes of the room, casting furtive glances.

Jess' mom.

Strangely enough, it hurt. It hurt worse than any physical wound I'd sustained. It hurt worse than the nightmares and the panic attacks. The fact that she never once attempted to speak to me, though I dreaded it, was an immeasurable wound.

She had been like a second mom to me growing up and now she could barely look at me.

And I couldn't blame her. Even if she didn't know I had abandoned Jess at a critical moment, I didn't blame her.

I was alive and her daughter wasn't.

Before I had the chance to let that break me, I was swarmed by a crowd of familiar faces and a flurry of well-wishes: my teammates.

"How are you feeling?"

"Will you be able to play again?"

"We didn't see you at school and we were so worried!"

I lifted my hands and closed my eyes. They flung questions and comforting words at me all at the same time and I could only process some of them.

"I'm doing alright," I said when I was able to get a word in edgewise. "but no, I won't be able to play anymore, even when I'm healed."

A collective groan of pity rippled through the small gaggle of girls and I found it rather tedious.

"What are you going to do then?" the varsity striker, Caitlyn, asked.

Shrugging, I flippantly said, "Learn how to play chess, I guess."

A few chuckled, but most were too choked up on funeral sadness to find it even kind of funny. To be fair, I wasn't laughing either.

We spoke for a little while and I was glad for their company, if only because they barred anyone else from approaching. They did most of the talking while I sat and nodded when I was supposed to, feigned interest when it was appropriate, and went "aw" when necessary.

For the most part, I just wished the whole thing was over.

Soon, though, people started to file out of the Stanley and head to their cars. I liked to imagine I knew where they were going, but no one told me anything around there.

They were probably too afraid of setting me off or something.

Whatever.

Sighing, I stood up from my seat and started to hobble around to try and find my family, but my mother beat me to it. Even though she startled me when she put her hand on my shoulder, I managed not to lash out in surprise.

Some of these sessions with Ava were doing me some good.

I still jumped out of my skin, though.

"Oh I'm sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you," Mom said.

My cheeks burned and I let a breath out in a gust. "It's fine." I readjusted my grip on the crutches.

"Did you get something to eat?" she asked.

"Not yet."

"Well, let's go grab you something and then we can head out towards the memorial."

"Where's that?" I asked, following Mom over to the table of snacks.

She shrugged and picked up a paper plate to start piling food on it for me. "I'm not sure. We're going to follow everyone else. I'm sure someone who knows is going to lead us all there. Mustard on your sandwich?"

"Yes, please."

Mom made up my sandwich using the dishes of condiments, set a handful of Doritos on the plate next to it, picked out a sugar cookie for dessert, then lead me toward the car, offering to feed me.

I shook my head and picked up a cup of lemonade. It was about all I could carry while trying to walk with crutches at the same time.

I asked, "Where's everyone else? Dad, Kristie, Allen?"

"I told them to get the car warmed up while I grabbed you. Did you talk to a lot of people?"

"I guess so, kinda."

Conversation dwindled when we reached the door and we had to maneuver through the wave of people without dropping any food. The cold air blasted me in the face and I shivered.

It had snowed again several times over the week, but at least the city didn't have to be closed off like it did some winters.

A police escort took us toward the sight of the memorial. Police on motorcycles were zipping ahead to block off intersections and keep traffic at bay, but there wasn't any traffic to speak of.

Not when 80% of Estes Park was coming to the memorial.

There had to be more than a dozen cars ahead of us, and even more following from behind.

Shortly after we started driving, I had finished all of my food and stowed the empty cup and plate underneath my seat for later. However, the trash was probably going to stay there for a week before it was discovered and disposed of.

We passed building after building and it wasn't long before I noticed what direction we were going. That the buildings were giving way to trees and we were winding our way upward.

My blood pressure spiked and I turned around in my seat to see the town fading behind us. "Why are we going this way?" I demanded in a meek voice.

Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I was sitting closest to the right door with Allen between me and Kristie.

"They set up a memorial in the picnic area of the park," he said.

"What?" Blood turning to ice in my veins, I sank further in my seat, trying not to look out the window into the woods on either side of us.

/The seat in front of me; Alan sitting next to me; Dad's face in the rearview mirror; the back of Mom's head; the clouds in the sky./

"Yeah, this'll be the first time they let anyone near the park since you were found," Mom added.

And with good reason.

/The seat upon which I sat; the seat belt pressing against my chest; the floor vibrating beneath my feet; the heater blowing on my face./

Mom turned to look at me and I tried to hide my rising panic. "It'll be okay, sweetie. They wouldn't have opened the park if they didn't think it was safe."

When I opened my mouth to say something, I realized I had nothing rational or intelligent to say and shut it instead. It wasn't like I could tell them "there could be giant alien monsters in there that want to eat us."

/The tires crunching the gravel; my family's voices; the rumble of the engine./

Despite the feeling of dread, I forced myself to sit still in my seat and finish counting out things I could smell and taste to bring me back to the present and out of the woods.

/Alan's shampoo; the leather seats./

/The little bit of lemonade./

There wasn't much I could do about my heart or the sweaty palms, but at least I was somewhat under control.

Well, in a way that anyone looking at me would think I was under control.

We patrolled past the admission booths without picking up parking permits and every muscle in my body tensed until it hurt. I stayed that way the entire drive into the main picnic area where we parked.

Up ahead, the information booth sat in front of the tables lined up, surrounded by trees.

Dad helped me out of the car and I settled onto my crutches. However, my legs refused to move me forward until my mother started to steer me. We melted into the rest of the crowd, but they still parted when I came up to give me enough room.

I found a strange sense of comfort in the sea of bodies—safety in numbers, I supposed.

Even then, the slightest rustle of leaves, a shadow cast by a shift in the trees, someone coughing abruptly—it was all enough to almost undo everything Ava had taught me.

Once again, I tried running through my five senses.

I told myself that it wasn't going to be much longer. Only enough time to see the memorial and then that'd be it. I'd make my parents take me home and the whole thing would be over.

And I'd never have to come to this park ever again.

Or any forest. For as long as I lived.

Further into the picnic area, I finally caught sight of the large gold plaque posted on a thick tree. Everyone was crowded around it and I dug my heels in, refusing to go any closer and forcing Mom to move around me.

"Okay we saw it can we go now?" I said all in one breath.

"What?" Dad asked, pausing to look at me.

"I want to go, we saw it, so can we go?" I asked, remembering to enunciate.

Mom brushed passed us and glanced at me. "I want to go read it real quick. I'll only be a few minutes, then we can go."

Despite the urge to throw a grade-A tantrum, I clamped shut. In lieu of making a horrendous scene, I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms.

My sister meandered after my mom but my brother looked about as interested in going to look at the plate as he was doing his homework.

"We'll be done soon," Dad said as he followed the rest of the family.

Resigned, I sat down at the nearest bench and squeezed my hands together, trying to keep my eyes on my lap. People continued to pass me by while I attempted to manage the mini heart attack creeping up on me.

The trees loomed above me, leaning in and surrounding all sides, closing in around me.

Every shadow, every sound . . . hidden aliens lurked and waited for an opportunity—

A branch out in front of me dipped and creaked. I threw my hands up and tangled my fingers in my hair, tugging. Eyes closed, I hummed quietly to myself in order to drown out everything else.

It seemed like an eternity but eventually, someone stood in front of me. I heard their shoes crunch on the snow and I looked up, fingers curled and ready to scratch some eyes out.

"Baby?"

Oh. Just Mom.

I lowered my hands and stared up at her helplessly. She crouched in front of me and took my hands in hers. "Honey, you're shaking, are you okay?"

When I shook my head, it was a jerky motion. "I want to go home."

She nodded and stood up straight. "Alright, let me go find your father and I'll be right back. Alan? Alan stay with your sister."

Though he visibly sighed, my brother still came to my side and stood there, shoulders hunched against the cold. He had been talking to one of his friends from school, but they were ushered away when Alan left them.

I glanced at him and stared at my lap. "Sorry."

He looked at me and blinked. "For what?"

"Nothing," I murmured, huddling closer to myself.

Silence—save for the buzz coming from the group by the tree—descended around me and my nervousness increased.

Eventually, even the sound of their mingled voices faded into nothing and I found it hard to focus on any one thing for longer than a second before my attention was directed elsewhere.

I was certain that the shadows were alive and scheming against me. I felt the eyes of something sinister watching me from the canopy, making my heartbeat thunder in my ears.

"Are you scared?" Alan asked me, interrupting the panic attack.

It must have been my breathing that caught his attention: I hadn't realized how audible it had become. I swallowed the bile in my throat and looked down in shame.

"Kind of."

Without looking at me, he held his hand where I could see it. Confused, I turned my head toward him and cocked it to the side.

He still didn't look at me even as he said, "You can hold my hand if you want to."

To my credit, I didn't tear up. I smiled and took his hand in mine, then waited for our parents to return.

We didn't say much, but there wasn't really a need to. The warmth of his hand was enough to keep me calm while my parents wrangled each other up and found my sister.

It didn't completely chase away the feeling that I was being watched or that the shadows harbored monsters, but it was a start.