Read Online Gravestone by Travis Thrasher - Free Book Online

know.
    “I’ll keep looking around,” I say. “But what should I look for?”
    “Names. Addresses. Details. He just disappeared.”
    “Do you think—?”
    I don’t want to finish the statement because uttering it seems wrong.
    I want to ask if Jared thinks his father might be dead.
    He nods, glances around. There is only one other patron in this restaurant, an older guy eating his breakfast and reading the paper. Nothing too suspicious.
    “I think that if he’s alive he’s in trouble. Maybe he’s like me, hiding. I don’t know. I just know that if he’s still alive and can come back to this town, he’ll do it. And he’ll contact you.”
    “Why me? Why not my mom?”
    I receive another hard look from the guy across from me. “Would you contact your mother?”
    Does he know about my mom’s condition, about her state of mind?
    “I don’t know,” I say.
    “If my father is going to reach out to anybody, it’s going to be you.”

18. The Discovery
     
    This place feels cold.
    Maybe it’s me and my imagination. But my skin is not making this up. I can feel the prickles all over my body as I step through the doors into the large foyer. A voice keeps telling me to avoid the creepy pastor at all costs, to sprint and get out of there if I see him coming. But of course I don’t always heed my voices, and there he is, the guy with the frosted and spiked hair, zeroing in on me with his beady eyes behind the black-frame glasses.
    I freeze, both my legs and the half smile on my lips.
    I’m not fooling anybody with that look. I’m probably white as a ghost.
    “Good morning, son,” he says to me.
    “Hi.”
    “Is it just you today?”
    The way he glances at me really feels weird. Creepy in a way I can’t explain. Not creepy in an axe murderer way, or creepy in a guy-living-next-door-doing-icky-things way.
    It’s just …
    Creepy.
    “Yeah, just me.”
    “I’m glad you came, Chris. I really am.”
    Then I wait for something new. Something else. Something bizarre. Something like “I will be roasting the cat in five minutes, son” or “I will dedicate the Marilyn Manson song to you.” Something like that.
    “The tension will go away eventually,” Pastor Marsh says. “It’s a battle of spirits, Chris. You might not understand this—you might not believe it—but it’s true. Maybe someday I’ll be able to show you.”
    I wait for something else, for something more, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he goes to greet someone else.
    He’s just like any pastor, you idiot.
    But I don’t buy it.
    I’m not making this up.
    And I’m here this morning because I want some answers.
    I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, going with the flow. Ray’s invited me here because he wants me here. Or maybe they want me here. For some reason. So I’m here.
    Maybe I’ll discover that this church is really covering a secret network of terrorists that oh yeah also happen to be undead.
    I stop my ridiculous thoughts and go to find a restroom. I see a set of wide steps going downstairs. Couples and families are walking up and down them. I follow suit, curious.
    And going with the flow.
    There is nothing sinister or even mildly strange in the church basement. A large hallway opens up to two more, where there are rooms for the nursery and for Sunday school or whatever they call it. Dad brought me to a few churches like this in Illinois. Once I sat in a big, open room that had several hundred high school students singing and praying and hanging out. I felt really out of place and told my dad afterward that I wasn’t about to go back.
    If only you could have known what would await you in Solitary.
    I find a restroom and then get turned around when I walk out of it. Instead of finding the steps, I find a door that leads down another hallway. This one is different. There are no tables with pamphlets and sign-up sheets. No paintings and crafts from kids adorning the walls. No pictures or friendly messages like “God Is Love”