I tried not to stare as I saw Emily get out of her car and walk towards the entrance of the small cafe I was sitting in.
It had been more than a decade since I had seen her, even longer since we’d actually had a proper conversation.
Like I mentioned in my previous entry, witnessing Jeremy’s death drove a wedge between us. After the water tank incident we barely spoke and only saw each other in court or the Sheriff's office.
But when she contacted me out of the blue last week, asking me to come back to Parsky and help her dig into the mystery around Jeremy’s death, I knew I couldn’t refuse.
There were still questions neither of us had the answer to.
As Emily opened the cafe’s front door, the small bell hung above it signalling her arrival, I couldn’t help but feel slightly anxious.
I didn’t know how much she would feel comfortable talking about Jeremy, given that the last time I spoke to her she still blamed herself.
For a brief second Emily scanned the room, before her eyes fell on me. I met her gaze, giving her a little wave. She gave me a small smile and walked over.
Her hair had been dyed red and cut short, but her outfit still reminded me of the Emily I remembered. She wore grey skinny jeans, a black Killswitch Engage tee, and a pair of white Vans.
She also had a laptop bag slung over her shoulder and a to-go coffee cup already in her hand.
I awkwardly stood up as she approached the table, not really decided on whether to go in for a hug or not.
“Hey Ty,” she said nonchalantly, slinging the laptop bag off her shoulder and onto the empty seat across from me.
“Long time no see,” I said, deciding to just sit down and avoid any more awkwardness.
“Thanks for coming...I know it was short notice,” Emily said as she took her seat.
“Oh no I jumped at the chance to come back to the town where everyone hates me.”
That seemed to break the ice somewhat as Emily chuckled. Maybe humor really was the answer to all of life’s problems.
“How’ve you been?” she asked.
Honestly life hadn’t been too bad since leaving Parsky, I’d finished my schooling, got into a good college and made some headway on my degree - a physics one that I was actually really enjoying.
I’d met some great people at my college, though I wasn’t really sure the lifestyle was for me.
I was never really a big drinker.
“To be honest it’s been going well, I’ve been studying for a physics degree in Missouri,” I said.
“That sounds like you, still a nerd to this day.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Emily grinned, just as the waiter came over to take her order. Emily ordered a coffee while I sipped on mine.
“So how about you, what have you been doing for the past 10 years?” I asked.
“My family moved to Santa Monica after everything here finished up. After Senior Year I got into a music degree at UCLA, which has been a lot of fun,” she replied.
“You play guitar?” I said, trying to remember exactly what instrument it was she played.
“Bass.”
“Ah, I was close.”
I took a moment to sip on my coffee, and it was at that point that Emily decided to get straight down to business.
“Look I’m not going to bullshit you, Ty. I still think about him, every single day,” Emily said, looking me straight in the eye.
“When I heard about this new case...well I felt like we had to do something..”
Emily had sent me the news article about the death of 14-year-old Timothy Parker shortly after she had contacted me.
The description of what happened certainly echoed Jeremy’s plight, though there were a few differences.
The boy had been found in the water tank by police after his family reported him missing the previous night. Unlike Jeremy, this time the tank was full, and his body was found at the bottom.
According to the article, local police were investigating the death, but so far had no strong leads as there were no witnesses. Official cause of death was drowning.
What was interesting were the quotes given by Tim’s parents, who noted that the roof of the tank had been locked shut at the time and stressed there was no way a small boy could have lifted it off, climbed inside and closed it again all on his own.
“I read that article, surely there’s no way it was suicide or something,” I said, keeping my voice low to not alert any of the other customers.
“Ya think?” Emily responded, “I think that same woman is responsible, and I’ve got something that I think proves it.”
She reached over and slid her laptop out of the bag next to her. It was covered in a variety of different band stickers, only a few of which I actually recognised.
Biting her lip, Emily tapped away on her mousepad for a few moments before flipping the laptop around so I could see.
On the screen was a photo taken from the air of the top of the water tank. It looked like it had been taken by a drone.
For a moment I thought it was completely unremarkable, but then I noticed some letters etched into it.
My blood ran cold as Emily scrolled to the next picture, which was a close-up of the words carved vertically into the metal.
“MY
BOY
CAME
HOME”
The message conjured images of the old woman’s grotesque face in my mind.
First Jeremy, now she had claimed the life of a second innocent boy - even leaving a message. This had to stop. Someone had to believe us now.
I looked up from the screen at Emily.
“Have the police or the news not seen this?” I said, wondering why it wasn’t included in the previous article.
She shook her head, “I guess not, I downloaded these from a Facebook post that was from this guy who I think is one of Tim’s relatives.”
Emily scrolled to the next photo, which was a screenshot of the beginning of the post. The photos were posted by a John Parker, who had simply written ‘wat tha police don’t want u 2 kno’.
“I mean his syntax needs some work but I would say that’s accurate,” I said.
“Ty, focus,” Emily said, closing the laptop.
“This could be our ‘in’, we just need to track this guy down.”
“Did you try and message him already?”
“I did, but he never responded,” Emily said.
“So how do we find him? Do we even know where to look?”
Emily nodded, her eyes gleaming, and began to furrow around in the side pocket of her laptop bag.
“I stalked his Facebook profile and found this,” she said, producing a photo she had printed out onto a piece of paper.
The photo showed a family of three celebrating in front of a real estate sign which was emblazoned with the traditional red SOLD! banner.
The father, presumably John Parker, was holding a baby boy in his arms while his partner held up a thumbs-up.
I know it’s kind of rude to say, but he looked like some kind of hillbilly. He wore a white singlet with ripped jeans, and was missing a few teeth.
But what was more important, was that the address was clearly visible on the sign.
103 Peach Street.
**
The whole drive over to John’s home I couldn’t stop thinking about the police.
After Jeremy's death I understood why they were skeptical of us - the story was far fetched, even if we did have injuries as some kind of proof.
But now surely they had to see that we were telling the truth. That message scratched into the water tank’s roof was more than proof of that.
However, if they were willingly turning a blind eye, then there was something more sinister going on.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Emily asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I looked back at her, “Whose side do you think the police are on in this?”
“Definitely not fuckin’ ours,” she responded without hesitation.
“Wouldn’t believe us about Jeremy, so they won’t believe us about this kid. They aren’t interested in the truth, they’re interested in what’s the easiest to believe.”
I nodded, “But not all of them are bad though.”
Emily gave me a ‘you’re kidding’ look, which surprised me, because I actually really liked the FBI Agent who had interviewed us after Jeremy died.
Agent Peter Garrison had, at least in my eyes, been the most understanding of all the suits we had discussed the incident with.
He was one of the few who treated us like we weren’t crazy.
“What about Garrison?” I asked as Emily turned a corner.
“He still didn’t do anything with our story. He listened, sure, but he never did anything with it,” Emily said.
“We needed action if we were ever going to get justice for Jeremy.”
“Maybe we can get justice this time.”
“Maybe...hey I think this is it here, Peach Street.”
Emily guided her car down a narrow corner, the tyres crunching over the loose gravel. Peach Street was in an area of Parsky which had appeared to have fallen apart over time.
The road itself was falling apart, and the thick vegetation on its sides was overgrown, slowly attempting to reclaim the bitumen from the sidewalk.
Houses were few and far in between, and when they did appear, they were falling apart at the seams - broken windows and front yards filled with junk.
How long ago was that photo of the smiling family taken? And were they still happy with their choice of moving into this dilapidated neighbourhood?
“This place looks like shit,” Emily said as she slowed the car.
“Has Parsky just fallen apart since we were here?” I said, “I don’t remember this area being this bad.”
“Neither.”
We passed a few more crappy properties before we reached what a wonky mailbox declared was number 103. It barely resembled the home from the Facebook photo, now falling apart like most of the neighbourhood.
The flora in the front yard was now completely overgrown, with bushes fighting one another for what space there was left. The front windows had been boarded up and the paint on the door was peeling.
“Alright well I’m just gonna say this - I fucked up,” Emily said.
“I didn’t check the date on that Facebook photo.”
I rolled my eyes, “So there could be no one here at all?”
“Well if there isn’t, just think of it as character-building, kay?”
With that, Emily opened her door and climbed out. I followed her into the front yard of 103 Peach Street, hopeful that we weren’t barking up the wrong tree.
As we reached the front door, Emily turned to me.
“Let me do the talking, you’ll probably make some stupid joke and get us killed,” she remarked, giving me a stern face.
“No arguments here.”
“Good.”
Emily turned back to the door and took a breath, preparing herself for whatever was on the other side.
Then she raised her hand, and knocked.
Silence.
We waited.
More silence.
Emily gave me a worried look, and I began to wonder if this had all been for nought. We waited for a few more moments, still, nothing.
“Maybe they aren’t home,” I reasoned, trying to peer through some of the boarded-up windows.
“There’s a car in the garage,” Emily said.
I looked over as Emily knocked again on the door. She waited, and then put her ear to the wood, listening in.
After a few moments her face lit up, and she motioned to me to come over.
“I hear someone coming,” she whispered as I walked over to her.
My spirits lifted, maybe we would be rewarded for coming to a neighbourhood straight out of a horror story.
The sound of multiple locks being undone confirmed my suspicions. Emily and I waited excitedly as the occupant continued to remove what must have been an extensive lock system.
Finally, the door opened a few inches, and a man peered out at us. He was bald, with spotty facial hair and bloodshot eyes.
Despite looking like he was on the bad end of a three-day bender, it was still clearly the same guy from the photo Emily had shown me.
He eyed us up and down before pausing and saying, “Can I help you?”
John spoke with a Southern accent, unusual for these parts.
“That depends, are you John Parker?” Emily asked.
John paused, eyeing us up and down for a moment.
“Who’s askin?” he practically slurred.
At this point I began to wonder whether John was drunk, drugged up, or both, and whether he’d actually be any help to us.
“We saw your Facebook post, about the tank, and we wanted to ask you a few questions,” Emily said.
John’s eyes lit up at Emily’s mention of the tank, but he still seemed suspicious of why two random strangers wanted to chat to him about it.
“And just why should I talk to ya’ll?”
“Uh…” Emily said, stumbling at the first hurdle.
“We’re journalists,” I blurted out.
“We work for ABC News and we want to interview you for our, um, story.”
Emily shot me a look that said ‘what the hell are you doing?’, but fortunately for us, the unsuspecting and potentially intoxicated John completely bought it.
“Give me a sec, I gotta put some pants on!”
The door slammed shut and John’s footsteps receded as he yelled, “Hey Hannah, you seen my good pants?! I’m gonna be on TV!”
Emily nudged me, “I thought you said I was going to do the talking?”
“Well you lost your way, so I helped you out. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?” I said, shrugging.
“I guess, but we aren’t journalists.”
“No duh. Guy’s probably two beers away from a fainting episode, I think he’ll believe anything we tell him.”
Soon, John’s footsteps returned, followed by the sound of even more locks being undone.
Finally, the door opened, and before us stood a thankfully fully-clothed John Parker.
“Come in, I’ve got a LOT to tell ya’ll,” he said, grinning to reveal a mouth missing several teeth.
Emily and I followed him inside, and the first thing that hit us was the smell. It was a gross combination of alcohol, sweat, and weed.
Regardless of how stoned or drunk John might have been, Emily’s mention of the water tank seemed to have re-energised him, because he excitedly babbled about it as he led us through a white hallway.
“I got a whole lot to tell ya, I reckon they got a god-darn monster in that thing,” he said, as we followed him past a brown-walled kitchen and into their living room.
The room itself was overrun with beer bottles, which completely covered the small table between the TV and the couch, and discarded takeaway bags that littered the carpet.
Laying on the couch in a pair of denim shorts that were so short they didn’t leave much to the imagination and a tiny crop top was a blonde woman.
“This here’s ma wife Hannah, say hello to the reporters darlin’,” John said as he took a seat next to her.
“Hi,” she mumbled, appearing to be transfixed by the TV, which was playing some kind of reality show.
“Babe could you be a darl and go grab me a beer, I gotta talk to the TV people,” John said, leaning over and kissing Hannah on the cheek.
“I’m watchin’ ma show,” she responded defiantly, still not tearing her eyes away from the screen.
They proceeded to engage in what I could only describe as a semi-heated argument, before Hannah stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Emily and I standing there awkwardly.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” John said, “Now where do you want me?”
I froze for a moment, having completely forgotten that he was expecting us to film him, despite the fact that we didn’t have a single piece of camera or audio equipment on us.
“We’re just going to do a brief sit-down interview before we go and get all the equipment,” Emily made the save just in time.
“Oh sure then, I’ll get some seats,” John said.
As he went to walk out of the room he bumped into Hannah, who handed him a beer. She gave him a nasty look before storming off from where she came.
John proceeded to venture into another room, returning with two wooden chairs. He set them down opposite the couch and motioned for us to sit down.
Emily and I took our seats as he plonked down onto the couch.
“Make sure you get my good side...oh wait ya’ll aren’t filming yet,” John said with a hearty chuckle.
At this point I began to pray that we could get any information at all out of this guy, he didn’t seem like the brightest bulb in the box.
This time I sat back and actually did let Emily do the talking.
“So to begin, what was your relation to Tim Parker?” Emily kicked off the ‘interview’ with the most obvious question.
John’s cheery demeanour hardened.
“He’s ma cousin...or I ‘spose you’d say was...should I start over?” He asked, seeming genuinely concerned he’d lost his seven seconds of fame.
“No, it’s fine,” said Emily, waving him off.
“How well did you know him?”
“I was close to him, ya know, like real close. We had a bond.”
I wasn’t really sure if I bought that, given the way John seemed to be vague on the details, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Was he the type of kid to go off on his own at night? Did he like exploring places alone?”
“To be honest with ya, he was kind of a loner. I ain’t never seen him hangin’ out with other kids much.”
“So going off to the water tank on his own, without friends, that makes some kind of sense?”
“I got no idea what he was doin’ down there to be honest. ‘Specially without tellin’ his ol’ cousin John bout it.”
I couldn’t tell whether John was legitimately torn up about his cousin’s death or whether he was putting on some melodramatic face for the non-existent cameras.
“So by your account, he was there alone that night,” Emily continued.
“Yup.”
“Police have listed the official cause of death as drowning, and currently have no suspects or witnesses to the incident. But you found something that suggests someone else was there that night,” Emily said, pulling the copy of John’s Facebook post out of her laptop bag.
John took the photo in his hand, “Damn right, you ain’t seen this on the news,” he said.
“I reckon the government’s got some monster down there. Took poor Timmy. The police don’t want no one to know about it cos it’s gotta feed or it will come for the rest of us.”
“Feed it?” I blurted out.
“Yeah, y'all remember when that boy, ‘bout Timmy’s age, drowned in there?
My heart jumped at the words left his mouth.
“...Yeah,” Emily answered carefully.
“Well, that was 10 years ago. That was when this thing showed up. And now its gotta feed every decade, so in another 10 years another boy is gonna end up dead.”
“What do you mean feed? These boys were drowned,” I said, surprising myself with how defensive that sounded.
I didn’t mean to try and batter him, but something inside me stirred listening to him. The woman never tried to ‘feed’ on Jeremy, he drowned because he couldn’t get out.
Because I couldn’t save him.
“It sucks the life out of em. Course they’re left lookin’ like they drowned for the feds, so they can then sweep it under the rug,” John said, shaking his head.
Then Emily said something I didn’t expect.
“Actually, we knew the kid who drowned in the tank 10 years ago.”
Taken aback, I couldn’t help but hold my breath. We didn’t really have a plan, but if we did, this certainly wasn’t part of it!
“Huh, y'all friends with him or what?”
“Yeah, we-
Before Emily could continue, she was interrupted by the sound of Hannah marching into the room.
“There’s someone here ta see ya hubby, he sounds important,” she said.
That was an understatement.
Because standing next to her, holding his FBI badge in the air.
Was Special Agent Peter Garrison.
**
Emily and I sat on the front porch of John Parker’s home in silence.
After our cover was blown, John had blown up at us, accusing us of manipulating the ‘family of the grievin’’.
He might have actually attacked us if Garrison hadn’t herded us out of the building.
The Special Agent himself didn’t look too happy to see that we had been meddling in an active investigation.
He had told us to wait outside while he conducted an interview with John. He’d also let us know that it was a felony to interfere with an investigation.
The whole thing kind of made me feel dumb for taking things in my own hands, even if it sounded good at the time.
Maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about things, maybe we had to trust that people like Agent Garrison would get to the bottom of this.
Maybe I should go back to Missouri.
“Well that went well,” I said, glancing over at Emily.
She let out a loud sigh, “I was hoping we could at least get a phone number for one of Tim’s immediate family.”
“The silver lining is that Garrison being here is evidence they’re taking this seriously - maybe he’ll look into that message on the tank’s roof,” I said.
“Maybe.”
We sat in silence once again, the only sound being the low hum of insects in the nearby bushes.
I knew what I was about to say next sounded crazy, but it was a question that had been burning in the back of my mind since we finished our mini ‘interview’.
“Do you think his theory holds any water?” I asked Emily, who looked back at me in alarm.
“About the woman feeding on kids? Every 10 years?” She said.
I nodded.
“Seems a bit far-fetched...I mean the guy is trying to tell us that the police know it ‘needs’ to get fed every decade, but Jeremy was the first one to…
She trailed off, turning her head and staring off into the distance.
I felt it too.
The weight that pressed down on us every time we mentioned his name.
That guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach that opened up whenever I talked about him.
His panicked face struggling for air as the water level began to rise.
“Tell mum...I’m sorry.”
The sound of the door opening behind us interrupted my train of thought. I looked back to see Agent Garrison walking out with an audio recorder in his hand.
Garrison was a tall man, who had worn black glasses every time I’d seen him - whether they were prescription or not I had no idea.
He had jet black hair that was slicked back, and a clean shaven face. He wore a black suit with a red tie, and usually had an air of optimism about him.
Garrison was a good man, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood to chat with us today.
“You two, with me,” he said motioning for us to join him as he made his way to his car - a black SUV that was parked on the side of the road.
Unsure if I was actually being arrested or just being taken for a joyride, I obeyed and walked over to the vehicle.
I climbed in the front passenger seat while Emily begrudgingly hopped in the rear.
I was surprised by how normal the inside of the vehicle looked, though it was likely to help fit in and not arouse suspicion.
Without a word, Garrison started the car and began to drive. I anticipated that we’d be going to the police station, but that wasn’t where he took us.
Instead he began heading in the direction of a place I knew all too well. He was heading to the outskirts of town.
He was heading to the tank.
**
My skin prickled in anticipation, and. I could feel my heart begin to race inside my chest as Garrison turned down the road leading to the industrial estate.
I hadn’t been back to the tank since the incident, in fact I’d made a concerted effort to stay the hell away from Parsky for the last 10 years.
Now I was being taken straight to the place that had claimed the life of my best friend.
“W-why are you taking us here?” I managed to get out, as the tank loomed in the distance.
I glared at Garrison, but he kept his eyes on the road.
“I’m going to show you some proof.”
“Can’t you just tell us?” Emily asked from the back.
“With the way you two have been acting, I feel like I’ll only get you to understand if I show you firsthand,” Garrison replied, before pressing the brake and stopping the car with a jolt.
“Of course the alternative is I could just take you to the police station,” he said, making eye contact with both of us.
It was a tough choice. Go back to the place where a zombie woman attacked us and killed our friend, or be incarcerated.
Neither was that appealing, but I was definitely interested in what Garrison had to show us...and staying out of jail.
I looked at Emily, who gave a little nod of approval - the first time she was deferring to me in a long time.
“Well I’d like to stay out of jail,” I said, returning my eyes to Garrison.
“Good choice.”
Garrison stepped on the gas and we were off.
Slowly but surely, the tank came into better view. It was much the same as I remembered it, a rusted, hulking monolith that stood out like a sore thumb, but now it evoked a strong feeling of dread within me.
The dread mixed with a primal fear that cut through me like a knife, and before long I noticed that my palms were covered in a cold sweat.
The space between the water tank and the barbed-wire fencing on its perimeter was cordoned off with police tape, and there were a few officers hanging around.
We ascended the small hill that led to the tank’s entrance, and Garrison parked the car next to a couple of police cruisers.
I shivered as I exited Garrison’s car, the cold wind whipping over the exposed hillside. I couldn’t help but be somewhat mesmerised by the tank.
The creaky stairs that we had ascended that night. The top of the tank that looked over the city. The path Emily and I had staggered back home to tell our parents the unthinkable.
The mystery that had plagued us since that night - who was that woman?
We followed Garrison past the police officers, who seemed to be confused as to why we were being allowed inside, but they didn’t question him.
Garrison led us to the zig-zagging stairs that spider-webbed up the side of the tank.
“Follow me,” he said, beginning to climb them.
“No way,” Emily stood rooted to her spot, “I’m not going up there again.”
Emily had crossed her arms and was giving Garrison a stare that could make a sunflower wilt.
“If you don’t see for yourself, you won’t believe me,” Garrison said, “I understand this is hard for you to do, but it’s very important that you see this.”
At that point I realised the message scrawled by the woman should be directly above us, on the roof of the tank.
Did he know about it? Was that why he was at John’s house?
Was that what he was taking us to see?
“Those stairs aren’t safe, Jeremy fell through them when we were here,” Emily continued her protests.
The moment flashed in my mind, the crashing sound as the step beneath Jeremy gave way, the desperation in his eyes as he clung to the metal.
The feeling of my heart sinking as he was cruelly ripped from my grip.
“They’ve been fixed, reinforced,” Garrison responded, breaking me from my thoughts.
He walked over to Emily, putting an arm on her shoulder and making eye contact as he spoke.
“I know it’s hard, but sometimes to accept what’s happened in the past you need to make peace with the demons that plague you,” Garrison said.
He turned to look at me, “Now I’m not going to force either of you to go up there, but I believe it would be beneficial for the both of you...even if you can’t see why right now.”
Though a big part of me wanted to turn around and sprint right out of Parsky, never to return to this shitty water tank ever again, Garrison’s message did resonate with me.
And we were supposed to be investigating this thing for God’s sake. We couldn’t run away.
Jeremy didn’t run away.
“I’ll go,” I said, giving Garrison a slight nod.
“Emily?”
Being caught in the middle, Emily looked at Garrison, then back to me, and then back to Garrison, before letting out a loud sigh.
“For Jeremy.”
The three of us made our way up the now reinforced stairs, the wind howling at our backs.
By the time we had made it to the top the sun had begun to set. I had to admit it was as nice a place as any to catch a stunning sunset, but that wasn’t what we were here for.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Garrison said, peering out at the horizon.
“We’ve seen the writing on the roof,” Emily said without warning, “We know she left a message.”
“If that’s what you’ve brought us here to see, we’re way ahead of you.”
Garrison seemed to consider himself for a moment, before turning around.
“That’s the problem, Emily,” he said, giving her a sorrowful look.
“There is no message.”
I did a swift double-take.
“Uh, what?” I stammered, staring at Garrison, who continued to look as if he was a policeman knocking on a door to give bad news.
Garrison gestured to the top of the tank, imploring us to climb upon it.
“Look for yourselves.”
Emily and I looked at each other, and then at the cone-shaped roof of the tank.
“You’re lying,” she said, quickly making her way over to the side of the roof, “Ty, give me a boost.”
Praying Garrison was wrong and that we hadn’t somehow been fooled by John, I crouched down and helped Emily climb on top of the roof. She pulled me up, and together we laid our eyes upon the tank’s roof.
It was bare.
Completely bare.
A few rusty spots there, a couple of damp patches there, but no message. We checked all sides, but there was nothing.
This whole time, we had been trying to use evidence that didn’t even exist. This was the proof Garrison wanted to show us.
Proof we were wrong.
Proof we had interfered in an investigation with no real idea what we were doing, or no real plan.
“No, that can’t be right,” Emily said, continuing to search the roof in the now fading light, “It has to be here somewhere.”
“It’s not,” I heard Garrison say.
He was looking up at us from the main platform.
“John played a cruel trick on you.”
Emily was still on her knees, but she had stopped looking around. Now she was just kneeling there, motionless.
It hurt me to see her in pain, but I felt it too. The scumbag ‘cousin’ had fooled us, and for what. To feel like he was important for five minutes? To pin this on the police?
I knelt down next to Emily, who was looking straight down at the roof. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.
“That was a pretty shitty thing to do,” I said.
It felt weird to be comforting someone who I hadn’t seen for 10 years, who I didn’t really know any more, but we were in this together.
“Yeah,” she said, tears now streaming down her cheeks.
“I just...I just want some validation...I want it so fucking badly.”
I put my arm around Emily, and she began to softly sob into my jacket.
We stayed there, just her and I, neither of us saying a word.
The only sounds came from the wind, which had begun to pick up, and the tank, which emitted low groans every few minutes.
It was cold, but the warmth I felt from Emily managed to keep me from shivering.
The moment was interrupted by Garrison, who was called up to us from the lower platform.
“I appreciate the healing you’re both undertaking, but I can’t really let you stay up there any longer.”
Sighing, I helped Emily to her feet. As I made my way over to the edge of the roof, I felt her arm on mine.
“Hey, thanks for coming down,” she said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
“Even if it’s been a gigantic waste of time.”
While I knew she was right about our ‘investigation’, I didn’t feel that the trip had been a waste.
The truth was I had missed Emily, and even if our journey for justice had an underwhelming end, at least I got to see her again.
“It was worth it,” I said.
A small smile crept across Emily’s lips, her green eyes lighting up in the shadows. She tugged on my shirt sleeve, pulling me towards the edge of the roof.
“Well let’s get out of here, I’m fucking freezing.”
**
Garrison agreed to take me back to my hotel room and drop Emily off at a relative’s house.
We weren’t going to be charged with anything, but he sternly reminded us that if we interfered in the investigation again, he would have no choice but to turn us in.
As Garrison drove us back into town, I began to replay the events of the past day in my mind.
The meeting with Emily at the cafe, the so-called message she had shown me in the old woman’s words, the interview with Tim’s relative and our encounter with Garrison.
My mind was boggled by the amount of twists and turns that had transpired over the past 12 or so hours.
I honestly could have done with a nice hot shower and no more adventuring.
But Emily had other ideas.
“Um, Agent Garrison?” she asked from the backseat.
“Yes Emily?” he answered from the front.
“Could you take us to the cemetery?”
The Parsky Cemetery I remembered was rundown and frequently vandalised, rarely a place you wanted to be visiting a night.
But it was also where Jeremy was buried. I’d never visited his grave, in fact it was something that I may have subconsciously avoided because of the guilt.
I guess now it was finally time to pay my respects.
“If it’s in the name of further spiritual healing, then I’m happy to oblige,” he said, looking back at us through the rear-vision mirror.
I glanced over at Emily. Underneath the shadows I could see the fire in her eyes - she looked like she was more determined than ever to make peace with her demons.
I could definitely get behind that.
“It is,” I responded.
After passing through the cemetery gates, Garrison parked and Emily and I made our way to the directory.
We scanned the map for Jeremy’s name - the sign was lit up in the darkness by a number of LED lights spread around the cemetery.
My heart skipped a beat when I found it.
“There,” I said, pointing to the name ‘Jeremy Williams’ which was followed by a string of numbers that corresponded to a section of the cemetery.
“Are you ready to do this?” Emily said as I turned back to her.
I took a deep breath, trying to quell the guilt that had once again begun to build in my gut.
“Yeah.”
As we made our way to section ‘D’ of the cemetery, I couldn’t shake the (very cliche) feeling that we were being watched from the shadows.
The lights I mentioned before kept the main pathways of the graveyard lit up, but past the end of the path was grass that led to a forest.
There was something about that forest that made me feel uneasy, even if I had been to the cemetery before when I lived here.
Soon a sign with the letter D in black print let us know we were in the right place. I took another deep breath, and then led Emily to where I’d seen Jeremy’s grave marked on the map.
The grave itself was covered in flowers, and featured a photo of Jeremy in his school uniform. I immediately recognised it as being from the school photos we got done in our Freshman year.
Upon seeing Jeremy’s face I felt a wave of sadness rush through me. Not guilt, not anger, just pure sadness.
At that moment I realised I’d spent so much time blaming myself for what happened, feeling guilty for not being able to keep him from dying, fighting legal battles and avoiding anything to do with Parsky that I hadn’t allowed myself to actually grieve.
So I let it all out.
I fell to my knees and began bawling, the floodgates bursting open. I cried for what felt like ages as Jeremy’s eyes stared into my soul.
“Oh Ty,” I heard Emily say.
I felt her wrap her arms around me as I wept, my face becoming a gross combination of moisture and snot.
“Sorry,” I said, raising my arm to wipe my eyes.
“Don’t you dare say sorry, I’m just glad I’m not the only one crying anymore.”
I let out a chuckle - which actually felt really good to do, even if I was in a cemetery. Once I managed to clear the tears from my eyes, I looked at the inscription on his tombstone.
Here lies Jeremy Williams.
Our beloved boy, taken too soon.
The words were written in gold cursive below his photo. It took me a few moments to realise something else had been scratched into the stone below the traditional memoriam.
I leaned in closer, the text being so tiny that I had to squint to make it out. It wasn’t written in the same font and looked like it had just been carved using some small tool.
He now belongs to the Children of the Tank.
I blinked, quickly wiping my eyes and opening them again, sure that I was seeing things.
But the message was still there.
“Emily look at this,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at the words.
She leaned in, her eyes scanning the tombstone before landing on what I was highlighting.
“What...what the fuck?” Emily exclaimed, recoiling in shock.
I played the message over in my head, feeling sick to my stomach as I did so. But yet, beneath that, I couldn’t help but feel like this was some sort of clue.
“It’s probably just some dumbass kid messing with us,” Emily said dismissively, getting to her feet, “Come on, we should go.”
It was certainly possible that we were just getting trolled, but I felt like there was some significance to it.
Jeremy.
Tim.
The Children of the Tank.
Before I could ponder the meaning of the message any longer, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping to my right.
I turned my head to the direction of the sound, my eyes scanning the dark for its source.
“Hello?” I called out, my mind screaming for me to run but my body rooted in place by fear.
“Garrison?” Emily shouted, the fear evident in her voice.
The sound of footsteps, starting softly but then growing louder, came from the direction of the forest. They were slow, shuffling, as if the person moving was injured.
A shadowy figure slowly came into view. It was an elderly woman hunched over a walking stick, making her way towards us.
“A poor boy,” she said, her face now illuminated by the LED lights.
The most striking aspect of her appearance was the black eyepatch that covered her right eye. She wore a woollen shawl, and her hands wobbled as she leaned on the wooden walking stick.
“What do you want?” Emily asked, gradually moving away as the woman moved forward.
“I’ve seen you,” she said, raising a crooked finger at us, “I know who you are.”
I felt Emily grab my hand, trying to pull me away, but I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.
Mustering up some courage, I spoke to her.
“Who are you?” I asked, “How do you know us?”
“I see anything that she sees.”
“Anything that who sees?”
She stopped in her tracks, the question prompting a look of sadness on her face. She took a breath, and then looked up at me with her one eye.
“You want to know more about the woman in the tank, yes?”
I nodded slowly as Emily stopped trying to pull me away.
“Then meet me at the library, tomorrow, 9am.”
“I will tell you all you need to know.”
---
Credits
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