Chapter 5 Burying An Empty Casket

I wonder when I grew up, or if standing in front of the mirror looking at my body means I'm suddenly an adult and ready for whatever the world has to offer me. Surely adults look the way I do? So why does it feel wrong? I don't feel any different.

I'm now aware of how tall I am, how I've matured. Mother and father never updated my wardrobe and in a way it helped me ignore how much I've visibly grown. The only thing in my closet that was suitable for a funeral was a black dress from elementary school with rhinestones and glittery circular patterns all over the skirt while the top was a velvet black. It was too tight around my torso and stopped a little under halfway down my thighs. It pushed my chest upwards and, as if to mock me, was tied in the back with a large black bow.

How do they not see it?

My eyes are sunken in, deep purple circles under them. My skin has lost its golden tint. I feel weak, like if I took too many fast steps I could fall over and snap. I felt like a wilted flower. Honestly I look like a zombie- every time I carefully bring it up I am responded to with a simple "don't fake pain for attention," and then I apologize and move along. I don't like to get in fights with mother.

Today is the funeral of one of the only friends I've ever had, the only one I kept since I went into isolation. His name was Sergeant James Calvary, saying all of it out loud made me feel important, he was like a superhero. He was my father's boss at the police station and the way he talked about it always made me giddy, he fed my curiosities because both he and father would never give me any details to what was going on in their work. He always made me feel like I existed... and now I'm wearing a dress I wore in elementary school to his memorial.

I should be crying, right? Am I not crying because I was there? Because I'm glad to still be alive? Was it selfish to think that way?

I've wanted to so badly rejoin the outside world... to see if it aged and remembered me. Now I realize I'm the one who aged and that the world is a cruel, confusing place. I don't know if I want any part of it anymore. That leaves me with a question: where do I go from here?

Three knocks on my door force my eyes to refocus at my reflection, of the amount of skin showing. This had to be insulting- but I have to go.

My father walks in with his sunken eyes and sagging skin, hunched shoulders. He looked tired, stressed. He's been home for a couple days, longest he's stayed, preparing the service and his eulogy. I could hear him muttering in his office downstairs and it was relaxing to hear another voice in the house, even though him being home was because of the accident and not entirely for me.

His eyes narrow, eyeing me up and down making me internally shrivel up into a ball.

"What are you-" His voice was soft and raspy, I didn't give him the chance to finish the sentence because I knew my watery eyes wouldn't be able to hear it.

"I found it in my closet. The closest thing I have for funeral attire." I give a small, uncomfortable smile, trying to cancel this conversation.

He slightly shakes his head, "Ayla, I don't think it's best if you go..."

I didn't understand why he was pretending to be protective all the sudden, it's a couple hours before we have to arrive and he's telling me I can't go to one of the three people I was allowed to see in the past nine years? My face felt hot, my lips turning to a frown.

"No."

His face doesn't change, "No?"

I've been preparing my next words for a very long time, for a day I mustered up the courage to stand up to father, to ramble on about how I didn't like how my life was and keeping me here alone and defenseless was unfair. The accident backed up my argument, but now it suddenly makes father feel like he has power over me when he has never been there and never fought for me. A near death experience should not make you remember you're a father, too.

"I have been taking care of myself for nearly ten years. Everything I know I learned by myself; I learned through books, through movies, through music." I let out a deep breath, feeling my own stomach creeping up my throat. "You do not have to act like you care about me just because I nearly died and suddenly the town thinks that I-" I pause, watching my father's unblinking face. "That I killed someone."

This time he closes his eyes and sighs. "Ayla all I ask of you, just this once, is to play daddy daughter okay? All I ask is that you listen to me-"

I scoff, I couldn't control it anymore. The heat burning behind my eyes sparked and ignited the rest of my body. I took every moment I was ever given with my family as if I was walking on egg shells, afraid my tiniest mister would send them out the door. Not this time. This was my time to feel big.

"I have been waiting for seventeen years for you to ask me that... and I gave up a very long time ago." I turn back toward the mirror. Calvary was my father, not the one beside me who was pretending, I'm sick and tired of pretenders. "I am going. Despite the town, despite the fact it's easier for your guys to blame me than catch the man who actually killed your sheriff, and despite how I am not dressed for this because you and Mother never got me clothes that fit. I am going because he is my one true friend."

The look on his face promised he would break. After years of torment from my mother, after witnessing her scream at me firsthand, I thought he would be used to it. No, father was never home because he feared her, because she ripped out his tongue and turned him into a sack of talking flesh rather than the human being he is supposed to be. Mother is a lawyer, she's good at making people feel small.

"I- I don't want you to get hurt."

After a while, I shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. "That won't stop me, it's what he deserves." It was already going to be an empty casket.

And with that, he finally left my room, leaving the door open. He didn't offer me any clothes, continue to protest, didn't even tell me he'd take me. I now wondered if I was too mean. Was being mean a part of growing up too? I wanted to ask the girl in the mirror, the one with the face I didn't recognize. When did she appear?

Today I realize I did in fact grow.

-

Apparently the town is tiny, had no idea. It always seemed big to me but last time I truly saw it I was much littler. The same shops who's sidewalks I would skip on didn't seem as bright anymore, grass grew between the cracks in the sidewalk. Everything seemed dim, not at all how I remembered it. I felt very out of place, I have never seen the town like this and it was disappointing for my first time out of the house in nine years.

Father drove cautiously to the cemetery, it was a smooth ride until we came to a stop and he slammed on his breaks, sending me lurching forward every single time.

I feel like this was my first time confronting reality. The gray sky seemed real through different windows, the plants all seemed to be grieving as they drooped over. I could see a crowd of people all dressed in black gathered amongst the graves and an American flag wrapped casket above ground.

I held my stomach as I got out of the car, making my way to the crowd and standing toward the back to avoid their judgmental eyes. I didn't want to come here to make a scene or add to their rumors or even convince them I'm innocent. These people didn't know me and I knew I would be going back to that house after this and nothing was going to change. I wonder if anyone else found it weird that my father was taking over the position so soon, I didn't see him shed a single tear despite working together for years.

As my father made his way through the crowd, the whispers began. People looked around hoping to see me- this wasn't about me. The person who did this could be here right now, wearing anyone's face, here to finish the job but I'm still here.

My father had me come in to give a 'witness testimony,' and said my story couldn't be used because that's what it was, a story. Mother tore me to shreds for my 'reckless,' 'embarrassing,' and 'degrading' imagination and I didn't even understand what some of those words meant. I had no way of telling them the truth, I even woke up in my own bed completely unharmed. Why would anyone believe me?

I scanned around, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly very aware of my dress. The air was freezing and the sky promised rain on this dreary day. I looked for someone else's attire to compare to mine and make myself feel better, and the weirdest thing I could find was about half the crowd wearing sunglasses which bothered me more than it should have.

Backing up against a hill I released a heavy sigh. I felt bad for not crying and my lack of tears and terrible outfit would add to everyone's belief that I somehow killed Calvary. I wanted to disappear. I wanted someone to... be there for me. It was too much to ask, I had no one to turn to at this point. If any of them were to be nice to me I knew I would fall to the floor in appreciation.

A gust of wind made turn, grabbing the ends of my dress to keep it from flying up when I found five figures standing at the top of the hill, respectfully wearing black and sunglasses.

They didn't bother me, however. I couldn't look away from them as they stood in the shade under a tree. They had a glow to them, a mystery, something familiar and calming.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

I looked away, dropping my dress and stared at my father who awkwardly was trying to get the crowds attention from a small podium.

"Ladies... and gentlemen..." He pursed his lips, face heating up into a shadow of mellow red.

My stomach felt for him, this was hard to watch.

"Um... hello. My name is Officer Reece Gordon..." People finally began to quiet down and listen, turning toward my Dad who was barely taller than the crowd. "I- I had the opportunity to work with James... Sheriff Calvary for more than a decade. He..." My father closed his eyes, visibly gulping as they whispers began to gather once again.

"He... really was able to make someone feel comfortable, welcome, unlike how I feel at this moment." A couple people giggled. "He was good at his job, way better at public speaking than me, always made people feel safe and reassured which I can say I definitely can't provide."

I felt myself shrink- why would he say that?

"I would like to think I'm good at protecting people, that I have no bad bone in my body, that I always do the right thing. But," His eyes found mine. "I don't. Neither did James. James once asked me what I wanted to do with this job and my answer remains the same, be exactly like him and not screw up." The crowd took it as another joke but my Dad shook his head and straightened up, his entire demeanor changed, his posture straightened, and there was a disappointed look on his pained face.

"You see, this town has a habit of having overwhelmingly high expectations, a habit of creating conspiracies, of looking for trouble so they can feel above something, you always need someone to blame for all the wrongs that happen in this town. You have alienated a teenage girl who hasn't stepped foot outside her house in years, who is brave enough to stand here with people who persecuted her and the possible real killer who you all are ignoring. Calvary never found the Missing Children of Maine. The details of his autopsy would tell you that he isn't even here right now."

"He did not just try to clear up his own daughters name in front of everyone- I felt nauseous. Who would take that seriously? It reeked of desperation. They had no reason to listen to him being that I was his daughter. This is supposed to be the day we remember him.

If I have learned anything from what few things I heard from both Calvary and my father, you do not speak about the Missing Children of Maine cases. It was taboo, a problem everyone ignored. A large amount of children from the ages eight to fourteen went missing every single year around fall and summer. No one knows why, and each case ran cold. There was a buzz for each missing child but it eventually died down, lost its shock value, and everyone eventually forgot until it happened again, and again, and again...

The crowd at this point was silent.

"You all demand for justice to be served but just want the hard times to be over so you won't give a second thought that a real threat is out there. If I screw up you will tear me to pieces but will quickly move on from the real terror behind what happened to our town sheriff, what happened to those kids. You all don't really care but you will bring it up for the sake of holding it above our heads. How many of you actively are still invested in what happened to the McCash family nine years ago?"

My heart skipped a beat. That name... it brought back memories that didn't seem that far away, but in reality playing with that boy on the playground was nearly ten years ago. It was unlike what the town had seen, the boys parents were killed in the middle of the night and the boy and his older sister were taken with no trace.

"You cannot pretend your issues will go away by spreading false information. You cannot pretend your issues will go away by ignoring them because they will only fester and bite every single time and you will once again have to pretend to be shocked. Saying a prayer or donating money every single time loses its appeal and impact if we do not take a step towards making things better. This funeral will not be the last time we heard James Calvary's name I will not allow for you all to move on just because you are scared because we genuinely have no idea what happened. As new sheriff, I will not settle for letting that happen and progress will be made and not avoided. As Calvary once wisely told me: 'when this job gets hard and it will, remember this world was made for men, not monsters.' Thank you." My Dad scurried off the podium and to the side of the casket with many officers, a pale look on his face.

A man with graying hair and sunglasses to my right snickered and turned, walking away.

My jaw hung open, my skin crawled at what my father had just said. Even if what he said was the truth- it wasn't the right time. It was bold, it was completely out of character for him. He made this about me...

Everyone's eyes were on me. They were hateful. Their lips curled into sneers.

I wanted to scream.