Page 70 of False Idols

I look back down at the rice paper I’m using for my rubbing and adjust the pressure of the charcoal stick I’m using to pick up the almost vanished name at the top of the headstone. I shouldn’t be alone right now, but I had to be after last night. The graveyard feels like a haven after the chaos of the police station.

It was loud there. The excitement in the air was palpable. The Reaper was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about and that’s not even with the questioning I had to go through. All night sitting in that hard metal chair under the harsh fluorescents of the interrogation room like I was the one that had done something wrong.

I guess it didn’t matter if I was the victim or not this time, the Bloom PD wasn’t going to let me forget what I’d done before. Never mind I’d tried to tell them almost immediately that I didn’t know if Beau did it. No one wanted to listen to me. I was scared, they said, and I should stick to what I told my mother.

I wasn’t the one that was scared. They were. They were terrified of The Reaper and they’d wanted the attacks to stop. My IDing Beau was the easiest way to do that. If they locked him up then they didn’t have to face the fact that there was a monster in their town, someone that walked right along with them and probably smiled right in their face before they went and cut up girls in little fucking pieces for them to find.

If it was Beau then they had a name and a face. They could rest easy at night knowing they’d done their jobs, so they forced me to stick to what I’d said had happened, even if I wasn’t sure anymore. The same bullying tactics had come out last night, too. But I was stronger now. Older, wiser. I also didn’t fucking care if they got the answers they wanted now.

I’d fought The Reaper and I’d won.

The Bloom PD suddenly didn’t seem all that scary anymore.

I rub my charcoal stick on the rice paper in short strokes and make sure to add another piece of tape to the corner when it starts to curl up. Doing this at least helps me in one of my classes, so it’s something. There’s no way I was going to be able to go to class. Everyone would know. I got dropped off by the police just after the sun came up and when I set foot in my dorm I was struck with deja vu. My mom says deja vu is witchcraft and to not say a word about it, but she hasn’t contacted me since I got to school and she lives fifteen minutes away, so I don’t really give a fuck what my mom thinks. I walked into the dorm and the lobby was full of students keeping watch. They were everywhere. Sitting on the floor, at the student workers desk, standing by the windows, some had even brought their own camping furniture down to sit and sleep in. Everyone fell silent when they saw me and I froze. It’s hard to move when you have a roomful of eyes on you.

What the fuck they were keeping watch for I didn’t know. Did they think The Reaper was going to come back? Was that why they were all down there? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to find out. When one of the students said my name, I started moving. I kept my head down, made for the stairs and didn’t stop until I got to my room.

When I got to the room Sunny was there sitting on her bed and waiting for me. I didn’t have to explain much about what happened. From what I’d just seen the entire dorm knew what happened. All of Bloom had to know what happened with the way the cops had been on the phones all night.

“I heard you tried to take his head off with an axe. Pretty hardcore if you ask me.”

“I hit a cop in the face on accident. That’s not hardcore.”

“That’s the definition of hardcore, Nev.”

I left a few minutes later after a quick hug. Sunny was the only one who knew where I was going and I promised to let her know if anything happened. I’d been in the cemetery all morning, working away. It’d been nice. Sunny texted me saying the dorm was locked down with everyone being carded and logged when they came and left. Visits were limited to thirty minutes.

Feels like prison.

She texted and my gut had turned sour.

It wasn’t prison. If she knew what prison was really like, she wouldn’t say that. Beau knew what that was like. I look down at the paper in my hands. It’s a nice rubbing so far and the fourth one I’ve managed to get. That, plus the ten I already have, puts me in a good spot for the fifty I’m supposed to collect. If I keep this up. I’ll be done in no time. I press harder on the paper and it rips.

“Fuck,” I whisper and stare at the ripped paper in dismay. Tears prick my eyes and I press the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop the tears from coming. I want to cry. I almost do, but I hold the tears in. I have to be exhausted if this has me wanting to sob. I didn’t cry even when The Reaper tried to kill me. I’d gotten mad then. Fury, not tears, had fueled me.

I slowly undo the tape holding the rice paper in place and ball it up. It’s ruined now. A rip right through the middle means I can’t use it for the database. I’ll have to start over if I want a rubbing of this headstone. I shove the ruined rice paper in my bag and start to measure out a new length to try again. That's when I see a shadow move. It’s off to the left where Bloom’s first victim is buried.

Just like last night, I go still, but I’m not scared. I’m waiting. I want to see where the shadow went. It could just be another bird, or maybe it’s the wind shifting the tree limbs that reach overhead. It could be anything. It doesn’t have to be The Reaper. I wait patiently for the shadow to move and it does, but it’s closer now. Whatever it is is making its way towards me through the headstones and statues. It’s making an effort not to be seen. The list of what it might be is now considerably smaller, but I don’t panic. I put my things away and start to go through my bag. I have pepper spray in here, or at least I normally do. After a few seconds of going through my bag I can’t feel the pepper spray but I do feel the handle of the soft bristled brush I’ve used to clean lichen off of the older headstones.

Fuck. Someone is in this graveyard with me and the only thing I have is a fucking brush to defend myself. I drop it in my bag and grab my keys. I’m getting back to my car. I’ll make a run for it and hopefully put enough distance between me and whoever is here that I can get eyes on them safely.

Not who, my brain corrects—The Reaper.

“Fuck it,” I whisper. I’m scared, but I’m not going to go down without a fight even if all I have is that brush in my bag. I grab it back in my hand and shove the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder as I rise from my crouch. I stare in the direction I saw the shadow drop and for a second it’s all calm. I know not to trust it and keep a watchful eye as I take one step and then another, walking backwards in the direction of the gate. The headstones Professor Mrose wants us to catalog for the database are at the back, in the oldest parts of the cemetery. Which means I’ll be walking backwards for a while if I don’t make a run for it soon.

Running. I don’t want to run. Just thinking it makes me angry. I’m tired of running and hoping no one notices how much space I’m taking up. That I’ll get by if I’m quiet enough. Obedient enough.

Why do I have to run?

The shadow moves, the darkness of the coat the person is wearing stands out in the sunlight and despite my anger at it, I run. I sprint off towards the largest thing around me. A mausoleum decorated with gargoyles and stone roses. I drop and slide when I get to the mausoleum and press myself to the ground while I catch my breath. I’m quiet as I listen, but there’s only the sound of the wind and birds chirping to hear. I get up and look around the edge. Right as I do, I see someone. They’re there and then they aren’t. A stone angel covers them, but they’re moving fast and they’re coming my way.

It’s not The Reaper, but that doesn’t mean I know who it is either. Someone that sneaks up on a girl in a graveyard isn’t the kind of person I want to get caught by either, so I keep moving. I push off from where I’m hiding and sprint to the next thing. A big cross with a Christmas wreath hanging from it. This one looks newer. It’s dated 1956. Good, I’m getting closer to the front of the graveyard. I’ll be at my car soon. I just have to keep moving and stay out of sight.

“Nevaeh. You can come out. It’s me!”

I freeze when I hear that voice. What is he doing here? How did he know where to look?

“Dean?” I call out from where I’m hiding.

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