The websites claimed the hidden purpose of the mounds, and the reason for the disappearance of the ancient people who built them, were obvious. From the skies, the hills corresponded with certain clusters of stars. A map reflecting the heavens on earth.
How could a prehistoric society know to do that without guidance from beings from beyond? the websites wondered, and theorized that the mounds were designed to be landing sites for ships, and on their last return to earth, they took the worshipping people on the ground back to the stars.
Maybe not the best place to overcome an anxiety attack.
He reclined the seat, taking long, deep breaths. The reporter didn’t have much, but it was enough. Aunt Stella had long ago put him through a media boot camp to prepare for a lifetime of attention. Having moved from a local news station to write investigative pieces for sites like ESPN and Politico, she was deeply plugged in and understood how all the organizations operated. He knew the reporter wasn’t with one of the TV stations, so she would download the footage to a private video-sharing site and get it back to promotions ASAP.
He’d never heard of the TV show. Hollywoodextra, did she call it? Some junk like that. Given the scoop, he knew from what Stella had taught him that the promotion would run for days, using only the video of his face, providing no other location information so as to not tip off competitors. Stella had even educated him on the ratings months of the year, when sales generated their ad rates and the networks released their new episodes. Be especially cautious in those months, she’d warned. Overnight ratings have changed the game to some degree, she’d explained, but everyone still wants their blockbusters in November.
Regardless, he had two days, tops, to get out of town. As soon as that story aired, the hordes would come like an invading army.
He’d wait to return to the trailer at dawn. If he was lucky, they’d stake out his house all night, but eventually give up when he didn’t return. They’d come back quickly, though. He’d only have a short time to pack up what he could, drive to Carlos’s place to leave a note apologizing for his sudden disappearance, and flee.
The thought made his stomach churn. Where would he go now? The renewed media attention would make him even more recognizable wherever he went. When he’d decided to disappear a year ago, he’d simply hopped on the interstate. No reporters trailing him. He was gone an entire day before even his family realized he was missing.
As soon as this story aired, the entire world would know where he is, and if he weren’t out of town by then, there would be nowhere left for him to hide.
“Take a chill pill. Everyone needs their lawns mowed, and every town has a trailer park. Just take your pick,” he imagined Roxy advising, sitting in the passenger seat and hooking a rug pattern of a frowning pug. “I know this sucks, kiddo. But your Nanna went through hell herself to find you and bring you back. Find another small town, buy some Just For Men, and go brunette for a while. But for God’s sake, don’t go blond. You’ll look like your grandmother in drag.”
What would you really say if I called you, Roxy? If I told you what was happening, and that I can’t find anything funny about it. You’d certainly be at Nanna’s house—you always claim it’s for her own good—and vow to help me in private, while waving over my grandmother and writing down exactly where I am. The wheels in your head would be full tilt, figuring that you could cram in a car with Nanna with Mom and Dad and be in Little Rock by 2 a.m.
“I know how dangerous I am,” is all I would have to say to you to stop your pacing. “I overheard you and Nanna, Roxy. I know.”
You would feign ignorance, but you’re a terrible liar. Even you would have no clever comeback when I explained how I eavesdropped on you and Nanna in the most raw of moments.
No one wanted Nanna to be alone with Grandpa Tom in those final days of hospice care. He’d been brought home from the hospital to spend his last days in his own bed. Of course we knew that Nanna wouldn’t be alone, as Roxy had practically moved into the guest room, refusing to go home until she was thrown out.
It was after midnight. Grandpa had long since stopped speaking, having been given the powerful palliative sedative that eased cancer patients through their last moments, spoon-fed to him lovingly by his wife. No one knew how long he might live, so Aunt Stella had gone home with his parents and brothers, trying to figure out how to notify Aunt Kate when none of them had spoken to her in years. Roxy and I had kept a vigil with Nanna upstairs, sitting in the dim light while the clock ticked loudly. I’d dozed and I guess started to snore. Roxy told me to either go get some caffeine or she was going to put a clothespin on my nose.
I’d gone downstairs to make coffee and laid my head on the old farm table, and the next thing I knew, I woke to a stiff neck and the digital clock on the microwave reading 3 a.m., the coffee now cold. I trudged up the stairs, hearing their voices and quiet crying from where the door was slightly open. I’d reached for the handle when I heard Nanna say, “He was the only one who knew what we’re capable of doing.”
My hand had hovered. “Hon, don’t go there just now. Give yourself a moment to just say goodbye,” Roxy said, her own voice broken.
“I said my goodbyes to him a hundred times over the past few days. He’d become so sweet, you know, especially after he got sick. Death does that, the doctors said. It softens a person, knowing the end is near. I told him every hour how much I loved him, and apologized for everything I’d done all those years ago. All he would do is hold my hand and say how important it is that I keep up the work. Our work. Now that he’s gone, I can’t imagine doing it without him.”
“Shhhh. Come on, now. Let’s call hospice, and you need to tell the girls–”
“I need to tell them everything. Everything. And William deserves to know. What I can do. What he can do. What they did to us.”
“Lynn, you still don’t know what they did to you—”
“It’s there. Inside me. Inside William. Even if we don’t know what it is, I know what I read in those computer files and saw in those interviews. I know what I saw underneath the hospital, with all those people. What we’re capable of doing. And once it comes—the pain, the bleeding in the ears—it means we’re activated. Not long after, we’ll die, and so will anyone near to us.”
“Lynn, don’t do this now. You know nothing has happened in fifteen years. You wouldn’t have remained by your family if there was any hint that you were dangerous. No one’s been activated or anything like that—”
“And William. He’s different. He has it in him too. He’s the conduit. I don’t even know what that means, but he’s the final stage; the trigger to activate all of us.”
“This isn’t the time. You’re exhausted—”
“Tom kept telling me that it was important that we just lived our lives. That William knew he was loved. And he was right….”
He could hear Roxy move in to comfort her. I’d stepped away from the door, feeling numb.
The binge that came next lasted a few days. Everyone thought I was just grief drinking. Maybe I was. Grief for my grandfather, and grief knowing I could be the one to ultimately cause the death of my own grandmother—
William realized his hands had stopped shaking. His body temperature had calmed. Funny thing about anxiety attacks—they kick your ass when they show up, but you don’t notice when they’ve slipped out the back door. Or maybe I’ve found a way to trump whatever disaster I’ve encountered at the moment by reminding myself that something even worse could be happening at any moment.