Sheriff Watts chews the tip of his pen as he stares at the transcript of our interview. I sit in the chair on the other side of the table and wait. He’s about to speak, but instead, he gets a pained expression, and uses the pen to scratch his head. He studies my words as though they might magically arrange themselves in some other order that makes sense.
“I … I just want to get this straight.”
“Of course.”
“You said you were …” He consults his notes, again. “You found these remains because you were installing a hot tub … in your basement?”
“Yep.”
“Mr. Price, I’m no expert, but when it comes to hot tubs, most people put them outside.”
“I guess I’m no expert, either.”
No, it’s not my best lie, but whatever.
Once things settled down and I knew Caitlyn was okay, I called the police and they took possession of the remains. They asked me how I knew that the bones were there. I told them I was putting in a hot tub. I’m sure they knew it was a lie but I don’t care. I could tell them what really happened, and the hot tub story would still make more sense.
Sheriff Watts shakes his head. “Well, the remains have been there a long time, and even the person who put them there ain’t around anymore, either. There’s not a whole lot we can do.”
“Okay.”
He waits for a response I’m not going to give.
“Look, Mr. Price, we could open up a formal investigation, but I don’t think it will do any good. Even if we could identify the remains, which I doubt, there’s no reason to make this public. All it would do is pull resources from my office and state officials for a crime that can’t be solved. I think it’s best if you let us take possession of the remains, catalogue them, and we can forget all about this.”
“Nope.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
Sheriff Watts rubs his eyes. “Mr. Price, I understand what a shock this must have been for you and your daughter—”
“No, you really can’t.”
“—but I assure you, that if you go to the press, your house will become a tourist attraction.”
“And, like you said, it would be a hassle for you.”
“Well …”
“I won’t tell the press on one condition.”
“You have a condition?”
“Yep,” I say, sitting forward in my chair. “You release the remains to me so that I can give them a proper burial.”
He gives me a hard stare. “Why? Do you know who this is?”
“How could I?”
“Then why would you—?”
“What do you care?” I’ve been calm up until that point, but I’m tired and want this to be over. It was over the moment I had Caitlyn back but this has to happen—for Caitlyn and myself. Sheriff Watts will have to deal with it. “If you allow me to give the remains a proper burial, I promise that no one will hear of it.”
Sheriff Watts considers it.
“No one’s gonna know?” he asks.
“Do whatever tests you want, take dental records, whatever, and then let me bury the remains. No one is going to come looking for this girl.”
He peers at me. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
I’m so tired and fed up that I lash out. “Because she told me. Does that work for you?”
His expression goes from baffled to insulted. He throws up his hands. “Fine! Fine, fine, fine. Just do me a favor, Mr. Price,” he says, and stands up. “Next time, hire a professional to install your damn hot tub.”
*
A week later, I’m looking at myself in the mirror next to the front door, adjusting my black suit and tie.
“You ready, pumpkin?” I call.
“Coming!” Caitlyn replies, and descends the stairs, wearing the black dress with the white trim she wore at Nicole’s funeral. She insisted on wearing it.
We haven’t talked much about what happened the night she disappeared. All I asked was why she came back from Mildred’s. She replied that Katherine told her what was happening. That was the extent of our conversation.
“Don’t forget your coat,” I say, as she lands at the bottom of the steps.
“Dad, I was gonna get it.”
As she goes to the closet, I look around.
This is a different house now.
A weight has been lifted. The presence is gone. Honestly, I’m not sure how to feel. I’m happy that whatever you want to call what was lurking in the house is gone, but also, for the first time since the accident, I know Nicole is also truly gone. I no longer feel her in the other room, just out of sight. She took Katherine across, which is one more thing I’ll love her for, but now, there’s only a scar that will never heal. She’s gone, and even though Caitlyn and I live within the walls of the Nightingale House, it feels empty, like we’re the ghosts, and the house wants to move on.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Caitlyn approaching, wrestling with her coat. The coat is winning. I help her get her arms through the sleeves.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.”
*
Elysian Fields Cemetery is a ten-minute drive to the outskirts of Kingsbrook. It sits on a hill, overlooking the town. The vast rows of gravestones have dates that range back to the 1700s and the landscape is dotted with sugar maples.
Caitlyn holds my hand as we walk through the granite and marble stones to the plot I’ve purchased in a corner of the field. The cold autumn air scrapes at our cheeks and makes our eyes water. Caitlyn doesn’t complain.
There are no priests, ministers, or rabbis— only a small coffin containing the remains of what Caitlyn and I know to be Katherine Carrington, and a gravestone that’s blank. There are two employees of the graveyard present, who don’t seem to care about the circumstances. They’ve probably seen stranger. Having already dug the grave, they are sitting under a sugar maple thirty yards away, smoking cigarettes. I nod to them. They nod back.
Caitlyn and I stand before the grave. I lean down to her. “Is there anything you want to say?”
She thinks about it and steps over to the casket.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but I’m glad I got to meet you. I’m glad you got to meet my mom. If you see her again, tell her I said ‘Hi’ and I love her.”
She looks at me for approval, and I nod. Caitlyn returns to my side and takes my hand.
I motion to the workers. They put out their cigarettes and rise to join us.
They take the small casket off the pedestal, and slowly lower it into the grave. Once it reaches the bottom, I step over to the mound of earth. I take a handful, hold it over the open space, and let it fall from my hand. Caitlyn follows suit. Once completed, we step back.
The workers take over from there. They pick up their shovels and begin to fill the grave. Caitlyn and I watch, our hands still locked together. We don’t move for the half hour it takes the workers to complete their task.
When it’s over, the workers know their part, and quietly slip away. Caitlyn and I wait for a few more minutes, completely alone, staring at the blank headstone.
“Goodbye, Katherine,” Caitlyn says.
A small breeze blows through the rows of headstones and sends dry, brittle leaves cartwheeling across the newly turned earth. Once the silence returns, I gently squeeze her shoulder.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
In unison, we turn and begin walking away in silence.
Caitlyn finally speaks as we approach the gate leading to the parking lot. “Dad?”
“Yeah, pumpkin?”
“Can we move?”