SEVEN YEARS LATER – a short story by Ashley Tate, author of Twenty-Seven Minutes

The Hill twins, Livvy and Beth, were the last to do it and it had quickly become a thing at school, as these things tend to do. So when it seemed they may never do it, their friends went from teasing to taunting to jeering loudly in the hallways within a matter of days. But the truth was, the twins were scared. Partly because they didn’t like to break the rules, it wasn’t in their nature, and partly, too, because they were whip-smart, and they knew that since no one had been caught yet, it was just a matter of time.  

But the girls couldn’t stand the teasing and they didn’t want to be branded as cowards, so after three nights of nervous discussion in their shared bedroom, they relented. They would pack a thermos of coffee and a flashlight and sneak out after their parents went to bed, to spend the night under the bridge where three terrible deaths had occurred: Phoebe Dean’s, Wyatt Delroy’s and old Rose Wilson’s.  

The rumour was that if the conditions were just right, Wyatt would emerge from the place where they found his body seven years ago, seeking revenge.  

No one had actually seen him do this, yet, but it had become a tradition of the West Wilmer High’s graduating class that everyone had to spend a night on vigil, watching for him.  

The night the twins chose was unseasonably cool but was calling for a harvest moon; surely if Wyatt was going to show himself, it would be under the light of the brightest moon, just like the night the divers found his body.  

The twins veered from the highway and hid their bikes in the trees and then clutched hands as they tripped and slipped down the steep hill. The moon was behind clouds and it was nearly pitch-black. Their whispers sounded frantic as they practically slid down on all fours, and they knew the other was regretting this decision. Should we just turn around, they were both thinking. They didn’t even believe in ghosts, not really, and after their harried thirty-minute bike ride to get there, they were both tired and hungry and scared.  

But the girls wanted to shut their friends up, and so continued their descent as carefully as they could, each recognizing, but not pointing out, the pitch of terror in the other. 

“Do you think people really stay the whole night?” Livvy asked, though she knew that the answer was yes.  

The dare didn’t count if you didn’t wait to see the sun start to rise. That part was for Phoebe Dean, some said; she had loved sunrises.  

“It’s already nearly 2am, we just have to stay a couple more hours,” Beth whispered back as they finally hit the bottom of the hill. 

The West Wilmer river was smooth and the colour of tar; the dark beds of its banks were bare but for the odd stray leaf. It was a windless night, and the trees stood sentinel and still; watchful and waiting, just like the girls.   

“It’s so weird, we’re not far from home but it’s darker here, don’t you think? Like, pitch black—I can’t see a thing.” 

“Different clouds or something, it’s not going to rain, is it?” 

They both knew it wasn’t going to rain because they’d been checking the weather radar for days. Their quiet voices floated across the river and they gripped hands harder as they made their way to the water’s edge, their toes catching on dead roots and sharp rocks, the dangerous rickety bridge disappearing above them.  

“Ouch,” Livvy said, “not so tight,” but Beth knew she didn’t really mean it, or want her sister to let go. It was very, very dark. And something very, very bad had happened here and the night air was thick with both. 

“Slow down, I can’t see anything.” 

“Me neither, but there’s a log over there. Right in front of you, careful.” 

They maneuvered blindly around the half-submerged stump; the wood was slimy and water-logged. They sat down on it closely together, nearly morphing into one body, teeth chattering, and then rested their backpacks on their thighs. They’d come without blankets which was an oversight they hadn’t considered, their being so used to their warm, safe beds.   

Livvy unzipped her bag for her phone, she wanted to check the time and take a photo as proof. She opened her mouth to ask her sister if anyone would be able to see the light from down here but her voice was swallowed up by the rush of water that was moving quickly now. Maybe they had angered the river by coming to prove their childish bravery, to trivialize the site of such tragedy.  

The girls cowered together silently on the thick log a few feet back from the river’s edge. They were both already damp and chilled to the bone and more afraid than they thought they’d be. 

The moon peeked out from behind a cloud and they both relaxed slightly, able now to make out the things that would tether them to this place; the bridge high above them, the hill they’d just come down, the river’s fast flowing water.  

“Wait,” Beth said, standing, pointing. “What is that? Do you see that?” 

Livvy stood as well and looked to where her sister was jabbing her finger. “What’s what? You’re not just trying to scare me are you, when we promised we wouldn’t do that, Livvy—” 

Beth stepped forward a foot, and then another, away from the log and towards the river, and when she was practically in it, she bent at her waist and held her hand back to her sister. “Pass me the flashlight—” 

“We’re not supposed to use that, what if someone sees—” 

Livvy waved her hand impatiently, frantically. “Just give it to me, I can’t make it out, but it looks, I don’t know, white . . . ” 

Beth sighed, the vibration of her frustration mixed with her fear, but she walked to where her sister stood and, turning on the flashlight, she trained it on the muddy bank, the river roaring past them now. They both crouched down at the same time, their bodies still in sync like that, and stared hard, but their brains weren’t registering what they were seeing. Until they did.  

It was Beth who started screaming first, and then both girls were stumbling away backwards on all fours like frenzied crabs, panicking and wild, wishing again, desperately now, that they hadn’t come down here, knowing they’d never get this image out of their minds, that it would be locked in there forever. The image of the long bone, no longer white but yellowing, with small teeth marks from fish, the bone that Livvy had nudged out of the mud with her brand-new sneakers, that had been lying half submerged in the water, as if it were just waiting to be found.  

MICK  

It was barely dusk but Flo’s was already packed. Mick was outside in the back, leaning against an empty keg, smoking his third cigarette. He was wishing he’d sold the bar last year when that cheap-suited investor was in asking about it. The land, Mick guessed, because Flo’s itself couldn’t be worth much. He’d barely put a dime into it. The string of Christmas lights hanging above the bar had been there twenty years, not a single one of the green or yellow bulbs still worked. The West Wilmer Wild Cats pennants had all curled from dampness, and the blue and white had faded into a watery gray. The floor would be sticky for eternity, Mick was sure of it; he barely bothered mopping it most days.  

Mick groaned loudly across the full parking lot and slowly adjusted his hat. Mick was tired, and he was already out of whiskey. He dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out with the toe of his boot, and turned around to push open the heavy metal door, unleashing the loud frenzy of everyone inside, that electric excitement the town had been without for years, but was back again thanks to those damn Hill twins, and the damn West Wilmer river.  

He hesitated one more second, watched the sun dip, and wondered what on earth would happen to the town if the rumours were true, if they had just found Hank Delroy’s body.  

REG 

Reg watched Mick collect himself before heading back into Flo’s. Mick chain smoking already wasn’t something Reg had hoped to see, but he wasn’t surprised. He pulled the keys from the ignition and looked beside him. “I don’t want to do this again.” 

Heather turned her body to face him. “We don’t have to go in, we could go home, no one is saying we have to be here tonight, it’s not like it’s an official event or something—” 

“Of course we have to go in there, people would talk if we didn’t.” 

Heather sighed and shook her head to herself; Reg knew that she didn’t want to go in there anymore than he did.  

Could it be true? That the Hill twins had found a bone that belonged to June’s father?  

It was inconceivable, and yet, here they were, an impromptu gathering at Flo’s so people could gossip and argue and revel in the latest horror the West Wilmer river had unleashed.  

They should have gone to June’s right away, both of them, to ask how she was doing, to lend a hand, to support her, but they hadn’t done that. Instead they’d asked Heather’s mother to babysit the kids and driven to Flo’s to participate in the circus.  

Just thinking of what June must be feeling made his heartburn flare.   

“No one will even notice if we don’t show,” Heather went on. “We could go somewhere else, grab something to eat, we really could just go home, Reg.” 

Reg snorted and his wife smiled but it didn’t meet her eyes. They both knew everyone expected Reg to be there tonight. 

“Let’s get this over with then,” Reg said, clutching his keys, noticing his breathing was thin. “But we won’t stay long, okay?” 

Heather opened the door to the truck. “It’ll be fine,” she said, hopping down to the broken pavement of the parking lot. “I’m sure it’s not what they think it is. It can’t be. It would be … a nightmare for June. Another one. Let’s just think positively.” 

Reg cleared his throat and took his wife’s hand. “Right,” he said, praying that his wife was right. 

Inside, the bar was as hot as an oven. Reg fingered his shirt collar, felt sweat already beading. Heather dropped his hand so she could wave towards a table in the back, but he avoided making eye contact, assumed who she had seen was Kelsey, or maybe someone from the animal shelter. He didn’t know if Harley would show; when Reg had checked in with her husband, he’d been cryptic, just as Reg had suspected he’d be. 

After the night of Phoebe Dean’s memorial and the ensuing chaos of finding Wyatt’s body, anyone who had been close with Grant Dean had come out slightly tarnished, as if any of them could have known Grant was capable of something like that, and so Reg suspected that if Harley could figure out a way to avoid tonight, she would.  

Reg sighed. As far removed as he was from Hank Delroy, it felt like a fresh nightmare was about to bear down on the town. He eyed the crowds of people ahead of him, at the small groups that had formed, drinking, heads together, discussing. 

They were feeding on it and it worried him; could they survive this again?  

Reg didn’t head straight for the bar, but clocked the room until he landed on the beige hat that he knew would have showed early. Reg narrowed his eyes, steeled himself, and walked over to the crowd in the far back corner, hidden under the sign for the restrooms, gathered around the old Sheriff, Ricky.  

Ricky had taken early retirement right after the mess with Wyatt Delroy, rather than face the likely firing he deserved. Some people still respected Ricky for his many years of service, but Reg did not. 

Reg shoved his way through the crowd of the near dozen people standing in a tight circle. “What’s this now?” Reg said as greeting, nodding curtly to everyone. “You know these are just rumours—real bad ones—and I wouldn’t think Ricky would be the best source of information for any of it.” 

Ricky snorted, clearly many beers deep, his red nose flaring. “No one’s saying anything’s been determined officially, I was just telling them what I was thinking, about Hank—” 

“You should wait for what the real Sheriff says and leave that poor family alone.” Reg stared down every single T-shirt wearing man who looked his way and then said, “Good then,” and wedging himself back out of the crowd, went up to the bar. He leaned back against it and through the dimly lit room noticed that no one was playing pool, but that it was crowded enough that people were using them as tables. He noted that Heather was sitting with Kelsey and turned to Mick. 

“You look like shit,” Reg said and Mick just frowned.  

“I hate this you know,” Mick said. “Feels like we just got back to normal.” 

“Yeah,” Reg said, and then asked a question he didn’t want to hear the answer to: “You hear anything about this though? From your cousin?” 

Mick shook his head. “Billy’s off on medical leave, he’s not worked all month at the Sheriff’s station. Only thing I heard is that those Hill girls are a fucking disaster, were crying hysterical when the Sheriff showed up, said it was a dare and that their Dad would be furious—” Mick shrugged. “Did you know the kids were doing this shit? Some graduating prank or something, to spend the night down there.” 

“No,” Reg said, thankful his two boys were still just in middle school. “Fucking morbid is what it is.” 

Mick crossed his arm on his chest, flatly ignoring the tens of customers shouting his name to be served. “It can’t be Hank, can it? In the same spot? It can’t be.” 

They locked eyes, the room behind Reg was loud and chaotic; he could feel the bad energy pulsing around him. “No, it can’t be.” 

Mick moved the bleached-white towel from one shoulder to the other, grabbed a bottle from under the bar and poured them both shots. “Think June’ll show?” 

Reg downed his shot and waited for Mick to pour him another. “I called her but no answer at the house. If she doesn’t show tonight, we’ll go by her place tomorrow, check in on her.”  

Mick nodded, fixed his hat, held his hand up to make it clear that everyone who was waiting for a drink, would have to continue to wait. “Hear anything from Grant?” 

Reg pushed his empty glass across the dented bar, waited for Mick to fill it. “No, not in a long while. Last I heard, he was settling in okay though.” 

HARLEY 

Harley pulled herself upright so she could look at her face in the rear-view mirror. She fixed her hair, wiped away a smudge of mascara, sat back heavily. She looked next to her, to the white paper bag on the passenger seat. 

Flo’s parking lot was full, so she’d had to turn around and park on the side of the road. She’d been sitting in her car about 20 minutes and had watched four other cars do what she’d just done, once they too realized that the lot had no empty spots left. 

Harley had nodded at everyone as they walked by her car, gritting her teeth harder each time. Now she grabbed the paper bag and shoved it hard into the glovebox. She’d driven to the pharmacy early that morning for her daughter’s allergy pills and it was as she was bent over in that aisle, looking for the brand she liked best, that Harley overheard the news. 

“It was just lying there, stuck in the bank—” 

“Maybe a thigh or something from the arm, a big one they said—” 

“Who said?” 

“AJ’s girls! They may seem polite in church but I knew that was all an act, and now here they go sneaking out of the house at night to go down to the river, to that godforsaken spot—” 

Harley stood straight up amongst the allergy pills and heartburn medications and cheap bar soap and cleared her throat loudly, stopping the conversation. She walked past the small section of cards and the refrigerator that was mostly empty, to the front of the store and nodded to Mr. Brown, the aging pharmacist. To Harley’s discomfort, he was talking to Becca’s mother, Mrs. Hoyt. 

“Morning,” Harley said. “Mrs. Hoyt, how are you today?” 

Mrs. Hoyt cocked an eyebrow. “Harley, how are you, dear? Your parents? Heard they just got back from a cruise. How lovely—Alaska, though? Must have been cold.” 

There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in the woman’s voice and so Harley didn’t bother smiling at her. “They enjoyed themselves, though my Father came down with the flu. I overheard you talking about AJ and Linda’s girls just now?” 

Harley smiled at Mr. Brown who frowned deeply, the same frown he always gave her, having never forgiven her for stealing a tube of lip gloss when she was 16 years old. He lifted his liver-spotted hand to touch his greying moustache. “They’re saying the Hill twins found a big white bone down by the river.”  

Mrs. Hoyt added, eyes bright: “They think it could be human. Like from a body. Another body.” 

“What?” Harley’s mind was racing. “I don’t understand… but they already found him, his remains, there were divers that came in from out of town, so I thought they already found —” 

“No.” Mrs. Hoyt’s voice was shrill as she stared Harley down. “This is something new that those girls found last night, and everyone thinks it could be Hank Delroy.” 

Mr. Brown let out a loud harrumph. “No one knows anything for sure, best not to speculate, wouldn’t want to upset that poor girl for no reason.” 

Mrs. Hoyt crossed her arms on her chest and watched as Harley placed the small pack of blue pills on the counter. Harley felt stunned as she went through the motions of paying.  

“When will they know?” Harley asked in a loud whisper. “If it’s him? It can’t be, can it?” 

Harley tried to conjure an image of June’s father, Hank, but couldn’t. It’s possible she’d never laid eyes on him, but June, June she’d just seen last week getting groceries in town, they’d exchanged pleasantries, talked about the weather, about how June’s flowers were coming in well. 

Unassuming June, who had somehow managed to get Grant to confess that he’d killed her brother and then spent three years in prison for it.  

Harley’s throat was starting to close up as it did whenever she thought of Grant. Of what she used to think of Grant when she was a teenager, and what she thought of him now; how those two versions of him could be so different.  

What did it say about her that she’d loved him once? 

Harley clutched the white paper bag to her chest. “It can’t be him, not there, right?” And then weakly, because this couldn’t be happening again, “Hank Delroy left town years ago.” 

Harley looked helplessly from Mrs. Hoyt to Mr. Brown, the thought that June’s father would be found in the same place as her brother, it was too awful to imagine.  

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Hoyt asked coldly.  

“Yes, I’m fine.” Harley said, stumbling backwards, knocking into a magazine rack, “Tell Becca I say hi, the next time you speak with her.” 

Now Harley sat in her car on the side of the road, afraid to walk into Flo’s. She’d spent the day tackling the kids’ closets and sorting clothes that needed to be donated to the church, to better avoid the increasing calls and texts flooding in, that Linda Hill’s girls had found Hank Delroy’s body stuck in the mud in the West Wilmer river. It just couldn’t be—how would June survive this? 

Harley had called June twice, but both calls went straight through to voicemail. She’d even driven to June’s house but it seemed that June wasn’t home. Harley noticed that June was right, her gardens really were doing well, and hoped that maybe June was at work, and so she’d driven to the post office only to be told that no, June wasn’t on shift today. 

REG 

Heather was walking through the dense crowd looking for him. Reg watched a couple of people try to get her attention, but she politely kept moving. He waved at her from his spot at the bar, when she was close enough to see him. 

“You haven’t left this spot all night—you doing okay?” Heather asked when she was near enough that he’d be able to hear her. “It’s so loud in here!” She shouted and then wedged herself in next to him. 

“Yeah, I’m doing okay,” Reg answered his wife, “But let’s go soon.” 

Heather shrugged. “Fine with me. You hear anything?” 

Reg shook his head. “Not really.” 

“Anyone ask about . . . ” Heather let the sentence trail off.  

Reg wanted another drink but Mick was outside smoking again. “Just Kelsey asked and I told her I haven’t heard from Grant in months.” This was true. “Told her I think he’s doing okay, that he’s renting a decent spot and got a job at an auto shop in whatever town he ended up in.” 

Reg knew Grant lived 150 miles away in Benton, but he didn’t want to share that with anyone. Even though they rarely spoke, and Reg didn’t know how to deal with what Grant had done, he still felt a shred of loyalty towards him. Reg hoped that maybe there was still some good left in Grant, and now that he was far from here, he could become a better man.  

He’d served his time and now he was free from West Wilmer and everything it had done to him. 

 “Do you want another drink?” Reg asked his wife but, before she could answer, the crowd fell completely and utterly silent. Reg looked to the front door and clipped his mouth shut. A couple of throats were cleared. Mick let out a low whistle.  

Heather looked at him with wide eyes and started to unwedge herself from his side, but he grabbed her by the waist and said, “Let’s just give them space.” 

Heather leaned back against his chest but lifted her hand to give a quick wave to the two women who had just walked through the doorway of Flo’s together. 

Becca and June stood near the entrance, surveying the crowd. June gave a half-hearted wave back but Becca smiled brightly and said loudly: “Bit quiet in here for a bar, don’t you think? Don’t have anything interesting to talk about?” 

A couple of people laughed politely but mostly the packed room at Flo’s remained silent until someone from the back corner yelled: “It true?” 

Becca took her time smoothing out her black leather skirt and then raised her hand dramatically to shush the already quiet room. Reg figured she enjoyed the attention, and for that he didn’t blame her. She was a strange woman, but had put up with a lot through the years. He didn’t see her around much, not since she moved out of town to be closer to her sister. But that she was back now, for this, didn’t surprise him. He’d heard that Becca and June had become friendly, not exactly friends again, but the kind to call to check up on one another every so often. 

As if reading his thoughts, Heather lifted up onto her tip toes to whisper in his ear: “Becca must have come back to support June.” 

Reg draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulled her close, and like the rest of the people in the clammy, dim room, he waited. 

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the door to Flo’s opened yet again and Harley walked in, stopped abruptly, and stared ahead at everyone who was staring at her now. 

“Becca, June,” Harley said, recovering and giving each of them a small hug. “Why don’t we get a drink? Maybe people will stop staring at us then.” 

Reg watched Becca frown slightly at Harley, but Harley just smiled back, unfazed. The three women walked up to where Reg and Heather stood and he nodded a hello to each of them. June had pink in her cheeks, and Heather hugged her and asked how she was doing, and Becca climbed up onto the bar and motioned for everyone to be quiet again. 

When she was sure she had everyone’s attention she spoke loudly: “I want you to really listen to what June’s about to say.” 

Becca hopped down and nodded at June who faced the crowd and said: “It was a deer. The bone belonged to a deer this time, officially.” 

Becca and June exchanged a long look. And then there was a loud collective sigh. Some would be sighing out of frustration, some out of relief. A hum of chatter started up quickly, the news dispelled already, poof, forgotten. Chairs were scraped back from tables, people started to say their goodbyes and as Mick leaned across the bar to start taking orders, Reg kissed the top of his wife’s head and feeling relieved said, “Let’s go home.”