Chapter 2: Finding Susan ... or Someone Like Susan

That was Patti, the most timid girl of the bunch. She opposed this cemetary visit at when Clay suggested it back at the dorm. Her worst fears were coming true as she frantically sckowered the group and back across the cementary for her best friend.

“I can’t find Susan. Perhaps she is hurt,” she cries.

Clay and the others stopped jostling to look around for Susan. They looked back across the cementary up against the horizon, hoping to glance a figure, walking slowly of course, coming across the grounds. But nothing. It was empty of any existance.

“Who was she with,” asks Cole, one of boys in the group. Susan was a good friend of Cole’s. Perhaps this was a concocted scare between the two of them.

But Cole wasn’t joking. He asked a second time, a third, and finally a fourth, demanding this time for an answer from anyone who saw Susan.

“She was next to Brock, before we ran,” someone piped up. “SUSAN, SUSAN, COME OUT COME OUT FROM WHEREEVER YOU ARE,” yelled another, hoping Susan would respond with sounds like, “I’m hurt”, or “I’m over here”, or “I fooled you guys.” But nothing came.

START HERE “She’s probably hurt, or fallen down. Someone has to find here,” suggested another. Clay agreed. This is not like Susan to play a stunt like this. She is as mousy and scared like the other girls in the group. Clay glanced over at Patti, who was now crying softly as others gathered around to comfort her. Clay felt responsible if in his startled dash, Susan fell, twisted her ankle or worst, broke her leg.

“Who’s coming with me? We need to trace back and see if we can find her”, Clay looked down the line of his friends. Cole and Brock, closet friends to Clay, agreed to join in the search. They need to move fast — she could be crying for help at this moment.

“Should we drive the car in?”, asked Brock.

“No!” Snapped Clay, somewhat irritated at the others who didn’t notice her fall. “We need to back-track across the cementary in case she fell while we were running. Let’s hurry!”

Clay motions Brock and Cole into cementary and retraces the frantic steps they took moments ago. Back across the grounds . . . in reverse this time . . . past row-by-row of names and dates that appeared as though . . . we have been here before. Names like . . . never mind. What was important is finding Susan, which was becoming less promising as they strolled past row of granite and row of granite. She was no where to be found.

They traced their steps back to the road in the middle of the cemetary where Clay began his frantic run. Nothing. Clay’s face begins to prespire. Something has happened. Either she is hurt, lying helplessly somewhere here and the parking lot, or she has decided to exit more ladylike along the winding road to the parking lot. Clay does a 360-degree search. Nothing. Not a trace or a sound.

“Hey! Look at this,” Brock breaks the search, pointing to something on the ground along the edge of the road. Both Clay and Cole joined Brock some 30 feet away. As they near, they noticed an old-looking tombstone angling sightly from the ground along the side of the road. It was the only stone standing by itself, like a shy kid who was afraid to join the others.

“Do you have a match, buddy?,” Brock kneeling next to the stone tugs at Cole’s pants, gestering for a match from the lone smoker in the group.

“We don’t have time for this,” snaps Clay. “Susan probably walked back a different way and is probably lost. She probably headed down this road. We need to find before Patti goes insance. Come on, let’s go!”
“No!, wait a second,” pleaded Brock. “I found this hat next to this tomb.” Brock lifts the hat high above his head to Clay who was standing behind his crouched body. Brock continues, “this is Susan’s hat. I remembered her wearing it when we got out of the car. It was laying here next to this stone. So I bent down to pick it up when I noticed something really strange on this stone. That’s is why I need a match to see if it says what I think it says.”
Brock tugs a second time at Cole’s pants. Clay steps back as Cole reaches from inside his pocket for a book of matches. He tosses them to Brock. The first match failed to light. But the second match lit up brightly to begin a night of mystery and suspense:

Here lies Susan Aldrich
Born: June 14, 1982
Died: October 31, 2000

Brock moves the match closer to the inscription, “by damn, that today’s date. Look at this!” Brock strikes a third match to illuminate the name Susan Aldrich. “That’s her name. And that’s her birth date. I remember it because it is the same day as Flag Day. I bought her a giant flag as a joke for her last birthday.”

Brock looks back at his companion as the match burns close to his fingers. He drops the match suddenly and then turns back to strike another, moving it closer to the bottom of the inscription.

“Look at this! That’s today’s date. Look!. Today is October 31, 2000. Her hat, her name, her birth date, and today’s date.” Brock pauses for a moment, then stands up to confront Clay, “is this some kind of joke. Is she hiding somewhere to jump out and stab us?”

Cole nervously lights a cigarette. “Hell man, if she comes after me, I’ll strangle her.”

“Quiet!” jumps in Clay. “This isn’t my joke — though I wish it were. I never spoke with anyone about what we were going to do tonight, certainly not Susan. And how could Susan, who I might add wouldn’t spend one minute alone in this cementary, let along get the time to carve up a tomb and plant it here. Can you lift it? Perhaps it’s a fake.”

Clay was hoping he was part of some joke, perhaps planted by Brock along with Susan. If only he could laugh this off and get back with the others finding Susan the rest snickering behind his back. That would be funny. If only . . .
Cole placed his cigarette in his mouth and bent down to pull the tomb up. It wouldn’t budge. He kicked it. Nothing. The tomb was deeply planted into the ground along an obscure road that not even Clay had planned to take before coming here tonight. The events were not adding up.

Clay began to analyze the situation like a teacher of logic. “Look!,” he says methodically to his two friends, as he kneels down to the ground to use the dirt road as a drawing board. “No one knew, except maybe you two, that we were coming here tonight. I never said a word to anyone, let along Susan that this was part of our party plans. Nor did I or anyone else in the group plan to come to this very spot.” Clay pounds his finger into the ground to emphasize the very spot to where they now stand bewildered.

Cole continues, “everything we did tonight was spontaneous. We could have taken that road over there,” Clay stands erect and turns to face the opposite direction, “or that road over there.”

Brock and Cole strain their faces to view the road Clay was pointing to. They couldn’t see any road. The only view they could muster was rows upon rows of granite and old oak trees, wrestling in the wind as though chuckling at the surprises that await them. “How could Susan, or anyone else for that matter, know exactly what we were doing tonight to pull a stunt like this?”, Clay breaks the gaze of his two friends. He motions them to the mysterious tomb stone, bending down to lift it, then returning as a failed weight lifter who couldn’t budge his weights, “that means she had to lug this heavy stone from the car to here, plant it solid in the ground, and then get the hell out of here before we came back to find her.”

Cole raised his eyebrows as he puffed his last smoke, tossing the butt cigeratte on the ground, sighing, and then turning to Clay as if he were the Sherlock Holms for the evening. He retorts, “well then, Mr. Clay, it appears you are the guilty party. You led us to this spot, so it appears that you and Susan are in ka-uts to put us scare in us. Now what? Are we to now return and play this serade with the others?”

Clay was not amused. This was not a game he concocted. Perhaps the joke was on him. Maybe Susan and Cole planted this tomb as a joke on Clay. Maybe everyone in the goups is right now laughing at him as he stands bewildered, somewhat frighten now, as silent scent of night surrounds his senses. He didn’t respond to Cole’s assertion. He stares at Cole as he walks slowly over to a big tomb, leans against it, pulls another cigeratte from his pocket, and lights up another smoke as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Clay turns to Brock, who happens to be the twin brother of Cole. “Do you think I made this up?”, hoping that Brock can break the stalemate of reason.

Brock shrugs his sholder, showing some of amusement in Clay’s question. Brock takes another question from Clay, “why don’t you knock some sense in your brother over there? I tell you guys, I am not responsible for this.”
Clay grabs Brock’s arm and led him over to his brother. The three of them stood motionless, waiting for the opposing party to confess up. But noone said anything. Cole cocks his head back and puffs another smoke. He then desparately tries to exhale rings of smoke as a sign that he has nothing to tell.

Clay extends his arm, palm up, fist clenched. He then recites one-at-a-time, unclenching his fingers for each of his stated arguments.

“FACT!,” he brings out his first finger, “no one knew that we were coming and exiting from this very spot. FACT!,” the second finger come out, “this was the last place where Susan was seen. FACT!, Brock is holding Susan’s hat that was found next to that tomb over there,” Clay relaxes his hand to point to the mystery tomb behind, but instantly returns with clenched fist and three fingers extended, “...with Susan’s name on it. FACT!, the death date inscribed on the stone is today’s date. FACT!...,” Clay extends all five fingers, pauses a minute to force Cole to look him in the eye, and then using all of the energy he can muster to convince them that he was telling the truth, “...I had nothing .... nothing ... nothing I tell you, with this. Something strange is going on and I would appreciate it if you get off your f---’en high horse and help me.”

Clay closed his fist tight, motioning it up and down like a fighter emphasizing his points, and then abruptly turns his back to his friends and begins walking back the way they came. Cole and Brock seemed puzzled. Clay was a good friend of theirs. They grew up in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, graduated from high school together, and decided as three to attend the same university. Surely they had fights. Silly fights as kids and teenagers. Nasty drag-down fights. Clay and Cole gaining up on Brock. Brock and Cole gaining up on Clay. They were like brothers . . . all three. But this was the first time that Clay used emotion like this. Not an angry emotion, but an emotion of a panic, somewhat frightening person. Something in his voice sensed danger. Real danger.

They quickly followed Clay as he trekked back along the dark road, in and out under tree under tree under tree, back along the drainage ditch that hugged the road, hoping for a sign that explains Susan’s disappearance. There was nothing. Only the quiet signs of a dark night.