Epilogue Four Months Later
Epilogue
Four Months Later
By the time October hits, enough normalcy has been carved back into Beck’s and my lives that facing that anniversary feels survivable.
Our physical wounds heal, leaving only a few scars that are easy to hide under clothing.
Grief, it turns out, doesn’t resolve itself in one month, six months, or even a year.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell which part of the deaths hit me when.
With Beck, it feels even more complicated.
A part of her has known her sister has been dead for a year now, but both of us also still say Paisley’s only been really gone for four months.
Beck never rejoined the volleyball team, but she’s been using the extra time after school and on weekends to follow her whims and try out new interests: surfing, getting CPR certified, volunteering at animal shelters and wildlife rescues, and then getting a part-time job at a local ice cream shop.
I still work at the horror museum and am trying to keep my grades and portfolio up as I set my eyes on art school applications.
Beck and I are both in weekly therapy. I talk to my therapist about being neurodivergent, however that identity evolves in my life.
I think of Evan’s and Paisley’s bodies and what Beck and I did to them a lot, but gradually the thoughts pop up less and less.
She and I don’t talk about what happened often, but anniversaries do open up the conversation.
After school on the day of the anniversary, we grab sugary drinks from Priscilla’s and head over to the cemetery.
We go to Opal’s grave first.
“She didn’t deserve it,” I say as I set flowers down, tears bunching in my eyes. “God, I really hate thinking about her the most. She just didn’t know how to stand up for herself. There was so much she could’ve become.”
Beck shakes her head. “I know. I hate that she fell into my sister’s orbit. She so easily could’ve left and been fine.”
There’s one single comfort, though. Opal used to talk about her uncle’s ranch and how much she loved the stars out there. If those Montana starry skies are anything like what Beck and I saw in Kingston, they must be magical. I hope, I believe that’s where she is now. Always blanketed by the stars.
“I wish more than anything that we could’ve just talked to each other,” I say. “I think we had more in common than Paisley let us think.”
I still can’t believe I’ll never know what Opal would do with her life after high school. We’ll never have a chance to talk about Paisley and that horrible night.
“That’s on Paisley, you know, right?”
I nod.
We move to Harlow’s grave.
“Do you know why she had it out so badly for you specifically?” Beck asks as I set down flowers for her too. “It’s one thing I actually buy from Paisley, that she didn’t want to not invite you. It doesn’t benefit a leader to start icing out loyal friends. Of course Harlow was the petty one there.”
I shrug. “Guess I have a lifetime to figure it out,” I say. “But maybe it’s really simple. I was Paisley’s other quirky Jewish friend. Some girls really think there can only be one.”
The main difference is that most teenage girls have time to grow out of that pettiness. Harlow will never have the chance.
Beck exhales. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Harlow might’ve been a bitch at times, but she still didn’t deserve it.”
I lick my lips. “No, she didn’t. But it’s okay. I wonder, too, sometimes.”
We move onto Paisley’s grave, only having contained the correct body for four months.
Vanessa’s remains were cremated, but there was no family to receive them.
Ivy said she and Natalie spread them in the forest about an hour away from Kingston.
Once Beck paid for Ivy’s van window, we all started chatting more about Vanessa.
That reality has dug its way into my chest and remained.
Vanessa did nothing wrong, and only one person really cared that she died; Paisley killed two people in cold blood, attempted to kill two more, and has had hundreds of people celebrate her life.
Even her gravestone is a shining white marble, representing an innocence Paisley Horne hadn’t possessed in years.
PAISLEY ELEANOR HORNE
AUGUST 2, 2008–JUNE 29, 2026
LOVING DAUGHTER, SISTER, AND FRIEND
“Did you ever talk to your parents about what happened in the motel room?” I ask.
Beck sets down the flowers. “My mom still insists that she can’t hear the details. But at least they’re finally talking about me and the issues the whole thing has left behind. Get this. They didn’t just put me in therapy. We’re all in family therapy together.”
I break into a smile. “Beck, that’s so great.”
She sighs. “I mean, they’re still young boomers and think they know everything about the world, but treating me like a number one priority based on what I say I need is a start.” She pauses. “I still think they blame me.” She frowns. “To some extent, they’re right.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Beck, she would’ve died anyway. She wouldn’t have helped us.” I haven’t admitted that last detail about that day in the motel room in therapy, but I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. I believe that.
I sigh. “And as for your parents, I think they still blame themselves. They were the ones who chose not to pursue getting her help.”
Beck looks right at the grave. “I guess so.”
She drops into the grass and I follow suit. My leg’s still a bit stiff, but movements like this are getting easier and easier.
“Got any plans this weekend?” Beck asks as she throws an arm around my waist.
I take a long sip of my drink, holding her fingers in mine. “Don’t think so. Should I?”
Beck smiles. “We could go see a movie and grab dinner after?” She runs her fingers along my waist, making me shiver.
“I’d like that.”
Paisley, Harlow, and Opal treated me like a trophy, a dog they could dress up and order around and kick aside as needed.
Ultimately, they never saw me as fully human.
Harlow thought getting me away from that trip meant winning Paisley’s favor, but there’s no real winning with someone who only ever sees the world as her own with meaningless pawns floating around her.
Paisley stopped seeing us as human the moment she decided she could find enough bodies to fit a lunch table in two hours and call us lifelong friends.
It doesn’t mean they deserved to die. I don’t really think that.
I even think about Paisley late at night, what we could’ve done as far back as years ago.
There’s nothing that’ll truly take away the tragedy of what happened, no matter what they did in life.
But then I come back to another conclusion: I don’t need to go out of my way anymore to pretend they were good for me in life just because they’re gone. I won’t.
But Beck? Beck is good for me.
We kiss before we get back to our feet. We walk out of the cemetery hand in hand, leaving my old friends behind.