The kids sat in the living room. Avery was wrapped in a blanket—Grandma liked to keep the house cold, and the old window AC unit did just the trick.
“What are we gonna do?” Avery asked.
Her big brother shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. No video games. The internet’s super slow. There’s not another house for a mile or two. And the very idea of playing board games with you guys makes me angry.”
He stood up. “Maybe I’ll go outside and look around.”
"No," Avery shook her head. “I mean, what are we gonna do about the people in the app?”
Knox laughed. “You’re worried about that? It’s just people on the internet. There’s nothing to worry about. They’re probably in Nigeria or something.”
“You’re not worried at all?” Avery asked.
“Not at all. You know what I am gonna do? I’m gonna go get some of those comic books and park myself in front of the AC and just read.”
Lily stood. “I guess I’ll go hang out with Grandma some more.”
Avery sighed. Maybe they didn’t care. But she was curious. What were those files about?
She turned and headed back to the computer.
⸻
Lily found Grandma moving some goats to a different section of the property.
“What are you doing?” Lily asked.
“We use the goats to manage all the weeds,” Grandma explained. “They’re better than any lawnmower.”
Lily looked out across the pasture. There were more scarecrows than you’d expect—at least six or seven—propped up at odd angles, like frozen people staring at nothing.
“Why are there scarecrows in the pasture? I thought they belonged in cornfields.”
“I just don’t like crows,” Grandma said. “And they keep ’em away.”
“Grandma,” she asked, “Dad never told me much about Uncle Bert. I just knew he was younger.”
“Yes, your Uncle Bert is quite a bit younger than your dad—almost ten years. We adopted him when he was only a few years old. Your dad was nearly out of high school.”
“Where is he now? Is he… dead?”
“I sure hope not,” Grandma said, brushing some hay off her apron. “About a year ago he went off on some kind of expedition.”
“An expedition?”
“He’s sort of like a journalist. You know, like on TV.”
“He’s on TV?”
Grandma chuckled. “No, no. Mostly on his blog and YouTube. He investigates strange stuff.”
“Like what?”
“It’s all pretty silly, Lily. Now here, can you help me with this goat?”
⸻
Avery reset the door lock and sat back down at the computer. She copied the password from the little sticky note into her sketchbook.
Might come in handy, she thought.
The monitor flickered on as she jiggled the mouse and typed in the password.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Where do I start…”
A file labeled “Shadow in the Quarry” caught her eye.
Avery thought to herself, "That’s where Grandpa worked. Seemed like the best place to start."
She opened the folder. Hundreds of images. Each one tagged with names like Back Quadrant 12 or Front Quadrant 20. Avery started clicking. Most were shots of the quarry—some grainy and old, others more recent. Rusted-out machines, rock piles, sagging chain-link fences. Nothing jumped out. Just looked like a dead place.
Then she spotted a file: field_notes.txt
She clicked it open.
FIELD NOTES
I went to Ground Zero. Looked at all the equipment.
As best as I could tell, it was purposely sabotaged.
This was no accident.
The digger was on Front Quadrant 20,
but based on the work logs Tilly gave me,
it should have been in Back Quadrant 12.
There are too many guards to get too close.
And something disrupts my drone when I try
to get a picture from above.
They’re definitely hiding something.
I will clear his name…
even if it’s the last thing I do.
Avery stared at the date: eight years ago.
She closed the file and spotted another image: the_stag.jpg
She clicked it open.
It was grainy and dim—almost like it had been taken at night or through a fogged-up lens. A tall shadowy figure stood in the center. It looked like a man in an old hat… but horns were curling out from either side.
She leaned in. Was it part of the background? A trick of the light?
Suddenly—
HOOOOONK!
Avery screamed. Her heart shot up into her throat.
The front door banged open. Knox came running in. “Why are you yelling?”
She pointed at the screen, still catching her breath. “You scared me half to death!”
He didn’t even glance at it. “Mom and Dad just pulled in.”
⸻
Dinner was noisy, warm, and everyone went back for seconds.
Lily burped loudly.
“Oops. Excuse me.”
Grandma smiled. “It’s okay, honey.”
Knox leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “This is the best food I’ve ever eaten in my entire life. Grandma, what is this?”
“It’s a German cheesecake,” Grandma said, scooping another slice onto his plate.
Lily groaned with delight. “This is all I’m ever eating. Every meal. For the rest of my life.”
Kyle nodded. “Mom, dinner was really good. Thank you so much.”
The kids started to get up from the table.
“Whoa, whoa,” Grandma said, holding up a hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”
They froze.
“You children haven’t been excused.”
They all sat back down, a little confused.
“In this household,” Grandma said firmly, “you clear your plate and ask to be excused.”
Knox raised his hand. “Grandma, can I be excused?”
“You sure can,” she said. “Right after you and your sisters wash the dishes and put everything away.”
“I don’t even know where half this stuff goes,” Knox muttered.
Grandma gave him a wink. “You’re a bright kid. You’ll sort it out.”
Ally said, “Kids, I’m gonna lay out all your clothes for the funeral tomorrow. We ran over to Walmart and picked up a few things we were missing. Just make sure everything’s ready tonight.”
Then Grandma turned to Kyle. “Can you and I talk on the porch?”
“Sure, Mom,” he said, standing up with her.
Lily looked around.
“Where’s the dishwasher?”
Avery didn’t even look up. “We are the dishwasher.”
⸻
Grandma settled onto an old wooden stepstool. Kyle stood stiffly across from her.
“Take a seat,” she said, nodding toward the rusted metal chair.
He sat.
“My God,” she said softly. “You look just like your father. He used to sit in that same chair and count airplanes in the sky with me on uncle nights.”
“Mom, I don’t really want to talk about Dad,” Kyle said.
“I know,” she replied. “But we are. This is my house. And you may be grown—but you’re still my son.”
He looked away.
“I know you and your dad didn’t see eye to eye.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I know. But we’re burying him tomorrow. And I want my son to speak at his funeral.”
“Where’s Bert?” Kyle asked sharply. “Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he speaking?”
“I’ll deal with Bert. You are the one I’m talking to.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“No, you are doing it,” she said firmly. “The Bible commands it: Honor your father and mother. Do you love me, son?”
“You know I do.”
“Then honor me, by honoring your father.”
She let the silence stretch before continuing.
“It doesn’t have to be long. Just sincere. And true.”
Kyle stared at the porch floorboards.
“That accident ruined my life.”
“I know you think that.”
“You know what it was like growing up in a quarry town after Dad shut it down? My car got egged. My friends moved away. Their dads lost jobs. Their houses. And he never even explained why. He just kept telling me it was better if I didn’t know.”
“I lost friends too,” Grandma said. “It was a terrible time. And I know you don’t believe this, but it was no accident. And I know you also don’t believe this… your dad was trying to protect you. To protect all of us.”
“We can talk about that another time,” she continued gently. “But tomorrow morning, we’re putting him in the ground. And I’m asking you to say a few kind words, because I’m not sure anyone else will.”
Kyle had been a feared lawyer in Virginia. He had stared down CEOs, crushed impossible contracts, and walked away the winner every time.
But now, staring into the eyes of the one woman who never stopped loving him, he felt defenseless.
His voice cracked.
“I’ll say a few words. I’ll do it but, for you, Mom. Not for him.”
He stood and walked back inside.
Grandma stayed on the porch. She looked up at the sky, her voice a quiet whisper in the night air.
“Oh Lord… soften the heart of my son. Show him that Justice loved him. Clear our family name. Please, Lord… vindicate us. I can barely bear the weight of it.”