It was a beautiful, blissful afternoon, Shelby, but all good things must end. As the sun set, as darkness crept across the lake, I put you back in the car seat, and I began to drive. You know where I went. I drove and drove in a kind of perfect peace and stillness. We had a long way to go, the two of us, along empty highways, past empty forestland, with the monster’s moon shining overhead. But I knew where to go and what I had to do.

*

And when it was done, I returned home the next day. My plan of action was clear. There was no going back. I went to my house for what I knew would be the last time. I slept on the sofa for a while, to get my strength back, but I really didn’t sleep much at all. When I did, I had my usual nightmares.

Night had already fallen when I awoke. It was time for the party at the 126.

Time to meet Ricky.

It took me a while, digging in the closet, to find the hat Ben had given me seven years earlier, along with all the other volunteers who were searching in the forest. I still had it.

ursulina hunter.

I wanted to send Ricky a message by wearing it, and I was sure he’d understand.

I know.

Then I drove to the 126.

Everyone was there, seemingly the whole county crammed shoulder to shoulder. There were half a dozen televisions mounted around the bar, all of them tuned to NBC. The documentary would be starting in half an hour, but I saw commercials for it. Ben Malloy Discovers: The Return of the Ursulina. The promos featured quick clips of Ben using words like murder, monster, and blood, plus fake footage of a beast’s hairy legs tramping through the forest.

Some people wore recycled Halloween costumes from Thursday evening, but most had come as Ursulinas, short and tall, thin and fat, silly and scary. The 126 had been transformed into a bizarre, drunken zoo, filled with people letting out beastly growls. Ben himself stood on a makeshift stage with a microphone in hand, clapping and egging them on as he paced restlessly back and forth.

I looked for Ricky among the monsters. With his papier-mâché head and long, thick neck, he’d be easy to find, but I didn’t see him yet. Instead, I found Sandra, who was obviously going after the prize for sexiest Ursulina, because she wore a fur bikini, along with fur boots and a shaggy wig. She was drinking hard stuff that night, whiskey on the rocks, and she had a pack of cigarettes jutting out of her bikini top.

“Hey, you,” she said to me. I heard a looseness in her voice, and I suspected the whiskey wasn’t her first.

“Hey.”

“Two weeks after you deliver, and you look like that. It kills me.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s Shelby?”