Planted

In the Dark

Misty

Misty shuddered as she recalled her time spent in close proximity to the Gravedigger.

They are in a circle, again, with Phil. With her eyes, she asks, "How do I know I can trust you?" 

With her actual voice, Misty says nothing. 

It's 9 PM, almost time for the weekend to wrap up.

Phil rolls up his sleeves, and she leans forward alongside the others, as he brings out his guitar. It's then that she sees it: The tattoo beneath his bracelets.

Hawkweed. 

Misty felt her blood run cold. Before she knew it, she's rising to her feet, her face flushed, her arms flailing as she tries not to tumble on top of the closely knit circle. 

"Who," she spat angrily at Phil. "the fuck," she paused, for emphasis, "are you?" she demanded, hands now on her hips, looming over him, her shadow flickering above them dramatically in the dimly light.

Phil scrambled to his feet, "Misty," he said, calmly, comfortingly, like always, gently leading her by the elbow. "Let's take a minute outside, shall we?"

When they were face to face, Misty was at once relieved and horrified to realize Phil looked the same as he always did. He had not transformed into some monster. He was the same guy as always. Calm. Peaceful. Giving. So what on earth was going on?

"Misty, I can imagine what you saw was very stressful for you," he began, hurrying forward after she shot him a dubious look. "I can explain," he said, holding up his hands to indicate a request for patience as she raised an eyebrow, skeptically.

He absentmindedly ran his opposite hand over the wrist with the tattoo. "This place, Misty. It isn't what it seems." 

She looked back at him, incredulously. "There are....reasons you were invited." 

He looked at her, his eyes without a hint of humor. "And it doesn't have to do with Jesus," he smiled, wryly. 

"What the hell?" Misty shot back, her temper still flaring, and she could feel the heat in her chest rising. Something began to look eerily familiar in Phil's eyes. "What is going on?" she demanded. 

"Misty," he said, slowly, his eyes looking directly into hers. "I know about the Gravedigger," he said. "He's my brother."

After a long talk, Misty mostly believed Phil. He knew all the details. He sounded genuine. Was it possible she wasn't alone? He explained to her that the church meetups weren't entirely a lie. Many of the kids and adults were just that: Regular church-goers. But it was also a convenient place for them to meet, Phil explained, though the "them" aspect needed some elaborating. 

As for the stick-and-poke Hawkweed on his wrist, he explained, a light film of tears forming over his eyes, that his father had branded him and his brother with them before he was old enough to read. His brother had taken after their father. Phil hadn't. This hadn't been received so well, not even by Phil himself, who explained that he spent years trying to fight his nature. He had a peaceful, empathic disposition that wasn't exactly compatible with the way of life he was born into. So that explained the Chase brothers involvement.

 But the Chases, were they...involved with the Gravedigger, too? "Not directly," Phil had said, clearly wanting to keep the story short.

"So how many of you...are there?" Misty asked, looking around at the empty room, as if something magical would suddenly materialize. Good or evil, she wasn't sure, but the room had taken on what she could've sworn was an otherworldly glow.

"There are..." Phil hesitated, his face portraying no distinct emotion. "A few." "And," he paused. "There are some like you, too, Misty. Invited. But not...ready." "And," he continued, "That's all I'm going to share for now. It's for your own protection, Misty. I promise. And theirs."

Looking up, Misty knee Phil was serious, his tone uncharacteristically firm, his face with an unusually decided expression. Phil's presence normally hinted at almost a willingness to...negotiate...with...reality. She didn't know how else to put it. His openness bordered on an ethereal energy that indicated he was open to what even he could not understand. Misty couldn't imagine radiating that level of vulnerability. Before, she had attributed Phil's unique energy to Jesus, but not in a religious nut sort of way. Now, knowing that Phil had been exposed to the same seedy underworld in which Misty still felt mostly immersed, she had to wonder: What else did he know?