Chase Shustack

I could see the way the tears spilled through the webs of his fingers, the sound of labored breathing and coughing you make when you're so focused on crying your body can't breathe correctly.

He still kept talking, though from what I could make out, it seemed like he was just recalling details at random, like how a trauma victim recalls an accident.

Dad, dad, calm down please.

You're starting to worry me here.

He sobbed, wiping tears from his red eyes.

But, no, none of that happened.

You're sitting here and telling me you, Mom, and Uncle Joey were involved in, what, a human sacrifice?

One that everyone knew about and just never mentioned before.

How am I supposed to sit here and believe that?

My father stood up, wiped his face, and then walked out of the room.

He disappeared down the hallway, going into what I presume was the storage room for all our Christmas decorations and miscellaneous junk.

There was the sound of boxes shuffling and being moved around, followed by papers rustling, before my father returned, holding an envelope in his hands.

It was the same kind of envelope I found in my uncle's attic all those weeks ago.

Yellow, worn, and stamped with the exact same logo I'd seen on the officer's badge.

Two swords crossed over an American flag.

Here, my father said as he handed me the envelope.

March 15th, 1985.

From the office of the governor.

To Mr. and Mrs. Clark, it is with a heavy heart and deep gratitude that we thank you for your service during America Needs You.

Your role as ritual attendant not only served as a beacon of inspiration and courage, but also ensured the completion of a successful event.