"Yeah, we heard, people have been saying as much for years now. Maverick's old man was an odd duck, with him out pretending to be a monster and his son out trying to catch one something was bound to happen. And no, we're not opening an investigation or anything. What would it help? There's no body, no sign of foul play. It wouldn't do anyone any good. Besides, who would we arrest? That sad bastard has had enough go wrong in his life, I'm not piling on any more."–Sheriff Glaser, Nobility resident

"When I was a kid my buddies and I would follow him down to the woods and throw rocks and stuff at him. Then we see him on History Channel thing and he's talking about how the "monster" is territorial and will throw rocks when people get too close. Now, that shit was funny."–Wes W, Nobility resident

At night, the woods were a cacophony of insects and animals, which slinked into the cool night after spending a day escaping the sweltering heat. Not that Cushing found the night much cooler. The sweat caused his clothes to cling to his body just as earnestly.

Brian insisted on accompanying them. They needed night shots, he said. Brian spent his days hunched over his laptop and consulting his phone, his Internet embargo lifted, to set up time in editing suites and talk to potential backers.

"The festival circuit ain't cheap, James," Brian said.

Cushing found himself sleeping less, but his film was rarely on his mind. His subject, the great monster hunter, wandered into his thoughts. Cushing saw a man who with no father, a broken mother, and alone.

The resemblance is uncanny.

"You sure you're up to this?" Cushing asked.

Maverick said he was. Of course, wandering the woods at this time of night didn't appeal to him. With Cushing and Brian in tow, the creature would never let itself be seen.

He had a better shot alone. In a few days, he would take that shot with one final journey.

"I mean," Cushing said. "Reshooting the big reveal about your dad seemed to be pretty draining."

"That's because you made me do it forty-seven times. Doesn't matter, because it isn't true. He left. End of story."

"Are you sure?" Brian asked.

Cushing nudged Brian sharply, who responded with a punch in Cushing's ear, never taking his eye off the phone screen.

"Fuck," Cushing rubbed his ear vigorously. "You sure you don't want to take a break?"

"And quit? What about your comeback?" Maverick asked.

"I'm not saying we quit, I'm just saying we take a break. You're exhausted. Are you even sleeping?"

Maverick laughed. He preferred not sleeping. He swore he heard the scratching of exposed finger bones on the door of his monstomobile.

"Look at you," Maverick said. "No funny comments? No rolling your eyes at me?"

"I'm trying to talk to you," Cushing said.

"You're falling behind, catch up," Maverick said.

"Maverick is focused on the prize, James," Brian said.

"Fuck off and record, Brian," Cushing said. "Look, maybe that's not what happened, maybe your dad just ran off?" Cushing jogged up to Maverick.

"Yeah, if I'm lucky, maybe my dad just didn't love me."

"Hmm. Guess there's no win in this scenario, is there?" Cushing said.

"Explains why mom hid the note. If it is true. Hunting monsters is better than prison, I suppose," Maverick said.

Cushing stopped. "What I don't understand is why you're still out here. I mean, you saw the wooden feet. Your dad disappears the same day you shoot the monster, what are we looking for?"

Maverick trudged on into the grass and brush. Cushing watched him continue into dark, Brian on his heels. Cushing felt an itch on his leg and quickly pulled up the pant leg, scanning his flesh with a light from his phone for ticks before catching up with Brian and Maverick.

When Cushing found him, Maverick was sitting on a large rock, one of many surrounding an old fire pit, green strings of young grass jutting up from the ash in the pit.

"Maybe dad pretended to be the monster once or twice, but he wasn't there that day. There's something out here, and I intend to find it," Maverick said as Cushing sat on one of the small boulders.

I should stop, Cushing thought. This would be a better film. Let him believe and then die in the woods, chasing phantoms. I should stop, he told himself again.

"Let's think for a second," Cushing said.

If I want a great film, I should keep my mouth shut.

"Just hear me out," Cushing said.

"I know what you're doing," Maverick said. "Brian told me."

"What are you talking about?" Cushing asked, glancing at Brian, who shrugged and turned his attention back to the phone screen.

"You're trying to pretend to be friends. We're not friends. You need a project and I need a legacy. We both have something to prove."

"Casey-Mav, Maverick, listen to me," Cushing placed a hand on Maverick's shoulder.

Maverick swiped away the hand and stood.

"No, fuck you! I know what you're doing, you got canned, and now you want to make sure this little movie is nice and juicy. This movie is about my search, not my dad."

"It's the same thing, Mav. And everyone else knows it but you," Cushing said. "Your mom knew, those Barney Fife wannabes downtown knew, too. And you know it. I get it, if you find a monster you're free and clear, but you're not going to, Mav."

Brian moved beside them, framing the shot as Maverick stepped toward Cushing, his chest pushed out and arms tense, attempting to suck in his gut.

"Brian is pretending, okay?" Cushing said. "If I cared about nothing but the movie, I would let you wander out there and die. Better ending. But instead, I'm trying to talk to you."

Maverick pushed Cushing, who stumbled back, quickly balancing himself before he tumbled over the rock behind him.

"Okay, Maverick," Cushing said, only for Maverick to respond with a harder push, one that sent him tumbling onto the ground. He spit dust from his mouth and stood up.

"What's up?" Maverick said.

"Are you trying to intimidate me?" Cushing said.

Maverick slapped his hands to his chest, continuing his attempt at an aggressive display. Hoping Brian would assuage the situation, Cushing shook his head while the cameraman moved in for a closer shot.

As Cushing once again pleaded with Maverick to stop, the monster hunter instead pushed Cushing again, averaging approximately one word per push.

"Seriously? Stop it? You want me to seriously stop it? Seriously?"

Cushing again asked Maverick to stop. Maverick responded with a finger jab to Cushing's chest, telling him and Brian to leave.

Cushing had few memories of his father. But he remembered the finger, jabbed into his chest to make a point or remind Cushing that he was an accident and very much unwanted.

"Better off swallowed."

With those memories flooding back, the only surprise was how long it took Cushing to finally slam into the old man and force him to the ground.

Brian filmed only the first few seconds of the fight before opting to save the battery life. The two grappled at each other and rolled on the ground. The scene was more akin to foreplay than a battle.

"You going to help?" Cushing yelled.

"I am." Brian held up the phone with his left arm. "As soon as you girls actually fight I'll start recording again."

Gasping for air, with sharp bits of dried grass needling into their clothes, Cushing and Maverick rolled away from each other, their eyes on the cloudless expanse of stars above them.

"Okay," Cushing said in between heaves. "That was the single saddest fight I've ever been in. You didn't actually record any of that, did you?"

"About a minute and a half," Brian said.

"Lovely," Cushing said.

Over the sound of his throbbing heart and heavy breathing, Cushing heard Maverick gasp a quick sob. Maverick was still lying on the ground, on his side with his back to Cushing. Cushing stood up.

"Oh God, are you crying? Look, I didn't mean to hurt you," Cushing said.

"I'm not crying because of the fight." Maverick took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. "You hit like a fucking girl."

"I was holding back, you old bastard," Cushing said.

"What if you're right." Maverick sat up. "What if it was him? It had to be."

Cushing apologized and Maverick nodded. Brian circled them; his camera trained on them.

"Look, I'll admit, at first I thought it was something that could really push the documentary over the top. But! But after I got to know you...it's your call. I won't put anything in about your dad if you don't want me to."

Maverick was as surprised as Cushing.

"Unless you want me too. I mean, obviously we have it on tape. And Mav, it's good stuff, really."

"Would be a nice twist, wouldn't it?" Maverick scratched at the back of his neck.

"Nothing earth shattering-for the audience, I mean! I didn't mean you. But it could definitely keep the audience invested."

"I'll think about it," Maverick said. "Hey, you take a look around yet?"

The moon illuminated the remnants of the woods around them. Maverick eyed the quadrant with watery eyes. Trees cut down, rows of stumps, the ground torn and flattened by machinery and trucks.

"Damn," Brian said. "We need to get some shots in the day."

Cushing nodded. A bomb could have been dropped.

"Yeah. People that own land are clearing it off, selling the trees for lumber," Maverick said.

"Yeah, it's a wasteland...," Cushing said.

"Might as well be. I've seen man-made lakes and reservoirs where the trees were left. They all die, the tops sticking out of the water like a bunch of skeletons trying to stay above the waves. Sad thing to see.

"They stand there, jutting out of the water, like they haven't given up being what they were before. And they'll stay there. Long after me and you are gone."

"So, this really is your last chance, isn't it?" Cushing said.

"Once the dam is up and the bottoms flood, the search is over. I'll never know what happened. I have to know what I saw, Cushing."

"You grew up here. And it's all coming down," Brian said. "How's that make you feel?"

"Don't talk to the talent, Brian," Cushing said. "Why not move? Didn't they offer you money?"

"Home's not just a building, James," Maverick said. "Besides. They didn't pay me that much."

"Where you going to go?" Cushing asked.

Maverick laughed and said he would consider moving in with Cushing. He also suggested that he might find his monster. Problem solved, no more reservoir and his legacy intact.

Still going to die, he thought. But at least I leave something behind besides whatever Cushing and Brian plan on editing together.

"You're getting up there in years, Mav," Cushing said. "How long you going to be out there?"

"As long as it takes. Worst case? I make a memorable exit," Maverick said.

Cushing laughed and looked at Brian. "Let's take a walk."