"Hey, maybe he will find it. Back in the seventies people were pretty interested in this Bigfoot stuff. My uncle had a little stand, made good money selling souvenirs and shirts. Best of luck, Mr. Casey."–Matt C, Nobility resident

"I give him a week. Not until he finds it, I mean a week until that old bastard dies out there. One week. Ten bucks, what do you say?"–Wes W, Nobility resident

"It was real. It had to be."–Last entry from the journal of Maverick Casey

Cushing wouldn't go. He sent Brian into the woods, camera in tow, to gather footage. Lines of volunteers and a handful of policemen walked in straight lines into the brush and gnarled trees.

Brian even managed to capture a few joking about whether they would run into Maverick's monster.

Once again, Cushing didn't accompany Brian to talk to those closest to Maverick: His ex-wife, Jet, and his best friend, Roman.

"What do you want me to say?" Jet rubbed her forehead. She sat at the table, the butt of a cigarette between her fingers.

"Just...tell me what happened," Brian said.

Jet looked at the camera. "It's been uh...four months."

Do you think there's a chance he's still?"

"No," Jet said. "We know. We know he's... Cops combed those woods, walking with dogs and everything...Roman spent days out there, looking."

"Do you think he saw it again?" Brian asked.

"Are you fucking with me? There was nothing to see.

Just a stupid man throwing his life away," Jet said.

"Did you still care about him?" Brian asked.

Jet reached out and pushed the phone down onto the table. She dug another cigarette from a soft pack in her pocket.

"Interview's over. You can let yourself out," she said, struggling with a lighter.

* * *

Before approaching Jet, Brian found Roman sitting in his truck. The air outside cooled, the clouds on the horizon darkened and promised rain and humidity. Cushing was at the hotel. He may have checked out. Brian assumed he would finish the film alone. But he would finish it. He would have his peace again.

Brian hesitated and tapped on the window. Roman sat in the silent truck, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. No music on, Roman didn't want to drain the battery. At the moment, Roman wasn't sure he wanted to go inside.

"Nothing to tell her, anyway," Roman said. "Movie's over, right? Mav is gone."

"Are you still looking?" Brian asked.

"Until it's underwater. Not going to leave him out there like a dead opossum. He was my friend."

"How are you doing? Are you okay?" Brian asked.

Roman squinted and turned around in the seat. He laid his arm on the open window. "No, I'm not okay. What kind of fucking question is that?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean...you know, he was really worried about his legacy. He was worried people thought he wasted his life. Did you think that?" Brian asked.

"No," Roman said. "He didn't waste his life. He saw it. No one dies just so they can fuck with someone. Put that in your documentary. Let them know Maverick Casey wasn't crazy, okay?"

"That's pretty important to Cushing, too. I think it will be pretty fair," Brian said.

"Wanna beer?" Roman pulled a can from a cooler on the floorboard.

"I'm good, but thank you," Brian said.

"I got it. You're on the job. You wanna know how my Uncle Chase died? It's relevant. At least to me. So, my uncle and dad worked together. They worked for a stucco and plaster company, putting up scaffolding. You know, those big metal frames that go all around a building that people are working on? Yeah, so anyway, one day a co-worker falls. Several stories. Bam. Busts his head right open, brains and ooze all over the sidewalk.

"My uncle takes one look, comes down off the scaffolding, and asks his supervisor for twenty bucks to buy a case of beer. After that, no one heard from Uncle Chase for six years. Then my dad gets a call. They found Chase dead in a motel; he'd been working at a refinery in Tennessee. My dad goes to get him. Since we can't afford to ship ol' Uncle Chase, dad bribes the coroner in to letting him bring Chase home...in the back of dad's beat-up Silverado.

"He brings him home. We have a little service. Then, for reasons I never understood, dad insisted he be the one to bring Chase to the gravesite. In the back of the truck. So, there we are. The family. Chase's widow. His kids. Watching as a truck with bailing wire holding on the tailgate backs up the grave to unload him.

"It hit me that day. Life is ridiculous. It is. It's a big joke. We act like we're so special and we're just meant to be something. But, we're not.

"We aren't given a purpose by God or fate or whatever. Maverick didn't die in a stupid accident at a job he hated. His body wasn't dragged out of the woods in a bag. He found himself a purpose. And I like to think he found what he was hunting."

* * *

"Roman told me about his Uncle Chase," Brian said.

Jet laughed. "Yeah, Roman gave me that same speech, too. It's bullshit. Mav died alone in the woods because he couldn't let go. It didn't matter who he hurt. His parents. His wife. His friends. He died for nothing. Roman just doesn't wanna see it."