Ursa Major

TW: Descriptions of death

Roman sat at his usual booth in Rancher’s Rest, a crisp newspaper spread across the table before him. The headline sent a shiver down his spine:

LOCAL MAN FOUND DEAD—GRIZZLY ATTACK SUSPECTED.

The article detailed the gruesome discovery—Martin Lovell, 43, deep gashes across the torso, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, and an expression of terror frozen on his lifeless face. Yet something didn’t sit right with Roman. There hadn’t been a confirmed bear sighting in years, and even if there had been, the way the body had been found didn’t seem like a bear attack at all. 

I mean, c’mon, the dude was found on the side of the highway 50 miles from his home? No mention of a car? Bears don’t chase you that far and then take you out.  

Something about the sheer brutality of it felt...intentional.

A cold breeze drifted in from the front entrance as customers stepped inside. The chatter of the other diners became background noise as Roman reread the article, his mind racing with possibilities.

“Roman.”

His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Ethel stood by the table, arms crossed, a tired but affectionate smile on her lips.

“You should be focusing on midterms, not reading about things that’ll only distract you.”

Roman sighed. “Mom, don’t you think it’s weird? Another bear mauling? There hasn’t been a confirmed sighting in town since 2016. I feel like there should be a bit more of an investigation on this. Oh! And those two other attacks from a few months ago? They’re nearly identical. What do you think?”

Ethel exhaled, shaking her head. “What I think is that you have a championship game coming up. You’re the best wide receiver that school’s seen in a decade. And you’re spending your time chasing ghost stories?”

He gave a half-smile. “Maybe I’m just naturally curious.”

Ethel ruffled his hair before heading back toward the kitchen. “Curious is fine. Obsessive is not.”

Roman let out a slow breath, staring back at the newspaper. There was something he was missing—something no one else seemed to be questioning. He racked his brain over a steaming plate of eggs and hash, pondering the nature of this latest attack. 

Ethel rounded the counter with two trays of food. “Roman, it’s nearly 4 o’clock; you better not be late to practice.”

Roman grabbed his things and stepped out into the cold Montana air. The sky was overcast, a gray sheet pressing down on the town, making the already chilly autumn day feel even heavier. The article still nagged at him, the details refusing to settle. He had a destination in mind—the local library.

Tristan was already stationed at one of the library computers when Roman arrived. His fingers danced over the keyboard, his signature smirk in place. “You’re late, detective.”

Roman slid into the chair next to him. “I had to finish reading the article. Another so-called bear attack.”

Tristan whistled, leaning back dramatically in his chair. “How convenient. I don’t buy it either.” He cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers over the keyboard like a pianist preparing for a masterpiece. “What if—just hear me out—it’s not a bear at all? What if someone’s covering something up?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “Like a murder?”

Tristan’s grin widened. “Murders. Don’t forget those other ‘alleged attacks’ back in summer. And if that’s the case, the truth is buried somewhere in the system.” His fingers began flying across the keyboard. “And lucky for you, I happen to have a knack for unearthing buried things.”

Roman smirked. “That a confession?”

Tristan snorted. "Only if you promise to put it in my memoir." He flashed a grin. "Now, let’s see what we can find."

Roman watched as Tristan navigated through various encrypted databases with unsettling ease. He muttered under his breath as he worked, clicking rapidly between screens. “Firewalls are a joke…seriously, someone needs to tell this hospital that a middle schooler with a WiFi connection could do this.”

Roman struggled to follow the ever-moving data onscreen. “What exactly are you doing?”

The busy computer screen mirrored off of Tristan’s frameless glasses. “Hacking into the hospital. Looking for the autopsy reports to see if they have anything in common.” 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Roman said, as he peered over his shoulder cautiously.

“Well, breaking into classified files hasn’t failed me yet,” Tristan said jokingly. “Except for that one time.”

A few more keystrokes, and Tristan inhaled sharply. “And… we’re in.”

The hospital’s archives unfolded before them. Medical reports, patient files, autopsies.

Roman pointed. “That’s the latest victim.”

Tristan clicked on the file, his face growing serious as the details loaded. “Okay… this is way worse than what the article said.” He read in a hushed tone. “ ‘The lacerations are deep, precise. Not random at all. These weren’t just defensive wounds—some of them are… calculated.’ ”

Roman felt a chill creep up his spine. “Like someone was creating a facade.”

Tristan nodded. “Or sending a message.”

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his trance. He frowned. “It’s my mom. Probably another emergency.”

Roman sighed. “Go. I’ll wait.”

Tristan hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He typed a series of commands, and the computer was factory reset in seconds. He removed a flash drive and stood up. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, alright? You have a bad habit of diving headfirst into things.”

Roman smirked. “I’ll try my best.”

Tristan shot him a warning glance before grabbing his coat. “I mean it, man. We’ll figure this out sooner or later, but as a team.”

Roman watched him leave, then checked his own phone. A text from his mother:

I know you’re not at the fields.

“Perfect,” he groaned, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Suddenly he remembered his varsity jacket, which he left in his seat at Rancher’s Rest. 

When Roman stepped into the diner, a sense of unease settled over him. The usual warmth of the place felt absent. He glanced toward the kitchen. No sign of his mother.

Brenda, a middle-aged server, noticed him. “Looking for your mom?”

Roman nodded. “She’s working a double, right?”

Brenda frowned. “She left right after you did.”

Roman’s stomach tightened. “Are you sure?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, honey. Said she had something important to take care of.”

Roman muttered a thanks, grabbed his jacket, and hurried home.

The house was eerily silent when he stepped inside. The only sound came from the kitchen—the soft clinking of porcelain.

Ethel stood by the stove, preparing tea. She didn’t turn around. “You’re home early.”

Roman hesitated. “Brenda said you left work early.”

She turned to him, warming her hands on her mug. Her voice didn’t waver. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Something about the way she said it made him feel uneasy. He stepped forward. “Mom, is everything okay?”

She sipped the tea. “Of course, sweetheart.” 

Roman swallowed. “I’m sorry for lying. I was at the library with Tristan looking into those attacks.”

Ethel nodded, turning her back to him. She exhaled softly, almost as if lost in thought. “You remind me of myself at your age. Always wanting to know more, never satisfied with simple answers.”

Roman blinked nervously. “I do?”

She turned her head and gave a small, nostalgic smile. “You do. And I know where it leads—digging and chasing things that should be left alone.” She let out a soft chuckle. “I suppose it’s my fault, raising you to be curious.”

Roman relaxed slightly. “I guess I just don’t like when things don’t add up.”

Ethel’s smile remained, but something about her eyes stayed unreadable. “That’s a dangerous habit, sweetheart.”

She turned her head forward, reaching for another mug in the cupboard. Unseen by Roman, she produced a small vial. With practiced ease, she tipped it slightly, letting a fine white powder slip into the tea. She stirred once, twice, the motion smooth and unhurried before setting the spoon aside. 

His phone vibrated.

Tristan’s name flashed across the screen with a text: 

DUDE WHERE ARE YOU?! DON’T GO HOME…YOU’RE NOT SAFE. CALL ME!

Roman didn’t move.

Ethel turned back to him and placed the mug in front of him. Her smile was slight, her eyes emotionless. “Drink up, sweetheart.”