She kept her eyes on the ground and shook her head. As hard as it was to believe, she seemed truly upset. Seeing Sydney Foley like that was almost as strange as seeing a figment of my imagination come to life. Almost.
She said, "You didn't ask how I knew you were in trouble."
"You must have heard me splashing around."
She shook her head. "I didn't. I was asleep."
"So then--"
"Somebody woke me up," she said quickly. "Or some- thing. It felt like a breeze. It rustled the sheets on my bed and tickled my cheek. I thought it was my mother trying to get me up. It pissed me off and I sat up ready to tell her so, but nobody was in the room."
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My palms started to sweat. "Maybe it was a breeze," I said.
"My windows were closed," she declared as she looked at me. I saw something in her eyes that was totally alien for Sydney Foley. Uncertainty. Maybe even fear. "But they weren't closed for long. When I sat up, the front window blew open. That window opens out. There was nothing inside that could have done that."
The hair went up on the back of my neck. I was having trouble breathing.
She continued, "I sat there trying to understand, when a piece of paper on the desk was blown into the air. At least I think it was blown. It fluttered across the room like a feather bouncing on the breeze. Suddenly it changed direction and blew out of the window. I sat there stunned. Then the window slammed shut! It was so fast, it made me jump. A second later it opened again. Slowly. It was like . . . like ... I was being called to it. I forced myself to get out of bed and went over to lock it. When I got there, I looked out onto the lake . . . and saw you struggling."
My mouth was so dry, I couldn't swallow.
"I don't know what happened in that room," she said. "But it got me out of bed to go to the window and see you. I don't know anything about hallucinations or mental disorders or anything else that could cause somebody to see something that isn't really there, but it doesn't take a psychiatrist to know that the chances of it happening to three people at the same time are probably longer than can be measured. There's something strange going on, Marsh, and I don't think it's happening in your head because you are not alone. What Mikey saw was real, or at least he thought it was. The same with me."
I don't know what scared me more. The idea that I had some brain dysfunction that created dangerous visions,
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or the possibility that they weren't products of my imagination at all. At least being crazy was disturbing but explainable. The other possibility was far more frightening because it meant that Gravedigger really existed. And he wanted me dead.
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Chapter 14
Sydney and I spent the rest of the night on the porch.
After changing into dry clothes, we sat on opposite ends of the couch, trying not to fall asleep. Either she felt sorry for me and didn't want to leave me alone, or she was scared and didn't want to be alone herself. She had seen something in her bedroom that she couldn't explain and it disturbed her. I knew the feeling ... a few times over. Whatever her reasons, I was glad for the company.
As much as I tried to stay awake, I eventually nodded off and had a dream that was both great and disturbing. It was about my mother. She was sitting in a big easy chair and I was lying next to her with my cheek resting on her shoulder. That's the way she used to read books to me when I was little, and that's exactly what she was doing in my dream. I could hear her voice clearly as she softly read one of my favorite books from when I was a kid, The Wind in the
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Willows. I felt comfortable and safe. It was a good dream. At least for a while.
At one point I looked up to see ... it wasn't my mother anymore. It was Sydney. And I wasn't asleep. Somehow I had rolled over and was lying with my head against her shoulder. I sat up so fast, I nearly gave myself whiplash. Luckily, I didn't wake Sydney. She had no idea of what had happened, thankfully. There was a little wet spot on her sleeve where my mouth had been. How embarrassing was that? If she had woken up, I wouldn't have to worry about Gravedigger anymore. Sydney would have killed me right then and there.
I crawled back to my side of the couch, feeling hollow. With all that had been going on, I hadn't thought much about my mother. Having that dream was yet another cruel trick my mind had played on me. It made me feel more alone than before, if that was possible.
The sky was starting to lighten. We had made it through the night without any more excitement . . . except for the drool-on-the-sleeve incident. The back door opened and Mr. Foley came out onto the porch. The strain was starting to show on his face. He looked older than the day before, with dark bags under his eyes. It was the morning of the fourth day that Cooper was missing.
"Did you two sleep out here?" Mr. Foley asked, confused.
No way he suspected that Sydney and I had hooked up. It was more likely that fish could sing.
"Sydney couldn't sleep, so she came down here," I whispered so as not to disturb her. It wasn't a total lie.
"Oh," he said, accepting the logic easily. "I'm taking the fishing boat out while the lake's calm. Want to come?"
"No, thanks, I'm not awake yet," I answered.
"Okay. I'll be back for breakfast," he said as he walked off the porch, headed for the boathouse.
There was a small wooden shack about forty yards from
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the house that was built half on land, half over the water. It's where the Foleys kept a wooden fishing boat as well as their dock and wooden float during the winter. Cooper and I used it as our clubhouse when we wanted to get away from Sydney. In another life.
"So?" Sydney asked, groggy. "Was it a dream?"
I hoped she wasn't asking about my sleeping on her arm. And the drooling.
"I wish" was my answer. It was an answer that worked either way.
She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I guess," I muttered. It wouldn't have done any good to be brutally honest.
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" she asked as she spotted the wet mark on her sleeve. She looked at it with a scowl and tried to rub it off.
I answered quickly to distract her. "I'm thinking there are two possible explanations. One is I'm crazy and the other is I'm being haunted by a ghoul that's trying to kill me. I think I'd rather be crazy."
Sydney thought about my answer and said, "What about Mikey? And the window upstairs?"
"I don't know," I said softly.
Sydney added, "We can't all be going crazy."
"Is it any more likely that a supernatural being from my imagination somehow came to life?"
Sydney frowned. "There better be a third explanation."
I shrugged.
"Did he say anything?" she asked. "I mean, did he give you any idea why he wanted to drown you?"
I thought back to the times I had encountered the apparition. "He said I was going on a journey with him after I was dead."
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"Nice."
"And he talked about some things that made no sense, like he wanted the poleax and we'd be traveling along the Morpheus Road."
"Morpheus Road," Sydney repeated, trying the words on for size.
It felt good talking to somebody about it all, though strange that it was Sydney. On the other hand, discussing it made it feel more real and that wasn't so great.
"Oh," I added. "And he brought you and me together."
Sydney's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"
"The symbol. He showed me your tattoo."
"No way," she said in protest. "Just because the boogey-man drew some swirls in sugar doesn't mean--"
"Ovaltine."
"Whatever. This is your problem, not mine."
I didn't argue. She was right.
"We can't tell them," she added.
"Tell who what?"
"My parents. About whatever it is that's happening. They're already on edge about Cooper." S
he looked at me through sleepy eyes to see if I agreed. Even in that sorry state, Sydney was a knockout.
"I won't," I assured her. "I'm kind of surprised you don't want to tell them, though."
Sydney shot me a cold glare. "Why? Because I'm incapable of worrying about anybody else's problems?"
It was like I had waved a red flag in front of a bull.
"I didn't mean that. It's just ... I mean . . . you haven't seemed all that worried about Cooper."
Sydney started to say something quickly, but stopped and gave her words some thought.
"It's hard to have a whole lot of sympathy for him."
"Why?"
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"Oh, c'mon, you know how it works. Whenever he wants attention, he runs away and my parents welcome him back like a returning war hero. If I tried that, they'd treat me more like a war criminal. . . assuming they even knew I was gone. The stuff he gets away with is incredible."
"But ... so what? Why do you care? You're like . . . a star."
"A star?" she repeated, scoffing.
"Seriously. You're the most popular girl in this hemisphere and you're, I don't know, okay-looking, and you're gonna be class valedictorian. I don't see you getting a whole lot of competition from Cooper."
I'd never been so blunt with Sydney. I guess her honesty had taken me by surprise and I was too tired to filter my thoughts.
"Sorry," I said. "It's none of my business."
"I don't resent Cooper for who he is," she said seriously. "I resent that he doesn't have to work at it. You don't get points for effort . . . especially from my parents."
I didn't know what to say. The incredible Sydney Foley was admitting to me that it was hard work to be Sydney Foley. She was a girl who seemed to glide through life effortlessly as she looked down on all those mere mortals who didn't live up to her high ideals. Turned out she was just as worried about what people thought of her as anybody else was. She was just better at hiding it. Sydney Foley was actually showing, dare I say it, vulnerability.
"You're right," I said, trying to sympathize. "Cooper doesn't care about what people think about him. I guess that gives him a certain, I don't know, power."
"Yeah, that's one word for it," she said with a shrug. "I don't blame my parents. Much. We are who we are. But if anything happened to him, I mean really happened, they couldn't handle it. So let's not make things worse by telling
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them we're dealing with a mass hallucination. At least not yet. Okay?"
I'd had a crush on Sydney since I was five years old. It had everything to do with her looks and total confidence. Superficial stuff, to be honest. It was a crush that had lasted for eleven years . . . and ended on the spot. I no longer had a crush on Sydney. I actually started to like her.
"Sydney!" Mr. Foley called. He was walking back quickly from the direction of the boathouse. "Where's the fishing boat?"
"You're asking me like I've been fishing in the last decade," Sydney answered, back to her sarcastic self.
Mr. Foley bounded up the porch stairs. "It's not in the boathouse."
"Maybe it drifted away," I offered.
"Doubt it" was his answer. "When was the last time you saw it?" he asked Sydney.
Sydney stood and strode for the house. "I've been here less than twenty-four hours. I promise you I didn't go to the boat-house to do inventory. When was the last time you saw it?"
She didn't wait for an answer and went into the house.
"Did you see it yesterday, Marsh?" he asked.
"I didn't go anywhere near the boathouse," I answered without sarcasm.
Mr. Foley stood looking out at the water, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I guess it was stolen," he said.
"Or maybe Coop took it," I offered.
Mr. Foley shot me a worried look. "I'll let the police know," he said, and hurried into the house.
My first reaction was to go to the boathouse and look for any sign that Cooper might have taken the boat. If he had, it raised all sorts of possibilities as to what had happened to him. Not all of them were good. I bounded off the porch and was halfway across the lawn toward the structure when
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I stopped. I was alone. I looked ahead to the small, wooden shack and imagined being cornered in there by Grave-digger. I immediately turned around and ran back into the house. That particular mission would have to wait until I had backup.
Mr. Foley didn't bother making the call. He went directly to the police station to tell them about the missing boat. I hitched a ride with him into town but not to go to the police. I wanted to see Britt Lukas. I hoped she might be able to put a few pieces into the puzzle of what happened the night Cooper went missing.
When I walked up to the marina, I saw Britt's brother, Ron, on one of the floating docks. He was arguing with the obnoxious kid from the camp that Sydney had humiliated the day before. Cayden was his name. I couldn't hear what they were arguing about, but Cayden looked ticked. He seemed like the kind of kid who always got his way, and whatever Ron was telling him, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. He was all red-faced and ranting as he paced back arid forth, waving his arms like a spoiled two-year-old. Ron stood there with his arms folded, looking bored. He wasn't intimidated by Cayden.
I went inside to see Britt talking with a customer. He was a tall guy with graying hair that was cut short and neat. He wore khaki shorts, a bright green sweatshirt, and shiny leather loafers . . . definitely not the look of somebody who was used to being around boats. He looked more like a guy who wore a suit most of the time. I figured he was a tourist who was going to rent a Jet Ski and become an instant hazard to anybody within buzzing distance. I kept busy by checking out the new water skis they had for sale.
The guy had a booming voice, like he was speaking in front of a crowd. I couldn't help but overhear what they were talking about.
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"Four hours," he said sternly. "Not three and a half. Not three forty-five. Four. Understand?"
"We won't come in a minute early," Britt assured him.
"And the clock doesn't start until we cast off. I don't want to be charged for any finagling with engines or ropes. That's on your time."
"You'll get your full four hours, Mr. Reilly, I promise," Britt said sweetly. "No finagling."
"And I want the DJ to play right up until we dock," he demanded.
"That's his call," Britt answered.
"Make it your call," the guy snapped at her. "I'm paying you, not him."
"All right," Britt said with patience, though I could tell she was gritting her teeth. "I'll talk to him."
"I'll pay you the balance once the party's over," he said.
"Uh, it's our policy to receive payment in full prior to the event, so--"
"That's your policy. Not mine."
I peeked through a rack of boat bumpers to see the guy towering over poor Britt. She looked like a tiny little girl next to the domineering guy. She didn't back off, though-- I'll give her credit for that.
"Fine," she said, trying not to sound as ticked as I'm sure she was. "I'll be here on the dock waiting when you get in."
The guy snickered. "Why? Don't you trust me?"
Britt gave him a big smile that looked about as genuine as a four-dollar bill. "Of course we trust you, Mr. Reilly--I just want to make things convenient for you."
The big guy stared down at her. Britt didn't break eye contact. I liked Britt. Before Mr. Reilly had the chance to say anything, the kid named Cayden blasted in through the back door.
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"Are we done here?" he snarled at the tall guy impatiently.
The man looked to Britt. "Are we?"
Britt smiled. "There's nothing left to do but enjoy the birthday party."
"Yeah," Cayden said sarcastically. "Happy birthday to me . . . rednecks."
Reilly. Cayden Reilly. The tall guy was Cayden's father. It suddenly made sense why the kid was so obnoxious. He had learned it from a master.
"We'll s
ee you tonight," Mr. Reilly said to Britt as he followed his son out of the front door.
"Looking forward to it!" Britt called after them with a big smile . . . that dropped off her face the instant the door closed behind them. "Rednecks," she grumbled to herself. "Jeez."
"Hi, Britt," I said as I stepped out from behind the display.
Britt looked at me with confusion for a second, then recognized me and relaxed. "Welcome to my life," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Planning a party?" I asked.
Britt continued doing her paperwork. "We rented out the Nellie Bell for that kid's sixteenth birthday party."
"Oh. That's cool. They seem kind of like, I don't know, what's the right word? Jerks."
Britt looked at me as if wondering how she should react. She decided to laugh.
"You could say that. But they're paying customers and we haven't been renting out that big old party boat much, so it's best to smile and cash the check."
"I guess," I said.
"What's the good word, Marsh? When did Cooper show up?"
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"He didn't."
Britt's face fell. "Oh."
"Yeah. We just found out his fishing boat is gone. When he was here the other night, did he come by boat?"
Britt thought back. "I don't know. He could have, but I was stuck in here closing up. I didn't hear anything."
"What time was that?"
"I don't know exactly. It was still light out. Maybe seven thirty? Eight?"
"Was he wearing shoes?"
Britt chuckled. "I didn't notice. Why?"
"Coop has this thing about being barefoot on a boat. He says he can feel the rhythm of the water better or something dumb like that, like he's some old sea captain. I figured if he wasn't wearing shoes, it meant he came by boat."
"And you're thinking if he was on the boat, there might have been an accident?"
"I'm trying not to go there, but yeah. Mr. Foley is talking to the police about it now. I thought I'd ask you about it first."