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that George O. was dead? And Mikey Russo was going insane? And Sydney was seeing the impossible? What did this character want from me? What had I done to deserve this? And what did any of it have to do with Cooper's disappearance?
Again, more questions than answers were flying around. The idea that I could be responsible for so much fear and suffering was beyond anything I knew how to deal with. But I couldn't run and hide anymore because no place was safe. Only one person could break this insane chain, and that was me. I had to find answers and I felt certain that the key given to me by a doomed man was my best chance of doing it.
I walked back toward the center of town, figuring I could ask somebody where George O. lived. If he was a local yokel, people would know. It was close to noon on a hot, sunny day, which meant tourists were crawling all over Main Street. The accident had to be the talk of the town, but as I walked along, I saw no sign that it had happened. I guess news of a violent, gruesome death was bad for ice-cream sales, so everyone was pretending like it didn't happen. I wished I could do that. I was about to go into the General Store to begin my investigation when I spotted Sydney's silver Beetle parked in front of an arcade.
Sydney. She'd seen things. She'd understand. I figured at the very least she wouldn't treat me like the sheriff had. I needed an ally. Somebody I could tell about George O. who wouldn't completely dismiss me. I turned away from the General Store to look for her.
Not far beyond the building was the parking lot for the mini golf course. I rounded the corner to see Sydney sitting on a picnic bench next to a line of coin-operated kiddie rides. Standing in front of her, pacing back and forth nervously, was Mikey Russo. What the heck was he doing
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up there? And what was he so worked up about? Sydney kept her eyes on the ground, listening to him rant. I was too far away to hear what he was saying, but he was definitely upset. I stayed where I was, leaning against the wall.
Without warning, Sydney lashed out and slapped Mikey across the face. The big guy took a step back in surprise as Sydney glared at him with those steely eyes. I saw the tension in Mikey's body. There was no telling how he'd react. The guy was a creep. A bully. Sydney might have been in trouble, so I had no choice but to head over there.
"Hey! What's up?" I called out, friendly, trying to sound like I had no idea that Sydney had just whacked him solid across the lips.
Mikey spun toward me. The moment he registered who I was, his expression fell. His anger turned to fear.
"Back off, Seaver!" he said, holding his hand up as if to fend me off.
I stopped.
"Don't come near me," he said, his voice shaky.
Mikey was scared. I mean, really scared. He backed away like I had a flamethrower or something.
"What's your problem?" I asked.
"Leave me alone," he whimpered.
I looked to Sydney. She didn't look as confused as I thought she'd be.
"What's going on?" I asked her.
"He's afraid of you," she said matter-of-factly.
"Me? Why?"
Mikey circled away from us and backed toward the road . . . the same road where George O. had been run down.
"Watch where you're going!" I shouted.
Mikey pointed a finger at Sydney and said, "Be careful! You hear me?"
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Careful? Mikey was worried about Sydney being careful? She'd just smacked him!
"Mikey," I called out. "What are you so scared of?"
"Freak," he hissed, then turned and ran.
I held my breath and watched as he sprinted to the sidewalk, took a right turn, and disappeared. There were no screeching brakes and no accident. Only questions. Sydney and I didn't move for several seconds.
"Uh . . . what just happened?" I finally asked.
Sydney grabbed her shoulder bag and hurried away. "Come with me," she ordered.
I followed without question. Sydney walked past the closed mini golf course and through the bushes, where a break in the chain-link fence led to the drive-in theater. It was daytime, so the place was empty. The giant white screen loomed over the barren lot, waiting for darkness and the night's show. At the base of the screen was a playground where kids could burn off energy while they waited for the movie. That was empty too. Sydney went straight for a bench, threw her shoulder bag down on it, and spun back toward me.
"What the hell is going on?" she demanded.
"You're asking me?" I shot back.
"How did you scare him like that?"
I was dumbfounded. "Scare him? I didn't do anything. You saw, you were there."
"I'm talking about back at my house in Stony Brook. Mikey told me what he saw."
"Really? What did he see?"
"He said there were wild dogs. Vicious dogs that bit at his legs."
"What! There weren't any dogs."
"That's not what he thinks." Sydney looked me square in the eye. She may have been coming after me aggressively,
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but she looked scared. "He said they were protecting you. One came after him, but the others stood at your side like guard dogs."
"Sydney, I swear. I have no idea what he's talking about. C'mon! You were there. You didn't see any dogs, did you?"
Sydney broke down and started to cry. Whoa. Her hands were shaking. She had to sit on the bench. "What is happening?" she asked.
"Whatever it is, it's getting worse. A guy was killed this morning."
"I heard," she whispered.
I sat down next to her. "What were you arguing with Mikey about? Why did you slap him?"
Sydney gave me a red-eyed look. "I hit him because he doesn't have a clue."
"Really?" I said with a chuckle. "You'd have to get in a long line to take a whack at Mikey Russo for that."
Sydney glared at me. She didn't see the humor. I stopped chuckling.
"The only person Mikey worries about is Mikey. He couldn't care less that it's partly his fault Cooper is missing."
My ears rang. Did I hear right?
"Mikey?" I asked tentatively. "And who else?"
Sydney took a labored breath. "Me."
I didn't know what I expected her to say, but it definitely wasn't that. I couldn't form a coherent thought.
"I . . . I . . . don't get it," I mumbled. "You know what happened to Cooper?"
"No."
"Then how are you responsible?"
Tears ran down Sydney's cheeks. She couldn't look me in the eye. "Marsh, I'm the one who gave him the counterfeit tickets."
It was a good thing I was sitting down. I couldn't line up
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enough thoughts to say anything more than, "But...how? Why? For money?"
"It's way more complicated than that," she said.
"Tell me."
Sydney took a while to answer. I think she was trying to figure out what to say. She wasn't used to defending herself or justifying anything she'd done. She had to work hard to speak calmly, as if saying the words physically hurt her.
"This isn't an excuse, it's just what happened. My parents expect a lot from me. Always have. Since I can remember. If I become vice president of a club, they say I should have been president. If I make a team, I should be a starter. If I'm a starter, I should be an
All-Star. All-County. All-State. Why take a regular course when I can take AP? Every A should be an A-plus. Every test the top end of the curve. There's no winning with them."
"Why do they push so hard?" I asked.
Sydney gave the question a long moment's thought. "I don't know. Maybe because I'm the oldest. Or because I'm a girl and supposed to try harder. Who knows? The thing is, I let them."
"And Cooper doesn't," I added.
"Yeah. Cooper doesn't and it pisses me off. He deflects their criticism and I take it to heart. I know it's juvenile to resent Cooper for that, but I do. Call it another failure."
"What's that got to do with the tickets?"
"I told my pa
rents I was going to get the tattoo. I don't know why. I wasn't serious. I don't even like tattoos. I think I just wanted to piss them off. Of course, they hated the idea."
"You told me," I said.
"No, I told you they'd be angry if they found out I got one. This was before. We got in a huge argument. I told them I was going to get one no matter what they thought
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about it and they'd just have to deal. They went ballistic. There was no good cop, bad cop. They came at me like two very bad cops. I really got to them. I loved it. For a few seconds it was like a victory. I'd won because I was finally able to take a little control. To be honest, I wasn't even going to get the stupid tattoo. Why bother? I made my point. But then they threatened me."
"Threatened? How?"
"They said they'd refuse to help pay my college tuition. Can you believe that? They wouldn't even discuss it. They didn't want to know why I wanted the tattoo or how I might feel about it or even try to talk me down by telling me I could always do whatever I wanted after I was out of school or any of those things that parents are supposed to say. Their word was law, end of story, which meant I only had one option."
"You got the tattoo."
"Exactly. I mean, c'mon! Their biggest threat was to hold back money for college? Think about that. It's not like I was some loser they were ashamed of. My whole life I did everything I was supposed to so I'd get into a good college, exactly what they wanted, and their threat was to stop me from going? How wrong is that!"
"It is," I agreed.
"So I did it. I went out and got inked as my big in-your-face statement. It wasn't even a big tattoo. You can only see it when I'm wearing a bathing suit, but I had to do it. And what happened? It got infected and I got sick. It was horrible. No way I could tell my parents. I didn't want them to know that they were absolutely right about it being a bad idea. I went to a doctor but couldn't put it on my parents' insurance without them finding out. I had to pay cash. It was a couple hundred bucks I didn't have, so I asked Mikey for a loan. Can you believe that? How desperate can you get? He said he'd help, but I had to earn it. Great boyfriend,
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right? He said he knew some guys who could get him tickets to scalp. Whatever profit we made, we'd split. But I didn't know how to scalp tickets. Give me a break. I told him I couldn't do it and he said he didn't expect me to. He had other ideas."
"Cooper."
She nodded sadly. "He said Coop had connections. He could sell the tickets, no problem. So I sucked it up and asked my brother for help. It was one of the toughest things I'd ever done. But you know what? Cooper didn't think twice or give me a hard time. He told me to step out of it and he'd deal with Mikey. Two days later I had the cash to pay the doctor. I got better and my parents didn't know a thing. It all seemed so simple."
"Except the tickets were counterfeit," I said.
Sydney started crying again. "I didn't know. Honest to god I didn't."
"Did Mikey?"
"He says he didn't, but I'm not so sure. The guy's a low-life. He set it up so Cooper took all the risk . . . and the blame. Now Cooper is missing and all Mikey cares about is that he might turn up and give his name to the police. That's why I slapped him. For the record, Cooper didn't tell anybody about Mikey. He hasn't given them my name either. Cooper only gave up the guys who Mikey got the tickets from. Cooper knew who they were. He's way more connected than even Mikey realized. But Cooper didn't know the tickets were fake either. I truly believe that."
"Do you think those guys have something to do with him disappearing?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised. Counterfeiting tickets isn't small-time. Those guys may be kids, but they're like . . . criminals. That's what's eating me up. Even if they had nothing to do with Cooper being gone, it's why he came
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up here to the lake. Whatever happened to him, it all started with me doing something stupid and then asking him to bail me out. I do nothing but give him a hard time, yet he took a huge risk for me. And this is what happened. I hope he's just being typical Cooper and having fun somewhere, because if anything bad happens to him, I don't know what I'll do."
We sat in silence for a good long while. Things had suddenly gotten a whole lot more complicated.
"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse," I said. "But I'm afraid there's more to Cooper being gone. It might not have anything to do with the counterfeit tickets."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," I said. "I thought the stuff I've been seeing and Cooper's disappearance had nothing to do with each other, but the guy who jumped out into traffic changed that. He saw Gravedigger. I know it. He was terrified, just like Mikey was. And now you say Mikey saw vicious dogs that weren't there. And then there's the stuff you saw in your room last night. We can't all be hallucinating."
"What's that got to do with Cooper?" she asked.
"The guy who died, George, was trying to warn me about something. He said he knew the truth. He told me not to listen or follow."
"Follow who? Coop?"
"Maybe. When I asked him if he knew where Cooper was, he said he was on the road, which is what Gravedigger has been saying to me."
"So there's a connection between Cooper and the things you've been seeing?"
"I think so."
Sydney let that idea settle in, then said, "And that George guy won't be talking anymore."
"I'm not so sure about that." I reached into my pocket
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and pulled out the key. "He gave this to me. He said it would help me find answers."
Sydney examined the key. "His house key?"
"That's what I'm thinking."
"Shouldn't you give it to the sheriff?"
"No. I tried to tell him about Gravedigger. He didn't come close to believing me."
"But if that guy had some information about Cooper, the police should know," she argued.
I stood up and paced.
"George told me something else. He said the more people who know, the more will be in danger. After what happened to him and after the couple of close calls I had, I believe it. The fewer people who are involved, the better."
"So you're not gonna tell anybody about this?"
"How can I? First off, they wouldn't believe me. You should have seen the look on that sheriff's face when I showed him a sketch of Gravedigger."
"Marshall, you have to try and convince them."
"The only way anybody's going to be convinced is if they see the same things I've been seeing. But if what George said is true, that'll put them in danger. Only five people have been touched by this. One is missing. One is dead. That leaves me, Mikey . . . and you."
She shot me a surprised look.
"You've seen things, Sydney."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but stopped.
I added, "I don't think this is just about a guy who's gone missing. Something bigger is going on. Something bad. I don't want to be part of it any more than you do, but I don't have a choice. Not with Gravedigger coming after me. I've got to see this through and I'm afraid to do it on my own. I don't want you to be involved, Sydney, but I think you already are. I need your help."
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She kept staring at me. I tried not to break eye contact. I wanted to show strength, even though I wasn't feeling all that strong.
She said, "A couple of days ago you were ready to argue about the Force like every other good little geek."
"That's before a guy died at my feet. I thought I was going out of my mind, and I might be, but whatever's happening is real. It's not just in my head, but my head is where it came from. I'm the center of this thing and I have to deal with it or I might end up like George O. . . . And then we may never find out what happened to Cooper."
I was ready for Sydney to flip me off, run for her car, and drive as far away as possible. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.
Instead she stood up, tossed me the key, and decl
ared, "Then let's go search the house of a dead man."
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Chapter 16
It wasn't hard to find George O.'s house.
If you could call it that. The guy lived in a trailer that had been jacked up and put on cement blocks. It was a mobile home that was no longer mobile. It sat at the end of Long Pine Road, which really should have been called Long Pine Double-Rutted Path Through the Trees. We got directions from the guy who worked at the pizza place on Main Street. One look from Sydney and the guy melted like hot mozzarella. It wasn't like George O.'s house was a secret or anything, but I believe that guy would have carried us there on his back if Sydney had asked.
The road wasn't far from the center of town, but once we turned onto it, it felt like we were out in the boonies. Branches scraped at Sydney's car from both sides. She didn't complain, but I saw her wince every time she heard the screech of another branch sliding along her doors.
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"Not exactly a popular route," she commented after a particularly nasty branch battered her window.
Thankfully, the trees opened up and we drove into a clearing that looked more like a junkyard than somebody's front yard. The mobile home was barn red, though most of the paint had either been chipped off or bleached white by the sun. It was surrounded by more weeds than grass, along with a collection of odd machine parts, ancient cars, and old road signs. I saw a rusted baby carriage; outboard engines on blocks; a wooden dinghy loaded with moldy life preservers; more tires than I could count; and a huge plastic ice-cream cone that looked as if it had once crowned a snack stand. It was a collection that probably took decades to gather.
The two of us stood surveying the odd mess.
"Some people would look at this and see junk," I said. "Others see history."
"But most wouldn't be caught dead here," she replied coldly. "I'm not sure what category we're in."