"We have to find Cooper," I said. "Now. Right away. For him, and for us."
"And you think that'll end it?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I can hope."
Sydney looked out onto the water. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"So what do you want to do?" she asked.
"There's something in town that might explain why the boat was in pieces. If we can prove that, the sheriff will have to listen and start a real search for Cooper. Are you with me?"
We stood facing each other. Sydney didn't answer right away. I saw her uncertainty. I wished there was something more I could say to convince her.
"No, I'm staying here," she finally said. "When my parents get back, I'll tell them what's happening."
"But Coop's been out there for days! Who knows how much time he has left?"
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"I'm sorry, I don't buy it, Marsh. I heard what you said and I don't have any better explanation, but I can't believe Cooper is out there injured and somehow using his will to create lights and make patterns in powder."
"I know. It seems impossible, but what if I'm right?" I asked.
Sydney thought and then said, "I really hope you're not."
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"I don't know if I believe in cosmic forces, but if you're right and Cooper is somehow reaching out to you, there could be another explanation."
"Tell me. Please."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Cooper might be dead."
I felt as if I'd been punched in the head. "No," I said quickly. "I'm not going there."
"You think I want to? It's your own logic, Marsh. I mean, let's just say it. You're talking about being contacted by spiritual forces. That's a ghost story."
"He's alive," I said with finality. "And I'm going to find him."
"I'm sorry, Marsh. I can't help you. I'm too scared. After what happened in that boathouse, I think you're only headed for more trouble."
"What makes you think you'll be any safer here?"
She gave me a sad smile and said, "Because you won't be with me. This is about you, Marsh. I'm just along for the ride."
It was a cold thing to say but absolutely true.
"Do whatever you have to do," she added. "Just be careful."
She turned and ran back into the cottage. With a quick slam of the screen door she was gone and I was alone, again. I thought about staying there and waiting until the Foleys
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came back, but I didn't see how they could help. They were already doing all they could to get the local authorities to focus on finding Cooper. There needed to be more reason for a serious search to begin, and I had an idea of how to find it.
Without a driver's license I couldn't take Sydney's car, so the only way I had to get into town was to ride one of the cruiser bikes that the Foleys kept at the cabin. After changing into dry clothes, I found the bikes near the front door and grabbed the one with tires that didn't look too dried and cracked. It was a barely roadworthy junker with three, count 'em, three gears. Didn't matter. As long as I didn't get a flat, it would be better and faster than walking. I wheeled it quickly along the gravel driveway to the road, then jumped on and peddled for town.
It was late in the day. Shadows were getting long. Since there were no lights on the road, I wanted to make town before it got dangerously dark. The bike didn't have any reflectors. Riding at dusk was probably the most dangerous time of day. Drivers didn't always put their headlights on, which made it tricky for a rider to know if a car was coming up from behind until it got close. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being crept up on. By anything.
I got maybe halfway to town when I heard a siren blare behind me. It was so fast and so loud, I nearly lost my balance. Looking back, I saw the sheriff's car speeding up with its lights flashing. I figured he had gotten a call and was headed to the scene of some heinous lake crime.
I was wrong. He drove up right behind me, washing me with the flashing lights.
"Stop right there, Mr. Seaver," came the sheriff's voice over his loudspeaker.
I pulled to the side of the road and got off the bike with no idea why I was being stopped. The sheriff should have
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been out looking for Cooper, not chasing down some kid on a bike for . . . what? No reflectors? No lights? Was he serious?
Vrtiak stopped the car several yards behind the bike and got out. He was still wearing sunglasses even though it was nearly dark out. Dork. He walked up to me with his thumbs in his belt like some kind of badass trooper. Part of me was happy to see him. It would save me the trouble of looking for him later.
"I'm glad to see you, Sheriff," I said. "I'm going to the--"
"Shut it," Vrtiak snapped abruptly.
The guy was all business.
"You broke into George O.'s place, didn't ya?" he asked with a sneer.
Uh-oh.
"Why do" you think that?" I asked innocently.
"Don't be a smart-ass," he growled. "I know everything that happens in this town."
His boast wasn't even close to the truth or he would have known what had happened to Cooper. I decided not to point that out to him.
He added, "It makes me think that you might know a little bit more about poor old George than you let on."
"Whoa, hold on," I said quickly. "I didn't know the guy before--"
Vrtiak poked me in the chest with two fingers. "I can book you on suspicion of trespassing," he said.
"Trespassing! I was just--" I stopped myself. It wouldn't have been smart to admit to anything, even though the idea of getting in trouble for trespassing in the old guy's mobile home seemed like a pretty small problem compared to what I was dealing with.
"Get in the car," he ordered.
"Sheriff, I think I figured out what--"
"Get... in ... the .. . CAR!" he shouted angrily.
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When I had met him earlier that day, he came across like a laidback kind of guy. Not anymore. Something had happened that set him off. I figured he was under pressure about George's death. I hoped he didn't think that I was responsible in any way.
"What about my bike?"
"Leave it," he barked as he opened the rear door of his car.
I picked up the bike and put it behind some trees off to the side of the road. I didn't have a lock. I figured it would be gone by morning and I'd owe the Foleys for a new cruiser, but it wasn't like I had a choice. I walked slowly to the sheriff's car and crawled into the backseat. He slammed the door, making the whole car rattle. I had never been in the backseat of a police car. It was a chilling experience. A metal cage separated the front from the backseat. There were no door locks. At least no locks that I had control over. I wouldn't be getting out of there until he wanted me out.
Sheriff Vrtiak got into the driver's seat, killed the flashing lights, and hit the gas. The tires spun and got traction, and we lurched onto the road.
"I have an idea of what happened to Cooper," I said.
Vrtiak didn't react.
"I think he might have had an accident in the boat. He could be lying in the woods somewhere, hurt."
Vrtiak still didn't respond.
"Sheriff?"
I heard him sniff. And whimper. "Why?" he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Why what?" I asked.
"Why didn't you listen?"
"What are you talking about?"
Sheriff Vrtiak spun the wheel hard. With a squeal of
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tires he made a sharp right, turning off the main road onto a windy country lane. He hit the gas again and we took off . . . way too fast for the narrow roadway.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"He warned you, didn't he?" the sheriff said. "But you just kept looking. Kept poking around."
Alarms went off in my head.
"Sheriff, stop the car."
Sheriff Vrtiak whipped off his sunglasses. He was crying.
"I don'
t want to do this," he whimpered.
"Do what? Sheriff, slow down!"
He took a curve way too fast. The car skidded to the side, kicked up gravel on the shoulder, then continued on. The trees surrounding the road were getting thicker. The road was getting darker.
"Do what he says, all right?" the sheriff said. He was begging me, like a guy at the end of his rope. "If you don't, he'll just keep coming. And the more people who know, the more will be in danger."
My stomach sank. It was then that I knew whatever had gotten to George had gotten to the sheriff, too. His hands were white-knuckled on the wheel as if he were fighting with the car to keep it on the road. We veered into the oncoming lane, and the sheriff had to grunt and struggle to bring us back. We slid all the way across to the opposite side. The wheels rumbled onto the gravel shoulder, but Vrtiak kept control and moved back into the lane.
The headlights of an oncoming car appeared in the distance.
"Who told you that, Sheriff? Who is he?"
"Give him what he wants," the sheriff whined. "Let him take the road wherever he wants to."
The oncoming car grew closer. The sheriff was gripping the wheel so tightly, I expected it to snap.
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"What road?" I asked.
"You know," Vrtiak said.
We drifted into the lane of the oncoming car. It blew its horn. Vrtiak yanked our car back into our lane.
"What road?" I demanded again.
Vrtiak took one hand off the wheel. He used his left hand to steer while reaching for the rearview mirror.
The oncoming car was nearly on us.
Vrtiak gripped the mirror and turned it so I could see his reflection. It wasn't the reflection of Vrtiak that glared back at me. It was the dead gaze of Gravedigger.
"The Morpheus Road."
Vrtiak, or somebody, jerked the wheel, sending us directly in front of the oncoming car. It never stopped blowing its horn as it skidded off the road to the far side. Vrtiak pulled his right hand off the rearview mirror, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and jerked our car back into our lane. We turned hard, missing the oncoming car by no more than a few inches. I saw the face of the driver as it flashed past. I could have been wrong and maybe I was, but it looked like the guy behind the wheel was George O.
Our car flew across the road and kept going . . . into the woods. Vrtiak let out a scream as he spun the wheel to avoid hitting trees. He jammed on the brakes and I flew forward, smashing my head into the metal bars.
The next thing I felt was a vicious jolt, and everything went black.
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Chapter 18
My ears rang and my head felt like it was spinning.
I don't know if I was knocked out cold or just seriously dazed. When I opened my eyes, it took a while to understand what I was seeing. The world had turned upside down. In truth, it had turned ninety degrees. The car had flipped onto the driver's side and I was lying on the door. My face was pressed against the metal cage that separated the front and backseat, inches from Sheriff Vrtiak's face. Whoa. I pulled away quickly.
The sheriff lay crumpled behind the wheel.
"Are . . . are you okay?" I asked.
His eyes stayed focused straight ahead, looking at nothing. At first I thought he might be dead, but then I heard him take short breaths.
"Sheriff?"
He turned his head to look at me but couldn't focus.
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He muttered, "Won't stop. Won't. So many people. So many lives."
He was delirious. There was no way to know how badly he was hurt, if at all. At least physically. His brain was a whole 'nother issue.
"I'll get help," I said.
I struggled to roll onto my feet so I could stand on the door. Nothing hurt too badly, which meant I wasn't injured. I reached up to the far door that was now the ceiling and gave it a shove. I expected it to be locked, but it wasn't, though it was tricky to push open. I had to wedge my feet against the back of the seat and the cage to get enough leverage to push the heavy door up. I managed to scramble out and up until I was sitting on the side of the car.
I wasn't sure why we had flipped over. Maybe we hit a low rock and the car kicked up. Whatever it was, it had saved us from an even worse fate. The nose of the car had come to rest only a few feet from a couple of thick, solid trees. As it was, the car was a goner. The front end was caved in, but the cab was intact, which is why Vrtiak and I were still alive.
Vrtiak. What had happened to him? It was like he was possessed. Or somehow under the control of Gravedigger. Whatever it was that made him do what he'd done, I didn't think it was his choice. Not after seeing the image of Grave-digger in the mirror. The question was, was he still going to come after me?
"Can you move?" I called down to him.
The sheriff didn't answer. At least in any way that I could understand. He was awake but out of it. There was no way I was going to try and move him. I knew enough from Boy Scout first aid that you shouldn't move an accident victim without a fracture board in case he had a spinal injury. Just as well. I didn't want to get anywhere near him
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in case Gravedigger was still at work. Still, the guy needed help. I remembered that I had my cell phone. I dug it out and flipped it open to find ... it didn't work. Either the battery was dead or my swim through the bloody lake had killed it.
"I'll go into town and send help," I said to Vrtiak. "Don't move, all right?"
He answered with gibberish. I had to trust that he understood. It didn't look like he could move anyway. I pulled my legs out, swung them over the side of the car, and slid to the ground. The car had landed in a field about thirty yards off the road. The car coming the other way, the one we nearly hit, hadn't stopped. Either the guy driving didn't realize what had happened, or there was something more sinister about it. Was that really George O. behind the wheel? At that point I was willing to believe anything. The only thing I could do was get back to the main road, find the bike, and get to town as quickly as possible. Nothing had changed, other than the fact that after I verified my theory about Cooper's accident, I wouldn't be sharing the information with Sheriff Vrtiak.
Another theory had already been verified. I was moving closer to solving the mystery of what had happened to Cooper . . . and Gravedigger tried to stop me. It gave me confidence that I was on the right track.
My legs were wobbly, but I was able to jog back through the field toward the winding country road. I had only gone a few steps when my cell phone rang. Huh? A minute before it had been dead. I grabbed it and flipped it open.
"Hello?"
I was answered by a shrill screech that was so loud, I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I figured it had to do with water damage. That is, until the sound turned into something familiar. The sharp squeals took on life. And a voice.
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"There is nowhere to hide. You will travel the road."
"Who the hell are you?" I screamed into the phone. "Why are you haunting me?"
"The choice was not mine," the horrid guy answered.
"No? Then whose was it?"
"Why ... it was yours, of course."
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
The phone went dead. I snapped it shut and threw it as far as I could. I didn't think for a second that Gravedigger was calling me through Verizon. The phone was useless, except for demons who wanted to taunt me with riddles. I didn't need that.
I started to run. I hit the winding road we had flown off of and turned toward the main road that led into town. How far had we come? A half mile? A mile? Didn't matter. I had to stay focused. I had to find Cooper. I believed that more than ever. He was out there somewhere and needed my help. But I needed his, too. I held on to the hope that once I found him, the haunting would stop.
I must have been unconscious in that car for pretty long because it was nearly dark. Luckily, the moon was bright, so I had no trouble getting back to the main road and finding my bi
ke. I was grateful that no other cars came along. I didn't want to see who might be driving. Once on the bike I peddled toward town and made it with no problem. It was a Monday night, the one night of the week when the shops and restaurants were closed. Same with the mini golf course and the drive-in. The town was empty. That was bad luck. I wanted to be around people. I rode along Main Street without seeing a soul. My destination was the marina. I didn't expect anybody to be there, but I was happy to see the light on in the salesroom. I hoped that it was Britt inside and not somebody spooky who was lying in wait for me. I dumped my bike on the side of the road and sprinted along
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the walkway to the salesroom. When I jumped inside, I saw two people. One was Britt. Yes! The other was the older guy I had seen the day before. Reilly. It was the last guy I wanted to see. Okay, maybe not the last guy, but I wasn't too thrilled about his being there.
"Marsh!" Britt called out brightly when she saw me. "What's up?"
"You almost done?" I asked.
She stood on the opposite side of the counter from Reilly. The guy looked to be filling out paperwork.
"Mr. Reilly is finishing up the forms for the party. You should see the Nellie Bell --it looks awesome! We did it all up with lights and streamers and balloons."
I remembered that this guy had booked the party boat for his son's birthday party. I didn't care. "Britt, you gotta make a call--"
"Excuse me," Reilly said, cutting me off curtly. "I'm not finished here." He looked to Britt and smiled. "Don't want to miss the plane. It's costing me enough."
I looked to Britt, confused.
"It's the finale to the party," she explained. "A seaplane is going to land and take Cayden and some friends back home. Nice way to finish up camp, huh?"
"A plane is coming?" I asked. "Here? To take him back home? Tonight?"
"Yup," Britt answered. "It'll pick him up out on the lake."