We were much closer to the party boat than I thought. Kids lined the railings, watching the drama play out. The boat with the flashing lights could now be seen for what it was. A fire rescue boat. It was tied up to the party boat at the same spot where we had tied up the Jet Ski.
The cigarette boat was out of control. Reilly struggled to get to his feet, but his hands were over his eyes. He had no chance of taking back control of the speeding craft. At least not before it was too late. The boat was still moving at full throttle, which for that beast meant close to a hundred miles per hour. At that speed, hitting even a small rock would be disaster.
It was headed for something much bigger than that.
The seaplane that was waiting to fly Cayden away in a dramatic, ego-driven show was bobbing lazily on the lake . . . directly in the path of the charging speedboat. We were close enough to see people frantically diving off. I wondered if Cayden was one of them. Reilly had no idea of what was
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happening, until the last second. He stood up, facing us. He must have sensed the danger because he suddenly turned forward. He dove for the controls, which meant he saw his fate . . . too late. The cigarette boat slammed square into the floating plane. There was the sound of screaming metal. At least, that was what I thought was screaming. That was followed by a monstrous explosion that had to have been the gas tank of the plane. The cigarette boat blew up into the air in flames. A moment later, its own gas tank caught the flame and another eruption followed. Sydney and I had to duck as flaming bits of boat and plane and I-didn't-want-to-know-what-else flew past us, sizzling as they hit the water.
The hulk of the burning boat splashed back down into the water, its engines still whining. There was nothing left of the seaplane but burning debris on the water. It only lasted a moment, but as the ball of flame erupted from the doomed boat, I saw the giant shimmering face of a smiling demon peering out of the inferno.
Gravedigger had claimed another victim.
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Chapter 21
I don't know why they call funerals a "celebration of life." When my mother died, nobody felt much like celebrating. It all happened so fast that it was hard to get my head around it, let alone accept that I'd never see her again. My father was in even worse shape. To everybody else he looked like a guy who was being strong and doing his best to make sure everybody else was okay, but I knew better. At night, when each day's painful festivities were over, I heard him crying in his room. It tore my heart out. I, on the other hand, didn't cry. Not even when I was by myself. I think I was in denial. The two of us went along, doing our best not to talk about how we really felt.
The one person who didn't treat me like a crystal glass that would break if you breathed on me was Cooper. We were all back at our house after the funeral, trying to talk about anything but Mom. Relatives and neighbors were everywhere,
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mostly eating food they had brought themselves. Every once in a while an older lady or some guy would walk by and give me a sad nod. They were being nice, but they didn't know what to say.
I was sitting alone in the living room when Cooper plopped down on the couch next to me.
"Well," he said. "This sucks."
That said it all. It sucked on so many levels, I couldn't begin to count them. I laughed. It felt good. I still didn't feel like celebrating, but some of the pressure had been relieved.
"You want to get outta here?" Coop asked.
"Absolutely" was my answer.
The two of us snuck out the back of my house and went for a walk in the neighborhood. There was no destination--it was just about getting away from the intensity.
"Your mom was pretty cool," he said.
I shrugged. I knew.
"She gave me this for my birthday last year," he said as he pulled a framed photo out of his pack. I recognized it immediately. It was one that Mom had taken in Africa when she was on assignment there. It was a shot of a prehistoric-looking guy from some primitive tribe. He looked like he was a hundred years old. His face was full of deep lines that Mom had caught perfectly by getting the sun to hit them at an angle that made them look bottomless. In his arms was a little girl, probably a year old. She was beautiful. Her unlined face was a real contrast to the face of the ancient-looking guy. What made the picture was that they both wore the exact same beaded necklace and colorful wrap. It was a stunning picture that was published in National Geographic.
"She gave you this?" I asked, a little surprised.
"Yeah. I was kind of hoping for Madden NFL."
I laughed.
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Coop continued, "I saw it in the magazine and told her I thought it was really cool. She asked me why. I had to think about it, but told her it was because it showed the two ends of life. She got that, but said it wasn't what she saw."
"What did she see?" I asked.
"Eternity."
"Uh . . . what?"
"Yeah, I didn't get it either. She said that the beads and the clothes showed that the old guy was passing down a piece of himself to the little girl. She said that when he died, and to me it looked like he might not make it to the end of the day, the girl would still have his spirit. So even after the guy died, he wouldn't really be gone. Then someday the girl would pass down a piece of herself to somebody else and on and on. You know, eternity. It was all a little cosmic for me, but I liked the picture. When my birthday came around, your mom made a print for me."
He held out the framed photo for me to look at. Cooper's story made me appreciate her photos in a new way. I realized that even though it was a photo meant for everybody, it was her vision. I was seeing something exactly the way she had seen it. Literally. It was like looking through her eyes.
Cooper said, "I think we all get stuff from everybody else. Some of it's good, some isn't so hot. We're all just pin balls bouncing off each other. People may leave, but the stuff we get from them stays. Which means they never really leave. Not entirely. You're pretty lucky. Your mom left you some pretty good stuff."
That's when I cried.
Cooper didn't feel all sorry for me either. What he did was take the photo back. "But this one is mine, Ralph," he said. "You got plenty."
Once again, Cooper made me laugh.
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Mr. Reilly was dead.
Nobody blamed Sydney or me for shooting the flare at him. There were hundreds of witnesses who watched in horror as Mr. Reilly did his best to chase us down on the lake. There was no question that I had fired the flare in self-defense. They all knew we were seconds from disaster ourselves. It had played out right in front of them. What they didn't see were any other boats on the lake, or a dark spirit riding shotgun next to Reilly, or a sea serpent rising up to eat us. Those visions were for Sydney and me alone. All they saw was a deranged guy trying to run us down . . . and the horrific end to his life.
Reilly's death was a tragedy, but I don't regret what we did. If I hadn't fired the flare, it would be Sydney and I who would be gone. There was no question--Reilly would have killed us. But was it his fault? He was trying to protect his son, but I didn't believe for a second he'd go that far to do it. No, there were forces beyond his control that put him behind the wheel of that boat. It wasn't Reilly who was after us. It was Gravedigger.
Though Reilly paid the price.
Then there was Cayden. When the cigarette boat showed up, he went back to the Nellie Bell and was nowhere near the plane when it exploded. As much as I hated the guy, I knew what he was going through. His father was taken away from him suddenly and with violence. I felt bad for him, but his story wasn't complete. There were questions that had to be answered. Cooper was still out there.
The captain of the Nellie Bell brought the party boat back to the marina, where all the stunned kids were transferred to buses and brought back to camp. Waiting at the marina for them was a handful of State Troopers, along with Britt. I found out afterward that Britt hadn't been at the marina earlier because when sh
e tried to call the State
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Police, the phone didn't work ... probably thanks to Grave-digger. Britt was smart. She drove to the firehouse to tell them about the cigarette boat and our theory that it had run down Cooper's boat. The fire rescue team responded by calling in the State Police and taking their own boat out to the Nellie Bell to try and stop Cayden from leaving.
Instead of a simple pickup, they were treated to a fiery disaster.
Sydney and I got a ride back to the marina with the firefighters. They tied up the Jet Ski to their boat and towed it behind us. Sydney and I sat huddled together in the back, wrapped together in a blanket. Once the firefighters were confident that we weren't hurt, they didn't ask us another question for the entire trip back to town. I guess they figured it was best to leave that up to the police.
When we landed, Sydney and I were put into a State Trooper's car and driven thirty miles to their closest station. We were told that Mr. and Mrs. Foley would meet us there. Sydney and I didn't say much to each other. I can't speak for her, but I was trying to process all that had happened. There were forces at work that I couldn't begin to understand or explain. I think the only thing that kept me focused was the fact that there was still a very real, very understandable problem to deal with.
We had to find Cooper. My hope was that with Cayden in the hands of the authorities, we'd get some answers and a real search could begin. I had to hang on to that fragile silver lining.
When we arrived at the State Police barracks, the Foleys were there waiting in the parking lot. They looked about as bad as I felt. When Sydney saw them, she stiffened. There was a lot of tension in that family. Sydney stood there like she didn't know what to do.
Her mom took one look at her and burst into tears.
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"Sweetheart, are you all right?" she cried as she ran to her daughter with her arms open to hug her. She wrapped her arms around Sydney, holding her tight. Sydney was hesitant at first, but then she hugged her mom back. Both were crying.
"I'm okay, Mom," she said.
Mr. Foley came over and gave his daughter a kiss on top of her head. If there is anything positive I can find about that night, it was that moment. Sydney and her parents may have had issues, but they were still a family.
"How are you doing, Marsh?" Mr. Foley said. (At least he didn't ask if I was all right. Score one for Mr. Foley.)
"I'm okay," I answered.
We were brought inside and gathered in a lounge, where Sydney and I were given dry coveralls and hot chocolate. It was there that I explained to everyone, including the State Police, what Britt and I feared had happened to Cooper. I explained about the broken pieces of dinghy with the Galileo markings. I told them how Cooper had planned to go out on the lake with Britt to look at the stars ... something we always did with the running lights turned off, like idiots. I told them about the key that George O. had given me that led us on a trail to find the broken piece of boat; Cooper's shoes in the boathouse; and the damage to Reilly's cigarette boat. I also told them about how Mr. Reilly had attacked me on the dock after admitting his son had done something wrong. I thought it would help to explain why he was chasing us down with the cigarette boat.
What I avoided was any mention of visions and sea serpents and drive-in movie previews. I didn't want to cloud the waters. There were plenty of real, concrete clues that would lead us to the truth about what had happened to Cooper.
Sydney sat between her parents, holding her mom's hand. She added a few comments, confirming about Cooper's shoes
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in the boathouse and how we found the piece of the dinghy at George O.'s place.
There were three State Troopers there, but only one spoke. His name was Captain Hoffkins.
"So you broke into George O.'s house?" he asked.
"No," I said quickly. "He gave me the key. I think he wanted me to go there and find the piece of the boat."
"How would George O. know about your friendship with Cooper?" Hoffkins asked.
Sydney answered for me. "That guy knows everything about everybody. You can't sneeze around here without George O. knowing it. At least that's what everybody says about him. Right?"
Hoffkins nodded as he took notes. That answer seemed to satisfy him.
"How's Sheriff Vrtiak?" I asked.
Hoffkins frowned. "It's not for me to say."
"Hey, I was nearly killed in that car wreck," I shot back. "I deserve something."
Hoffkins hesitated, then said, "I don't know what's wrong with him. Physically he's fine. Just a couple of bruises. But the guy has gone off the deep end. I've never seen anything like it."
"My god," Mrs. Foley said with a gasp.
I told them how Vrtiak had picked me up for having broken into George O.'s house, but then he started acting all crazy and lost control of the car. I didn't tell them about how we were run off the road by a ghost car driven by George O.
"You're both lucky to be alive," Hoffkins said.
He didn't challenge my story. Any of it. Vrtiak's condition must have been so bad that it made perfect sense. He may not have been dead, but it was looking as if another victim had fallen to Gravedigger.
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"Captain Hoffkins," Mr. Foley said. "I've been trying to get an organized search started for my son for days now. I believe we now know where to start."
Captain Hoffkins had been writing on a clipboard. He took out a sheet of paper that was beneath the one he had been taking notes on and did a quick read. The Foleys and I exchanged nervous looks.
"Mr. and Mrs. Foley," Hoffkins began in a low voice. "I'm afraid to say that it's looking like things happened exactly as these kids have said. The young lady from the marina verified the damage to the Reillys' boat."
"Finally!" I shouted.
I looked to Mr. and Mrs. Foley, expecting to see them just as relieved. If anything, they looked sicker. I was being an idiot. They were hearing confirmation that their son had been run over by a speedboat. To me it was old news. To them it was a devastating shock.
Hoffkins continued, "Cayden Reilly has confessed. He did run over a fishing boat the night your son disappeared."
Mrs. Foley broke out in tears. Sydney hugged her, but she didn't look any better than her mom.
Mr. Foley turned white before my eyes. "And he left Cooper out there to die."
"We don't know that!" I shouted. "I mean, we don't know that he's dead. Did Cayden say where it happened?"
Hoffkins checked the sheet. "Emerald Cove. About two miles north of town."
"Perfect. That's where we start to search. Right, Captain?"
Hoffkins looked glum.
"You are going to search now, right?" I yelled.
"Of course," he said. "But we can't begin until daylight."
"Right. Makes sense," I said, my mind racing. "What are you bringing in? A helicopter? What about tracking dogs? We can get Coop's clothes for a scent. Right?"
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Nobody seemed to be as excited about this news as I was. Not even the Foleys. I didn't understand.
"What's wrong? We've been looking for this break for days. We're going to find him."
"Marshall," Captain Hoffkins said. "The search will begin at daybreak, I promise you that. Mr. and Mrs. Foley, we will find your son. However . . ."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Mr. and Mrs. Foley looked pained. Sydney couldn't open her eyes. I knew what they were all thinking.
"He's out there," I said. "Alive."
"We'll find him" was all Hoffkins said.
Mr. Foley drove us all back to the cabin. There was nothing to do until the next morning. The gathering point for the search would be the Thistledown firehouse. Search teams would be dispatched from there. It was past midnight. Once the adrenaline wore off, I realized how exhausted I was. I figured the best thing to do was sleep for a few hours and get ready for a long day.
Mr. and Mrs. Foley gave me a hug and went right to bed. I saw d
efeat in the way they spoke and moved. I wanted to tell them that I knew Cooper was alive because he was calling out to me, but it would only have made it worse.
Before knocking off I called Dad to tell him what was going on. I didn't go into a huge amount of detail, or mention anything about Gravedigger or supernatural doings, but I did tell him about Cooper's accident and the destruction of Reilly's cigarette boat. Dad was stunned, obviously. He was ready to charter a plane and fly right home, but I told him there was nothing he could do and to stay on the flight he had scheduled. It was good to talk to him. It would be even better when he got back.
When I got off the phone, I looked out to the porch to see Sydney sitting alone. I sat down next to her and for the
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longest time the two of us just looked out onto the lake.
"Coop would be proud of you," she finally said.
"Are you kidding? He's gonna owe me. Big-time."
Sydney smiled, though she looked horrible. Her shoulders were hunched over, her eyes red.
"You don't believe he's alive," I said.
Sydney wiped her eyes. "You saw the power of that speedboat. If that thing hit us, we wouldn't be here. How can you possibly believe Cooper survived that?"
"Because he's been calling out to me for help," I shot back quickly, then lowered my voice. I didn't want the Foleys to hear.
"That makes no sense, Marsh."
"Like anything else has?"
Sydney argued, "But it's been four days--"
"I don't care if it's been four months. He's been with us every step of the way, Sydney. He's been with me! He wants us to find him. How else do you explain what's been happening?"
Sydney thought for a moment, then said, "I agree with you. I believe. He has been helping us. He's been protecting us too. I saw what happened with that flare you shot. It should have missed Reilly by a mile."