The Light (Morpheus Road) (24 page)

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"Like what?" Sydney asked.

"He said he saw things. If he was seeing the same things I am, he might have hidden in here for protection. I'd do the same thing if I thought it would work."

"Look for the jacket," Sydney said.

It wasn't as if George O. had an extensive wardrobe, but I no sooner wanted to go through his dirty clothes than I wanted to pick up plutonium. I used the board to dig through what was lying around. Mostly it was jeans and flannel shirts. George wasn't a fashionable guy. I opened up each of the drawers in his dresser but just saw socks and underwear.

"Help me flip the mattress," I said.

Sydney gave me a dirty look but didn't argue. We lifted up the mattress to see that there was nothing under the bed but dust . . . and a hammer and nails. Cooper's jacket was nowhere to be found.

Sydney picked up the hammer, feeling its weight. "So he barricaded himself in here to hide from whatever, but then pried himself out to tell you that Cooper was on the road and not to listen to anything or to follow. You think he could have been any more mysterious?"

"Let's check the kitchen," I said.

On the way out of the bedroom I saw a narrow door to my left. I kicked it open to see the tiny bathroom. Sydney was right. We didn't want to go in there. It wasn't exactly spotless. Still, I stuck my head in long enough to see that there was nothing out of the ordinary, if ordinary was sad and disgusting. I didn't go in. The bacteria could have it.

The kitchen wasn't much better. The white sink was stained yellow. There wasn't anything in the fridge besides moldy bread, which was just as well because it wasn't working anyway. It looked like George O. ate his meals right out of the can.

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We spent nearly twenty minutes in that sad home, and all we did was confirm that George O. lived like an eccentric slob . . . and boarded himself into his bedroom. We didn't find anything to do with Cooper.

"Now what?" Sydney asked.

We had hit a dead end. A creepy, sad dead end. My mind shot forward to what might be next. Dad was coming home in two days. That was good. I would tell him everything and hope he didn't send me to a shrink. At least not right away. We still had to find Cooper.

"I'm going to ask my dad to come up to the lake," I said. "Maybe then we can tell all three of our parents what's been happening."

Sydney frowned.

"I know," I said. "Your parents are having it tough enough as it is, I just think that--"

Suddenly a bright light hit me in the eye. It was so blinding, I had to put my hand up to block it. At first I figured it was sunlight that had crept through a kitchen window, but neither of the kitchen windows had any sun coming in.

"Where's that coming from?" Sydney asked.

We both looked down the length of the trailer to see a pin spot of light coming from the darkness of George O.'s bedroom.

"The sun must be leaking through cracks in the wood," I offered.

The light left my eyes. I looked to Sydney and saw her face fall as she looked toward the floor.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing down.

The spot of light that had hit me in the eye was moving. It traveled the length of my body, down my leg, and onto the floor.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed.

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Whatever it was we were seeing, it wasn't natural. Sunlight didn't move that quickly, or that deliberately.

"I hope you're seeing this too," I said, my voice shaking.

"I'm the one who
told you!"
Sydney answered.

It wasn't a hallucination. Two separate people were watching a beam of light travel along the threadbare carpet of the mobile home, headed for the bedroom. There was only one thing to do. I took a step to follow it, but Sydney threw her arm out to stop me.

"Don't!" she warned. "What if it's the grave-guy?"

"Then it is," I said flatly without taking my eyes off the moving light.

I pushed past her and slowly followed the light. Sydney ran up behind me. I didn't think she wanted to come, but she wanted to be alone even less. She kept her hands on my back.

"This isn't happening," she muttered.

For the record, it was. But I wasn't about to stop and convince her of that. The light brought us to the threshold of the bedroom door. I could see the exact place where it was coming from. There was a crack between two of the parallel boards that George had nailed up over the window. It seemed like there was an intense light shining through from outside. Ordinarily I would say it was the sun, but the sun didn't move like that. I stood in the doorway with Sydney peering over my shoulder. The light had stopped on the floor just inside the doorway.

"Whatever's doing that," I said, "it wants us in here."

We stared at the bright spot of light. It didn't move.

"I want to leave, Marsh," Sydney said nervously.

The light began moving again, slowly drifting across the floor. I can't speak for Sydney, but I don't think I was breathing. Both of us were locked on to the light, following its journey. The light made it to the base of the opposite wall

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from the window and began climbing. It soon reached the bottom of another series of boards that had been nailed up to cover the other bedroom window. It traveled higher and higher and then suddenly stopped. We stood there, waiting for it to continue.

"Is that it?" Sydney asked.

The light had come to rest on a unique piece of wood. Most every board ran all the way from one side of the window to the other. Not this piece. It wasn't long enough. It was wider than the others too. And blue. Where all the other boards were a weathered gray, this board was painted. It wasn't a uniform plank but more of an oddly shaped piece of a jigsaw puzzle with rough, splintered edges. The light came to rest on this unique blue board. Sydney and I watched for a solid minute, but the light didn't move.

"Yeah?" she said. "And?"

Something hit the board from the outside, making the wood rattle. Sydney yelped in surprise. Up until that second it had been deathly quiet in that claustrophobic bedroom. The knock wasn't dramatic, but coming as it did, when the two of us were already on edge, was like shooting off a cannon. Whatever hand we were following, it had brought us into that bedroom and to that board specifically. I stepped forward to check it out. Sydney was right behind me. I could hear her breathing hard, trying to suppress a frightened whimper. I wasn't much better off. I was afraid to touch the piece of wood but didn't want it to start banging again. That would have driven me off the deep end. I leaned in closer to the rack of boards, staring at the light, trying to understand what we were seeing. I was a raw nerve. If the board banged again, I would have turned and run for sure.

As I got closer, I saw that the light was hitting a spot on the blue board that had writing on it. The words were crudely drawn, faded black lettering. It looked like gibberish, until I

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realized that the letters, and therefore the board, were upside down. I tried to imagine what the letters would spell out if they were right side up . . . and gasped.

"Oh my god."

"What? What?" Sydney implored.

''Galileo."

"Galileo? Like the astronomer?" she asked.

"No, like the shuttle craft of the USS
Enterprise."

"You're kidding me, right?" she said coldly. "You're geeking out on me now?"

"No. The name was my idea, but Cooper went along with it."

"What are you talking about?"

I turned to Sydney. "Didn't you know? I painted the letters myself."

Sydney looked to the piece of wood that was nailed to the window. Skepticism was written all over her face, until she recognized it too. Her expression dropped.

"It's a piece of our fishing boat," she croaked.

At that instant the light disappeared. It was as if the message had been delivered and the light was no longer needed. I reached up for the board, wrapped my fingers around one end, and yanked it off the wall. Bright light flooded in, making the sad little room come alive. The piece of wood was no more than two feet long and maybe a foot wide. It was only a partial chunk of the stern. I flipped it upright and examined the lettering.

"Are you sure?" Sydney asked.

"Yeah. That's my lettering."

"So our fishing boat was destroyed and George O. has a piece of it. How is that possible?"

"I don't know," I said. "But it's all the more reason why we've got to find out if Coop took it out that night."

"Okay. Sure. How?"

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"I think I know," I said. "But I'm not doing it alone."

We left George O.'s house quickly, taking the piece of boat with us. Neither of us was sorry to go. We had gotten what we came for. I was sure of that. How George had gotten hold of a piece of the fishing boat was still a mystery, but I was certain that it was what he wanted me to find. It may not have explained what had happened to Cooper, but it got us a step closer. Of course, neither Sydney nor I could explain the mysterious light that led us to the piece. We had searched the room and missed the clue George wanted us to find. The light made sure we went back for a closer look. It was further proof that there were forces at work that weren't normal.

As we drove back to the Foleys' house, I gave a silent thanks to George for whatever role he had played in getting us to find that piece of boat. I didn't think for a second that George had anything to do with Cooper's disappearance. I can't explain why, but my gut told me that George was being swept up in this craziness as much as anybody else was. He probably found the piece of boat somewhere. Same with Cooper's jacket. Finding them may have sealed his fate. It was a crazy way to think, but rational thinking wasn't getting me anywhere, so why not?

Much more disturbing was the fact that the Foleys' fishing boat was destroyed. I couldn't think of any good news that could come from that.

When we got back to the Foleys' cabin, I was happy to see that Mr. and Mrs. Foley weren't there. I still had to go by what George had said. The more people who got involved, the more would be in danger. I didn't want the Foleys involved. At least not yet. It was too late for Sydney and me.

"Are you going to talk to me now?" Sydney asked impatiently.

I hadn't said a word the whole drive back. I was too busy running possibilities around in my head.

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"I'm afraid Cooper went out on that boat," I said. "Let's find out for sure and then I'll tell you what I'm thinking. And let's hope I'm wrong, because you won't like it."

"Swell," Sydney said.

I followed her around to the back of the house.

Toward the lake.

Toward the boathouse. The garage-size shack was built partly on land, with much of the structure out over the water. There were two ways in. In a boat on the water through the big double doors in front, or through the door on land. There was a combination lock on the walk-in door that used the highly secure code of 0000 to open. I spun the wheels, released the lock, and yanked the door open wide.

The boathouse was exactly as I remembered it. It probably hadn't changed in the thirty years since it was built. Stepping in through the door led to a dock that started on land and reached out over the water, forming a square U shape that traveled along the inside walls. At the mouth of the U, directly opposite us, were the double boat doors that led out to the lake. Both were closed and probably padlocked. Light came from windows set high near the ceiling. There were shelves and cabinets for boating gear like life vests, water skis, and fishing tackle. Mr. Foley also used the place to store paint and tools.

"What do you expect to find?" Sydney asked.

"I'm hoping
not
to find something" was my answer. "If Cooper went out on that boat, something bad happened. I really hope he didn't and it was just stolen and vandalized."

"How are you going to figure that out in here?" she asked.

I walked along the dock to a shelf that had a couple of blue coolers on it.

"Cooper never wears shoes on a boat," I explained. "He

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says he can feel the movement of the boat and the water through the soles of his feet."

"That's ridiculous," Sydney sniffed.

"Maybe, but he believed it. The last thing he always did before shoving off was ..." I reached behind the coolers and felt something. My heart sank. Hidden back there was a pair of nearly new, classic Pumas. I lifted them out and held them up for Sydney to see.

"His?" Sydney asked softly.

I nodded.

"So he took the boat out," she said flatly. "And never came back for his shoes."

I nodded again.

She asked, "What were those ideas you said I wasn't going to like?"

It took me a second to pull my thoughts together. I had hoped I wouldn't find the shoes. Now it was time to face the reality of what it might mean.

"I don't believe in fantasy," I said. "I know I draw comics and can quote every
Dr. Who
episode, but it's just for fun. I never took it seriously. Until now. I've been seeing things I can't explain. Whether they're coming out of my head or not, they're real because other people are seeing them too."

"Yeah, I'm real thrilled about that part," Sydney said sarcastically.

"George O. was killed. I nearly drowned and narrowly missed getting hurt a few other times. This is no joke."

"So you think there's some kind of evil force going after people?" She stopped herself and added, "I can't believe I just said that. . . and meant it."

"I don't think it's that simple because not everything we've seen has been dangerous. That light today. It wasn't trying to hurt us--it was guiding us to the piece of boat.