The Light (Morpheus Road) (27 page)

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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 bike. 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."

"If you don't mind--," Reilly said, annoyed at my presence.

"Yeah, I do mind," I shot back at him.

The guy gave me a look like I had just peed on his foot.

"There's been an accident," I said. "Out toward the Foleys' house. I'm not sure of the road, but it's off the main highway. A car flipped."

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Reilly looked like he wanted to cut me off again, but even he wouldn't go that far.

Britt clicked into fix-it mode and went for the phone. "I'll call the sheriff."

"No! He's the one who flipped! He's trapped in his own car."

"Oh my god!" Britt exclaimed.

"Is he all right?" Reilly asked.

How was I supposed to answer that? "I think, but he needs help. We gotta send an ambulance." I decided against saying that he was being possessed and influenced by an evil spirit. That would have taken a little bit too much explaining.

"I'll call 9-1-1," Britt said efficiently. "It's the road between here and the Foleys' place?"

"Yeah, I don't know the name. It's about a mile and a half out."

"There's only one," Britt said as she grabbed the phone.

"The car is about a mile up that road," I added.

Britt called 9-1-1 and gave them the information. I stood there watching Reilly. He kept his head down and finished his paperwork. A few times he looked up at me as if he was nervous about something. Or maybe I just imagined that.

Britt finished her call and came back to us. "Emergency services are on the way, but they're miles from here. Maybe we should go out there and--"

"No!" I shouted, maybe a bit too quickly. "There's nothing we can do. He can't be moved without a fracture board."

"How scary," Britt said.

She had no idea how true that was.

"Done," Reilly exclaimed. He arranged the stack of contracts on the counter and dropped a check on top. "I'd best be going. I want to see the look on those kids' faces when the plane shows up."

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He didn't seem worried about Sheriff Vrtiak in the least.

"Fine, bye," I said, and grabbed Britt's hand, pulling her from behind the counter toward the door. "I want you to show me something."

"Uh, sure." She turned back to Reilly as I dragged her out. "I'm glad everything worked out, Mr. Reilly. Maybe next year we can--"

"G'night!" I called back, and pulled Britt out of the door.

Outside I kept moving along the walkway that ringed the showroom toward the maze of floating docks that stretched out onto the lake.

"Marsh!" Britt exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer until I thought we were out of earshot of the building.

"The boat that kid brought in for repairs. I gotta see it."

Britt frowned. I was throwing too much at her.

"What? Why?"

"Because I think it has something to do with Cooper's disappearance."

Britt's eyes grew wide. Her mouth moved as if to ask a question, but her brain hadn't formed any yet.

"Please, Britt. We've gotta do this fast. Take me to that boat."

She didn't question. She saw how serious I was.

"We'll take a Jet Ski. It's faster," she said, and led me to a row of sleek blue Jet Skis they had for rent.

There were probably ten of them all lined up in a row, looking like floating snowmobiles. I had always wanted to try one out but never had the chance. Or the guts. Britt boarded the Jet Ski on the far end, throwing her leg over the seat and settling in like she had been doing it for years. Which she probably had. The key was under the seat. Not exactly crack security. She put it in the ignition and fired

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the engine. It wasn't as loud as I expected. It was more like a steady, deep whine.

"Hop on," she commanded.

I got on behind her awkwardly, rocking the craft from side to side.

"Just sit," she instructed.

I did what I was told and the wobbling stopped. Britt backed the craft away from the dock, then turned and throttled up. I wanted her to gun it, but there were laws about going too fast that close to shore, especially if you were in a marina. The wake could cause damage when it bounced boats around.

"This is faster than walking along the floats," she explained. "The Reillys' boat is so big, we docked it the farthest out."

There were lights on all the floats, making it easy to see all the boats that were tied up. I saw plenty of fiberglass ski boats with big outboard engines, wooden fishing boats with much smaller engines, and lots of sailboats that could carry three or four people. None of them were like the big, sleek white boat that appeared when we reached the final float. This monster had to be at least thirty-eight feet long. It had a low aerodynamic profile and an enormous V-shaped hull. I had no doubt that there was a powerful inboard engine in back. Or two. I'd heard that they were called cigarette boats because they went incredibly fast and smugglers used them to move cigarettes. Bottom line was, it was a monstrous boat that was built for speed.

"That's a lot of boat for this lake," I said.

"You think? But you don't tell people like the Reillys what to do. Money talks."

"What is their deal?" I asked.

"I think they pretty much fund the camp up there. It's loaded with rich kids from New York. It's not exactly rustic.

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They have maid service to make their bunks and clean their cabins ... all of which have Wi-Fi, of course."

"What repairs are you guys doing on their boat?" I asked.

"Cayden hit some rocks in the shallows. He knew he wasn't supposed to go there, but like I said, you don't tell the Reillys what to do. He freaked, though. He wanted my brother to fix it before his dad found out."

"Did Ron fix it?"

"Nah, he could have done it fast, but you don't tell Ron what to do either." She chuckled. "Money may talk, but Ron doesn't always listen. What's this got to do with Cooper?"

"I want to see the damage," I said.

Britt slowed down. We drifted forward along the length of the boat, headed for the bow.

"I think Cayden's lying," she said.

"About what?" I asked, very interested.

"I don't think he hit any rocks."

"Why not?"

Britt expertly maneuvered the Jet Ski around the bow of the enormous boat.

"Because rocks don't cause that kind of damage," she answered. "And rocks aren't blue."

There was a crack in the fiberglass bow just above the waterline. Deep scrapes were dug along the hull, headed to the water. It was exactly what I expected and dreaded to see. Whatever Cayden had hit with that boat, it was blue. The same color as the
Galileo.

"Cooper went out on his boat that night," I said. "His blue boat. I think Cayden ran him down."

Britt gasped. She looked back at the boat, appraising the damage. "Oh my god, that's exactly what it looks like. Marsh, if Cooper was in a small boat and got hit with this monster at full speed--"

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"I think he's out there somewhere, hurt," I said. "The boat hasn't turned up. He could have floated all night holding on to the wreckage."

"Maybe," she said. She didn't seem convinced. I think her mind immediately went to a much worse scenario ... a scenario I refused to accept.

"We can't let the Reillys go home tonight," I said. "Not before somebody in authority sees this."

"I can call the State Police, but that might take a while."

"Call them," I said. "I'll stay here with the boat. I don't want anything happening to it."

"What could happen?" Britt asked.

What I wanted to say was, "I don't want Gravedigger possessing anybody else and taking away the evidence." Instead I said, "Just in case."

"What about Cayden?" Britt asked. "The seaplane is on the way. Once it picks him up, he's gone."

"Can you call off the plane?" I asked.

"Too late for that."

"What about the
Nellie Bell?
Can you contact the captain?"

She gave me a sheepish look. "The radio hasn't worked for weeks."

There weren't a whole lot of options.

"Then get the State Police," I ordered. "Tell them what we think happened. Maybe they can stop the boat or the plane somehow."

Britt maneuvered the Jet Ski to the floating dock. I jumped off with no more grace than when I had jumped on. Britt rolled with the wake.

"One more thing," I said. "Call Sydney Foley. Tell her I found what I was looking for."

"You got it," answered Britt. Before taking off, Britt gave me a serious look. "I hate to say this, Marsh, but if