"Does anybody else feel that?" I asked hopefully.
"It's kids with more money than brains," Mr. Foley said with disgust.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Wait," Mrs. Foley answered.
The rumbling continued to build. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. As it grew even louder, I realized it wasn't coming from underground. The sound was rolling toward us from the lake. Looking out onto the water, I saw the running lights of a big speedboat halfway across to the other side.
"Kids from the camp across the way," Mrs. Foley said.
Mr. Foley added, "It's one of those highfalutin camps for the privileged. You see parents dropping off their kids in seaplanes all the time."
"Really?" I said. "Seaplanes on the lake?"
"It's ridiculous," Mr. Foley said with a sneer. "That's not a camp, it's a country club."
Mrs. Foley chuckled. "Don't get all righteous. If we could afford it, we'd send our kids there."
"We absolutely would not!" Mr. Foley countered. "Those kids have no perspective on reality."
147
I couldn't argue with him. The speedboat pulled even with us. From the low configuration of the lights and the throaty sound of the powerful engine, I figured it was one of those high-speed cigarette boats. The thing was flying, too. In seconds it was gone, the rumbling subsided, and my soda can stopped jumping.
Mrs. Foley said, "I wouldn't mind seeing things from that perspective for a while."
"You wouldn't like it," Mr. Foley shot back.
"Wanna bet?" Mrs. Foley countered.
The two continued arguing over whether or not it was good to be rich as they cleared their plates and brought them inside. I didn't want to be alone, so I followed close behind. Once everything was cleaned up and put away, Mr. Foley announced, "It's been a long day. I'm done. G'night, Marsh."
"Uh, wait!" I said. "Don't you want to hang out and . . . and . . . watch some TV? You've got some great DVDs here."
The truth was, I didn't like any of their movies, but I would have sat through a Hugh Grant flick if it meant I didn't have to be alone.
"Sorry, maybe Mrs. Foley wants to watch something."
"Not me," she said quickly. "I can't keep my eyes open."
I tried to head them off from going into their bedroom. "But what if Coop calls? Or comes back?"
"It's a small house, Marsh. I think we'll know," Mrs. Foley said. "G'night. I'm glad you're here."
And that was that. The Foleys went to bed, Sydney was up in her room, and I was alone . . . exactly what I wanted to avoid. I thought about watching TV or reading or doing any of the things you would normally do when you're on your own, but none of them appealed to me as much as sleep. If my mind started messing with me again, unconscious was a good place to be. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed an extra
148
blanket, and stretched out on the couch. I even turned the lights out. Why not? Most of what I'd seen showed up in broad daylight.
I wasn't awake for long. My mind may have been dealing with a million dilemmas, but for some reason that didn't stop me from powering down. I guess exhaustion beats worry. I fell into a deep sleep. I know that because when I woke up I was groggy and disoriented. It was still nighttime, but I had definitely been out for a while. What pulled me out of dreamland was a sound. It was gentle but incessant. It started as part of a dream. Somebody was playing a steady rhythm on a drum. Whoever it was, wasn't very good. It was nothing more than a steady tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
I gradually came around to realize the sound wasn't a dream. I was really hearing it.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
I opened my eyes to see movement on the ceiling. There was a big picture window over the couch where I was lying. Moonlight flooded in, creating shadows from the branches of a tree. It was windy, because the shadow swayed back and forth on the ceiling. I figured this had to be the culprit.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
The branch was knocking against the picture window. I rolled over and closed my eyes to try to get back to sleep, but the annoying noise wouldn't let me.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
I couldn't ignore it. I figured my only hope of getting to sleep was to go outside and break off the branch. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, looked to the picture window . . .
... to see Cooper standing there with a big smile on his face. He was outside on the porch, looking in at me through the glass, tapping on the frame. I think I squealed like a little girl. I definitely lurched back with a start and fell off the couch. I was about to scream out "Coop!" but he put his
149
finger to his lips as if to say "Shhh." He winked and waved for me to come outside.
I was in shock. I guess I should have screamed for everybody to wake up, but for whatever reason he didn't want anybody else to know he was there. I stumbled around in the dark to get to my feet. I didn't even bother putting on shoes. I had a million questions for him and a million more things to tell him. I couldn't get outside fast enough. I jumped out of the door and looked to the window, but Coop was gone. For a brief instant I worried that it had been a dream. Or another hallucination and Cooper wasn't really there.
"Marsh!" I heard Coop call to me.
He was standing on the far end of the dock, facing the water. How did he get out there so fast? And why? Maybe he was afraid that his family would hear once we started talking. That had to be it. Coop was being very mysterious. I walked quickly across the lawn and onto the dock. I didn't call out to him. I wanted to keep things quiet, just as he had asked. Coop was standing with his hands in the pockets of his red jacket. Since he was looking out onto the water, I saw spelled out across the back of his jacket in white on top of a big football.
When I got to within a few yards and safely out of earshot from the house, I called out, "I can't wait to hear the story."
Coop didn't turn around. He kept staring out over the dark water as he said, "The story has only begun."
I stopped walking. Something about his voice bothered me. He sounded strangely intense, which wasn't like him.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "Where have you been?"
"It's not about the past, it's about the journey we're about to take."
Journey. The hair went up on the back of my neck. Grave-digger had talked about a journey.
150
"What are you saying, Coop?" I asked tentatively.
"We will walk the road together," he answered.
Coop was freaking me out. What had happened to him while he was missing?
"Hey, are you okay?"
"I will be," he answered. "Once the poleax is returned."
"The what?"
"It is mine. It will be returned," he said flatly. "And the journey can finally begin."
I had had enough. Cooper was jerking me around and it wasn't funny.
"Stop with the riddles. What journey are you talking about?"
I stepped forward, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. What I saw made my heart freeze. It wasn't Cooper. Everything about the guy who stood inches from me looked exactly like my friend, except for his face. It was the face of Gravedigger.
"The journey along the Morpheus Road, of course," he said, his mouth breaking into a ghoulish grin. I could see the cracks in his bone-white teeth. His voice had already changed from that of Cooper's to the deep growl I had heard earlier. I stumbled backward but couldn't take my eyes off the hideous creature. It was Cooper's hair and body and clothes, but the face was the pale, skeletal ghoul of my imagination. Though his eyes were empty sockets, I knew they were focused directly on my soul.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I turned to run back along the dock, but when I whipped around, I was confronted by Gravedigger again. He was now behind me. Or in front of me. I didn't know how he was able to do that and I didn't care, because all I could see was that he had also changed his appearance. He wore the long black clo
ak and wide-brimmed black hat, which was pulled low
151
over his empty eyes. I glanced quickly back over my shoulder. The Cooper-Digger wasn't there anymore.
One other thing: Gravedigger was holding his silver pick.
"We will walk the road together," he bellowed in that inhuman voice.
I backed away. "I. . . I'm not going anywhere with you."
Gravedigger pulled the silver pick off his shoulder and swung it like a batter in the on-deck circle. "But you will," he hissed. "There will be no other road to take . . . once you die." He punctuated his words with a swing of his pick.
That was all I needed to hear. Hallucination or not, I had crossed a line into a place I didn't want to be. I was rocked out of panic mode straight into survival gear. I turned and took off running toward the end of the dock. Without hesitation I dove headfirst into the water and swam with everything I had, straight for the wooden float. My hope was that imaginary ghouls couldn't swim. I reached the float in seconds and pulled myself onto the deck. Looking back, I saw the dock was empty. The thing was gone. It wasn't onshore, either. Where did he go? Based on how quickly he had moved away from the house and around me on the dock, he could be anywhere.
I fought to catch my breath and calm down. Was it over? I was prepared to spend the entire night on that float and not set foot back onshore until the sun was up and the Foleys were out in the yard, yelling at me to stop acting crazy and swim back for breakfast. I held my breath and listened. Nothing was in the water. The only sound I heard was the wind in the trees and the lapping of the water against the float. I relaxed. The episode was over. I turned to move to the center of the raft . . . and came face-to-face with
Grave-digger.
"You are the source," he said, and swung his pick at me. "You must walk the road."
152
This time he wasn't warming up. He was trying to kill me. I flung myself backward without looking and felt the sharp breeze of the pick as it barely missed me. I hit the water headfirst. It was dark and I was totally disoriented. I scrambled to get my head above water while pushing away from the float, though I wasn't sure if I was swimming up or down. Seconds later my head broke the surface and I spun around to get my bearings. I was too close to the float. One swing of that pick and he'd get me. I kicked and stroked backward to get some distance. After a few desperate seconds I looked back to see the float was empty. Gravedigger was gone. But to where? I stopped and treaded water, constantly glancing around for fear that Gravedigger would swim up to me. I had to get out of there. I scanned the shore, thinking I should swim away from the house to a place in the woods where I could hide. I decided to swim left, though it really didn't matter. I was reaching out of the water to begin pulling myself along, when I felt it. A tug on my ankle. Something was under the water.
"No!" I cried in a panic, and kicked to get away.
The first tug was a warning. The second was serious. A bony hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me under. I barely had time to hold my breath before I was jerked below the surface and back into the dark. I kicked desperately with my free leg to get my foot loose. I got a solid shot on the arm and the hand released. Quickly I shot back to the surface and swam like mad. As scary as it was facing this ghost onshore, dealing with him in dark water was absolutely terrifying. I had to get to shore ... or drown. I took one stroke when something surfaced directly in front of me. Something white. My first ridiculous thought was that it was a soccer ball. It wasn't. The skull-like head of Grave-digger broke the surface and stared me down.
I stopped moving. It was useless. I felt a strong hand grab the front of my sweatshirt.
153
"We will travel the road together," he screeched, and pulled me under.
I was surrounded by nothing. And water. I struggled to free myself from the force that was pulling me down, but Gravedigger was ready for me this time. His grip was strong. I opened my eyes to see his hideous white face, inches from mine. Even in the murky water I could see that he was smiling. I pulled at his bony hands to loosen his grip, but he was too strong. It was like trying to pry open a vise. I kicked up with my knee, hoping to score a shot on something critical. . . assuming ghouls had critical things. It didn't matter. My legs got tangled in his and I couldn't put any force behind it.
My lungs hurt. I don't know how long I was down there, but I knew I couldn't last much longer. Fighting only got me closer to the end. All I wanted to do was breathe in. The pain was so intense that I was ready to end it by sucking in water. At least there would be relief and it would be over. I grew dizzy and was seconds from opening my mouth to let my lungs fill with water, when Gravedigger released his grip and flew away from me. He actually shot backward in the water as if being pulled from behind. He didn't kick or stroke, he just floated away . . . and disappeared.
I felt the collar of my shirt being grabbed, and my nanosecond of relief ended. I figured Gravedigger had somehow whipped around behind me again and was going to pull me backward and down to my death. I relaxed. There was no more fight in me. I was pulled by my collar but not deeper. My head broke the surface and though I was nearly unconscious, I instinctively gulped air. I didn't know what was happening and didn't care. I lifted my chin and sucked in oxygen. My head cleared quickly and I realized I was still being held by the collar. I spun around, breaking the
154
ghoul's grasp, and was ready to fight him off. . . when I saw that it wasn't him. It was Sydney.
"Relax," she ordered, breathing hard herself as she treaded water.
I wasn't sure it was even her after what had happened with Cooper. Or what I thought was Cooper. I pushed back and kicked away to keep my distance from her.
"What are you doing?" she yelled. "Calm down!"
"Stay away from me," I commanded.
"Okay, okay," she said calmly. "I'm not moving."
The two of us treaded water a few yards apart. My brain was scrambled. I guess a near-death experience will do that.
"Let's swim in, okay?" Sydney said calmly. "Can you swim?"
"Is it you?" I asked.
"Who else would it be?"
I didn't answer that.
"It's Sydney," she added. "Don't you recognize me?"
My head had cleared enough to realize she was talking to me slowly as if I was an unbalanced, crazy person, which was smart because I was an unbalanced, crazy person.
"Is it really you?" I asked.
"Yes, and I'm getting tired and cold. Can we swim in?"
That sounded exactly like Sydney. She was no illusion. I nodded and the two of us went for shore. A few seconds later I crawled up out of the water and collapsed onto the grass. It took a couple of minutes for me to catch my breath. When I opened my eyes, I saw Sydney sitting next to me, dripping wet in her plaid pajama bottoms and T-shirt. She looked at me with wide eyes like she didn't know what was going to happen next.
"Are you all right?" she asked. (There was that idiotic question again.)
I was far from all right, but I think she was asking
155
specifically if I would survive the next minute. I nodded.
She seemed shaken. It took a lot to shake Sydney.
"Did you see?" I asked softly.
"I saw you splashing around in the water," she said. "What's the deal?"
I had my answer. All she saw was a guy in the water, drowning. One guy. Me. It was more proof that everything I'd seen was happening inside my head.
"Doesn't matter," I answered. "I was in trouble and you saved me. Thank you."
"You weren't, like, trying to hurt yourself, were you?"
Sydney was trying to understand. I'll give her that much.
"No."
"You were thrashing around like . . . like Mikey did this morning. Like you were fighting something."
I'd almost forgotten about Mikey. I shrugged. I couldn't speak for him. I didn't know why he flipped. I sat up and looked out onto the water, which now looked
calm and serene.
"Did you see that guy again?" she asked. "Gravedigger?"
I shot Sydney a look. She remembered what I had told her the night before. She was listening.
"Yes," I said. Why lie? She didn't believe me anyway. "I know it's stupid. I don't believe a character I created has somehow come to life and is trying to kill me. It may not be real, but to me it is, and maybe that's as bad as if it were really happening. I could have drowned. If you hadn't saved me, I would have. So . . . thank you."
Sydney nodded.
"There's something seriously wrong with me," I added. "I fought it for a while, but there's nothing I can do. When my dad gets home, I'm going to tell him everything and get help. I just hope I don't hurt myself before then."
156
I waited for Sydney to take me apart. Showing vulnerability to somebody like her was like throwing chum into shark-infested waters. She stared at the ground, picking at grass. I thought she was trying to come up with the perfect, skewering insult that would finish the job Gravedigger had started.
"I think you're wrong," she finally said.
"About what?"
"About what you've been seeing."
"Really?" I said skeptically and with a little anger. "How do you explain it?"
I couldn't wait to hear her theory. I knew she would somehow turn it around so that it was all some game that Cooper had a hand in. That's how her mind worked. It ticked me off. Here I had opened myself up and she was more than willing to ridicule me.
"I can't," she said. "But I saw what happened to Mikey. That wasn't normal. And I still don't know how you knew about my tattoo."
"You think this is some prank conspiracy thing, don't you?" I said with impatience.