He suddenly felt very alone. He knew it wasn’t just his mother, but Bear’s disappearance that was making him feel this way. But knowing that didn’t help. He pulled a flashlight out of his desk drawer and flicked it on and off three times, aiming it at Billy’s house. They had been doing this for years, since they realized their bedrooms faced each other. They had both learned Morse code and often stayed up well into the night “talking.” He waited a few seconds and repeated the signal. No response. Billy was probably downstairs with his family, watching television in the living room. It only made Denny feel worse to picture Billy in such a normal setting while he sat by himself in the dark. The alarm clock by his bed told him it was almost 11:00 PM. Outside his window, the moon was hanging low over the lake, illuminating the area clearly. Sudden movement caught his eye. He leaned forward trying to focus on the shoreline. He could make out the ripples spreading out from the shore, but could see no further movement. He watched for a few minutes but the water was motionless now. He crawled into bed; the breeze from the fan was now blowing directly on him, giving him a chill and sending him under the sheets to get comfortable.
He still didn’t feel tired and grabbed a book he’d taken out of the library. He lay in bed and started reading where he had left off the other night. The book was a factual account of the witchcraft hysteria that had swept Salem in 1692 and resulted in the execution of nineteen people, eighteen by hanging and one pressed to death. Denny was appalled that what he was reading had really happened. How could these people have done this? Many of the executed were done so based on the accusation of children, without any substantial evidence. As engrossed in the reading as he was, Denny began to doze and the book slipped face-down on his chest.
As he drifted off to sleep the fan made a strange screeching noise, then stopped. Denny waited and heard it again, above the normal hum of the fan. He realized the sound came from outside, not from the fan. The screeching stopped again. Denny waited but this time the sound did not return. He thought about getting up to see if he could see anything, maybe signal Billy. If it had come from down toward the lake he might have heard it too.
The thought came on him, probably out of loneliness and worry: what if it was Bear? The urge to go out and look for his dog was overwhelming. He fought it, knowing it was unlikely, knowing Bear was probably gone. He felt the sting of tears, felt empty. He decided to listen for a few more minutes. No more sound came and the constant hum of the fan lulled Denny back to sleep. If he had gotten up to take a look, he would have seen a light blinking frantically from Billy’s bedroom window.
Denny opened his eyes to find himself staring up not at his ceiling but at the faces of his father and brother. They were both dressed in strange black coats and white shirts. Denny felt his breath stick in his chest at the sight of them. In a dark corner of his mind was the knowledge that this was a dream but he could not find that now. “Dad, Jimmy,” he gasped, “why are you dressed like that?”
They both stared down at him, scowling. Then they bent down. Denny thought they were reaching to help him up but when they stood, they each held a large rock. Suddenly Denny realized why he was having such trouble catching his breath. His gaze drifted from the faces of his family to his own chest. On top of him was a large rough-hewn board, covered with more rocks like the ones his father and Jimmy now held. For a fleeting moment Denny thought they were pulling the rocks off of him until they silently reached down and placed the rocks they were holding on the existing pile. He let out a groan as more air was squeezed out of his lungs and he was unable to draw any more in. “Why?” he squealed. But they were already bending over and placing more rocks on him, moving synchronously. The next time they stood up, it was no longer his dad and Jimmy; it was Dale and Cody Crawford. Neither spoke or wavered their gaze from him as they labored to pile the rocks higher and higher, heavier and heavier. Denny heard the last puff of air wheeze from his body as the world began to close in on him. Through his blurring vision only the growing heap of rocks was visible, and then it too grayed out.
Denny awoke abruptly, gasping for air. He felt something on his chest and struggled to get hold of it and toss it away. He sat up in bed trying to catch his breath, soaked in his own sweat, twisted up tightly in damp sheets. He glanced across the room at the book he had just thrown. The vividness of the dream came back to him and he began to shiver. He fixed the sheet and pulled it tightly around him, unable to shake the chill he felt despite the sweltering, humid air. He thought of getting up to change into pajamas and shut out the light but the thought of falling back asleep terrified him. He glanced at the clock and heaved a sigh of relief. The sun would be up in another hour or so. Denny remained awake until it did, only then allowing himself to drift back to sleep.
(19)
Later that night Paul settled into a chair on McCarthy’s back porch to reflect on the evening. The years had melted away as they talked until it seemed like Paul had only been gone for seventeen days instead of years. Joe’s wife, Tina, was charming and his son was as bright and witty as Joe had been at that age. His daughter was harder to figure out. At times she seemed genuinely interested in Paul’s stories of his time in prison but then she would come out with a snide remark and make Paul wonder if he imagined her interest. Julie had caused a few uncomfortable moments. It was clear there was tension between her and her parents. She wasn’t outwardly rude or disrespectful, really, just defiant. Mercifully, when she was picked up by Dale Crawford, he didn’t come in but only beeped his horn and revved the engine of his Mustang impatiently.
Paul had stayed long after Tina and Billy had gone to bed, talking deep into the night with Joe. Eventually the conversation wound its way around to the summer of the murders. Joe confessed to spending a lot of time that fall trying to figure out what really happened. He told Paul that he had visited him in the hospital after Crawford found him with the girl. Paul had been heavily sedated, still badly wounded. Joe said Paul was in and out of consciousness, mumbling and raving when he was semi-awake about something in the lake. Joe had put it off as shock from injuries or the drugs. That is, until he saw Paul’s wounds.
According to Joe it was never in the papers and never mentioned at the trial as to the extent of Paul’s injuries. “Christ, Paul, it looked like someone took a cheese grater to you,” Joe recalled, “and your legs were covered with welts, all in a straight line, like huge bee stings. Damnedest thing I ever saw.” Joe had organized a make-shift search party with his buddies under the pretense of finding more bodies. “We searched that lake for weeks and I used some of my college savings to hire divers. I really thought they’d find something.” He told Paul tonight he didn’t mean bodies but something else. When Paul pressed him on what he meant, he changed the subject, a distant look in his eyes. Paul wanted to keep him talking, wanted to tell him about his memories of that last day on the lake and trying to save the girl, but then Julie arrived and she and Joe got into it pretty good. She was drunk, maybe high, too. Paul had said goodnight before it got too ugly and walked home, expecting Dale or Cody, or both Crawfords to be waiting for him. Fortunately his walk back to McCarthy’s was uneventful.
Now as the inky black began to fade to gray, Paul began to wonder. Not that any of his thoughts made any real sense but things were beginning to fit. His memories of that summer, his injuries, his ravings at the hospital, could it all mean something? He was suddenly glad to be far away from the water’s edge. Just the thought of being within reach of the lake sounded ominous to Paul. Within reach? He considered that for a moment when a sudden breeze whispered though the trees in McCarthy’s small yard, murmuring threats instead of promises. Paul shuddered in the clammy heat of dawn and went in the house to a fitful sleep.