Grady felt as cold as when the swimmer had walked along the side of the pool and passed through him.
"What did you say your name was?" the voice demanded. "Grady? And you claim you're the police chief over in – What the hell is this? A sick joke?"
"No. If there'd been another way to… I'm sorry for intruding. What you've told me is important. Thank you."
Despite the rising sun, Grady needed his headlights to drive up the bumpy, zigzagging lane through the shadowy trees to the compound. Finally at the top, he stared toward an eerie mist that rose off the swimming pool, spreading around it. Faint sunlight revealed the pines and maples on the dusky ridges that flanked the compound, but the compound itself was completely enshrouded. Grady's headlights glinted off the thick, almost crystalline haze.
He got out of his police car and nearly bumped into the chainlink fence before he saw it. After fumbling to unlock the gate, he swung it open. The silence around him remained as oppressive as the day before, so much so that when he stepped onto gravel, the crunch startled him. The cold mist dampened his clothes and beaded on his hackled skin.
I ought to turn around and drive back to town, he thought. This is crazy. What am I doing here?
He wished that he'd brought a flashlight. As he moved through it, the mist became denser. It seemed unnatural. Too thick. Too…
Be careful, he warned himself. You're letting your imagination get control of you. Mist often rises from swimming pools at dawn. It's something to do with the change in temperature. There's nothing unusual about…
Grady faltered, suddenly realizing that without a visible object to aim toward, he might lose his bearings and wander in a circle. He felt disoriented. He braved another step and flinched as he bumped against the waist-high, wooden fence that bordered the swimming pool.
At the same time, he flinched for another reason. Because something passed from left to right before him beyond the fence: the shadow of what seemed to be a man. The shadow's motion caused the mist to swirl. Then the shadow disappeared. The mist became still again.
When Grady heard a splash from the pool, he stepped back. The splash was followed by the echoing strokes of a powerful swimmer. Grady froze, paralyzed by conflicting impulses.
To charge through the gate and confront the swimmer.
(But he'd done that yesterday, and he was terrified that the swimmer would again pass through him.)
To stay where he was and shout to demand an explanation.
(But he'd done that yesterday as well, with no effect, and anyway if Grady tried to shout, he was certain that the noise from his mouth would be a shriek.)
To pivot and scramble desperately from the pool, frantic to find his way back through the gloom to the cruiser.
(But)
Grady heard a further splash. Someone else diving into the water. With increasing dismay, he saw another shadow – no, two! – pass through the haze beyond the fence. A woman, it seemed. And a child.
Grady screamed, swung, and recoiled as a further shadow appeared in the mist, this one approaching from the direction of the bunkhouse.
"No!" He saw three more shadows – two women and a girl – approach from the haze-obscured kitchen. He lurched sideways to avoid them and found himself confronted by still another shadow, this one coming from the direction of the shrine. Grady's impetus was so forceful that he couldn't stop. He and the shadow converged. He lunged through the shadow, unbearably chilled, and despite the density of the mist, he managed to see the shadow's face. It was Brian Roth.
Grady's eyes fluttered. Something small inched across his brow, making his skin itch. A fly, he realized. He pawed it away, then opened his eyes completely. The stark sun was directly above him. He was on his back, sprawled on the gravel near the swimming pool.
As his consciousness focused, he managed to sit, peering around him, tense, expecting to be confronted by ghosts.
But all he saw was the silence-smothered compound.
He glanced at his watch. Almost noon? Dear Lord, I've been lying here for…
Brian!
No! I couldn't have seen him!
Terrified, he squirmed to his feet. His vision blurred, then focused again. In place of the dampness from the mist, his skin was now clammy from sweat, his stained uniform clinging to him. He managed to straighten, then scanned the otherwise deserted compound.
I've lost my mind.
I'm having a nervous breakdown.
He stared at his police car. His staff would be wondering where he was. They'd have tried to get in touch with him. He had to let them know that he was all right. More important, he had to think of an acceptable reason for not having gone to the office, for not having responded to their calls. He couldn't let them know how out of control he was.
But as he reached the cruiser, about to lean in and grab the two-way radio microphone, he stiffened, hearing the jolt of a vehicle as it struggled up the bumpy lane. Pivoting, he saw that the vehicle belonged to the state police, that it veered from the trees to stop beside his car, and that Jeff Clauson got out, glanced solemnly around, then proceeded somberly toward him.
"Ben."
"Jeff."
The exchange was awkward.
"You've got a lot of people worried about you," Clauson said.
"I'm afraid the situation's difficult. I was just about to – "
"Your uniform. What have you been doing, sleeping in a ditch?"
"It's hard to explain."
"I bet. All the same, why not give it a try?"
"How'd you know I'd be here?"
Clauson studied him. "Process of elimination. After a while, the more I thought about it, the more this seemed the most logical place."
"Why you? How come you're out looking for me?"
"When your dispatcher kept failing to reach you, when she became concerned enough, she contacted all your friends. I'll say it again. You've got a lot of people worried about you, Ben. Why didn't you check in?"
"The truth is…"
"Sure. Why not? The truth would be refreshing."
"I…"
"Yes? Go on, Ben. The truth."
"I passed out."
"The note Brian left suggested you've been drinking a lot. But he's not the only one who noticed. When I phoned you at night, your voice was – "
"This morning had nothing to do with alcohol. I came up here before I was due at work so I could look around and decide if I was going to keep this place. Then everything caught up to me. I passed out. Over there by the pool."
Grady turned and pointed.
What he saw demanded that he use every remnant of his remaining willpower not to react. The area around the pool was crowded with people: six children including Brian's twins; the two young men who'd been killed in Vietnam; twelve adults, ten of whom Grady didn't recognize, although two were Brian and Betsy.
I'll bet the five couples I don't recognize are the people who died in that traffic accident last Thursday, Grady thought with a chill.
The group was having a barbecue, eating, talking, laughing, although the scene was weirdly silent, no sounds escaping from their mouths.
Grady's cheeks felt numb. His body shook. He managed not to whimper.
I really ought to be congratulated, he thought. I'm seeing ghosts, and I'm not gibbering.
Clauson looked toward the pool but showed no reaction.
Grady tensed with understanding. "Jeff, do you notice anything unusual?"
"What do you mean?"
Grady was amazed that he repeated almost exactly what Ida Roth had said that Brian had said when he'd brought her to the camp. "Do you feel anything different, anything special, anything that reminds you of… that makes you feel close to Brian and Betsy?"