“Come on. You know we’re not going to be coming up here again. This is our only chance.” He bent down, picked something up out of the dirt. “Here. I got a rock.”
Adam took a deep breath, avoided looking at the succulents hanging over the cave entrance. “Ten minutes,” he agreed. He looked at Dan. “It’s a long walk down.”
The Indian boy didn’t say a word, started picking up his own rocks.
“Did you ever take a picture of the bathhouse?” Dan asked a few moments later.
Scott paused for a moment, as if deciding what to say. “Yeah,” he admitted finally.
Adam looked at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Another pause. “The pictures turned out… weird.”
“Weird?”
“There were people in them. Fat old Russians taking a steam bath. The bathhouse looked all new, and…” He trailed off. “I think I took pictures of the past, pictures of something that happened before.”
Adam’s mouth was dry again. “What did you do with them? Did you send them off to the Enquirer?”
“I threw them away. Destroyed them, actually. In the garbage disposal. They were… starting to change.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dan demanded.
“I don’t know,” Scott admitted.
“That’s it,” Adam announced. “I’m going.”
“You said ten minutes.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Just wait. You don’t want to go down by yourself.”
Adam stopped. He was right.
“Besides, I have the flashlight.”
Adam glared at his friend.
Dan cleared his throat. “Don’t you think there’s been a lot of… scary stuff going on lately?”
Scott snorted. “There’s always scary stuff. You know this town.”
“But doesn’t it seem more… active?”
The two of them shared a look, and Adam glanced from one to the other. “What’s that about?” he said.
Dan shook his head. “Nothing.”
The look again.
“Tell me.”
Scott moved closer. “There are a lot of people who are saying it’s your fault. Not you personally. I mean your family.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think it’s an anti-Molokan thing.” Dan shrugged. “It’s a rumor.”
Adam backed up, his heart leaping into his throat. “You guys brought me up here to kill me! You’re going to push me off the cliff!”
Scott blinked, genuinely startled, then burst out laughing. Dan started laughing, too.
“You’re… not?” Adam asked hopefully.
“Hell no!” Scott could barely get the words out. “Where’d you come up with a loony idea like that?”
“It’s not that loony,” he said.
His friends’ laugher trailed off. “No,” Dan said. “I guess it’s not. Not these days.”
Scott punched his shoulder. “Even if you were the cause of it, I wouldn’t rat you out. We’re buds, bud. And any fan of Spiderman is a friend of mine.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dan said. “We know that.”
“Then why’s—”
“Who the fuck knows?” Scott shook his head. “Most people are dipshits.”
Adam thought he heard a rustle behind him, and he picked up the flashlight and shone it around the clearing, but there was nothing there. Behind the succulents, he could see the blackness of the cave.
“Did you hear that?”
The other two nodded.
“What do you think it was?”
Dan’s voice was quiet again. “My people call them Na-ta-whay. Uninvited guests.”
“Ghosts?”
“Some of them. Demons mostly, though. My father says they’re homeless and they’re looking for a place to stay, and sometimes they invite themselves over to someone’s house or a store or a building.”
Scott walked back over to the edge. “I thought it was the mine that attracted them.”
“That too.”
“You need to get your stories straight.”
Adam shivered. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Wait a minute!” Scott was looking over the edge of the sandstone wall. “Cars! Two of them!”
“Places!” Dan said, hurrying over and picking up some rocks.
This was wrong, Adam thought. But it was also cool. And exciting. And he picked up a rock of his own and looked over the edge at the highway below. Off to the right, coming up the road toward the diner, he could see two sets of headlights.
“On my count,” Scott said.
The vehicles drew closer, closer.
“Heave ’em!”
Adam threw his rock, and was filled simultaneously with horror and elation as he saw it tumble into the darkness, heard it hit, heard the shatter of glass, the thunk of metal, and the squealing of tires as the driver of the first car slammed on his brakes and jackknifed into the opposite lane. Behind him, the other driver swerved to miss the first vehicle, and one of the other rocks hit his car.
The three of them ducked behind the wall, crouching on the dirt. Scott was giggling, but Dan was silent, and Adam assumed that the other boy already felt guilty about what they’d just done. Adam’s own heart was pounding so loud that even the noises right next to him sounded muffled. He had not expected there to be an accident. He’d known what they were planning to do, of course, but somehow the outcome of it had been softened in his brain. His focus had been on the action rather than the result.
But he had to admit that there was something vaguely gratifying about the sneak attack. His mind told him that it was in the same category as drive-by shootings or other acts of random violence, that he was no better than the vandals who had spray-painted graffiti all over his house. But emotionally it was a kick, and he’d gotten from it the same sort of thrill that he got from a roller-coaster ride, the thrill of the forbidden and dangerous.
Scott ventured a peek over the side, quickly ducked back down. “They’re looking up here,” he said.
Dan’s voice was worried. “Did they see you?”
“No. It’s too dark.”
Adam licked his lips. “I hope they don’t come up here.”
“They’ll never find the path.”
“But how’ll we get down?”
“We’ll wait ’til they’re gone.”
There was a loud sound behind them, and Adam stood, turned—
And a policeman grabbed his arm.
Adam looked up into a cold, hard face, and his heart stopped as he heard a deep, grave voice intone, “You’re under arrest.”
2
Julia was in the passenger seat next to him, crying, and Gregory wanted to hit her. They were both wearing today’s wrinkled clothes that they’d grabbed from the floor after being awakened by the phone call. He was angry at Adam and annoyed at being roused from sleep, but she was devastated, taking it personally, taking it hard, wailing that it was her fault, that she’d been a poor mother.
Her whining irritated him, and he was tempted to shout out, “Yes! It’s your fault! You are a poor mother!” But he gripped the steering wheel tighter, gritted his teeth, and said nothing.
Her sobs had been reduced to sniffles by the time they reached the police station and got out of the van.
They’d been given no details over the phone, had been told merely that their son had been arrested for malicious mischief, but the sergeant behind the desk who made them sign the release papers said that Adam and two friends had been up at the old lookout above the highway near the diner, throwing rocks at cars. One car had a dented trunk, and another had a cracked front windshield, a shattered rear windshield, and a damaged hood.
The station lobby was empty save for them. There was no sign of the car owners, and obviously the other boys’ parents had not yet arrived.