Blackwater Lights (5 page)

A bell dinged.

Ellen’s head snapped around. “Shoot. That was fast.” She stood up and grabbed the coffeepot. “How about a piece of pie? It’s on me.”

“Tell you what. I’ll come by for breakfast again. Maybe your father will remember something. And I promised William ten bucks. Where is he?”

Another ding—harder.

She rolled her eyes. She was pretty when she smiled. “He’s with my ex until six. But he left something for you. I’ll be right back.”

She carried plates to another table and returned with a half-inch-thick manuscript in a plastic binder. “Here you go. It really made him happy that you said you’d read it.”

Ray held William’s book. He had barely been able to get his high school students to produce three double-spaced pages, and this kid was cranking out what must have been fifty pages of handwritten copy. “Here’s his ten bucks. I’ll pay full price.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ellen said.

“No, he deserves it.” He pressed the money into her palm. “Maybe it will inspire him to keep it up.”

“Well, good luck on finding your summer camp.”

“Let me know if you hear anything. It’s really important to me.”

“I will. So, you’ll be coming by again?”

“I can’t imagine there’s better eating than here.”

She blew air through her lips. “Sadly, you’re probably right.”

The Blackwater Public Library was small, brightly lit, and unoccupied. Ray waited at the main desk, and a few minutes later the bathroom door opened and a thin, bearded man stepped out. He wore khaki pants and an oxford shirt.

“Oh, sorry. Were you here long?” His accent wasn’t nearly as heavy as Ellen’s. He looked fortyish, and his dark beard was neatly trimmed. He wiped his eyeglasses on his shirt.

Ray shook his head. “Nope. Just got here.”

The librarian clasped his hands and smiled. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Yeah. Couple of questions.” Good thing there was no one else around. “Historical stuff. About Blackwater.”

The librarian held up his index finger. He pulled a glossy paperback from beneath the circulation desk. “
Blackwater: A History
. My PhD project. From before the Civil War to, oh, 1993 or so.”

Ray took the book. The cover was a black-and-white photo of a two-story house, looking like the peeling clapboard structure was held together by glue. A man in overalls stood next to the house, his face washed out and almost featureless.

The librarian held out his hand. “Denny Huffington.”

Ray shook his hand. “Ray Simon.”

Denny scratched his neck. “Is there a particular era you’re interested in? Civil War?”

“No. More contemporary.”

“Ah.” He looked dejected.

“I really have two questions, I guess,” Ray said. “Mainly I want to find out the name of a camp I went to when I was a kid. Somewhere nearby.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. And the other?”

“The other is … folklore, I guess. Strange stories. Weird stories.”

Denny’s smile spread. “You mean Forteana?”

Ray stared.

“Forteana, from the writings of Charles Fort. Rains of blood and frogs, sea monsters, ghosts. Spontaneous human combustion. Sasquatch. Is that what you’re interested in?”

“Well, yeah.”

Denny laughed. “Now that’s synchronistic. I have a blog—
Odd West Virginia
—that you might have heard of.”

Ray shook his head.

“Of course not. Not many people have. But aside from history, I specialize in the strange and the obscure.”

“Well, Denny, I guess you’re exactly the person I was looking for.”

Denny bowed. “Glad to be of service. You’re the first person in weeks who hasn’t asked for large-print Nora Roberts or Dan Brown.” He paused. “Not that I have anything against either of them.”

Ray waved his hands. “Don’t worry. I’m more of a Steinbeck guy. Mark Twain and Faulkner. Old standbys.”

Denny mimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Good man. Glad to hear it. I sometimes feel like I’m running an orphanage for unread books. It’s nice when I get real questions. But the strange stuff … that’s something I could
really
go on about. I guess you’ve figured that out. Blackwater is actually a hot spot of unusual activity. The Discovery Channel was here about ten years ago—did you see that? The way the road is built on the path of a mythical snake? Is that why you’re here? In town, I mean?”

“No. But the camp, that’s important to me. Just for personal reasons—my own history. I want to find out more about it. That’s what I’m most interested in.”

“Well, let’s see what we can find.”

An hour later, they had turned up nothing.

“I’m sorry, Ray. You sure it wasn’t the Presbyterian church campground?”

“No. This was a huge place. Big tents. And buildings. Almost like a barracks of some kind.”

Denny shook his head. “Sounds military. But West Virginia has never had a military base. Closest thing would be the National Guard training grounds, but that’s about four hours from here.”

“No, I’m sure it was here in Blackwater. Or nearby.”

Denny looked at his watch. “Hey, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to close up now. But I’ll ask around. I’ll make some calls.” He handed Ray his card. “My blog address is on the back. And here’s my book.”

“Do I have to sign it out?”

Denny laughed. “No, of course not. It’s my gift to you. A signed copy, too.”

“No, I can’t—let me pay for it.”

“Listen, you might be the third person to actually read it. One was my advisor and the other was my mom, and I’m pretty sure she lied and just skimmed for the exciting parts about murders and famous love affairs. Please. It gives me pleasure to know you might find it of interest. If not, maybe it will help you fall asleep. You can always sell it on eBay for a quarter. If you’re lucky.”

Ray thanked him.

Denny’s face grew serious. “You doing anything right now? You want to have a coffee or something? Or a drink? It will only take me about fifteen minutes to get out of here. And we could talk about the other stuff.”

“I wish I could.” He did, in fact, but his head ached from all the fruitless digging and the lack of sleep. “But I’ll stop by. In the next day or two.”

“Absolutely. I’m here almost every day. I’m sure we’ll find your camp.”

Ray tossed the book in the passenger seat. Shit. They’d looked at maps, local newspaper archives, and property records, and they’d searched online. Nothing he could relate to the fuzzy
imagery from the dreams—the camp with its enormous barracks, the machines, the ever-present doctors, and the terrible but unknowable things that happened in the woods.

Kevin had better get home soon. Knowing Kevin had answers was driving him nuts. And now he had another day or two to kill, knowing the answer was somewhere nearby. It wasn’t just unfair, it was torture.

The road clung to the side of a mountain, snaking along the edge of a steep crevasse. Ray hunched forward in the seat, certain that at any moment he was going to rocket over the flimsy guardrail to his death. He wasn’t used to real darkness—there was no such thing in the city, with its grids of streetlights and always-on signs and streams of headlights. The car’s high beams sliced the blackness, insects streaking through the cones of light like sparks from a fire. Damn, there were a lot of bugs out here.

He turned at the address marker and came to an open gate. The property was enclosed by a high iron fence. A camera on one of the columns blinked red like a curious, disembodied eye. Lily had told him to look for a gate, which he had pictured as rusty and swinging on squeaky hinges. Not a ten-foot-tall gate and camera security system.

The Corolla rolled down the tree-lined asphalt drive and slowed as he approached the end of the driveway. A wall of bushes and grasses lined the circular turnaround at the end, and until he drove past them, he didn’t notice how they concealed a line of enormous SUVs, luxury cars, and two shiny black limousines. Ray parked in the shadows and checked himself in the mirror. At least he had shaved.

The house was enormous and almost featureless, with a few windows on the upper floor. Lisa had studied architecture, and this looked like a home he’d see on the cover of one of her glossy magazines, all sharp lines and concrete. The lawn was immaculately landscaped, lush with spiky grasses and bright flowers. Two marble statues guarded the door, a monkey and a bull. The monkey’s teeth were bared, and the bull had its head against the ground and one hoof bent at an angle. Ray rang the doorbell. Midnight. He looked down at his jeans and hiking boots. Christ. He had worried about being
over
dressed.

The door opened. Thumping bass notes rolled out.

Lily was wearing a tight, sparkly T-shirt and a short black skirt. “I knew you’d come.” She reached for his hand and pulled him through the doorway. The air in the dark entry was thick with pungent incense. Lily hugged him, and her breasts—
no bra, sweet Jesus
—pressed against his chest.

Bodies moved in the smoky room beyond, illuminated by scores of candles. The deep pounding music shook the floor.

Lily’s pupils were enormous, almost obscuring the emerald irises. “Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand. “You’ve got some serious catching up to do, boy. Let’s get you a drink.”

It was a far cry from the sedate gatherings he was used to, or even the booze- and pot-fueled dinner parties of Lisa’s New York friends. Lily led Ray past a fat, balding, middle-aged man lying facedown and naked in a pile of satin pillows. A heavy gold chain as thick as Ray’s thumb wrapped around the man’s thick neck and coiled on the pillow against his face. Two curvy blondes, both in pink kimonos, ran their hands up and down his oily, hairy back. He looked up at Ray, laughed gruffly, and said something—it sounded Russian—that made them both giggle.

She pulled him through another candlelit room. Two young men with military buzz cuts sat straight-backed against the wall, faces blank, full drinks in hand. They stared empty-eyed into the distance. Hammered. Another man, naked, with a long gray beard and his face painted yellow and pink, stood in the center of the room, wrapped in gauzy red fabric, his eyes closed. He murmured to himself and swayed, lost in concentration.

Oh, man, what have I gotten myself into now?

Lily got them drinks and led him into a long, quieter room lined with paintings and sculptures.

“Nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ray said. He lifted his drink to his lips. Pomegranate. And something vegetal and bitter. Tasty, though.

She smiled at him. “We can talk here. I feel like there’s so much we need to talk about.”

He nodded. She was sweating, lightly, and he could smell it underneath her perfume.

“I haven’t met anyone like you in a long time. I’m sorry if that sounds weird.”

“No, no,” he said.

“But it’s true. You’re interesting—I knew that when I first saw you. You have a special energy about you.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I’m a very good judge of character.” Her gaze drifted from Ray and her face brightened. “There’s Crawford.” She walked over to a tall, long-haired man silhouetted in the doorway. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered something in his ear.

A twinge of instantly shameful jealousy.

Crawford walked across the room, his eyes catching the candlelight. “Hello, Ray,” he said, extending his hand. The nail of his little finger was longer than the others and curved. “So very nice to meet you. Lily wanted to introduce us.”

Ray shook his hand. Cold and damp. Skin milky white, like Lily’s. His unnaturally large eyes dominated his face, and his long black hair, woven with strands of gray, hung over his shoulders.

“Hi. Thanks for … having me.”

“It’s a great night, Ray. A beautiful night.” His pupils were dilated, too, like hers.

“Yes,” Lily echoed. “This is a
very
special night.”

Ray nodded slowly.

“Do you want to roll with us, Ray?” Crawford asked.

Ray looked to Lily. “Roll?”

“Ecstasy,” Crawford said. “A special treat for my guests. I like to make sure everyone has the best time possible at my gatherings. Keeps the tribes happy.”

Lily nudged him. “Come on, Ray,” she said. “Have some fun. The night is young.”

Ray hesitated. He’d taken Ecstasy once, in his last year of college, and it had been glorious—like a year’s worth of therapy rolled into one night of music, fueled by plenty of joints and a sexless but intensely sensual group massage. It hadn’t been weird or hallucinogenic for the most part, unlike his one and only LSD trip with Kevin, just warm and uplifting and fun.

Lily had invited him, and it seemed, if he played his cards right, that he could spend the night with her. And maybe the only way he could endure the weirdness of Crawford’s Felliniesque circus would be to take the drug, let it loosen him up and take the edge off. He hadn’t done anything stronger than pot in over twenty years, but it didn’t seem like he had much choice if he wanted to have a chance of seeing what she looked like beneath that skirt and glittery top.

Lily pouted.

“Sure, what the fuck,” he said.