So Cold the River (2010) (37 page)

She went to bed after taking her last round of readings, turned off the light, and watched the shadows shift as the moon struggled
for a space amidst the clouds. The water had not worked for her. She’d felt vaguely nauseated since taking it, but she had
seen nothing. A wasted risk. How could she have allowed herself to do such a thing? The water could have poisoned her. Or,
worse, wreaked the sort of havoc it had with Eric Shaw, putting her into the throes of pain and addiction.

Logical as all those thoughts might be, she couldn’t make herself care about them. She’d understood the risk well enough at
the start, but the reward had seemed so tantalizing… and still did.

Maybe it started with his bottle, the bottle he claimed came from Campbell Bradford. Maybe you wouldn’t see anything until
you’d tried some of that. She’d have to call him in the morning, see if he’d gotten the Bradford bottle back yet, hope it
would work with her as it had with him. It seemed worth a try.

She had a sense, though, that it would not work. She could drink his water and still see nothing, still be trapped here in
the present, the lonely present of this empty house, and the ones she’d loved would continue to exist merely as memories and
fading photographs. Why was Eric Shaw allowed to see the past
and she was not? Why was some of the world’s magic presented to only a few and hidden from others?

The visions would not come to her, no matter how much of the water she drank. She would wait for them without reward, just
as she’d waited for the big storm, waited with faith and patience and a confidence of purpose that she would be needed, that
there was a reason she remained here. They’d need her someday; they’d need her knowledge and her trained eye and her shortwave
radio. She had been certain of it.

But maybe not. Maybe it was all a charade, a silly girl’s notion that she’d never let die. Maybe the storm was never coming.

“Enough,” she whispered to herself. “Enough of this, Annie.”

Sleep swept over her then, descending with the speed and weight of a long day filled with unusual activity. She had a dim
realization, just before it took her, of a light whistling sound.

The wind was coming back.

I
’
M GETTING STRONGER
,
and you can’t stop it. All the water in the world ain’t going to hold me back now.

The memory chased Eric up the stairs and back to his room, the words echoing through his brain.

He’d been real again. Without so much as a drop of the Bradford water passing through Eric’s lips, Campbell had been made
real again. This time the vision had been a sort of hybrid, actually—a moment from the past again, yes, but this time Eric
had been a participant as well as a spectator.

What in the hell had happened? What had changed?

He called Kellen. The first thing he said was, “He spoke to me again.”

“Campbell?”

“That’s right.”

“He spoke to you in a vision?”

“Well, it wasn’t on the elevator.”

Quiet again. Eric said, “Sorry, man. I’m just a little—”

“Forget it. What did you see?”

Eric told him about the murder of the nameless man in the mineral bath. He was sitting in the desk chair in the room, hair
still damp, muscles still tight and stomach trembling from what he had seen.

“At first it was like they have been recently, you know, a scene from the past. Only there wasn’t any distance; I was right
there for it. It didn’t involve me, though. Not in the beginning. When it was done, after he’d killed that guy… he turned
and spoke to me. He spoke directly to me and spit tobacco juice into the water, and the tobacco juice was still there after
he was gone. It was real, damn it. It was—”

“Okay,” Kellen said, his voice soft, calming. “I get it.”

“I don’t know why it changed,” Eric said. “I can’t figure out why it would have changed. Maybe because I was in the water,
you know, immersed? But the only times I’ve seen him like that before were after drinking from the original bottle, and that
thing’s nowhere near me now.”

“He said he was getting stronger?”

“Yeah. And that all the water in the world wasn’t going to stop him.”

“So the water’s been helping you.”

“Helping me?”

“You know, protecting you.”

From what?
Eric thought.
What in the hell is going to happen if I stop drinking the water? And what if he wasn’t lying—what if he is getting stronger?
Does that mean the water won’t work anymore?

“You said that was your second vision,” Kellen said. “What was the first?”

So he told him about the Shadrach vision, realizing halfway
through that he’d completely forgotten that he’d been given the name of the boy’s uncle. Somehow such details seemed insignificant
after the scene in the spa.

“Let me ask you something,” Kellen said. “What did Shadrach Hunter look like?”

Eric gave as much detail as he could and then described the bar.

“I’ll be damned,” Kellen said, voice soft. “It’s real. What you’re seeing is real.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve found a few pictures of Shadrach. Very few. Aren’t many that exist anymore. You just described him to a T. And that
bar, that’s one of the old black clubs, the one they called Whiskeytown. That’s Shadrach’s club.”

“I’ve got to find that spring, Kellen.”

“Why?”

“I think it matters,” Eric said. “Check that—I
know
it matters. You were right with what you said earlier. Anne’s water hasn’t been causing problems; it’s been preventing them.
Showing me the truth but keeping Campbell at bay. I need to find the spring that mattered so much to all of them, though.
There’s a point to these visions, Kellen, and they’re all headed in that direction. I need to follow them.”

Kellen was silent.

“Can we find it?” Eric said.

“The uncle’s name is a start, but I don’t know how much of a help it will be. There’s nothing else that we can go on? Nothing
else you saw or heard?”

“No,” Eric said. “Just that his name was Thomas Granger, and—. Wait. There was something else. Campbell told Shadrach he knew
he’d already been out in the hills, looking for the spring. He said it was by the gulf. But what in the hell would that mean?
The only gulfs I know are in the ocean.”

“Wesley Chapel Gulf,” Kellen said. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“What?”

“It’s part of the Lost River. A spot where it rises from underground and fills this weird stone sinkhole and then sinks again.
One side of the sinkhole is like a cliff, must be a hundred feet high at least. I’ve been there once. It’s a very strange
spot. It’s also where Shadrach Hunter’s body was found.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. His body was found in the woods on the ridge above the gulf. That’s why I went out there. I just wanted to see the
place and, like I said, it’s strange.”

“Well, maybe I should see it, too.”

“Yeah,” Kellen said, and there was unconcealed fascination in his voice. “You’re really seeing it, man. The truth. Everybody
thought Campbell murdered Shadrach, but it’s never been proven, you know? What you just saw, with the two of them heading
out there… that’s the truth, Eric.”

I knew it was,
he thought,
and maybe now you’ll see the potential in this.

“You can get me there, then?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Eric said. “First thing.”

“All right,” Kellen said. “But before you hang up, there’s something I wanted to tell you. I talked to Danielle, and she said
the bottle’s getting warmer.”

“Warmer?”

“Yeah. The Bradford bottle, the original. I thought it had warmed up a little during the drive, but she said it’s almost normal
now.”

“Weird,” Eric said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah. I was just thinking that suggests whatever’s happening has a lot to do with its proximity to this place.”

“Maybe,” Eric said, thinking that it had been cold back in Chicago, though, and that was miles farther away. “I’ll call you
in the morning, all right?”

He hung up and went out onto the balcony, stood and looked down over the hotel. The bottle could be affected by its proximity
to this valley. Eric had consumed its contents, and the effects had changed dramatically once he left Chicago and came here.
Perhaps if he left, they would lessen. Stop altogether, even.

But then I wouldn’t be able to see it,
he thought.
I want to keep on seeing it.

He’d stay, then. There was no other choice. He couldn’t leave now.

I’m getting stronger,
Campbell had said.

Never mind that. He was a figment, nothing more. He had no real power in this world.

None.

Josiah waited until midnight to call. Originally, he’d planned to do it later but he was impatient and there was something
about the hour of midnight that attracted him.

Both phones had full charges by then, and he used the second one and didn’t worry about trying to block the number. It was
an anonymous phone, paid for in cash, and even if they could trace it to the gas station where Danny had bought it, Josiah
didn’t much care. Anything coming from that sort of detective work took time, and he wasn’t too worried about long-term plans.
More concerned with getting what was owed to him. He didn’t know what that was yet, but his gut said that Lucas G. Bradford
did.

He called the number that was listed as residence on the paperwork he’d taken from the detective, listened to it ring. After
five rings it kicked over to a message. He disconnected, waited a few minutes, and tried again. This time, it was answered.
A male with a husky voice, speaking low, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Lucas, my boy,” Josiah said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the unfortunate news of your friend in French Lick.”

The silence that followed brought a smile to Josiah’s lips.

“Who is this?” Lucas Bradford said.

“Campbell Bradford,” Josiah said. Hadn’t even planned on that; it just left his lips, natural as a breath. Once it was said,
he liked it, too. Campbell. That felt right. Hell, felt almost like the truth. He wasn’t Campbell, of course, but he was a
representative. Yes, these days, he was the next best thing.

“You think that’s funny?”

“I think it’s true.”

“Is this Eric Shaw? You better believe I’m calling the police to report this.”

Eric Shaw? Now what the hell was that supposed to mean? Shaw was working for the guy… unless the story he’d told Edgar about
working for a woman in Chicago had been true. But then who was the woman?

“The police will be called—”

“Really?” Josiah said. “That’s what you’d like? Because I have some interesting documents in my possession, Lucas. And your
detective, he had some interesting things to say before he died.”

That last bit was improvisation, but it silenced the prick’s tirade, seemed to take a little of his heat away.

“I’m not worried about that,” he said, but there was no strength in his voice.

“Here’s what I understand,” Josiah said. “Some funds have
been authorized to resolve what you perceive as a crisis. One hundred thousand dollars, I believe.”

“If you think you’re getting that now, you are out of your mind.”

“I’ll get what’s owed to me.”

“There’s nothing owed to you.”

“I disagree, Lucas. I firmly and vehemently disagree.”

As he heard the words leaving his mouth, Josiah frowned. Danny was right—he was starting to talk funny. Not like himself,
at all. That probably wasn’t a bad thing on a call like this, though. A disguise of sorts, albeit unintentional.

“I’m not interested in the hundred grand,” he said. “I don’t find that sum to be satisfactory. In fact, I haven’t determined
what will be satisfactory. I’m still considering.”

“If you think we’re in a negotiation, you’re mistaken. I know my wife had no idea what she was doing when she hired you, but
she regrets it now, and any further contact you have with this family will be done through attorneys. I encourage you to find
a good one. My recommendation is that it be one with criminal defense experience, too.”

When my wife hired you?
This was interesting. This was different.

“Never call this house again,” Lucas Bradford said.

“Now, Lucas,” Josiah began, but the line had clicked and gone dead. He switched to the other cell phone and called Danny.

“What happened?” Danny said, his voice choked with either alcohol or sleep or both. Hell of a guy to have working for you
on a stakeout. “What’s going on?”

“I think you best get your eyes open,” Josiah said. “I do believe there may be a police appearance at the hotel shortly.”

“Why? What are you talking about?”

“Eric Shaw should be getting some visitors,” Josiah said, and
then he hung up and sat in the dark with a grin spreading across his face. Shaw would buy him some time, and that was good,
but moreover he’d enjoyed this first brush with Lucas G. Bradford. He liked the rich bastard’s tone, the sense of control,
the belief that he could run this world and everyone in it. He thought he was strong, and Josiah was pleased by that. Let
it turn into a battle of will, Lucas, let us see who breaks first.

F
OR A LONG TIME
Eric sat on the balcony, sipping the water he’d taken from the faucet in the spa and waiting for visions, but none came.
Eventually, he went back inside and pulled the curtains shut and turned off every light before he got into bed. Around him
the room existed in shadows and silhouettes and nothing changed within it or entered from outside. At some point consciousness
slid away from him, folded beneath sleep.

The thumping on the door woke him.

He let out a grunt and sat up, blinking at the dark room and trying to get his bearings. Just when he thought he’d imagined
the sound, he heard it again. A knock.

The clock beside the bed said it was twenty past one.