The Light (Morpheus Road) (23 page)

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up here to the lake. Whatever happened to him, it all started with me doing something stupid and then asking him to bail me out. I do nothing but give him a hard time, yet he took a huge risk for me. And this is what happened. I hope he's just being typical Cooper and having fun somewhere, because if anything bad happens to him, I don't know what I'll do."

We sat in silence for a good long while. Things had suddenly gotten a whole lot more complicated.

"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse," I said. "But I'm afraid there's more to Cooper being gone. It might not have anything to do with the counterfeit tickets."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I said. "I thought the stuff I've been seeing and Cooper's disappearance had nothing to do with each other, but the guy who jumped out into traffic changed that. He saw Gravedigger. I know it. He was terrified, just like Mikey was. And now you say Mikey saw vicious dogs that weren't there. And then there's the stuff you saw in your room last night. We can't all be hallucinating."

"What's that got to do with Cooper?" she asked.

"The guy who died, George, was trying to warn me about something. He said he knew the truth. He told me not to listen or follow."

"Follow who? Coop?"

"Maybe. When I asked him if he knew where Cooper was, he said he was on the road, which is what Gravedigger has been saying to me."

"So there's a connection between Cooper and the things you've been seeing?"

"I think so."

Sydney let that idea settle in, then said, "And that George guy won't be talking anymore."

"I'm not so sure about that." I reached into my pocket

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and pulled out the key. "He gave this to me. He said it would help me find answers."

Sydney examined the key. "His house key?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Shouldn't you give it to the sheriff?"

"No. I tried to tell him about Gravedigger. He didn't come close to believing me."

"But if that guy had some information about Cooper, the police should know," she argued.

I stood up and paced.

"George told me something else. He said the more people who know, the more will be in danger. After what happened to him and after the couple of close calls I had, I believe it. The fewer people who are involved, the better."

"So you're not gonna tell anybody about this?"

"How can I? First off, they wouldn't believe me. You should have seen the look on that sheriff's face when I showed him a sketch of Gravedigger."

"Marshall, you have to try and convince them."

"The only way anybody's going to be convinced is if they see the same things I've been seeing. But if what George said is true, that'll put them in danger. Only five people have been touched by this. One is missing. One is dead. That leaves me, Mikey . . . and you."

She shot me a surprised look.

"You've seen things, Sydney."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but stopped.

I added, "I don't think this is just about a guy who's gone missing. Something bigger is going on. Something bad. I don't want to be part of it any more than you do, but I don't have a choice. Not with Gravedigger coming after me. I've got to see this through and I'm afraid to do it on my own. I don't want you to be involved, Sydney, but I think you already are. I need your help."

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She kept staring at me. I tried not to break eye contact. I wanted to show strength, even though I wasn't feeling all that strong.

She said, "A couple of days ago you were ready to argue about
the Force
like every other good little geek."

"That's before a guy died at my feet. I thought I was going out of my mind, and I might be, but whatever's happening is real. It's not just in my head, but my head is where it came from. I'm the center of this thing and I have to deal with it or I might end up like George O. . . . And then we may never find out what happened to Cooper."

I was ready for Sydney to flip me off, run for her car, and drive as far away as possible. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

Instead she stood up, tossed me the key, and declared, "Then let's go search the house of a dead man."

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Chapter 16

It wasn't hard to find George O.'s house.

If you could call it that. The guy lived in a trailer that had been jacked up and put on cement blocks. It was a mobile home that was no longer mobile. It sat at the end of Long Pine Road, which really should have been called Long Pine Double-Rutted Path Through the Trees. We got directions from the guy who worked at the pizza place on Main Street. One look from Sydney and the guy melted like hot mozzarella. It wasn't like George O.'s house was a secret or anything, but I believe that guy would have carried us there on his back if Sydney had asked.

The road wasn't far from the center of town, but once we turned onto it, it felt like we were out in the boonies. Branches scraped at Sydney's car from both sides. She didn't complain, but I saw her wince every time she heard the screech of another branch sliding along her doors.

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"Not exactly a popular route," she commented after a particularly nasty branch battered her window.

Thankfully, the trees opened up and we drove into a clearing that looked more like a junkyard than somebody's front yard. The mobile home was barn red, though most of the paint had either been chipped off or bleached white by the sun. It was surrounded by more weeds than grass, along with a collection of odd machine parts, ancient cars, and old road signs. I saw a rusted baby carriage; outboard engines on blocks; a wooden dinghy loaded with moldy life preservers; more tires than I could count; and a huge plastic ice-cream cone that looked as if it had once crowned a snack stand. It was a collection that probably took decades to gather.

The two of us stood surveying the odd mess.

"Some people would look at this and see junk," I said. "Others see history."

"But most wouldn't be caught dead here," she replied coldly. "I'm not sure what category we're in."

I led her through the odd maze toward the house. As I was about to step onto the cement stairs that led to the front door, my eye caught something that stood out amid the clutter. Next to the house were two sawhorses with long wooden planks between them. Lined up on the planks were at least twenty pots of healthy flowers. I didn't know the names of most of them, though I think one was a red geranium. They were brilliant splashes of color that stood out against the rust and decay. It would be easy to think of George O. as a nutcase hermit who lived to collect odds and ends that others threw away. Seeing those flowers made me realize that there was more to him than that. I didn't know if he had a family or kids or anything else, but he had created something beautiful and took the time to make sure it stayed that way. I felt bad for him and bad for the flowers, knowing that in a few days they'd be dead.

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I glanced at Sydney. She was staring at the flowers too. I was glad she didn't make any snide comments. I dug the key out of my pocket, pulled open the rusty screen door, and tried to put it into the lock. It fit. It turned. We had come to the right place. I was about to step in when Sydney grabbed my arm.

"You don't think Cooper is in here, do you?" she asked.

I hadn't even thought of the possibility. I was holding on to the hope that Cooper was on his own and safe somewhere. If he was in that nasty old house, well, there was no good scenario there.

"Nah," I said. I gave her a quick, reassuring smile and stepped into the house.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. It reminded me of the locker room at school. Most guys didn't bring their gym stuff home to wash very often, so the place always reeked of dry sweat. The only difference with George's place was that there was nobody coming in to swab the floors with disinfectant. Whatever else I could say about George O., one thing was for sure: He was a lousy housekeeper. He definitely spent more time with his flowers than he did with a mop. The cramped home was a mini version of the junkyard outside. There looked to be three rooms. We stepped into what I guessed was the living room. There was a ratty old couch with the stuffing coming out of the arms and a leather recliner chair that I'd bet a nickel wasn't real leather. Both faced a pretty big old-fashioned tube TV that had a bent wire hanger for an antenna. To the right of the front door was a tiny kitchen where you could stand in the middle and reach everything. Far to the left, beyond the living room, I saw a door that probably led to the bedroom.

It wasn't exactly luxurious, but it wouldn't have been a horrible place to live if not for the fact that almost every square inch was filled with some kind of junk. I'm not talking

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about the typical cheesy stuff that people sometimes have around their house--I'm talking junk. The living room looked more like a workroom than a place to hang out and watch TV. There were old tools scattered across a low table; fishing gear hanging from the walls; and wooden bins full of screws and washers and pieces of machinery that could have gone to anything and probably fit nothing. Glancing into the kitchen, I saw more of the same. Among the few cooking pots and cans of food were more machine parts and tools.

Sydney said, "Wouldn't it be funny if we went into the bedroom and it was, like . . . really nice?"

I'm not sure if funny was the right word, but I knew what she meant. Seeing any kind of homey touch in this mess would be totally out of left field.

She added, "Then again, let's not look in the bathroom. That could be ugly."

I gingerly stepped into the living room to take it all in.

"What are we looking for?" she asked.

"No idea," I said. "I was kind of hoping we'd know it when we saw it."

"He didn't give you any kind of clue?"

"All he said was that I'd find answers," I said. "So look for answers."

"I'm not even sure what the question is," Sydney said. "Unless ..."

She didn't finish her sentence.

"Unless what?" I asked.

"You don't suppose this George character did something to Cooper? I mean, this is right out of some bad movie. You know, strange loner lives in the woods and lures unsuspecting victims into--"

"I get it," I said, cutting her off. "I don't think it's like that."

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"Because you're an expert on human behavior?"

"No, I just think George was as much of a victim as Cooper was."

Sydney looked me right in the eye. "So you think Cooper is a victim."

"I don't know what to think," I said quickly. "That's why we're here."

Sydney raised her hands as if to say, "Fine. I'll back off."

I stood in the center of the living room and did a slow three-sixty to try and see anything that might jump out as being important.

"What about the jacket?" Sydney offered.

I nodded and walked toward the bedroom. I didn't see any clothes in the living room and figured that whatever clothes George had would probably be in there. The bedroom door was closed. I didn't like that. I wanted to know exactly what I was headed for. The closer I got, the more nervous I became. I thought about Sydney's concern that George had somehow done something to Coop. With each step I grew more afraid of what I might find in there. It took a lot of willpower to reach for the doorknob. Looking back, I saw that Sydney was hanging back by the front door. Fine. I would have to go in on my own. I twisted the knob and pushed the door open slowly. I actually squinted, just in case there was something horrifying in there. Squinting made me feel as if I had control over how much of it I would see at first. The door was halfway open when . . .

Crash.
Something fell down inside. I jumped back.

"What was that?" Sydney shouted.

"I don't know."

My heart was pounding. I reached back for the door and pushed it farther open.

Something fell out of the room and hit the floor at my

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feet. I jumped back again, but quickly saw that it was only a gray, wooden board. Nothing sinister at all.

"It's just a piece of wood," I called back to Sydney.

I waited a few seconds in case something else might come tumbling out, but nothing happened. I reached forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way. The room was dark ... far too dark for that time of day. My first thought was that the blinds were down and curtains covered the windows, but there was no way that blinds and curtains could make a room so dark. I took a step closer to the doorway and allowed my eyes to adjust. Once I could make out details, I realized why the board had fallen at my feet.

The bed was empty, with only a threadbare blanket lying in a heap next to a stained pillow. There was a dresser, on top of which was a tray with some plates and silverware that were left over from a meal. Clothes were strewn everywhere. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the contents. What was strange was that the room was boarded up from the inside. Long lengths of wood of all shapes and types looked to have been hammered into the walls on either side of the windows, blocking out the light.

"You gotta see this," I called to Sydney.

She came forward cautiously and peered over my shoulder. I picked up the board that had fallen onto the floor. There were several others like it leaning against the wall inside the door.

"Is this a prison?" she said. "Was he keeping somebody in here?"

"No," I said. "You don't keep somebody in by hammering boards from the inside." I showed her the board that had fallen. "Looks like he used these to close off the door. He wasn't trying to keep somebody in, he was trying to keep something out."