The Dark of Summer

by Dean R. Koontz

  “What happened?” Gwyn asked. She rubbed at her eyes, as if the gesture would clear her memory. Not only her mouth was fuzzy upon wakening, but her memory as well. She felt dizzy and weak and awfully sleepy — even though she'd just gotten up from a long sleep. She could not seem to put her thoughts in order.

  “Do you remember anything about what happened last evening?” Elaine asked.

  Gwyn thought, hard.

  It was so long ago… yesterday…

  She could not recall what had happened.

  “You thought that you'd seen Ginny — your sister,” Elaine said. Obviously, from her expression and the tone of her voice, she was reluctant to talk about it, put the sickness into words.

  “You came to Will with a story about footprints on the beach, or some such…”

  “I remember now,” she said, quietly.

  “You were in bad shape, so we called Dr. Cotter.”

  “I don't remember that — oh, yes. A gray-haired little man…”

  “He thought you needed as much rest as you could get,” Elaine said. “He gave you a sedative.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “You slept all night and most of the morning, as Dr. Cotter said you would,” Elaine explained. “It's now 11:30 in the morning.”

  “You didn't sit up with me all night, did you?”

  “There wasn't any need,” Elaine said, “since we knew you'd not come around until sometime this morning.”

  “I'm being such a bother.”

  “Not at all. That's what we're for. That's what a family is for, to help one another.”

  “I'm so tired,” Gwyn complained.

  “That's good, because you need to rest as much as you can.”

  Gwyn said, “Even though I just woke up, I think I could go right back to sleep again.” She smacked her lips, wiped a hand across her mouth. “But I'm also famished.”

  Elaine smiled. “That's one problem easily solved.” She got to her feet and said, “I'll go tell Grace that you're ready for your breakfast. Is there anything you want, especially?”

  “Whatever she wants to fix,” Gwyn said. “Anything at all. I'll eat every last crumb of it, no matter what it is.”

  Little more than an hour later, when Gwyn had devoured a stack of flapjacks in sweet apple syrup, two buttery pieces of toast, two eggs sunny-side up, a cup of coffee, juice, and a raisin-filled sweet roll, she felt bloated but content. She used the bath and returned to the bed, weak-kneed and woozy but able to manage on her own. Beneath the sheets again, she felt sleep stealing over her the moment her head touched the pillows; invisible hands tugged at her eyelids.

  “You rest, now,” Elaine said.

  “I'm not good company.”

  “That doesn't matter.”

  “But I can't stay awake. I feel so…”

  “Sleep all you want.”

  “I will. I'll sleep… I'm so tired; I've never been as tired as this before. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.”

  “You've been through a lot, Gwyn.”

  “Goodnight, Elaine.”

  “Goodnight, dear.”

  And she slept again…

  She woke.

  She was alone.

  The house was still and quiet, like a living being that encompassed her and was now holding its breath.

  From the angle at which the sunlight pierced the thin under-drapes that had been drawn across the two windows, she knew that it must be late in the afternoon. She had slept nearly a full day, except for the brief period of consciousness when she'd eaten her breakfast.

  They had let her sleep through lunch, which was especially considerate of them…

  Thirsty, she got up again. Her legs were as weak as before, her head as light. Even the dull glow of the sun that came through the partially curtained windows was too bright for her, and she squinted her eyes as she crossed the room. She got a drink of water in the darkened bathroom, returned to bed, drew up the sheets and closed her eyes once more.

  Her arms felt leaden. Her entire body seemed to have grown heavy and inert, like a lump of earth.

  It was extremely pleasant to be lying there in the large bed with absolutely nothing to do… without cares of any sort… and with no tedious studying to be done, no important exams to be preparing for, no reports or term papers or speeches to be written… free from all responsibilities and commitments… Her two pillows were incredibly soft, and the starched bedclothes were soft as well — and the limitless darkness that lay behind her eyes, the beckoning world of contented sleep, was infinitely softer than anything else…

  Abruptly, Gwyn opened her eyes and pushed the sheets away as if they were sentient beings trying to smother her; she had been chilled to the core by the memory of how she had once slept away entire days rather than face up to the problem of everyday life. Her problems now were a hundred times more confusing and complex than those which had driven her into her first bout with mental illness; how much more desirable they made escape seem than it had ever seemed before. However, she knew that if she gave in, if she had a relapse of the other sickness on top of her present ills, she would be utterly lost, beyond Dr. Recard's patient care, beyond anyone's help.

  She sat up, perspiring, pale and shaken.

  She shouldn't have slept all night and morning, and she should never have taken a nap after lunch. What's more, Elaine should have realized how dangerous too much sleep could be for her, considering her past…

  Yet, she was still sleepy.

  She swung over the edge of the bed, looked down and saw that the floor appeared to be a hundred miles away, impossibly distant, quite out of reach. Her stomach churned at this confused perspective; she felt as if she were going to be physically ill. She fought down that urge, aware that her body was merely seeking another excuse for her to remain in bed. Putting her feet down on the thick carpet, she pushed against the mattress and stood up, swaying like a drunkard. She grasped the headboard of the bed to steady herself, regained her balance, let go and stood entirely on her own power, feeble as an old woman, but up and around nonetheless.

  She decided she would shower, change into shorts and a blouse, then go for a walk, perhaps even down to the beach to take in the last of the day's best sunshine and the cool breezes which would be coming in across the choppy water. She should always, she reminded herself, return to the scene of any trouble, rather than flee from it; flight was escape, just as sleep was, and she couldn't afford to be cowardly.

  Certainly, sleep was not the answer; and rest was the wrong solution: indeed, these were clearly only parts of the problem.

  She went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, worked the twin faucets until the spray was just stingingly hot enough. She let the water stream over her, until she was beet red, then finished the ordeal with a bracing explosion of the cold water, a galvanizing experience which brought her more fully to her senses than she had been all day.

  She dressed casually and went to the window where she could look out at the sea, as if challenging it and all the associations that it had lately come to have. A few minutes later, still weary but ready, she left her room and went downstairs.

  FOURTEEN

  William Barnaby responded to his wife's summons, followed her quickly down the long front hall and joined her by the largest of the front windows, half-hidden by thick draperies, where they had an unobstructed view of the lawn. Out there, Gwyn stood by a small fountain, intent upon the four marble cherubs that poured real water out of marble vases into a small but lovely reflecting pool.

  “Christ!” Barnaby said, punching the palm of his left hand with his right fist. “She's supposed to be kept in bed.”

  Elaine said, “I couldn't stop her.”

  “Why couldn't you?”

  “I caught her when she was here at the door, ready to go out, and she was adamant. She said the worst thing she could do was sleep away the rest of the day.”

  “She's right — but that's wrong for us.” Without
taking his eyes off his niece, he said, “Why weren't you upstairs in her room, watching over her?”

  “I can't be there twenty-four hours a day,” Elaine said.

  “But you're supposed to be there when she wakes up,” he said. “That's a chore you said you'd be able to handle the best.”

  “Normally—”

  “We can't afford excuses,” he said. “We have to be right in the first place.”

  “I was not trying to shirk my responsibility; I did not intend to give you any excuses,” she said, a hint of anger tinting her voice. “All I meant to do was give you the facts of the situation.” When he did not respond to her, when his eyes did not drift away from Gwyn for a moment, Elaine went on: “The facts are that she was given a powdered sedative in her orange juice at breakfast, and should have slept nearly until supper-time. I'm sure she woke, on and off, but she shouldn't have had the desire or the energy to get out of bed.”

  “But she did.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Are you certain she was given enough of the sedative?”

  “Positive”

  “Next time, increase the dosage.”

  “But we don't want her totally unconscious,” Elaine said. “We want her to wake up, on and off, so she can realize what's happening to her — so she'll think the old sickness is coming back.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said. “But we don't want her out of the house again. If she should stumble upon something—”

  “Like what?”

  He had no answer.

  “We've planned this well,” she said. “Gwyn's not going to stumble across anything, because we've not left any loose ends lying around.”

  “She's heading for the steps,” he said.

  Elaine looked out in time to see Gwyn started down for the beach, soon out of sight.

  Will turned away from the window, a scowl on his face that made him look ten years older than he was. He walked swiftly toward the front door and pulled it open.

  “Wait!”

  He looked back at her.

  She said, “Where are you going?”

  “To follow her.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “I want to know what she's up to,” he said.

  “She's just going for a walk on the beach.”

  “That's what she told you, but she may have been lying,” he said.

  “Will, she doesn't suspect that we're involved in this, that it's all a put-up job. She thinks that she's losing her sanity. You've talked to her; you know. She hasn't any reason to be suspicious of us, of anyone in the manor.”

  He hesitated.

  She said, “Let her go. She'll be back soon enough, all worn out and even more of a candidate for the sleep treatment.”

  “What if she meets that Younger kid again?” he asked.

  “So what if she does?”

  “I don't like her talking with him.”

  “What could happen?”

  “She might tell him about the ghost.”

  “And he'd think she was crazy. That couldn't hurt our plans any.”

  He wiped a hand across his face, as if sloughing off his weariness, and he said, “Just the same, there's a chance, no matter how slight, that Younger will believe her, or part of what she says. Or perhaps he'll be able to convince her of the truth about Lamplight Cove. And, remember, she doesn't know what's happened at Jenkins' Niche just this morning. Any fragment of the truth might shatter the whole illusion.”

  “Will, she simply won't take the word of someone like Younger — not against your word. Can't you see how much it means to her to have a family life again? She will swallow whatever you tell her.”

  He frowned and said, “I wouldn't trust to that. After all, she's Younger's type, not mine, with a gutter heritage not unlike his. She and I are from different worlds; she and Younger are brother and sister below the surface, products of the same kind of parents. No, we have got to keep her away from everyone else, make sure her only contact is with the people in this house — until we've got her in the state we want.”

  “Suppose she sees you following her.”

  “She won't.”

  “But suppose she does. Won't that do more to shatter the illusion of the loving uncle than anything Younger might be able to persuade her of?”

  He hesitated.

  “If you want to know what she's doing down there,” Elaine said, “you can use the binoculars from the edge of the cliff. That's safer; you won't be seen.”

  “I don't know…” But he had already begun to close the door.

  “Come on, then,” she said.

  He closed the front door and followed her along the corridor that led to the rear of the house and the kitchen. But halfway there, he had already decided that his wife was correct, that nothing was to be gained by watching Gwyn on the beach. Even if she met Younger, her confidence in him would be unswayed, no matter what the boy said. “Forget it, Elaine,” he told her, stopping her before she reached the kitchen door. “She's not going to find anything on the beach.”

  “Of course she isn't.”

  “This is still a minor crisis,” he said. “But I think it's one we can deal with well enough.”

  “What have you in mind?”

  “I want to talk to Ben and Penny.”

  “About another little performance?” Elaine smiled and touched his arm with one hand.

  “You don't think that would be overdoing it, do you?” he asked, taking her hand in his and holding it tightly.

  “Penny's a great actress.”

  “But we don't want the girl getting too familiar with the — ghost,” he said. “That would take a lot of fire out of the big finale — and we've put too much thought into the last act to ruin it now.”

  “Penny can handle it,” Elaine assured him.

  He thought a moment and said, “We ought to have something prepared for her as soon as she gets back, to wipe out any gains in self-confidence that she might have gotten from the walk.”

  “We'd better see Penny right away,” Elaine said, leading the way back toward the main Starr-case, her flowing brown hair like a cape from a nun's bonnet. “Gwyn might come back at any moment.”

  Together, they went upstairs. '

  At Ben Groves' door, at the far end of the main corridor from Gwyn's room, Elaine knocked three times, rapidly, waited for an answer. When Groves didn't respond, she knocked again, more insistently this time.

  He opened the door, looking worried, smiled when he saw them and sighed. “It's only you,” he said, stepping back out of the way. “I thought it might be the kid.”

  “The kid is why we're here,” Will said. He followed Elaine into the room while Groves closed and locked the door behind them. He did not sit down, for his nerves were too keen to allow him relaxation. Instead, he paced to the windows and back again, rubbing his hands together as if they were covered with something sticky.

  “What's wrong?” Groves asked.

  “She's gone out for a walk,” Barnaby said.

  “The kid?”

  “That's right — and to the beach.”

  “She's supposed to be knocked out,” Groves protested.

  “Well, she isn't,” Elaine said, somewhat crossly.

  “And we've got to schedule a new performance,” Barnaby added.

  “See if you can contact the spirit world now,” Elaine told Groves.

  “What?” he asked, bewildered.

  “The ghost,” Elaine said. “See if you can scare us up the ghost.”

  Groves grinned, now. “Oh. Yeah, just a minute.”

  He went to the closet door, opened it, pushed some clothes out of the way and looked up a dark flight of attic steps. “Penny, we're having a conference. You want to come down?”

  A moment later, he stepped back to allow a blue-eyed blonde into the room. At her appearance, both Elaine and Will smiled, reassured that their plan was foolproof. Penny was almost an exact double for Gwyn Keller, as much like Gwyn as Ginny had b
een, at least in appearance.

  “I guess it's time for me to start earning my money again,” Penny said, sitting on the edge of Groves' bed.

  “That's right,” Elaine said. “And you're worth every penny of it.” She smiled as she offered around a pack of cigarettes.

  FIFTEEN

  She stood halfway between the surf and the cliff, at the turning in the beach where the dead girl had disappeared two days ago, when Gwyn had been chasing her. This had not been her original destination — at least not consciously. When she'd first left the house, against Elaine's wishes, she'd started walking northward, along the unexplored arm of the beach, with the excuse that the scenery would thus be new and more enjoyable than a walk into familiar places. In fifteen minutes, however, she understood that she was only trying to avoid a confrontation with the landmarks of past terrors. She was running, again. Resolute, then, she had turned and started back to the south, passed the stone steps and went on for another half an hour until she came, at a leisurely pace, to the bend in the beach. She half expected that here she would find something important, something she had overlooked and which would settle this whole thing — though she had no idea what this might be…

  The sun was low in the sky, though it continued to make the beach as hot as an oven. And she was weak, still, and tired. She would not, however, give up the last shred of her hope. For the most part, she was convinced the ghost had never existed, that she'd never seen anything more than an hallucination, that the footprints were illusions, as were the broom marks that had followed them. But a glimmer of doubt still existed, deep inside of her, a minim of hope that it would all prove to be something else quite different. This glimmer kept her here, searching the clean sand with an intent gaze.

  She searched along the surf for some kind of indentation in the land which would be sufficiently deep to conceal a young woman who was approximately the size of the — the dead girl. She found nothing. Moving slowly in toward the cliff wall, each step rapidly becoming a major effort as her unusual weariness increased, she eventually discovered, to her own great surprise, the well-concealed series of small caves, all large enough to accommodate a man, which lay there…