Blackwater Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  He’d gotten that impression. “And you live … here?” He held out his hands. “After Rome and Switzerland and all the other places?”

  “Only part of the time. But I like it.”

  He grinned. “The energy.”

  “Precisely.” She poured the rest of the wine into their glasses. “There are very few places like Blackwater. And I work closely with Crawford. Mostly helping him manage his collections.”

  Ray blinked. The mention of the name jarred his happy mood. He’d been having such a good time talking and laughing with Lily that he’d completely forgotten about Crawford.

  Lily seemed to notice his unease. “I know he comes across a little cold sometimes. But he’s a really fascinating person. And he took a liking to you.”

  “Really.”

  “He did—he felt the same way as I did. That you were special. That you belonged here.” She finished her wine. “Let’s talk about something more interesting, like maybe the strange, attractive man from Baltimore I met in the bookstore. That’s a much more fascinating subject.”

  After dessert she insisted he drive them back. He was sober enough to avoid running off the road, and more sober than she was, at any rate. But he still realized he shouldn’t have been driving, especially on the West Virginia mountain roads he hated, in an unfamiliar vehicle. He turned to see if she was okay. She’d been quiet. She bent over to dig something out of her purse and the slit on her skirt opened again. The scoop neck of her dress hung open, too. She was practically naked, and despite his ambivalence he felt his body respond. But if he didn’t pay attention to the road, he’d probably drive them both into a tree.

  She pushed a CD into the player and rested her hand on his leg. More deep, mellow techno. She put her head on his shoulder and her hair kept blowing into his mouth. It tasted of her perfume. The naked skin of her leg brushed against him with every bump. Everywhere she touched him felt magnified, as if his blood corpuscles were rushing to those spots, seeking her out.

  They pulled into a driveway. Her house—a large, well-maintained wooden farmhouse—sat down a graveled driveway a few hundred feet from the road. Motion detector lights popped on as he stopped the car. She touched his chest with a finger. “Will you walk me inside?”

  “Of course.” He fumbled with the keys and dropped them on the car floor. I don’t know which one of us is drunker. Lily laughed. He shut the door. When he got to the front door of the house, he stopped.

  “Wait a minute. You picked me up tonight. I can’t drive anywhere. God, I must have had more to drink than I realized.”

  She laughed again. “I think the drugs really did fry your brain. Our brains. Oh my God.” She snorted. “This is ridiculous.”

  He laughed, too. She put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I guess I’m stuck.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to spend the night.” She took his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes. Lord, she was pretty. Like all the beautiful women he’d ever known rolled into one. Her mouth, which would open up, wet and tasting of wine, and her hair, which he could pull against his face as his lips moved along the nape of her neck, down to her shoulder blades. He could smell her then, the warm, musky scent from between her legs, intoxicating, maddening, working its way into his brain and down his back to where his own energies lay coiled at the root of his spine. And her eyes, so deep and full of mystery—like falling into deep, dark water.

  Something was happening all of a sudden, something that felt familiar. Her features hardened, and all expression left her face. It was like looking at a doll’s face. Or a mask. Her eyes were expanding, and she wasn’t looking into his eyes at all, but between them, maybe even inside his head. His body vibrated, his muscles locked tight, and suddenly—

  He’s going again. She’s pulling him back in time, all the way back, back to when he was just a boy, a scared little kid, after Dr. Green and the rest of them had taught him the tricks and the songs in a language he didn’t understand and after he’d learned the secret to going to his special place inside. The place he could go and no one else would follow. It wasn’t hard, not at all. In fact, it was pleasant, especially when they took him out in the woods with the others, the few others who had been chosen because they could go the deepest into themselves, and they made them all lie on the ground on their backs and no, wait, no, no way, can’t do that can’t go there can’t go there—

  His head snapped back, as if an elastic band pulling it had popped. He pulled her hands away from his face. It hurt.

  “Look at me, Ray. Come in for a drink. Ray?”

  He stepped back, nearly stumbling into a bush, turning away from her.

  “Ray, what’s wrong? Look at me. Please.”

  Her eyes bored into the back of his skull. He needed to break the connection. “No. I can’t.”

  “Oh, come on. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

  That sounded familiar.

  “Why aren’t you looking at me? What’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?”

  He walked toward the road. It was like pushing through onrushing water or a river of molasses.

  “What’s wrong with you? Look at me, Ray. Come back here.”

  He kept walking. Don’t stop.

  “Come back. Come back, Ray. Now.”

  His mind went to Ellen. Sweet, harried, tired, overworked, plain, but so much more truly beautiful. She was real. She was sane. Kind and simple and nothing like this wicked bitch.

  “Fuck you,” he said, and felt the bond between them break. He’d freed himself.

  “Goodbye, Ray.” Her voice had dropped an octave. “You’re fucking yourself. You’ll see. You are really fucking yourself.”

  The door slammed behind him. He’d done it. In spite of the fact that he had no idea where he was, and that the road in front of him banked upward steeply with weed-filled trenches lining both sides, he knew he had done the right thing. With each step away from the house, he felt her power over him dissipating.

  He started up the hill.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was dark and late, and Ray was alone, on foot, drunk, and lost. Trucks roared up behind him, barreling along the winding roads and leaving hot clouds of diesel fumes. His legs and feet ached, and he was rapidly dehydrating. A pickup truck driver threw a half-full beer bottle that whizzed by his head and shattered on the asphalt.

  On his walk, he started to remember things from the party. Or half remembered, rather; the images faded in and out, but they grew clearer the more he walked. Something Lily had done to him, back at her house, had pried open the hidden memories from the night at Crawford’s. She had done that thing with her eyes, too, the night of the party, some kind of bizarre hypnosis that let her crawl into his head.

  Damn, his mouth was dry.

  The other memories were incomplete, still locked away, and just thinking about it made him want to fall to his knees and vomit.

  She had said Blackwater was a magical place. If so, the magic was far down on the darker end of the spectrum.

  Headlights. A car appeared over the hill behind him, moving in his direction. He kept walking. The car approached slowly. Ray’s fists clenched. As it neared him, it slowed to a stop, its headlights blinding. Great. Now he’d get beaten to a pulp by a redneck out looking for some fun. The driver’s window lowered.

  “Ray? Is that you? Hey, Ray!”

  It took him a second to place the voice. “Denny?”

  Denny laughed. “What are you doing? Your car break down or something?”

  Ray exhaled, then laughed. “Jesus, Denny, I can’t even begin to explain.… Damn, I am glad to see you. And I can’t tell you how badly I need to get home.”

  “Climb in,” Denny said.

  Ray closed his eyes as Denny talked. His head hurt. The horrifying barrage of images and memories unreeling in his head was almost too much to bear, and he was having a hard time concentrating on Denny’s rapid monologue.

  “I mean, how synchronistic is
this? That I’m driving this road, right now? It’s weird, don’t you think?”

  Ray nodded. Weird had taken over his life.

  Denny smiled and shook his head. “So as I was saying, I went to the county records building. And had some dinner with a friend who works there—that’s why I’m just getting back. And I found out some really interesting stuff.” He glanced at Ray and his face slacked. “You okay? You look like … well, you really don’t look so good.”

  “I’m okay. It’s been a rough night.” And that’s an understatement. “What did you find out?”

  Denny’s grin returned. “Well, that preacher at the African American church, his name is Micah David. He used to run a large Baptist church in northwest D.C. with over three hundred people in his congregation. He was a well-to-do guy, big with the movers and shakers—black politicians, businesspeople, and the like. He just gave it all up to move to Blackwater and take control of a falling-down wreck of a church that could seat maybe fifty people if they packed themselves tightly.”

  Ray rubbed his temples. His head felt tightly compressed. “Why?”

  “Good question. No one really knows. There’s no evidence of a scandal, at least not in the Washington papers. He came here and basically fell off the radar.”

  A truck passed them, and Denny’s car shuddered in its wake.

  “And Crawford—I have more on him, too. After you left, I remembered that he had given a big donation to the county schools a few years ago. His father was a rich German from Argentina. Made a killing in the shipping industry, anglicized his name, and started a foundation back in the fifties. But Crawford keeps to himself. The only stuff I could find online were a few chemistry papers and a pharmacology paper in Nature. His major at Yale was chemistry. And he has a hell of an art collection, apparently.”

  “But he lives out here. In the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah. On an enormous piece of property. But I think it’s just his second, or third, or maybe fourth home. He has another residence.” Denny chuckled. “Guess where.”

  Ray breathed deeply. “D.C.”

  “Yes.” Denny was clearly enjoying the role of hired detective. “The Crawford Trust is headquartered there, too, in Georgetown. And that caught my attention. Think about it—two rich, well-connected out-of-towners from the nation’s capital decide to move here? Two rich and secretive out-of-towners? I don’t know if there’s any connection between the two … but I can try to find out.” He paused. “If you want me to, I mean. Does any of this help you?”

  “I don’t know. But thank you. It might.” It would make sense that Crawford and the preacher were in league. But with what aim? “How about the camp? Did you find out anything?”

  Denny shrugged. “Not really. I looked pretty hard, but … nothing.” He sighed. “I did call a friend with the state park system. He might get back to me with something.”

  Damn, his head ached. Whatever Lily had done had physically hurt.

  Denny seemed to be thinking intently as they drove in silence. Ray closed his eyes—it helped to keep them shut.

  “Ray, I hope this doesn’t sound stupid. Or silly.” He was struggling. “But since you’ve been here … Since you came here, and we became friends …” He laughed. “I’m sorry. I should just shut up before I make a huge ass out of myself.”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  He turned and looked at Ray. His eyes were glassy. He looked back at the road ahead. “It’s like everything I’ve ever been interested in, all the weird stuff that I’ve had to keep to myself … You can’t imagine how lonely it is, not being able to talk about your passion with anyone outside of message boards. It’s all coming together now. It might sound crazy to you, but when you came here you made something happen, and all the things I was interested in suddenly meant something to someone else.”

  Ray closed his eyes.

  “You’re like a … what’s the word? A catalyst. You showed up here and everything changed.”

  Ray shook his head. “I can’t take credit for anything, Denny.”

  “But it’s true. It’s—”

  “No.” He squeezed his palms against his temples. “Whatever I stirred up, it’s bad. Really bad. And I don’t think you want any part of it.” He gritted his teeth. “I won’t let you be part of it anymore.”

  Denny stared.

  “The turn is up there.”

  Denny turned down the driveway and the automatic lights outside Kevin’s house came on. He pulled up and put the car in park. “Nice house,” he said. His voice quavered. “Yeah. Hey, thanks. I mean it.”

  Denny nodded without looking at him. “No problem.”

  Ray held his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It’s just that I think I’m getting too deep into something dangerous. Crawford and Lily and the rest of them are not ordinary people. And just because I’ve gotten involved with them doesn’t mean you should get dragged into it.” He squeezed Denny’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. You’re a nice guy. And a friend. Just … Let me handle this from now on.”

  “Okay,” Denny said.

  Ray opened the door and stepped out.

  “You gonna be okay?” Denny asked. “You want me to come in for a few minutes?”

  Ray shook his head. “Thanks. But I need to get some sleep.”

  “Sure, sure.” He turned away and wiped at his eyes. “But can we stay in touch? I’d like to see you before you leave town. Maybe have dinner. My treat.”

  “Of course.”

  “You want to get a drink tomorrow? I’ll buy. Just in case my friend calls with anything new.”

  Be gentle. He’s done nothing but help you. “Sure. Tomorrow night, same place as last time?”

  Denny nodded. “See you then. Take care, Ray.” He waited until Ray had reached the door to the house before he drove away.

  Ray felt a pang of remorse. He should have been more tactful. But the likes of Crawford and Lily would eat the librarian alive. No. Denny wasn’t part of this. He needed to be pushed away before he found himself staring into Lily’s dreadfully deep and bewitching eyes.

  But Denny had found answers. Answers that had opened up even more questions.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ray.

  Ray, can you hear me?

  He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move his mouth, couldn’t move anything. A man’s face hung over his, blurry and indistinct, like he was underwater looking up through the surface.

  It’s working, the man said to someone else. His face moved back into view, growing larger. His breath smelled awful, but Ray couldn’t turn his head.

  Ray, listen to me. I need you to go into your special place. Your secret place. Can you go there for me?

  Yes, he tried to say, but it came out ssssssss.

  Good, the man said. I’m going to count to three, and when I get to three, you’ll be there, safe and happy. One … two …

  He was flying, like being sucked up into a giant vacuum cleaner. He hated that feeling. It was like being thrown off a spinning carnival ride.

  Three …

  And everything changed. He was outside his grandma’s house, near the pond where he liked to catch tadpoles. It was warm and shady beneath the gnarled willow, and he was on his back in the grass looking up into the sky. No clouds, just empty, vast blue as far as he could see. No stars. No stars.

  Ray.

  That voice again. God, he hated that voice. It buzzed in his ears like an annoying mosquito.

  Ray, we’re going to try again.

  He felt his fingers curl into fists. All he wanted to do was lie here in the cool grass, and they wanted him to play their stupid games. The games made his head hurt, and made him feel sick to his stomach.

  You’re going to reach out again. You’re going to ask them to come to you.

  “I don’t want to.” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

  Reach out t
o them. Call out. The way we showed you. You can do it.

  And then the sky wasn’t blue anymore. It was black. And full of stars. Burning brighter than any he’d ever seen.

  You’re doing it, Ray. You’re doing it.

  But he didn’t want to be doing it. It was night and he wanted to be back at Grandma’s, instead of this horrible place with these nasty old men playing games that he didn’t understand, and which scared him so much he’d go to the bathroom in his pants.

  Yes, yes, that’s it. Here they come. Here they—

  The cat sat on his chest. It licked his face, the raspy tongue slipping into the corner of his mouth.

  Ray sat up, and the cat leapt onto the floor. His head was scrambled. What was it doing in the house? It must have slipped in when Denny had dropped him off. He’d been out of it, buzzed and headachy from what Lily had done to him and the long walk, so it made sense that the sneaky little thing could have taken the opportunity and bolted through his legs without him noticing.

  After showering, he sat at the computer as the cat watched him from its perch on the leather couch, acting as if it belonged there.

  There was another message from Kevin. He was terribly sorry he wasn’t back yet, but was lining up a flight. Ray frowned and moved on to the next email. Denny had sent it at 9:48 A.M.

  Ray,

  I hope I didn’t say anything stupid or offend you last night. I’d had a couple of drinks before I picked you up and sometimes that makes me say things I shouldn’t. But here’s something that might interest you—my friend from the park system emailed me this morning. One of the old-timers there remembered that during the seventies some of the state park land near Crawford’s property was declared off-limits. For a few weeks. He can’t remember why, but he figured it was some government thing, probably NSA, since they were doing work at the Green Bank radio observatory at the time, and everything was hush-hush. He’s going to get back to me if he can find out anything else. But that seems to fit what you told me, right?

  Again, my sincerest apologies. And I won’t go digging around in your business anymore unless you ask me to. I look forward to seeing you tonight, but I might stick to club soda this time.