Rex still felt betrayed by Leif for keeping his crush to himself all summer, while Leif was still fuming at Rex, not only for upstaging his confession, but for putting their lives in danger by publicly accusing Whitewood of being a murderer. Leif didn’t even want to come back to the spring, but as was the case with most everything that had happened in the past couple weeks, he was doing it for Alicia.
As they reached the tobacco barn, a familiar hoot came from the trees.
Rex had taken a solo trip to the Tree earlier that day, letting Ben know that Janine wanted to film the spring for her documentary about the school, that her cousin was a Whitewood alumna who had nearly drowned there. “I love this idea,” Ben had said while munching on the MoonPie Rex brought him. “But I’ll sit this one out—no amount of camo will protect me if I’m that close to the school. Let me know when you’re going, though. I’ll stay in a tree. Be your watchman.”
Rex now returned Ben’s all-clear hoot with a hoot of his own, which sounded less like an owl and more like a sick horse. “All right, we’re good,” he said, finding the cut part of the fence and holding it open. “Once we’re all through, we’ll find the two-trunked tree from before and regroup there.” He gestured toward Janine and Donna. “Ladies first.”
“Why do you get to decide who goes first?” Leif whispered, simmering with resentment at yet another display of Rex trying to take charge.
“Wow, okay. I was just being nice,” Rex said.
“No, you were doing what you always do. Trying to be in the driver’s seat. Just like the funeral. I was having, like, a nice moment up there, talking about Alicia, and you couldn’t deal with it, so you had to make it about you!”
“That’s not what I was doing!”
“Oh yeah, right. And here you go doing it again. Ladies first, my ass. What if I think the gentlemen should go first? Huh? What about that?”
“Dude, you’re not making any sense.”
“You’re not making any sense!” Leif shouted in frustration, realizing he might not be making any sense.
“Guys!” Janine whisper-shouted, a finger to her lips. “We really don’t care who goes first. Either go or stop blocking the way.”
Rex and Leif looked surprised, as if they’d forgotten they weren’t alone.
“Oh, sorry,” Rex said, sure that Janine was second-guessing going on a mission—after midnight, on a Thursday—led by two kids she hardly knew. “We were just…working some stuff out.”
“That’s great news,” Janine said, “but maybe you should do it some other time when we’re not about to investigate a magic murder spring.”
“Good point,” Leif said, stepping aside. “Ladies first.”
They all passed through the fence, then marched in silence up the hill into the woods. Rex scanned the forest for the two-trunked tree. It was notably darker tonight, an overcast sky obscuring the moon, and he couldn’t spot it. As they continued walking toward the spring, Rex noticed that they were all tiptoeing like the four members of Mystery, Inc., from Scooby-Doo. Maybe Leif should have brought Tucker along to help us get to the bottom of this, he thought, as he looked left and realized they’d missed the double tree by a good fifty feet.
“Shoot,” he said. “Um, follow me.” He motioned to Janine and Donna and caught a sour look on Leif’s face. “I mean, follow us.”
Once they arrived at the tree, Rex grabbed his goggles out of his pocket and put them around his neck. “So, there it is,” he said, pointing through the sparse woods to the spring, shivering as he realized he’d be in it in a matter of moments.
“Yup, okay,” Janine said, pulling out her camcorder, which she had thoroughly covered with clear plastic wrap, every part of the camera sealed, including the tripod mount itself. It was a camera waterproofing technique she’d employed while shooting one of Dennis’s crappy short films called The Man Who Met a Mermaid.
“Cool,” Rex said. “So that’s gonna work?”
“It should. I’m not interested in ruining my camera.” Janine grabbed the homemade extended tripod contraption from Donna and carefully fastened the camcorder to it. “Okay, all set.”
Rex nodded, and the troop began slowly descending the hill toward the spring. When they neared the edge of the tree line, Leif stopped.
He pointed across the spring, beyond the grassy expanse on the opposite side, to the Whitewood School. On the near side of the school, next to a row of three little buildings, they could see a small, blackened concrete slab where a fourth building had stood.
“That’s…” Leif said, his voice cracking. “That’s where she…died.”
Rex placed a hand on his shoulder. “And that’s why we’re here. So no one else will.”
Leif nodded and wiped his face.
“I’m gonna go ahead and start filming,” Janine said. She pressed the record button through the plastic wrap, looked in the viewfinder to confirm she was rolling, then awkwardly raised the camera to her face, not an easy task given that the length of the aluminum pole taped to the tripod was nearly her height.
Janine pointed the camera toward the school. She guessed it was about a hundred yards away. Far enough to get the hell out of here if someone comes outside, she thought. A single porch light shone next to the back door.
Seeing the school from the rear gave her the sense that she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, like being on the wrong side of the barrier of the lion exhibit at the zoo. She shuddered, then noticed Donna staring at the spring and trembling.
“You okay, Don?” she asked her cousin.
“I don’t know,” Donna said quietly.
“I told you, you don’t have to be here. I completely under—”
“No,” Donna said. “I need to do this.”
“All right, here we go,” Rex said. He stepped out of the woods into previously uncharted territory, feeling naked once he was out in the open; the spring was only a few dozen steps away, but without the cover of trees, it seemed like miles. Rex was grateful for the clouds, as this brazen trespassing would have been much dicier on a bright night. He looked toward the school. No signs of life.
They reached the water’s edge and were hit by a pungent stench.
“Whew. Was that you, man?” Leif whispered to Rex.
“No,” Rex said. “It’s the spring. Sulfur, I think.”
“Oh,” Leif said. “Right.”
Now that Leif was standing next to the dark, slow-moving water where they had seen things he still couldn’t explain, he felt a tightness in his chest.
Rex snapped his goggles on. “I’m going in.”
Even though Leif had only minutes ago been complaining about Rex’s need to lead, he didn’t object. Rex was the better swimmer anyway.
Janine panned the camera across the premises, then looked back to Donna, who’d stopped about ten steps earlier than the rest of them. “You sure you’re all right?” Janine asked.
Donna gave a slight nod, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes locked on the spring, captivated and terrified.
Rex found Donna’s look of dread more than a little disconcerting, but he had to press forward. He reminded himself that this was all some sick scam masterminded by Wayne Whitewood. Granted, it was technologically impressive, involving some sophisticated engineering to turn a natural spring into a giant hot tub with bubbles and lights, but a scam nonetheless.
He took a few steps into the spring, the water warm around his knees. He bent his face down to the surface, dipping his goggles in. Nothing but darkness. Obviously. He came up and wiped the water away with his arm, hoping he didn’t smell like farts now.
“Didn’t you say the water lit up?” Janine asked, pointing the camera at Rex.
“Uh, yeah,” he said.
“But you don’t know how to make it do that?”
“Uh, not exactly. Bu
t, I’m gonna do a couple dives, see if I can find a switch,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“A switch?” Janine asked.
“To turn the light on.” It sounded stupid as soon as he said it, but Rex didn’t know what else to do, so he strode deeper into the spring, just as Mr. Whitewood had done. Once the water reached his waist, he pushed off and started to swim.
As he moved farther from shore, the black Hanes V-neck he’d borrowed from his dad’s drawer began billowing up around his midsection. Without the reassuring underfooting of the creek floor, Rex instantly felt uneasy. The water was a temperature somewhere between bath and hot tub that should have been soothing, and yet…he felt cold, too. As if a pocket of chilly air had cocooned around him.
He continued toward the center of the spring, swimming in a slow, deliberate breast stroke, when he was suddenly gripped with another, more disturbing sensation: that feeling he sometimes got at the beach when he swam out farther than he’d intended and couldn’t shake the thought that a shark was lurking in the depths below.
The feeling he was being watched.
He had trouble convincing himself to drop his head below the surface, but he needed to find something underwater for Janine to film; footage of a goggled teenager doing laps around Bleak Creek Spring at night wouldn’t prove anything.
He inhaled deeply, then dove down, his eyes breaking into the darkness. As water filled his ears, he was struck by the sheer quiet. No muffled whooshes from his arms paddling. No gentle rumble of water flowing into the mouth of the creek. No sound at all.
He looked around, seeing pure blackness in every direction, the filtered moonlight unable to pierce the murk. There was no way he’d be able to spot an underwater cave, if that was indeed what Whitewood had gone into. He’d at least been hoping to see a glint in the water—of steel, or some other metal—but there was nothing other than uniform, lightless deep.
He felt his arm brush against something and realized he’d collided into one of the spring walls. He moved his hands across a wide patch of it, thinking maybe he’d feel some pipes or cables, but it was only rocks and dirt.
The water suddenly got colder—frigid, even—and Rex had the ominous thought that he was somehow closer to whatever was watching him. Or, more precisely, like he was swimming inside it.
Rex frantically kicked his legs to return to the surface, guessing it was only inches away, a foot at most.
But he didn’t emerge.
He looked up, only to see more blackness. Was that even up? What if this was some kind of Bermuda Triangle he would never escape?
He began to propel himself wildly, hoping he’d eventually hit the side or the bottom of the spring, which might orient him. Just when his breath was running out, he felt the night breeze on his face as his head broke through.
Gasping, he looked out toward the creek bank and saw no one. Oh no. Had they left him here?
“Hey!” he heard Leif call from behind him. “What’d you see?”
Rex tried to hide his terror while swimming toward Leif as quickly as possible, feeling profound relief when his feet brushed the rocky bottom.
“Couldn’t find anything yet,” he said, lifting his goggles to his forehead and stepping out onto the creek bank, water dripping from his cargo shorts. He wanted to tell them what he’d just experienced but was unable to find words that didn’t sound ridiculous. “It’s too dark.”
“My camera has a light on it,” Janine said. “But I’m not sure I can get to the button with the way I’ve wrapped it. Dammit. Didn’t think about tha—”
“Blood,” Donna said, still ten steps away.
“What?” Janine asked.
“It has to be blood.”
Rex had been slightly creeped out by Donna all night, and this didn’t help.
But Leif understood. “Oh, right!” he said. “The spring didn’t light up until that woman dipped her bleeding hand in.”
“Wait, for real?” Janine asked.
“Yes,” Donna said.
No one spoke for a moment. For the first time that night, Rex noticed the ever-present hum of the cicadas. “Anybody have something sharp?” he asked.
“My house key…?” Leif said, taking it out of his pocket.
“That could work.” Rex extended his hand toward Leif. “Scratch me. As hard as you can.”
“Really?” Janine asked, tempted to stop filming. “This is what’s happening right now?”
Leif placed the uneven side of the key on Rex’s palm.
“You ready?” Leif asked.
“Just do it,” Rex said, closing his eyes.
“Okay, three…two…one!” Leif jabbed the key sharply down and dragged it across Rex’s palm.
“Ow!” Rex shrieked, holding his hand and hopping in place. “That was good, that was good.” But when they examined the hand in the faint light, it wasn’t. “You didn’t even break the skin!”
“I think the palm is too meaty,” Leif said. “We should do it to the back of your hand.”
“Oh my god,” Janine said, shaking her head. “I don’t think I can stay here for this.”
“Okay, try it,” Rex said, extending his hand palm down and biting his lip.
Leif skipped the countdown altogether, whacking the key’s teeth down and across Rex’s knuckles with a focus of purpose and energy not unlike his direct hit on Rex’s testicles earlier that week. Doling out this physical punishment was apparently releasing some of his anger. “Geez!” Rex said, gritting his teeth and flapping his hand wildly back and forth.
“I think that one was good,” Leif said.
Rex held his hand close to his face and identified a thin line of red along his knuckles. “I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding!” He waved his hand around triumphantly.
“Congratulations,” Janine said.
“All right, I’m gonna do this,” Rex said to himself, walking toward the water, Janine begrudgingly keeping her camera trained on him.
Donna took a few more steps away from them as Rex crouched down at the edge of the spring—trying not to shake from the combination of pain and terror still coursing through him—and dipped his hand in, just as he’d seen the robed woman do.
He stared at the water.
“Does it feel like anything’s happening?” Leif asked.
It felt like his slightly bleeding hand was surrounded by water.
“Nah,” Rex said.
He hadn’t really been expecting it to work.
Janine pulled her eye away from the viewfinder and sighed. “Not to be a buzzkill,” she said, “but I don’t think…”
“You don’t think what?” Leif asked.
“It’s working,” Janine said, her eyes glued to the middle of the spring, which had begun to light up from below just as Rex and Leif had described: a blue glow, pale at first, then brighter as it expanded outward.
“Yeah,” Rex said, still staring down at the spot where his own hand was submerged. “I don’t think this is how it works.”
“No,” Leif said. “Look.”
The bubbles had started, and within ten seconds, the entire spring was at full gurgle, illuminating a bright, otherworldly blue.
Rex jerked his hand out of the water.
“Wow,” Janine said. “This is…wow.”
“Shouldn’t you be filming this?” Leif asked.
“Oh, right. My bad.” Janine hastily pulled the camera back to her eye.
Rex was shocked, his mind racing to find a logical explanation for what had just transpired. But from this close, he couldn’t see any sources of light in the spring. It was like the glow was coming from the water itself.
This wasn’t just a cult with fancy technology. This was something bigger. Something unknowable.
There was a stifled sob from behind them, and the
y all turned to see Donna stumbling back toward the woods. “Oh, shit,” Janine said. “I should…Yeah, I should go check on her.” She started to run before remembering what was in her hand. “Watch this for me for a second,” she said, handing the pole and camcorder over to Rex. “Just keep rolling!” She ran after Donna.
Leif looked to Rex, who continued to stare at the water in disbelief.
“Do you…” Leif began. “Do you think we should start filming under the water?”
“Sure,” Rex said, shaking his head like he’d just been awakened from a dream.
He turned the pole over, the camera now upside down, just off the ground. He leaned over the edge of the water and dipped it below the surface. It hit bottom before the lens was even submerged.
“I think you’re gonna have to get in the water,” Leif said. “Take it a little deeper.”
Rex looked at him, his face a portrait of dread.
Leif had never seen Rex like this before. If he was scared to get back in the water, then Leif definitely didn’t want to go in.
But then he remembered Alicia. They were here to make sense of her death, to potentially save other kids. And, at this moment, with his normally brave best friend paralyzed with fear, he was the only one left to do anything about it.
“I’ll go,” he said, surprising himself. “Gimme the camera.”
Rex looked at Leif, wide-eyed. “Really?” he asked.
“Yes.” Leif reached down to take the camera pole.
“Okay, yeah. All right,” Rex said, handing it over. “Just…be careful.”
Leif didn’t like the sound of that, but he took a step into the bubbling spring without looking back. He lowered the camera into the water, barely a foot deep. He pivoted it around in a half circle, doubting that he was filming anything other than bubbles, seeing as he was still so far from the middle of the spring, where Whitewood had descended. He decided to walk farther out, slowly and methodically panning the camcorder back and forth like he was operating a metal detector, the muscle memory kicking in from the many hours he’d spent doing just that during the lonely summer before seventh grade.
The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek Page 20