Summer, 1996
The pounding on the cabin door woke Neil with a start. A voice was calling his name. He glanced at his watch. 6:34. He slid from the bunk and crossed the cabin to the door. The bunk normally occupied by Redwood Lodge’s co-counselor was empty. Brendon had gone home for the weekend and was expected back later that morning. Neil rubbed his eyes and then reached for the door handle.
William Prescott, a counselor from the next cabin, greeted him with disheveled hair and an excited face. Neil restrained his urge to curse at the boy.
“Come on. They found Chris Bateman floating in the lake,” said William.
Recalling the previous night, Neil struggled to keep from laughing aloud. The last thing he’d seen was Stinky Bateman’s frightened eyes peeking over the side of the canoe. He and his friends had left the boy in the middle of the lake, paddled back to the beach, stowed the canoes, and were back in their respective cabins before two. He shrugged his shoulders, feigning a look of innocence. “What?”
“He was in a canoe. All tied up. They’re pulling him to shore now.”
Slipping on shoes, Neil followed William down to the lakeside. A cluster of young counselors had already formed along the water’s edge. Two canoes had been beached, and camp supervisors, Harvey Brennan and Gloria Satterfield, were lifting Bateman from one of them. The boy looked pale and was shivering as he sat in the sand. Harvey cut the tape from Bateman’s wrists and ankles while Gloria pulled the piece from his mouth. Neil cringed at the sound of the tape’s removal and was surprised by the fact that Bateman didn’t yelp.
Across the crowd, Neil saw Steve and Rob mingling with the other counselors. Jeremy was near the back, fighting to keep a straight face. He couldn’t see Patrick anywhere. It looked as if half the camp counselors were there. Some watched in stunned silence while others whispered among themselves. A few eyes glanced in his direction, only to turn away quickly. Some of them would have their suspicions, but none would speak them out loud. They enjoyed watching Stinky Bateman be harassed as much as Neil enjoyed harassing the boy.
Gloria knelt in front of Bateman, gazing into his eyes. “Chris, are you okay?”
Stinky Bateman remained stoic, only giving his head a slow nod. The answer must not have been enough to satisfy Gloria for she touched his forehead and his cheek with the back of her hand. She said, “Who did this? What happened?”
Bateman shook his head, screwing his eyes closed. He muttered, “I don’t know.”
Gloria wrapped her arm over his shoulder, but Bateman brushed it off and rose to his feet. “I’ll be fine.”
Harvey stepped forward, trying to guide Bateman away to the camp office, but Neil was surprised to see Stinky Bateman resist. “No, I’m just . . . just hungry.”
Bateman pushed past the two adults, and, with his head hung low, he strode off toward his cabin. Neil glanced across the crowd at Steve, who just shrugged his shoulders. There was no doubt that Stinky Bateman knew who’d bound him up and dropped him in the canoe. Neil had looked straight into the kid’s eyes. Why hadn’t Bateman turned them in? If he’d been in the kid’s shoes, he’d have been naming names before even reaching shore. Perhaps Neil was giving the kid too much credit. Maybe Stinky Bateman was a bigger idiot than he’d thought. A smile crossed his face as Neil wondered how fast he could make Stinky Bateman regret keeping his mouth shut.
Chapter Twenty-One
Neil held the flashlight limply in his hand, walking in silence and paying just enough attention to his surroundings to keep him from veering off the trail. The moon ducked behind a curtain of clouds, darkening the forest around him. He’d started humming random tunes and somehow ended up with Billy Joel’s Only the Good Die Young. It somehow seemed appropriate.
He wondered what was going to happen when he returned to New York. Neil couldn’t tell his fiancée about the weekend. Theirs may not be a relationship built on love, but they’d both committed to be faithful to each other. As far as she knew, he’d held up his end of the bargain, mostly. There had been one or two dalliances, but who was counting? He let out a mischievous laugh. What happened at camp, stayed at camp.
His thoughts drifted to Sammy, wondering if they could be happy together. If he walked away from the law firm, from the partnership, from Sheila, would he be happy? Everything that he ever wanted was within his grasp, and all he would have to do is walk down the aisle and say “I do.” In a few months’ time, he’d have what he’d been striving to achieve for years. He’d take the next step in the “Evolutionary Ladder of Neil Brewster.” All his hard work was about to pay off, and he couldn’t be happier. All of which made him wonder why he was thinking about throwing it all away over one night of salacious passion? Why was he even considering the idea of tossing everything to the wind just to spend his life with Sammy?
A rustling in the branches above startled Neil. He turned the flashlight upward and scanned the trees but found nothing. He swept the light to and fro, like a spotlight, searching the branches overhead. When an owl’s hoot echoed from the darkness, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how skittish he’d become. His imagination was getting the better of him. He laughed aloud and scolded the owl. “You scared me, you bastard!” He focused the flashlight again at his feet and moved on.
Neil thought about the note. Why did he write “love” on his note to her? There had been no “love” involved in what happened in Sammy’s bedroom. It had been carnal, uninhibited sex . . . and nothing more. Just passion in the most pornographic sense of the word. But the way she held him, kissed him, and looked at him brought something to the surface, confusing and unknown. He didn’t for a moment believe it was love. He’d always considered love to be a useless emotion that only compromised one’s sensibilities. Never once in his life could he recall saying “I love you” to any woman, not even to get them to sleep with him. Even Sheila had never heard those words uttered from his lips. But tonight . . .
Another rustle in the foliage nearby caused Neil to jump and flick the flashlight around to his right, shining it into the underbrush. The brambles were thick, making it difficult to see much beyond the trail. Nothing stirred as he scanned the immediate area with the light. The owl hooted again, and he smiled. “Stop that, you goddamn rodent!”
Giving the forest one final sweep with the flashlight, Neil moved on along the path. He’d only taken a few steps when he paused to listen. No crickets. No sound. He’d grown so accustomed to their chirping accompaniment that he almost didn’t notice that they’d stopped. The silence that came in the wake of their absence seemed to pierce his eardrums now that he’d noticed it. If not for the sound of his own breathing, he’d have sworn that he’d gone deaf. Living in New York, he’d become numb to the constant noise of sirens wailing and horns honking to the point of not noticing it was even there. But when there’s no noise at all—when nothing can be heard—the silence seemed louder than all the sounds of the city combined.
To reassure himself, Neil stomped his foot in the sand, just to hear the sound of the impact. The inky blackness of the forest to his right and left was almost impenetrable. The beam of the flashlight was the only way that he saw beyond a few feet. He found himself wishing for the return of the owl.
His best option, he decided, was to return to Sequoia Lodge without further hesitation. He was tired. That had to be all it was, right? The crickets probably went to sleep. As did the owl. All he needed was a good night’s sleep. The sooner he got back to the lodge, the sooner he could curl up in his sleeping bag. There was nothing to worry about, he told himself. But he only half-believed it. As his pace quickened, he swung the flashlight to and fro, watching the path ahead as well as the sandy edges of the trail to his left and right. The only sound came from his feet as they sank into the shallow sand with each step.
Because of the overwhelming silence, the snap of the stick resounded like a gunshot. Neil froze, inhaled deeply, and held
his breath. The only warning he had was the creaking of an overhead branch, and the soft whoosh of air behind him. Spinning around, he had only a moment to catch a glimpse of the pale gray skin and hollow eyes in the beam of the flashlight before he was knocked backward hard onto the sand.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The force of the blow knocked Neil onto his back, ripping the air out of his lungs. The flashlight slipped from his hand and went out when it hit the ground. He’d only caught a momentary glimpse of what had bowled him over. The face had been horrifying—at least he thought it was a face. He remembered a pair of eyes, open and staring. Harsh pale skin with an icy-gray hue. It must have been a trick of the light.
Everything around him was enveloped in total blackness. Only the faintest of silhouettes was visible above him. He pushed backward, trying to put some distance between himself and whoever, whatever it was. His first thought was that it might be a bear, but he had no way of telling in the gloom. He rattled through his brain, hoping to find some small remnant of information telling him how to deal with bears. Playing dead was the only thing that came to mind.
But then he heard it, faintly at first, only an echo drifting through the trees on a silent breeze. “Leave me alone, Neil!”
Daring not to move, he remained kneeling in the sand, his eyes darting from left to right, peering aimlessly into the darkness. The silhouette before him was still and lifeless, and the forest had gone silent once again. His ears strained to pick up any sound, anything at all. Then it came again, like a distant echo.
“Stop it, Neil!”
He slowly lifted himself up off the sandy trail, cautiously looking around as he did. He figured he could run for it, if he could just get to his feet. Whatever was happening, he needed to get away from it as fast as he could. As Neil inched his way up, his eyes kept returning to the shadowy figure. It never moved. For a moment, he had an insane urge to reach out and touch it, to find out once and for all what it was. But he brushed the urge aside, choosing instead to follow the more sensible desire for self-preservation.
Once Neil was standing fully erect, he remained still for a moment, not wanting to make too many sudden movements. His leg muscles tightened, ready to spring the moment his brain gave the command. That’s when the world exploded.
The forest around Neil lit up with a thousand flashes of white light. His hands flew to his face, shielding his eyes from the intensity. The glare seared through the twilight like bursting white stars, and he spun around and around, desperate for even a second’s reprieve from disorientating brilliance. The distorted voice roared through the trees, erupting in his ears.
“Neil, stop it!”
“Leave me alone, Neil!”
Over and over the voice thundered all around him, slamming his eardrums almost to the breaking point. Shielding his eyes and covering his ears, Neil fell to the ground in a huddled mass.
“Stop!” he screamed, gripping his head tightly between his forearms.
The crushing distortion and chaotic flashes of hellish bright light left him convulsing in the sand, legs flailing, hands and arms wrapped tightly around his head, and his eyes locked shut. Like before, the voices echoed over and over, seeming to merge into one long horrifying sentence. They intermingled until Neil no longer heard individual words.
Even through his closed eyelids, he saw intense flashes of white. Neil twisted and rolled in the sand. He felt its grittiness on his lips and face. How long could he lie there? How long would this go on? He opened his mouth and screamed, but he heard nothing but the resounding voices repeating the same thing ceaselessly.
“Stop it, Neil!”
“Leave me alone, Neil!”
“Neil, stop it!”
That voice, he thought. Why that damn voice? It had been nothing more than a high-pitched whine eighteen years ago, but now it was a malignant cancer attacking his mind, his very soul. It was distorted . . . twisted . . . perverted into something evil and callous. The tone seemed accusatory, or was that just his imagination? He couldn’t tell. The ruthless cascade of light and sound caused him to lose all sense of where he was and what was around him. He was being blinded and deafened, leaving him feeling helpless and afraid. It was an experience that, until very recently, was wholly foreign to him. It was a feeling that only served to make his plight even more terrifying. He had to do something, and fast. He opened his eyes.
The glaring lights exploded around Neil, forcing him to squint just to keep from being overwhelmed. The forest to the right and left was ablaze, and his vision was speckled with swirling orbs left by the bright flashes. Blurred and disoriented, he tried to glance around, hoping to get enough of his bearings to make an escape. The trees seemed to dance and sway in the pulsating lights, and he struggled to tell which way was which.
The white Converse high-top sneakers hovering over him caught Neil’s eye. The laces were untied and the canvas worn and stained. A distant memory pressed its way to the forefront of his mind. He knew where he’d seen them before. They seemed to float in the air above him, gently turning this way and that. After that first glimpse, everything around him seemed to fade into the background. A kind of horrifying tunnel vision set in, focusing on one thing only. His eyes drifted up the bare legs, the skin appeared icy gray. Continuing upward, his gaze fell on the beige shorts, followed by the pale blue t-shirt, the Camp Tenskwatawa logo emblazoned on the front. The arms dangled on either side, drawn down straight by gravity. As the voices continued to batter his eardrums and the lights dazzle his eyes, he felt his stomach knot up in fear.
Next, he saw the coarse rope encircling the neck. The same rope used to tie up the canoes by the lake. Tan and rough. He’d remembered getting more than his share of rope burns from it in his youth. The thick strands were digging deep into the pale gray skin of the neck. The head, tilting listlessly to the right, seemed to twitch and convulse, almost as if it were still alive. With its pale complexion spotted with dark bruising, the young face seemed to dance with the shadows caused by the colorless kaleidoscope around him. The open eyes were blank and dark, with a horrifying gaze that seemed to look straight through him. Up from behind the head, Neil saw the hangman’s knot, with the rope leading up into the trees. Resting atop the head of blond hair was the red Snap-on hat. The lifeless body dangled from the rope, rocking gently back and forth, a dead pendulum of human bone and flesh.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went dark, and silence fell upon the forest. Neil felt crippled by his own terror, unable to think, speak, or move. Is it over? he kept asking himself. His body trembled, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His heart was still racing, and his ears were ringing. Neil shook his head, hoping to clear away the disorientation and get a grip on himself.
He tried to sit up, feeling nauseous for a few moments. Another deep breath dislodged a few grains of the sand from his caked lips, sending them down his throat, causing him to gag and cough. Then, out of the darkness, he heard the voice again, faint this time, echoing through the trees.
“Leave me alone, Neil!”
As the echoing voice faded, a glaring single light shone into Neil’s face, like a brilliant spotlight. Silhouetted within its circle of brilliance was the dark form he’d seen earlier. The outline of the hangman’s knot, the shape of the body, and the gently lifeless movement all formed a black mass within the blinding glare.
The fear that had paralyzed him finally relinquished control, and the urge for flight overwhelmed everything else. As he scrambled to his feet, Neil charged off in the opposite direction, running hard, running fast, and running scared. No sooner had he moved when the bright light went dark, leaving him blind once more. But it didn’t stop him. If anything, it just made him run faster.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stumbling through the dark forest, Neil wasn’t sure which direction he was headed, toward Sequoia Lodge or back to the c
aretaker’s cabin. At the moment, he didn’t care which. More than once, his foot caught on something—perhaps a rock or a tree root—sending him sprawling to the ground. He felt the sting of low-hanging branches that thrashed over and over at his face. His shins were gouged by indignant brambles that ripped and tore at his flesh.
Although the trail was straight, in his panicked state, he veered off again and again, stumbling though the underbrush until he found his way back to the sandy path. The taste of blood mixed with sandy grit in his mouth told him that he must have cut his lip. He didn’t stop to check. Running hard, Neil’s lungs were searing as he gasped for air. Despite being an avid runner, he found it hard to keep up the pace but charged on nonetheless. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the thing hanging from the trees.
When Neil broke out from under the canopy of overhanging branches into the sandy open area of the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief. The moon, although partly obscured by clouds, cast ample enough light for him to make out the silhouettes of five vehicles parked at the opposite side. Sequoia Lodge wasn’t far away. Stopping for a moment, he leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees to rest. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm his frayed nerves. But his legs gave out moments later. He dropped to his knees, his hands falling forward, sinking deep into the soft sand. Fighting to catch his breath, Neil lost all control and began to cry.
The voice still echoed in the shadows of his mind. Closing his eyes meant seeing that gray face again, releasing another wave of fear through his soul. The memory was vivid and raw, and would probably haunt him for life. The tears flowing down his face stung the scratches and open wounds on his cheeks.
Neil pounded his fists into the sand. “Why? Why? Why? Why’s this happening?”
Follow You Down Page 14