Had Terri come to find these papers, to take them, so that I wouldn’t learn the truth?

How much did they all know? What were they trying to cover up?

Fats was singing “I Hear You Knocking” on the turntable downstairs. Over the music, I started to hear knocking, actual knocking on the front door. I wasn’t sure it was real, but it was. I went downstairs, wishing I wasn’t still so stoned. Whoever was out there was trying to open the door, the knob turning in place.

“Ted?” I yelled up the stairs, hoping for a little backup. But either he couldn’t hear me, or he was too caught up in his artwork to tear himself away.

The wall phone in the kitchen began to ring, the alarm-like jangling of the bell startling me. I stood between the ringing phone and the door. Torn, I moved up to the door, peeking out the window. No one was there.

I went for the phone. “Hello?”

There was no answer. But someone was on the line. I could hear them breathing.

“Who’s there?” I said. No response. The line crackled and hummed, made strange, underwater noises. Then, a faint whisper: Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Again, there was another loud knock at the front door, and I jumped. I slammed the phone on its cradle, made my way back into the hall. Heart pounding, I crept up to the door, and peeked out the window.

Again, no one was there.

I unlatched the door and flung it open. Nothing. But then I looked down. There were wet footprints leading to and from the door, along the path to the pool.

I turned, yelled for my father again, and got no answer. Where the hell was he? No time to wait or go searching upstairs for him. I went to the hall closet and grabbed the speargun from where we’d stashed it behind coats and boots. I grabbed one of the spears and pulled the elastic band to load it as he had shown me, then walked back to the door. I stood there on the threshold, pointing the speargun into the darkness as I searched the driveway and yard for movement.

Had I imagined the knocking? I may have imagined the sound, but I wasn’t imagining the wet footprints. Just to be sure, I dropped down to my knees, touching the damp stone on the front step. No. This was real.

No folie à deux.

I stood up, forced myself to move forward, away from the comforting light and noise of the house. With heavy legs, I followed the wet footprints, not at all surprised when they led me right to the gate to the pool.

Back in the house, the phone was ringing again.

Raising the speargun, finger on the trigger, I pushed the gate open, cringing at the loud screech.

“Hello?” I called, stepping through the gate onto the flagstone patio. “Who’s there?”

An oddly sweet smell was coming from the pool, all mixed up with the metallic tang of rusted metal, the sulfurous stench of rotting eggs.

At a small splash, I caught a glimpse of movement in the pool out of the corner of my eye. I turned and aimed the speargun at whatever I’d just seen, but there were only ripples now. “Who’s there?”

Lexie. Please let it be Lexie.

Let the wish I made come true: Bring her back to me.

I held my breath, waiting. There was nothing. No splash, no movement, only stillness.

The pool pulled me closer, the blackness sucking me in. I went right up to the edge. The lights from the house behind me were enough to cast my shadow, and the water gobbled it up.

I walked carefully to the other side of the pool, hands wrapped tightly around the speargun. I heard the telltale screech of the rusty hinges on the front gate. I spun in time to see a dark figure moving slowly toward me across the pavers beside the pool. I almost called her name. But this was not Lexie. It was someone much taller.

“Stop! Stop right where you are!” I shouted.

“It’s me, Jackie! It’s Ryan,” he said, freezing and raising his hands above his head like a criminal. “Jesus, is that a crossbow?”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, not lowering the weapon.

“I was worried about you. I came to check to make sure you were okay.”

“I didn’t hear your car. I didn’t see any lights.”

“I walked over,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. I was worried.”

“So you took a twenty-five minute walk uphill in the dark?”

“Walking helps me think. I thought the air would help clear my head. But seriously, Jackie, why are you pointing a crossbow at me?”

“It’s not a crossbow, it’s a speargun. Are your feet wet?” I asked him. I moved closer to him, trying to see if he’d left footprints.

His hands were still in the air. “Jackie, you’re starting to really freak me out.”

I took a step back, realizing I sounded like a crazy person. But I didn’t lower the speargun.

“I’m a little freaked out myself.”

A serious understatement.

“Can you please lower that thing?” he asked. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out his pale, worried face. His furrowed brow. His feet looked dry.

“Tell me again why you’re here. Why you decided to come sneaking around this late at night.”

“I came because I was worried! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our talk this morning. That maybe Lexie was right. I stopped by Edgewood and talked to my grandmother about it. I really listened to her for the first time. She says there’s something dark down in the pool, something that’s been gathering force for a long time. And that the people who die in that water are trapped there forever. I know it sounds crazy, and I’m not saying I understand any of it, but—”

“Oh, I understand.”

And I did. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I thought back to all the interactions I’d had with him since returning, the spooky stories he’d told me, how dangerous he said the house and pool were.

“You do?” He looked astonished.

“I know who you are.”

“Who I am?”

Pathetic, him playing dumb.

“You’re the great-grandson of Benson and Eliza Harding, the couple who owned the hotel.”

He said nothing. He didn’t deny it, but he wasn’t ready to admit to it, either. He took a step back, his eyes on the speargun.

“You didn’t want me to find out. Your mother came here today to try to make sure I didn’t, to get rid of any evidence.”

But I caught her before she got the chance.