The Light (Morpheus Road)

by D. J. MacHale

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  "I'm afraid Cooper went out on that boat," I said. "Let's find out for sure and then I'll tell you what I'm thinking. And let's hope I'm wrong, because you won't like it."

  "Swell," Sydney said.

  I followed her around to the back of the house.

  Toward the lake.

  Toward the boathouse. The garage-size shack was built partly on land, with much of the structure out over the water. There were two ways in. In a boat on the water through the big double doors in front, or through the door on land. There was a combination lock on the walk-in door that used the highly secure code of 0000 to open. I spun the wheels, released the lock, and yanked the door open wide.

  The boathouse was exactly as I remembered it. It probably hadn't changed in the thirty years since it was built. Stepping in through the door led to a dock that started on land and reached out over the water, forming a square U shape that traveled along the inside walls. At the mouth of the U, directly opposite us, were the double boat doors that led out to the lake. Both were closed and probably padlocked. Light came from windows set high near the ceiling. There were shelves and cabinets for boating gear like life vests, water skis, and fishing tackle. Mr. Foley also used the place to store paint and tools.

  "What do you expect to find?" Sydney asked.

  "I'm hoping not to find something" was my answer. "If Cooper went out on that boat, something bad happened. I really hope he didn't and it was just stolen and vandalized."

  "How are you going to figure that out in here?" she asked.

  I walked along the dock to a shelf that had a couple of blue coolers on it.

  "Cooper never wears shoes on a boat," I explained. "He

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  says he can feel the movement of the boat and the water through the soles of his feet."

  "That's ridiculous," Sydney sniffed.

  "Maybe, but he believed it. The last thing he always did before shoving off was ..." I reached behind the coolers and felt something. My heart sank. Hidden back there was a pair of nearly new, classic Pumas. I lifted them out and held them up for Sydney to see.

  "His?" Sydney asked softly.

  I nodded.

  "So he took the boat out," she said flatly. "And never came back for his shoes."

  I nodded again.

  She asked, "What were those ideas you said I wasn't going to like?"

  It took me a second to pull my thoughts together. I had hoped I wouldn't find the shoes. Now it was time to face the reality of what it might mean.

  "I don't believe in fantasy," I said. "I know I draw comics and can quote every Dr. Who episode, but it's just for fun. I never took it seriously. Until now. I've been seeing things I can't explain. Whether they're coming out of my head or not, they're real because other people are seeing them too."

  "Yeah, I'm real thrilled about that part," Sydney said sarcastically.

  "George O. was killed. I nearly drowned and narrowly missed getting hurt a few other times. This is no joke."

  "So you think there's some kind of evil force going after people?" She stopped herself and added, "I can't believe I just said that. . . and meant it."

  "I don't think it's that simple because not everything we've seen has been dangerous. That light today. It wasn't trying to hurt us--it was guiding us to the piece of boat.

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  And the swirls I saw that led me to you. There was nothing dangerous about that."

  "Maybe not to you! That's what got me involved in the first place!"

  "Cooper's disappearance got you involved," I corrected.

  Sydney nodded. "I know. What about that piece of paper that was flying around my room? It got my attention to the window when I saw you in the water."

  "Exactly. It's like there are two forces at work. One is trying to hurt and the other is trying to help."

  Sydney gave me a sober look. "If you had said that to me yesterday, I would have handed you your head."

  "But now it sounds kind of possible, doesn't it?" I asked.

  "No, it doesn't!" Sydney barked. "Do you hear yourself? You think you're being haunted! Let's just say it. Ghosts. Ghouls. Demons. Boogey men. Whatever. You're saying the things that go bump in the night really do go bump in the night."

  "Yeah, I guess I am."

  "And whatever it is, it's trying to lead us to Cooper?"

  "Or stop us from finding him," I added.

  "That's insane," Sydney said. She backed toward the door but didn't leave. Her common sense was telling her that my theories were impossible, but her eyes were telling her something else.

  "Okay, mighty oracle," she announced. "What do you think happened to Cooper?"

  This was the tough part. The part she wasn't going to like. I knew because I didn't like it either.

  "I think he's hurt, or at least in serious trouble. At worst ..." I let that thought dangle. I couldn't say the words out loud. I didn't have to. She knew what I meant.

  She swallowed hard and said, "Okay, why?"

  "Because he took the boat out the night he disappeared

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  and now it's in pieces. There was something else I didn't tell you about. When I was lying on the grass here yesterday, I had a dream. Dandelion seeds were flying everywhere. That's why I was laughing. Remember?"

  "Yeah. It was creepy."

  "And it was real. Suddenly all the seeds fell down onto the blanket. They formed a pattern, Sydney. I didn't recognize it at first, but now I realize what it was. They formed stars. Constellations."

  "And that means . . . ?"

  "Cooper wanted to take Britt out onto the water to watch the stars. We used to do that all the time."

  "I know, I've done it too."

  "I think it was another clue. I was being told something, about watching the stars."

  "That's it? A bunch of seeds fell onto a blanket and you think you're getting a message from the great beyond?"

  "That. And the boat fragments. And Cooper's jacket turning up. And his shoes. And oh, by the way, Coop's been missing for four days. Sydney, it's hard not to put this all together and think that something really bad happened to him."

  "So then why the threats? Why is that George guy dead? And why is some ghoul that you created trying to do the same to you?"

  My shoulders dropped. "I don't know."

  "I'm sorry, Marsh," Sydney said. "The boat piece is scary. I'll give you that. And I don't know why we're seeing these strange things. But let's try to stick with reality instead of tripping off into fantasyland."

  I nodded. "Okay. There's enough solid evidence to try and--"

  "Whoa, what is that?" Sydney interrupted. She was looking over my shoulder to the double boat doors beyond.

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  I turned to see something on the unpainted pine doors. I hadn't noticed it when we first came in. Or maybe it wasn't there. Either way, when I saw it, my head went light and my knees buckled.

  "You see it?" I asked, my voice wavering.

  "Yeah. Who would have splashed paint on the doors?"

  "It isn't paint," I said, barely above a whisper.

  It looked exactly like the same splash of blood that had covered my bedroom wall when I smashed the golden ball. Red liquid ran down the length of the door, spreading the stain before hitting the water with a steady plip . . . plip . . . plip.

  I hated that sound.

  "Then what is it?" Sydney squealed, ramping up. "Where did it come from?"

  It had suddenly gotten dark. But when I looked up to the windows above the double doors, I saw that the sky was as bright and blue as before.

  "Do you hear that?" Sydney asked.

  She listened. I listened too. What I heard was ... nothing. All sound had disappeared except for the drops of blood on the water.

  . . . plip . . . plip . . . plip . . .

  "We gotta get out of here," I said, and went for the door. I yanked it, but the door wouldn't open. I pulled harder. No go. I was able to open the door a crack . . . en
ough to look out at the lock. It was back on the latch and clicked shut.

  "We're locked in!" I exclaimed.

  "That's impossible!"

  "We gotta go out through the boat doors," I said, and turned for the water.

  One look and I realized why it had gotten dark. Normally the water level didn't reach up to the bottom of the large double boat doors. There was a gap of about a foot

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  between the water and the bottom of the door. The gap was gone. The water level had risen impossibly high, blocking off the light that came from below. It was like the tide had come in.

  Lakes didn't have tides.

  "How is that possible?" Sydney asked.

  She didn't expect an answer. Water lapped up onto the dock. Within seconds we were standing in an inch of water.

  "This . . . this is wrong," I said.

  There was something odd about the water. Not only was it rising fast, but it was dark. Too dark. Sydney bent down and ran her fingers through it. When she raised her hand back up, her fingers were bright red. Bloodred.

  "This can't be real," she said softly.

  The windows over the boat doors went dark. The wooden doors squeaked and groaned as if straining to hold back a tremendous weight.

  "Can it?" Sydney added.

  As if in answer, the double doors were blown open by the force from a massive wave of blood.

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  Chapter 17

  We were about to get hit by the dark, warm wave.

  The moment before impact, I reached out to grab Sydney's arm. I don't know if it was to help her or to help myself. Either way I thought we'd have a better chance of surviving together. The last thing I remember before getting swamped was that I smelled meat. It was revolting but the least of our problems. Drowning in water or drowning in blood was still drowning.

  The force of the wave threw us against the back wall of the boathouse. I hit my shoulder against a shelf, then slammed my back against the wall. It didn't hurt, or maybe my mind was too busy to register pain as we were tumbled around in the turbulent, thick liquid. We were underwater. Or under blood. My instinct told me to kick for the surface, but I didn't know which way was up. Sydney grabbed at me, making it that much harder to swim. I couldn't see

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  her--that's how thick and dark the blood was. I've always heard that when you get disoriented underwater, you should watch for bubbles because they always drift to the surface, but it was too dark to see any bubbles.

  It was like being stuck in a gruesome washing machine. Trying to get my bearings was nearly impossible, but we had to do something. We needed to breathe. I chose a direction to swim. If we hit the lake bottom, we'd know which way was up. If we hit a wall, maybe we could follow it to a window and break it open. Or find the open boat doors. That was the most logical escape route. The big doors had to be open, that's how the blood came in. But if they were still open, why didn't the blood rush back out? The level wasn't going down, which meant whatever force had sent this sickening wave at us had thought to close the doors. Whatever the case, we had to find a way out. I pulled my right arm free from Sydney, kept a grip on hers, and started kicking.

  Something hit me in the head, probably one of the plastic coolers. That meant there were obstructions floating in the blood. I kept pulling until we hit a wall, but there was no way to tell which wall it was. Sydney shot forward and put her hands on the wall too. She felt her way along and nudged me to go to my right. It was as good a choice as any. My lungs were aching. I didn't know how much longer I could hold my breath. I had no thoughts about the impossibility of what was happening, only that we were both about to drown.

  A light appeared through the thick liquid. It was faint, but it was there. It seemed like the beam of a flashlight. There was nothing in the boathouse that could be making that. Whatever it was, it was part of the supernatural event we were experiencing. Was it there to help us? Or drive us deeper to our deaths? I made a snap decision. We had only seconds left anyway. We had to grab at any lifeline.

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  Sydney was still nudging me to move to my right. I could feel her urgency. She must have been near panic too. I grabbed her shirt, put my feet on the wall, and kicked toward the light. She fought me, but I was not about to let her go. She must have sensed my conviction and made the same choice as me: We were about to drown anyway, so why not go down kicking? She quickly pulled in the same direction. I hoped she could see the light too.

  The faint light was moving. It was definitely leading us somewhere. I thought of the moving light in George O.'s bedroom. That hadn't meant us any harm. That is, unless it meant to show us the piece of boat that would lead us into this boathouse so we'd drown in a sea of meat-smelling blood.

  My hand scraped the bottom. The light had brought us down. Was that its evil plan? Bring us down so low that there was no chance for us to get to the surface? The water, or rather the blood, started getting lighter. And colder. My hopes jumped. We were leaving the blood and entering the water of the lake. I knew then that the light was definitely trying to help us. It was showing us the way out of the bloody death trap.

  Sydney pulled away from me and I knew why. She sensed that we were close to freedom. The light directed us under the boat doors and out into the lake. The closed boat doors. I was right. Whatever had done this to us wanted us trapped in there. Visibility got better, which led to orientation. I grabbed Sydney and motioned for her to swim up, since I could finally tell where up was. She responded instantly and kicked for the surface. I did the same and seconds later we broke up and out into fresh air. We both took huge breaths. It was the second time in less than a day that I had nearly drowned. I didn't like swimming all that much to begin with--I was thinking that I never wanted to get wet again.

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  "My god," Sydney said between gulps of air. She was looking at the boathouse.

  I looked, expecting to see blood oozing out of every crack. It wasn't. There was no blood, and the water level was below the boat doors, just like always. It was as if nothing had happened, other than two near drownings.

  "C'mon," I said, and swam for shore.

  We crawled out of the water and fell down on the grass near Sydney's house, exhausted. As the panic from almost drowning wore off, the panic from having been through a supernatural event set in.

  "Where did it go?" Sydney said through deep breaths. "How could it just disappear?"

  "It didn't go anywhere," I answered. "It was never there."

  "But we were swimming in it. It was in my nose, my hair! It was blood, Marshall. I could smell it. It was so . . . real."

  "I didn't say it wasn't real." I touched my sore shoulder and winced. "It nearly killed us. That's real enough for me. But it wasn't physically there. Did you see the wave of blood throw the boat doors open?"

  "Yeah."

  "Those doors don't open in. They swing out. But we saw them thrown in because it fit the illusion. Then they somehow magically closed to trap us inside. That isn't physically possible."

  "So then how did it happen?" she cried in frustration.

  "I... I don't know."

  We were both spinning out of control. I forced myself to calm down and breathe. Sydney was in worse shape than I was. She sat huddled on the grass next to me, nervously pulling at her wet hair.

  "This is . . . this is . . . impossible," she mumbled.

  "But it isn't. This thing has been coming after me and

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  now it's after you. It's like George O. said. The more people who know, the more will be in danger."

  "Know what?" Sydney cried. "I don't know anything!"

  "Not yet, but we're getting closer," I said.

  "To what!" she screamed with frustration.

  "To Cooper."

  Sydney stared at me blankly. "That makes no sense."

  "I think maybe it does," I said. "This has been about him as much as me. I started seeing the strange things about the time Cooper disappea
red. The night he went out on the boat. It could be a coincidence, but what if it isn't? Every time I try to get in touch with him, something happens. It's like I'm being prevented from trying to find him."

  "By who? Or what?"

  "I don't know, but I've seen things that have helped, too . . . the tattoo swirls, the dandelion stars, the light in George's bedroom, and the light underwater. That light saved us, Sydney."

  "So you think two cosmic forces are battling to either kill you or help you? Is that what you're saying?"

  I gave that a few seconds' thought and said, "Yeah, I guess I am."

  Sydney's eyes flared. "You're warped," she said, and jumped to her feet, ready to run off.

  "Then you are too," I called.

  She stopped.

  "I think Coop is in trouble, Sydney. He went out on that boat and something bad happened. He may be holed up somewhere, hurt. I never believed in mediums or cosmic connections or anything like that, but it seems like Cooper is somehow reaching out to me so I can find him."

  "You can't be serious," she said with the kind of cold disdain she had been perfecting her entire life.

  "But I am. It's the only thing that makes sense."

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  "Sense?" she screamed. "None of this makes sense. You think Cooper is out there somewhere channeling his thoughts to lead you to him?"

  I nodded. It was exactly what I was saying.

  She added, "But then some evil force wants to stop you so badly, it's trying to kill you? Am I getting this right, Yoda?"

  "What else can I think!" I screamed, jumping to my feet. I was tired of Sydney shooting down everything I had to say. "I'm not making this up. You've seen it. You almost drowned too. What do you think is happening?"

  Sydney backed down. She wasn't used to being confronted like that, especially by me. But I wasn't the same guy who built rockets and read comics with Cooper. Not anymore.