Crescent Lake

by David Sakmyster

  His mind told him there was no way to win. Weaponless, he was no good. Hadn't a chance against the Reverend and Lloyd, much less all of Silver Springs.

  But the forest whispered to him, hinting at another option.

  A terrible choice, but one that was inescapable.

  And so he ran. With a purpose and a direction.

  To the lake.

  And to the reddish glow that even now pulsed like a homing beacon, sending an eerie, scintillating light through the trees and past the branches, drawing him ever nearer with tempting promises of freedom and power, and of course, truth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Aboard FBI Private Chartered Flight

  Over the Rockies

  11:30 p.m.

  Richard Walker swallowed the last of his day's pills. The pain had been subsiding, thankfully; and he was going to recommend the doctor reduce the dosage. He didn't want to develop an addiction for this stuff.

  His knee was the worst. The shoulder was a clean shot, right through. But knees were tricky. He understood the doctors operated for over two hours and there were still some complications. But he would walk again. Someday, months from now. In the meantime, he had a tremendously heavy cast set around the whole leg and could limp with crutches if he had to. Now he sat, in the plane's cabin, his leg stretched into the wide aisle.

  With a shudder, he remembered the agony of waking up in his office as the paramedics were lifting him onto the stretcher. God, how he'd screamed. Good thing no one else was around to hear that.

  But nothing compared to the horror he felt when his memory gradually returned. He'd ruined the project. Years of preparation. And he'd blabbered enough to send Lloyd out to Seattle with their agent's name. Enough to sign the death warrants of both the agent and the star witness. It was a multiple tragedy, Walker realized. He had actually liked the Murphy kid. He had guts, and a sense of humor – something you needed to survive in this world.

  Rob Anderson, Walker's replacement aide, had been in and out of his hospital recovery room, briefing him periodically. As of last night, there were three agents in the town, and none of them had checked in yet. This morning, Anderson woke him up and gave him the news that Agent Harper had secured the witness but was forced to go back into town; she had requested that no action be taken until dawn. Then she had hurriedly mentioned something about a church official being in league with Lloyd, and that the Senator was there.

  A check with Connecticut confirmed that Evelyn West had slipped out during the night and had taken a plane somewhere, as did O'Neil, shortly afterwards. But neither of these facts bothered Walker as much as something else he had learned through Anderson's brief:

  The town's name.

  Silver Springs.

  Why did that name send off warning bells through his brain? He hadn't been privy to the final location of the witness. If he had, he knew the name would have provoked some response. There was something about Silver Springs...

  Something...

  The name echoed through his mind again and again, along with another name that sprang unbidden into his thoughts: Sunscreen.

  Silver Springs. Sunscreen.

  What was the connection? It was there, somewhere in the murky pits of his memory. Something he had casually seen and dismissed. Something in the news? Television? No.

  One of the many records and files he had paged through upon assuming control of the Bureau?

  That was it.

  A file. An old file.

  Still in the hospital, Walker had suddenly sat up in bed. He felt charged, renewed. His job wasn't over. Far from it. He wasn't sure how, but he knew he was needed. But not here, not stuck in this bed. Perhaps, he thought, there was still some way he could redeem himself and save this operation. But first…

  After his aide brought him his secured laptop, he sent everyone out of the room. Then punched in his clearance code and accessed the private database. Then, quickly, wincing as a stray movement twisted his knee, he began to type.

  > Input

  > Find

  > Find what?

  > Silver Springs, Washington

  The drive whirred for several minutes, checking for the key words through every file through over fifty years of records. Finally it stopped and listed the following:

  >Silver Springs, Washington

  One match

  > See: PROJECT SUNSCREEN, r.x.16, 1963

  Walker's heart skipped a beat. There it was. Project Sunscreen. Familiar like a distant memory. He couldn't remember anything about it but the name and the town. With so many cases and projects in the FBI's history, Walker hadn't been able to go through every individual file in any depth.

  The question now remained: how secretive was this file? Instinct warned he was about to embark on something from which there was no turning back. And his imagination sponsored a thought: that whatever this search would reveal, it was far, far bigger than O'Neil and all the mobsters put together.

  He waited, patiently tapping the edge of the keyboard while the file opened.

  The computer stopped humming.

  > One match

  > Project SUNSCREEN ....

  ****** Classified – Director Level ******

  > Enter Priority Access Code

  Walker swore. "Anderson!"

  The man came running in from the hallway. "Yes, sir?"

  Walker took a deep breath, shutting out the flaring pain resurging from his shoulder, echoed by a sharper ache in his knee. "Get me Edward Brown on the phone. Now."

  Anderson started. "Sir? Edward Brown–"

  "Yes, yes. One of the former Chiefs of Operations. He's still alive, isn't he?"

  "Yes, but–"

  "Find him." Brown was in charge from 1962 until 1968. He must have presided over SUNSCREEN. Walker could get by the access code and into the report, but he had a feeling he was going to need a more personal, subjective viewpoint. Brown had apparently seen to hushing this up, had taken great lengths to block its discovery – and yet, had left it on the file.

  Why?

  The answer was obvious: Sunscreen wasn't finished yet. Whatever it was, there was the possibility of a future official requiring information. Maybe Brown hoped it wouldn't happen in his lifetime, that someone far down the line would have to deal with it.

  Sorry, old man. It's opening, now...

  He punched in the code.

  > Access granted...

  ****** Project SUNSCREEN ******

  Date: November 11, 1963 - April 5, 1966

  Officer: Edward J. Brown, CO

  Location(s): Silver Springs, Washington

  Summary (prepared by Dennis C. Vogel): On the night of November 11, 1963...

  Walker read on, mesmerized. Page after page. The minutes flew by, stretching into hours. Anderson came in at one point and left a note with Brown's number.

  Walker hung up the phone. He had been talking for two hours with the former CO. Grim-faced, he turned to the computer, closed the file and turned off the power.

  Anderson stood in the doorway, waiting.

  Walker stared at his cast on his leg and spoke quietly. "Call over to Andrews Air Force Base and prepare a jet to Seattle. Have a helicopter waiting at the runway, fueled and ready to take me to Silver Springs."

  Anderson nodded and went to use the phone in the next office.

  Alone, Walker did some mental calculations and decided, if the conditions were favorable, he could arrive in Silver Springs by one-thirty a.m., Pacific time.

  He prayed to God it was soon enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Silver Springs

  11:30 p.m.

  Nick stood in the soft earth at the shore, the wind at his back, gently needling him onward, toward the still water and the dazzling scarlet crescent that glimmered like a diamond in the sun and whispered of timeless, exquisite mysteries.

  He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, then stared again at the glowing shape. He marveled at the breathtaking beauty
of the water. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of oil into the water and now it was seeping across the surface, altering its hues as it spread out: a fierce reddish-violet in the center of the crescent, gradually shifting through the spectrum and showing yellows and greens, purples and finally blues, growing deeper and darker with distance.

  Nick removed his pants, socks, boxers. Placed them all in a neat pile on a grassy patch in the dirt. Naked, he took a cautious step forward and stood at the bank. A few more inches and he'd been in the water. No turning back. What had begun only a few weeks ago with a simple wiretap and a load of courage had led him here, to the edge of this lake, face to face with the unknown.

  There was no other way. It was time for a swim, time to brave the terrors of the lake and to greet the ultimate mystery.

  Look what it did to Zachary. To Grant.

  He tested the water with his toe, splashed his foot around, then set it down, sinking into the soft muck. He took another step. Slipped, but regained his balance and slid forward, up to his shins.

  Another step, a long stride. He had the frightening sensation that the bottom had dropped away altogether and that he would sink into a fathomless well of blackness before ever reaching the glorious light; but his toes finally dug into a rocky shelf, painfully sliding along jagged edges. He dropped under up to his waist, his body shuddering in a massive but not unpleasant chill.

  Sure you're all right to drive? Or do you want to sit this one out, too?

  Nice stopped; froze. Closed his eyes tight.

  Stop it.

  He'd conquered those fears, beaten them finally. He didn't need them to come back. Holding his breath, focusing on the shimmering radiance ahead, Nick pushed off, a shallow dive into the lake's cool embrace.

  The heavy clouds looked like jagged-edged scissors slicing through the dark tapestry of night, in their wake preparing to peel back the layers of eternity. From the driveway the church appeared sentient: a black, toad-like thing squatting on the hill. Only the steeple gave it away, a bleak spire poised above the land.

  They dragged Audrey up the path to the church. Her hands were tied behind her back and a thick blindfold secured over her eyes. Her skull hurt, painfully throbbing where she had collided with the fireplace. The worst part was that she didn't know what had happened back at the house. She had a vague impression of flames, and a charred body. Where was Nick? Stan? Had they escaped, or were they dead, too? Was there any point in her struggling? Any reason to try?

  She couldn't bear the possibility of Nick's death; the thought opened a well of despair too great to face. She had to see what was happening, had to find out where they were taking her.

  "Take this thing off my eyes!"

  John Frakes led her up the path. They were nearing the church, preparing to enter by the side door. Everyone was inside, silent and eager. The purification of the town was almost complete, and John was proud. And thankful to be given this second chance after his bungled attempt at the library. He had underestimated the enemy there, but wouldn't do so again. He had the witch bound well. She wasn't about to break free.

  John was ready.

  "I can't see," Audrey repeated.

  "And you won't. Your kind doesn't deserve to look upon the house of God. Your eyes will only defile it–"

  Audrey stopped, spun around and kicked about knee-height where she had heard the voice. She felt a satisfying crunch, heard a grunt, and then she was off, running in the opposite direction, back down the rocky hill. She used her shoulder to dislodge one end of the blindfold. Blinking, she saw the town waiting below. Freedom. She could kick her way into a house, find a sharp object to cut the ropes, and–

  She was tackled from behind, the wind knocked out of her. She fell hard on her face before John grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head twice against the ground. Dazed, she was hauled to her feet and dragged slowly back up the hill as John limped, angrily muttering to himself.

  The blindfold had fallen off, but when John opened the door and pushed her inside the candlelit church crammed with all the residents of Silver Springs, she fervently wished it had stayed on.

  Nick cut through the water with swift strokes, ducked under the surface and propelled himself along with his arms and legs. He swam underwater until his chest felt ready to burst.

  Something slithered across his back and a slimy eel-like creature caressed his legs. Nick gagged and opened his mouth as if to scream. He kicked and rushed to the surface, coughing and spitting, floundering to keep his head above the water. He tested for the bottom and found nothing. Brushing wet hair from his eyes he turned around while treading water.

  He was closer than he had thought.

  The water sparkled and glittered as if fireflies were trapped under the surface. A pastel deep purple, the water gradually and almost imperceptibly weaved itself into a brighter shade of violet, with spinning threads of red and blue. In the pulsing radiance, dark shapes swam like blind moths around a flame.

  There were so many underwater creatures that Nick was absolutely petrified to swim any further, or to ever enter that colored splendor. His skin tickled, felt lighter and almost separate from his sensations.

  Suddenly the creatures slowed, remained in their positions, and nervously twitched. In a flash they scattered like a school of minnows. Nick saw most of them head off in the direction of a section of reeds at the shore, as if called there by something.

  Between the high reeds Nick thought he could make out a speck of white against the darkness. Someone watching him?

  He didn't have time to check, and couldn't let himself be distracted.

  Using the crawl-stroke he had perfected from the eighth grade swimming team, Nick swam into the light, surprised at the ease with which he moved. The brilliance became a blinding ache stabbing at his eyes. The lake glittered and ebbed, as underwater currents, alternately warm and cool, caressed his body, needled his thighs and chest, tugged at his legs, tickled his arms.

  He felt suddenly heavy and lethargic. Each stroke took an eternity to complete, each splash an explosion in slow motion. But he knew he couldn't stop. Not yet. Had to make it into the brightest section just ahead, past the outer marker of the scintillating crescent.

  He wanted to be positioned exactly above it when he gave in to the pull. He felt the attraction, sensed the allure surging through his veins, every cell urging him to descend. Painfully irresistible.

  Nick imagined he heard voices bubbling up from the blinding depths; whispers repeating his name over and over.

  Another stroke, a kick.

  He drifted across the threshold.

  Tiny whirlpools danced alongside his body and warmer currents constricted around his legs.

  And finally, Nick gave up the effort, content to drift another few feet, into the heart of the crescent. He could no longer hold his eyes open against the blaze, and when they closed the crescent image remained scorched in his vision.

  Awed by the living, animated nature of the lake, Nick forgot to take a breath in the instant before he was gently tugged below the surface and, spinning, dragged down into the depths.

  Sizzling water cascaded down his throat and submerged his lungs; his chest expanded and his eyes bulged. He clawed frantically at the charged water and gasped as the pressure threatened to crush his skull.

  Mercifully, he blacked out, swallowed by the blinding depths.

  Audrey was dragged and pushed and pulled into the center of the church. A clock on the back wall told her that it was five past midnight. The Reverend must have been addressing the congregation before her arrival, stirring them up to a feverish level of outrage. He stood at the podium, fixing her with a vicious stare until she was brought to the bottom of the four steps that led to the dais.

  John pushed her to her knees and pressed on her shoulders to keep her there. She glanced at the near pews and met only harsh stares, vile looks. The heart of fanaticism. Zachary had reached some intrinsic core inside the human spirit, a dark blotc
h that housed the basest elements; he had penetrated that core and magnified it, stirring the black mixture, calling forth and nurturing the highest levels of intolerance, fear, and antagonism; and then he combined them all under the sanctimonious banner of religion.

  She hated him, Audrey realized. More than she had hated anything in her life. She fixed him with steely eyes that didn't move, flinch or blink as he approached her, peeling off those pearly-white gloves.

  Zachary bent over her and gently laid his hands around her skull.

  And then she closed her eyes, knowing all too well what was to come.

  She prayed that she was ready for it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Nick's eyes responded first. They blinked and squeezed tighter, trying to shut out some of the intensity given off by the object at the lake bottom. Suddenly snapping into consciousness, he went into a violent choking fit, experiencing the most acute terror he'd ever felt: being unable to breathe, and yet still alive and struggling. His mouth was open but the water pressure was equal both outside and inside his body; there was no exchange of fluids. A static situation, wholly alien.

  He imagined it would have taken several more minutes of crazed wrestling with the inevitable to overcome the feeling of awkwardness. He was, he realized, a baby taking its first breath after nine months of having oxygen pumped into it through no effort of its own. Before considering the impossibility of this situation, his eyes adjusted both to the water and to the dazzling light.

  And he saw.

  Saw what he kneeled before, what was embedded into the lake bottom, all but buried in the hard limestone and bedrock; what had most probably been completely covered forty five years ago but had since burned off the upper layers of concealment, so that now a significant sliver of the object jutted out. Its metal skin glowed with an unspeakably bizarre phosphorescence that pulsed and sparkled along the length of the crescent.