Lake Justice Page 2

"With that face, you look like you are."

  "Mr. Everett put me with Phillip and George to dig the latrine."

  "Someone's gotta do it."

  "Yeah, but--"

  "Yeah, but nothing. Now you know yet another reason why I prefer the inn." I walked past him. "It looks like there's a path leading right around the lake's edge. Do you want to try that?"

  "Sure." Tessa nodded.

  Man, I wish I'd been that self-possessed at sixteen.

  "How far do you want to run?"

  "How far do you usually run?" I wasn't about to be outrun by a high school junior.

  Tessa tilted her head to one side. "I usually do a four-mile run every morning, and then a six- to ten-mile run two or three evenings a week."

  "Four to five good?" I was relieved she hadn't suggested ten miles or more.

  "Great." She flashed me a smile, looking, once again, very much like Fay Williams. Somehow, though, I doubted they shared a secret family heritage. Blood calls blood, even if you don't get along, and there was no blood call there.

  We took off on the path at a nice, steady pace. Neither of us was trying to show off, which was a good sign. I focused my eyes on the ground ahead, with occasional sweeps to the trees, brush, and foliage around us. All I needed was to trip over a damned tree root and wind up medivaced somewhere. Now that we were here, I wanted to know the lake. I wanted to know who asked for my help. I wasn't surprised or unnerved by the fact that whoever was asking was probably dead; I spent a lot of time with the dead, and they know I listen. Now, should we cross paths with a bear, I'd be a little nervous, but ghosts? No. They've usually got a good reason for being there, and if you can get them to tell you about it, you can figure out a solution. Ghosts are usually lonely, so they like to chat.

  Of course, it might be some other sort of entity--such as a nature deva or a dryad or someone like that. It didn't feel like vampire--they like to think of themselves as subtle, but once you know how to feel them, their psychic touch is like a lead vest. It felt like ghost energy.

  We ran along at a comfortable pace for both of us. There was no need to talk. I started to relax. I started to wonder if perhaps I'd made too much of it. Maybe it was my anger at Jamie's dad manifesting in odd sensations.

  And then I had another premonition. This wasn't the gentle whisper of a spirit needing help. This was heavier. Human.

  I slowed down, letting Tessa pull ahead, as I tried to sense what was around us. Had that creepy caretaker followed us out here? If he thought he could make trouble, he had no idea what he was getting into.

  "Ms. Rowan?" Tessa stopped a few dozen yards ahead of me. She was staring at something.

  I moved toward her, the heavy feeling growing stronger. "What is it?"

  "I think it's blood." She pointed to a smear on a tree trunk and on a few of the larger leaves around it.

  I stepped forward, careful not to touch it. "Yeah. Looks like it."

  "Do you think something's hurt?" She shivered. "I mean, what if someone's fallen and is unconscious?"

  "Or a small animal attacked by a larger one."

  "Whatever it is, we can't just leave it out here to suffer, can we?" Her dark blue eyes looked into mine.

  "No, we can't," I agreed. "Let's see if we can follow the blood trail."

  Tessa shivered again. "Blood trail. Ick."

  "There's no delicate name for it."

  "I know. But still..." She shook herself. "Okay. Let's find whatever's bleeding and see if it needs help."

  "It?"

  She gave a weak smile. "Well, like you said..."

  I laughed. "You're right. Come on. Let's take a look around. Be careful, though. If it's an injured animal, it could lash out in fear or pain."

  Tessa nodded. We made our way carefully all the way around the tree and found more blood in the foliage on the far side. We stayed fairly close together, finding spatters of blood and broken branches, and looking around until we saw the next spot on the trail.

  We heard something coming toward us and froze. I wished I'd worn my wrist sheaths as well as my ankle sheath. But, a moment later, we relaxed as Kyle Everett came out of the trees toward us. "What are you doing here?" He frowned. "Why'd you leave the trail?"

  "I could ask you the same thing," I retorted.

  He flinched, surprised. He'd expected an explanation, not an attack. I guess being a teacher made him used to people answering him instead of questioning him. "I was checking on the boys digging the latrine. I heard something and thought it might be a wild animal."

  "So you followed? Unarmed?" I raised an eyebrow.

  "There are plenty of big sticks around."

  "You're not carrying any."

  Before Kyle could retort, Tessa intervened, looking from one to the other of us as though our mutually suspicious banter confused her. "We were running. Ms. Rowan agreed to go with me for safety."

  "For safety?" A corner of Kyle's mouth twitched upward. "Aren't you the one who prefers the inn?"

  "That doesn't mean I don't know how to take care of myself," I shot back.

  "Um, Mr. Everett, we found blood. And we're trying to make sure nothing's suffering."

  "Where?" Something changed in Kyle's face.

  "It started at that tree near the trail about fifty yards back." I pointed. "And we've followed it so far to here." I gestured to the smear of blood on a nearby leaf.

  "You two go back to camp."

  "And leave you unarmed? What if it's a bear or a coyote or a mountain lion?" I shook my head. "We're sticking together."

  "You're not armed, either."

  I stared at him. "Wanna bet?"

  He sighed, as though I exhausted him. "Fine. But be careful."

  "Gee, I never would've considered that on my own."

  We glared at each other for a minute, before moving forward. Tessa slid beside me and whispered, "Are you really armed?"

  I nodded. "Never bluff about a weapon. You'll wind up dead."

  We moved forward, slowly, cautiously, leaf to leaf. "It almost looks as though whoever or whatever did this left an intentional trail," I said, after a while.

  Kyle nodded. "I was just thinking the same thing."

  "Which means it's more likely to be a person than an animal, and that person is in pretty bad trouble."

  "Then why does it just stop?" We looked around in a small clearing. We walked from tree to tree, circling completely around each and checking the foliage. I shaded my eyes and looked up, wondering if some sort of predator took whoever it was up into a tree. The trees waved gently in the late October breeze, but that was it.

  "It doesn't make sense." Kyle frowned.

  "No. It doesn't. It looks like the injured person just vanished."

  "Or was carried. Or hidden." He began staring at the ground. "I don't see anything that looks like--" He paused and looked at Tessa.

  "A grave?" I asked.

  "What do we do now?" Tessa asked.

  "We look around, radiate out a few feet in all directions, but stay within site of each other," said Kyle. "If we don't find anything, there's nothing we can do except go back to camp."

  Which, fifteen minutes later, is exactly what we did.

  * * * *

  "Lake Justice has a fascinating history." Mark Andrews looked around at all of us, settled in a circle around the campfire. The weird little skillet stew was eaten, all the dishes washed, and we were making, of course, s'mores. "Does anyone know why it was named Lake Justice?"

  "Probably 'cause some guy named Justice owned all the land around it." Amy shrugged. "So what? That's the way it always works."

  "Not around here." Mark shook his head. "Lake Justice got its name because those who wrong others are drawn here, and the lake brings them to justice."

  "The lake?" Jamie stopped just short of an eye roll, another bad habit I bet he'd picked up from me. "You mean, like if you do something wrong, it rises up and drowns you?"

  "No, it's these seaweed creatures and they grab you
and pull you under!" Tobias leapt toward Louisa, who squealed and scuttled back behind Felicia.

  "There's no seaweed here," Bertram pointed out. "It's a lake."

  "The spirits of the dead are drawn to water. So the ghosts of the murdered are drawn to the lake. Every year, around this time, close to Halloween, the ghosts of the dead rise up and seek their killers. Seek justice." Mark gave Kyle a narrow-eyed look, which surprised me.

  "So this place is haunted?" Phillip looked around. He looked sturdy enough to tackle anything corporeal, but not thrilled at the idea of wrestling ectoplasm.

  "Why? Got something on your conscience?" George snickered.

  "I am so outta here if this turns into Truth or Dare," Felicia declared.

  "The legend is that the spirits only go after those who did something wrong." Again, Mark looked at Kyle. Even Fay picked up on it this time, and she frowned. "So we should be all right. Unless, of course, someone's hiding something."

  "Jeez Louise, we're the brightest kids in the school." Tessa picked up a small pinecone and tossed it into the fire, where it popped, and the flames momentarily blazed up. "We haven't wronged anyone by being smart."

  "You're saying you don't keep any secrets? From anyone?" Tobias challenged.

  "Of course I do." Tessa flushed. "Don't you?"

  "Plenty." Tobias flashed a grin, both diabolical and charming. "But I don't talk about them. That's why it's called a secret."

  "This is the time of year when the dead reveal the secrets." Mark lowered his voice theatrically. "The time of year when the spirits rise--"

  "Wait a minute," Bertram interrupted. "Do the dead reveal their secrets? Or the secrets? 'Cause there's a big difference."

  "Aunt Bronwyn?" Jamie looked at me.

  I shrugged. "'T'ain't my tale, buddy. I'm not getting in the middle of this discussion."

  "But--" Jamie stopped when he saw the warning look I shot him.

  "They rise from watery graves--"

  "What if they didn't die in the water?" Bertram interrupted.

  "Will you stop killing the mood already?" Amy complained. "Mr. Andrews is trying to tell a really cool ghost story, and I want to hear it, without you taking apart every sentence."

  ::This is so bogus.::

  I looked around the campfire. Felicia was staring right at me. I raised an eyebrow. One corner of her mouth twitched upward. I winked. ::Careful,:: I warned. ::I get the feeling Mr. Andrews doesn't get out enough.::

  Felicia snickered. Jamie looked from one to the other of us and blew through his nose like an annoyed horse.

  "I know, I know, it sounds like a cliché, but on a dark and stormy night, a stranger came to town." Mark Andrews held up his hand. "He wooed a local young woman and enticed her out into the night. She met him here, near the lake. He strangled her."

  George tapped Amy on the shoulder. She shrieked, then began to giggle.

  "He buried her here in the woods," Mark continued. "And her ghost still haunts the place."

  "But if he buried her in the woods, what does the lake have to do with it?" asked Bertram. "Or is this a different girl?"

  "More than one girl's been killed here," said Mark. As our heads snapped to look at him, he added, "So I've heard. But this one particular girl is said to walk the woods in the days and nights before Halloween, searching for the day when her killer comes back, so she can exact her revenge." He made eye contact with everyone in the circle, leaving Kyle Everett as the last. Kyle did not look away.

  It took me a minute to realize Mark Andrews was accusing Kyle Everett of murder. I felt as though the wind was knocked right out of me. And then I was angry. If, for some reason, Mark believed Kyle was a murderer, then what the hell was he thinking, bringing teenagers out on this trip?

  "Ghosts can't bleed, can they?" Tessa asked quietly.

  "Of course not," Bertram snorted. "They don't have bodies, so they can't have blood."

  "It would explain this afternoon in the woods." Tessa traced the ground at her feet. "Why there was all that blood, and suddenly, it was gone. But we couldn't find anyone."

  The incident was discussed over dinner, so it wasn't news to anyone.

  "The blood was real, Tessa," Kyle said seriously. "From someone still living, not someone long dead."

  "You hope that someone is living," Mark countered.

  "Whoever bled in the woods today wasn't killed in 1994, when Mary Ann Davidovich was murdered," Kyle countered. "Her body was found three years later. Her killer was never caught."

  "Which is probably why she's still wandering around," said Bertram.

  "You know her name?" Mark smirked.

  "I made myself very familiar with the history of the area," Kyle retorted. "And when people die, their names should be remembered."

  "Isn't that why they come back as ghosts?" Louisa asked quietly. "So someone will remember them?"

  "And can ghosts really hurt people?" asked George. "Outside of slasher films, I mean."

  "Aren't you going to give your usual spiel, Mom, about how ghosts don't exist?" Felicia cut in.

  "Just because I never met one doesn't mean I dismiss their existence entirely," Fay responded.

  "But when we were little--"

  "I wanted to keep you and your sisters and your brother from having nightmares."

  "Mr. Andrews, did you bring us here because you think one of us had something to do with Mary Ann's death?" Tobias asked. "Because we'd all have been pretty young."

  "Like some of us not even born yet," Bertram added.

  "No." Mark smiled around the circle. "I just thought it would make a good story."

  "I'd rather stick to axe murderer stories, thank you very much," said Phillip.

  "Oh, right, 'cause it's always the women who get cut up into little chunks." Felicia pulled her knees up to her chest, clasping her hands around them, and rolled her eyes.

  "Plenty of guys get cut up in horror movies," Phillip protested.

  "Just not if they're stars and it says they can't in the contract," Tobias added.

  "There's still way more violence against women in horror movies than men," Felicia argued, "and you always know if a woman has sex, she's going to die a gruesome death."

  "Hey, we are not talking about sex out here," Fay protested. "I put my foot down."

  "Am I making you uncomfortable, Mom?"

  "No. I just don't want us getting sued by parents who might not think sex talk on a co-ed camping trip is appropriate."

  "Oh, Mom, sometimes you're just so parochial!"

  "Parochial?" Fay wrinkled her forehead. "I don't think that's exactly what you mean in this--"

  "Oh, Mom!" Felicia flung herself to her feet and stomped off into the darkness, toward the lake.

  "I'll go," I offered, as everyone tried not to look at each other in the awkwardness of the moment. I got to my feet. "Sometimes it's easier when you're not related."

  "I'm coming, too," said Jamie, slipping in beside me.

  It took our eyes a few moments to adjust once we left the circle of firelight, but Felicia hadn't gone far. She was sitting on a log near the edge of the lake, about five hundred yards away from the campsite.

  "My mom's lame," Felicia said, as Jamie and I joined her.

  "She's trying," I said.

  "Yeah. In every sense of the word."

  "Hey, I know it totally sucks to be a teenager. I'm not arguing with you." I looked at her for a minute. "So how long have you been using telepathy?"

  "Oh, man, I knew it," Jamie exploded. "I sorta heard you two, but I couldn't figure out what it was."

  "That's because you haven't been doing those exercises I taught you." I wagged my finger at him.

  "I don't have time--"

  "If you want it badly enough, you'll make time."

  "There are exercises for it?" Felicia asked.

  "Yeah." I nodded. "It's like any other skill or muscle. You've got to keep using it or it atrophies."

  "I mostly practice with the dog or th
e cat," Felicia admitted. "The dog will go fetch stuff if I ask without speaking. The cat just looks at me with contempt."

  "Cats do that," I said. "You and Jamie should work together. If your mother allows it. You're underage."

  "She'd never in a million years allow it. She doesn't think any of this exists, even though she was pretending to be cool about it back there." A breeze ruffled Felicia's hair, and her jewelry jangled. "And wow, was Mr. Andrews drinking or something? That lame ghost story? And practically accusing Mr. Everett of being a murderer?"

  The breeze shifted, and before I could do or say anything, Jamie said in a strange, choked voice, "Aunt Bronwyn?"

  We turned toward the lake. At least a dozen figures of women, all translucent, were rising up from the water as though the water was their coffin. One minute, it seemed they all lay, Ophelia-like, flat and floating. The next, they were on their feet. Moving in our direction.

  I tossed up a shield in the general direction of the lake and then added a bubble-like net of protection all the way around us. The energy field crackled between the ghosts and us. I poured more energy into it, more light, so it was more like a sparkling window than just a shimmer of energy. We stared at the dozen specters who walked across the surface of the lake and then touched the bank. They moved closer until they hit the shield. They bounced back, as though burned, and cried out. The cry wasn't one of frustration, but mourning and pain.

  "Help us," one cried, and the others took up the call. "Help us." It echoed through the woods, sounding like the forest itself joined in.

  "I keep thinking I should freak out, but I'm too scared to move," said Felicia.

  "Your instincts are right," I responded. "They're partials, not fully formed. They can't see you. But they can feel motion. Stay still." I swallowed, staring at the sightless eyes, at the pale arms flailing against the shield.

  "They don't look like those ghosts we handled in Barnstable," said Jamie.

  "You've done this before?" Felicia's jaw dropped.

  "I do a lot of work with the dead," I admitted. "To me, they look like leftover energy, not quite ghosts, more like an imprint of the spirits."

  "Why do they need your help?"

  "They're stuck. It's like a part of the soul of the deceased was torn off during death and stayed here. The soul has to be complete to continue its journey."