Chapter 52
We all cram into the front. Davey drives.
I rest my head back against the seat, trying to wrap my sore brain around how quickly events have escalated.
The ice-cream van’s chimes jangle gratingly.
Davey can’t seem to turn them off. It only adds to the nightmarish quality of our predicament.
The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I am fully on board with the need to get the fuck out of this place, right a-fucking-way.
‘Are you okay?’ Sadie asks.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, but I’m not. My head isn’t hurting, but it feels kind of numb, and my whole body aches.
‘I’m sorry about all of this,’ Davey says, turning. He has a bruise on his cheek where the vendor managed to get a punch in.
‘Yeah? Maybe you should have thought about that before you started dressing up as a dead kid in a furry armadillo suit to scare the shit out of us … and that is a sentence I wasn’t expecting to say.’
‘We just … I just wanted to find out the truth.’
‘About this place?’
‘Yeah, but mostly about my mom.’
‘You know, sometimes finding out the truth doesn’t make things any better.’
‘I just wanted to know why she left me, and where she is.’
I sigh. ‘Davey, if everything you’ve told me about this place is true … you know your mum is probably dead.’
‘I know, but I still want to find her. She deserves that.’
He stares at me with his very blue eyes, and I get it. Knowing hurts, but sometimes hurt is better than hope.
We ditch the ice-cream van a few streets away from the hotel and walk around the lake path, which is illuminated by small spotlights.
The boathouse is a wooden structure next to the main hotel building, painted pale blue with a low, pitched roof.
It looks a little ramshackle compared to some of the other buildings in Serenity Falls. I see there’s a door to one side.
‘They don’t keep it locked,’ Davey says, and pulls it open.
He flicks on a light switch as we step inside. There are two wooden walkways either side of the water. A small motorboat is tied up in the dock. Propped against one wall are several narrow kayaks that look like they’ve seen better days.
‘Those are our getaway vehicles?’ I say.
Davey nods. ‘We should probably just take one of them.’
‘Won’t that be a bit snug?’
‘Unless you’re experienced in kayaking?’
‘We’ll take one,’ I say.
‘Okay. You and me, front and back to paddle, and Sadie in the middle.’
‘I can paddle,’ Sadie says, sounding a little indignant.
‘Not saying you can’t, but just for weight distribution it’s probably more practical.’
She looks about to argue, but I see her rein it in. ‘Okay, fine.’
Davey and I manoeuvre one of the kayaks towards the water.
After the encounter with the ice-cream van at the house, I’d half expected someone, Jerry perhaps, to intercept us.
But there’s no one. And it gives me an uneasy feeling.
Like we’re being given the chance to get away.
I shove the thought aside. No other choice, right?
Davey is staring at me. ‘Okay, Mr Barker?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I readjust my grip on the other end of the boat, and we lift it into the water. Davey keeps a hand on the bow.
‘Okay,’ Davey says to Sadie. ‘You get in with Zelda. Then, Mr Barker, you get in the back. I’ll go in the front.’
‘Right,’ I say, feeling very much unright about this. Davey nods at Sadie. Deftly, she steps into the boat and stuffs Zelda between her knees.
Next, and far less deftly, clinging to the side of the dock, I gingerly lower myself into the back, feeling the kayak bob disconcertingly beneath me. I wobble and almost fall but manage to sit down heavily. I grasp the paddles.
‘Okay,’ Davey says again. ‘Here goes.’ He casts off and slips into the boat in front of Sadie. I feel the kayak rock again, and it seems to dip dangerously low in the dark water, but we’re still afloat. Just.
‘What now?’ I ask.
‘Now,’ Davey says, ‘we paddle.’
My head still hurts, and the smell of the dank lake water is stirring up unpleasant memories. I look back, and she’s there, of course, standing on the shadowy deck.
Grey hoodie, joggers, tendrils of wet hair clinging to her pale face. Nat. Her lips form words, too far away to hear, but her voice echoes inside my head: ‘Save her, Dan. You’d better fucking save her.’
The lake spreads out from the hotel to the shores of the woods in an inky-black mass.
I’ve never been out on water in the dark.
I’m not really a water person. Never liked waterparks or the sea or lakes.
Wild swimming to me seemed foolish. Why splash around in mud and excrement when you could at least splash around in chlorinated excrement in a swimming pool?
There’s something scary about water at night. The blackness, the treachery of it, pooling all around you. It looks thicker, more substantial than it is. Like it’s trying to fool you. Step right in. It’ll just be like jelly. You’ll float.
We steer to the right of the hotel, leaving the faint lights of downtown behind. The darkness is immediate and thorough. A cloak to hide us but also a barrier to finding our way.
Sadie’s phone light doesn’t reach far. Once or twice, I feel the boat bump the bank.
‘Are we going the right way?’
‘Yeah,’ Davey says. ‘If we just hug the bank all the way along, we reach the river. We need to follow that.’
‘How far is it to the cabin?’
‘Hard to say this way, but I reckon it’s going to take us an hour. Maybe more. On water, and then on foot through the woods.’
‘And how far in the tunnel?’
‘I guess maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. That’s the short part.’
‘Right.’
I don’t like any of this, but I like the idea of sticking around here in Serenity Falls even less.
‘The river is just ahead,’ Davey calls back. ‘Steer a little left.’
I push with the paddle, a little too hard. The kayak tips.
‘Whoah!’ Sadie clutches the side. ‘Careful, Dad.’
‘Sorry. Tiny bit out of my comfort zone.’
Somehow, we successfully steer out on to the river. It’s narrower and darker, despite the clouds parting to reveal a thin glimmer of moon.
‘About half a mile down here we need to go right to join a smaller branch-off,’ Davey says.
‘Right.’
I don’t like paddling along the river – and I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about paddling across the lake. It feels like eyes are watching us from the undergrowth along the banks. I can’t help thinking about alligators and Father Miller and his ruined leg.
We make it to the next turn. This river branch is so narrow we’re basically pushing ourselves along the banks. The feeling of claustrophobia increases. It’s humid and dank amid the trees. I slap at a few mosquitos.
‘Are we almost there?’ Sadie asks, immediately making me think of those rainy-day trips we used to take when she was small – heading off to Wales or Cornwall in our battered old car.
Just a few minutes into the journey, I’d hear the familiar refrain: ‘Are we there yet, Daddy? Are we almost there?’ I feel my heart ache.
I want to be back in the UK. Cold, wet, moaning about the traffic. I dig the paddle in with more urgency.
It takes about another ten minutes before we reach an impasse. The river has narrowed so much we can’t go any further.
‘Guess this is us,’ Davey says.
We use the paddles to drag the boat towards the bank. Then Davey climbs out. Sadie follows, and I’m last. We haul the kayak up on to the mud. I feel breathless and a little dizzy. My head is hurting again. But I need to do this for Sadie, I tell myself. For my daughter.
‘You okay?’ she asks me.
‘Dandy,’ I lie.
‘Right.’ Davey takes out his phone and turns on the light, pointing it around. ‘I’m pretty sure I know the way.’
‘Pretty sure?’ I query.
‘As much as I can be.’
‘Guess it’ll have to do.’
I hate woods and nature almost as much as water.
Branches whip me in the face, creepers and undergrowth snag at my legs.
Occasionally, I feel my feet sink into mud.
Soon my trainers and socks are soaked. I feel out of breath, disorientated, and I’m still not entirely convinced that Davey knows where the hell he’s going.
But we trudge on. We don’t have any choice.
Eventually, Davey says: ‘Wait.’
We all halt. He stares around.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Sadie says. ‘We’re lost.’
‘No.’ He pushes through some more undergrowth. ‘I think we’ve found it.’
We step into a small clearing. It takes me a moment, and then the cabin reveals itself.
It’s a wreck. A ramshackle, decrepit wreck crawling with creepers and barely standing upright.
And yet – maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the semi-darkness, maybe it’s my broken brain – it also looks kind of unreal.
Like every witch’s cottage or creepy cabin in every zombie film I’ve ever seen.
The crooked roof with just the right number of tiles missing, the leaning chimney.
Even the one, broken window. It’s all somehow familiar.
But that’s not what’s bothering me.
What’s bothering me … is that there’s a light on.