Page 67 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“Is it a hoofprint?” With the blanket clutched around my legs, I scoot over and lean to see what he’s looking at. “If there really are prints, then someone is making those hoof noises, someone who knew I used to hear them. That’d have to be Cal—”
I stop, unable to quite make out what I’m seeing. “What is that?”
“Not Josie. And not hoofprints, though I did see them in earlier shots.” He starts to turn the photo my way and then changes his mind, angling it so I can’t see it. “Did you take a photo of anything else, Sam?”
“I…” I think hard. Then I swallow. “When I… dreamed I saw my aunt… drowned, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing and went to shine the cell-phone light on it, but I hit the camera instead.” I stand, feeling the blanket slide away and not caring. “Is that what I got a picture of? Whatever I mistook for her?”
I reach for the phone. He pulls it out of my reach.
“Ben,” I say. “That is my phone.”
He keeps a grip on it.
“Ben…”
With obvious reluctance, he turns the screen around. I look at it and then fall back onto the couch, struggling for breath. On the screen is…
Gail.
The figure is blurred, out of focus and off to the side of the shot, but it’s clearly a woman, with gray-blue skin, her drenched hair and clothing sticking to her body. One eye is a dark hole.
My hands fly to my own eyes, palms pressing against them. “Still dreaming. Still asleep. I’m still asleep. I’m—”
Fingers take my wrists gently. “It’s okay, Sam.”
“Okay?” My voice rises. “Okay? You see that, right? That is my aunt.”
“It’s blurry and off-center—”
“But it looks like her. Dead. Drowned. Walking out of the lake.”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “It looks like her. She looks drowned. But I think that’s what she’s supposed to look like.” He rises. “I need to call Smits.”
“What?” I stare up at him.
“I’m calling the sheriff. We need to sort this out.”
By the time Sheriff Smits arrives, I’ve calmed down enough to understand what Ben meant.
It looks like her. She looks drowned. But I think that’s what she’s supposed to look like.
Faked. That’s what he means.
Of course that’s what he means. Of course that’s what it is. What other explanation is there?
Smits has come alone. This wasn’t something he was waking Josie or Danny for. He’s frowning at the photo, awkwardly pinching the screen to get a better view.
“Do you have a laptop here, Sam?” Ben murmurs. “Mine’s at home.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” I scramble to find it. When I bring it back and open it, a medical journal paper pops up on the screen.
“So you went to med school after all?” Ben says. “Guess I should be calling you doctor.”
“What?” I follow his gaze to the article and give a sharp laugh that sounds more bitter than I’d like. “No, that’s my idea of bedtime reading. I didn’t get past my undergrad.”
“She got into med school,” Smits says from across the room. “But there wasn’t enough money for tuition. With her mom’s condition and all.”
I must look confused, because Smits shrugs. “Your mom told Liz. I just didn’t want anyone here thinking you couldn’t get in.”
