Michael said nothing, his eyes fixing on the sidewalk at his feet.

Templar's attention shifted to Buddy Hawkins. "You wanta tell me what's going on, or shall we all go down to the police station?" Before Buddy could reply, Templar spotted the four six-packs of beer stowed behind the front seat of the Trans Am. "Okay," he said. "A fight's one thing. The beer's something else again. Hawkins, you and Sheffield get in my car." He scanned the small group of kids who, now nervous, were avoiding his gaze. "Any of you not drinking?" he asked.

Two of the boys and a girl stepped forward. After sniffing their breaths, he nodded curtly at them. "One of you bring Hawkins's car, and the other Sheffield's bike. Meet me at the station." He let his gaze run over the kids, one by one. "And don't any of you get any ideas about taking off," he added. "I know every one of you, and I don't want any bulls.h.i.t. Got it?"

As he turned back to the car, he spotted Kelly. Frowning, he paused. "Who are you?"

Kelly hesitated. "K-Kelly Anderson," she finally stammered. Templar's eyes narrowed.

"Carl Anderson's granddaughter?"

Kelly nodded.

"Who're you with?"

"Michael. But we didn't do-"

Templar silenced her with a gesture. "Get in my car."

Ted Anderson, his temper simmering, arrived at the police station behind the post office. Craig Sheffield was already there, and Ted, ignoring the other worried-looking parents cl.u.s.tered around the duty officer's desk, crossed the room to glower at him. "What the h.e.l.l's going on?" he demanded. "If your kid took my daughter out and got her drunk-"

"Now hold on, Ted," Craig broke in. "I just got here myself, and we don't even know what happened yet."

"It was a fight," a third man said. "They was all out in front of Arlette's, and your kid got into it with Buddy Hawkins."

"Michael?" Craig asked. "I don't believe it. Michael's-" His words died on his lips as the door to one of the back rooms opened and Michael, his face smeared with drying blood, emerged. His jaw tight, Craig's hand clamped on his son's shoulder. "What the h.e.l.l's going on, Michael?" he asked. "I told you-"

"Can we just go home, Dad?" Michael pleaded. "I didn't do anything, and neither did Kelly. She'll be out in a minute."

"No, we can't just go home," Craig replied. "Not until I've talked to Marty Templar myself. Sit." Turning, he strode back to the office from which Michael had just emerged, rapped on the door once, then let himself in. When he came out again, Kelly Anderson was beside him. He moved through the knot of parents, then spoke to Ted Anderson.

"They're done with our kids," he said. "But he's booking some of the others for possession of alcohol. I'm going to have to stay around-half these people are my clients. Will you drop Michael off?"

Ted nodded, and Craig turned back to face his son. "Don't think this is the end of it, Michael. The police may be done with you, but I haven't even started yet." Before Michael could say anything else, Craig turned away and began explaining to Billy-Joe Hawkins that beer had been found in his son's car.

Michael followed Ted Anderson and Kelly out to the parking lot and slid silently into the cab of the company truck, with Kelly between her father and himself.

"I-I'm sorry about what happened, Mr. Anderson," Michael said as Ted pulled out of the parking lot and swung down Ponce Avenue.

"I'd say you're not half as sorry as you're going to be after your father gets through with you," Ted growled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut before I decide to show you just how mad I can get."

Michael shrank down in the seat, saying nothing else until the truck pulled up in front of his house a few minutes later. As he opened the door, he turned to Kelly. "I'm really sorry," he said, but Kelly shook her head.

"It wasn't your fault. I was the one who took the beer. If you want, I'll tell your dad tomorrow-"

"You won't be talking to anybody for a while, young lady," Ted Anderson interrupted, reaching across Kelly to yank the door closed.

Only when the truck turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared did Michael finally go into the house to try to explain to his mother what had happened.

And to wait for his father to come home.

That was when the real trouble would start.

"What the h.e.l.l kind of kids are you hanging around with?" Ted demanded, the anger that had been building up in him since the police had called almost an hour ago boiling over. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned to glare at his daughter.

"I don't even know those kids," Kelly replied. "We weren't even with them!"

"Right!" Ted snapped, etching his words with sarcasm. "You and that little son of a b.i.t.c.h just happened to be wandering by, and someone jumped you. I'm not an idiot, Kelly!"

"It wasn't that way!"

"Then how was it?" Ted demanded. "And don't give me any of your lies, Kelly. I've had it up to here with them!"

Kelly shrank back against the door. "It was a girl," she said, her voice quavering. "She-She was talking about me."

"What do you mean, talking about you? What did she say?"

Melanie's words echoing in her mind, Kelly said nothing, but stared out the window into the darkness beyond the cab of the pickup.

"I'm waiting," Ted said. "We're not going anywhere until I know what the h.e.l.l was going on tonight, understand?"

"She-She said I was crazy," Kelly breathed.

"Who?" Ted demanded.

"Her name's Melanie. She was with the guy who was fighting with Michael. She told everyone I was the crazy girl who tried to kill herself."

"Well, what the h.e.l.l did you expect, talking to kids like that? They're exactly the kind we're trying to keep you away from!"

"I-I was just trying to be friendly," Kelly pleaded. "I didn't know what was going to happen."

Ted's anger welled up in him again. "What do you mean, you didn't know? It's always the same thing with you, isn't it? You hang around with a bunch of no-good trashy kids, and then say you didn't know what was going to happen. Sometimes I think maybe you are-" are-" He caught himself, clipping off the word before it escaped his lips, but it was too late. Kelly was staring at him. He caught himself, clipping off the word before it escaped his lips, but it was too late. Kelly was staring at him.

"Crazy?" she said. "Is that what you were going to say? Well, maybe I am am crazy! Maybe I've always been crazy, and always will be!" crazy! Maybe I've always been crazy, and always will be!"

"Kelly," Ted began, "I didn't mean that-" But Kelly jerked the door of the truck open, and scrambled out.

"Why didn't you just let me die that night?" she demanded. "Don't you think I know what I'm like? Don't you think I know how people talk about me and look at me? And it isn't any different here than it was in Atlanta. It's always the same! Why didn't you just let me die!"

Slamming the door, she dashed away from the truck, stumbling across a vine-choked field toward one of the ca.n.a.ls. Ted, still reeling from his daughter's words, opened the driver's door of the truck, dropped to the pavement and started after her.

"Kelly!" he called. "Kelly, come back!"

He came to the center of the field, searching the darkness for any sign of her. For a moment he saw nothing, but then there was a movement near the ca.n.a.l. He took off again, running and calling out for her.

He came to the path that edged the ca.n.a.l and paused, breathing hard.

Then he saw her.

She was fifty yards away, at the near end of one of the footbridges that crossed the ca.n.a.l, linking the path with the wilderness on the other side.

"Kelly! Kelly, wait! I didn't mean-" He started running, but by the time he got to the bridge, she was out of sight.

At the other end of the bridge he could see nothing but the black darkness of the wilderness.

The last of his anger drained out of him as he crossed the bridge and saw the dense vegetation on the other side. In place of his anger a cold knot of fear began to form in his belly. "Kelly?" he called out yet again. "Kelly, where are you?"

He listened, silently praying that she would answer his call, but all he heard was the steady droning of the insects and frogs, and the hoot of an owl.

Kelly had disappeared into the darkness.

16.

Mary, pale and shaken, listened numbly as Ted tried to explain what had happened. Her hand instinctively clutched at the lapels of her robe as a chill pa.s.sed through her. "Why?" she demanded when her husband had finished. Her voice had gone hollow. "Why couldn't you have waited until you got home?"

Carl rose from his chair and went to the phone. A moment later, as Mary listened with growing panic, he said, "Kitteridge? This is Carl Anderson. We've got a problem. My granddaughter's gone into the swamp." There was a moment of silence, then: "It doesn't matter a d.a.m.n why why she went in, Kitteridge. What we have to do is find her while we still can...No, I don't know exactly where she started, but my son does...They had a fight...All right, we'll wait for you here. And get Judd Duval-he knows the swamp better than practically anyone." she went in, Kitteridge. What we have to do is find her while we still can...No, I don't know exactly where she started, but my son does...They had a fight...All right, we'll wait for you here. And get Judd Duval-he knows the swamp better than practically anyone."

He hung up the phone and turned to Ted. "I'm going to start calling everyone I can think of. If we're lucky, she won't have gone far, and we'll find her right away." As Mary and Ted sat numbly, feeling totally helpless in the face of what had happened, Carl began organizing a search party. Fifteen minutes later, as the doorbell rang and he went to let the police chief into the house, the phone began jangling. Mary, startled by the sound, stared blankly at the instrument for a moment, then felt a surge of hope.

"It's Kelly," she said, hurrying across the room and s.n.a.t.c.hing up the receiver. "Kelly? Kelly, is that you?"

There was a moment of silence, and then she heard Barbara Sheffield's voice. "It's Barbara, Mary. Craig just called from the police department. What can I do to help?"

Mary felt herself floundering. "I-I don't know. The police chief just got here..."

"Craig's on his way home," Barbara told her. "We'll be over as soon as he gets here."

"You don't have to do that-" Mary automatically began to protest, but Barbara cut her off.

"Don't be silly, Mary. I'm not going to leave you sitting alone there. You'd go crazy. And don't worry. Judd Duval knows the swamp like the back of his hand. I'm sure they'll find Kelly within an hour or two."

"Will they?" Mary heard herself asking. "But what if she doesn't want to be found, Barbara? What if-"

"Stop it, Mary," Barbara told her. "Don't even think about anything like that. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Mary silently put the receiver back on the cradle as Barbara Sheffield hung up. She turned to find Tim Kitteridge gazing curiously at her.

"Mrs. Anderson? What did you mean just now?"

Mary frowned uncertainly. "Mean? I-I'm sorry..."

"What you just said, Mrs. Anderson. About your daughter not wanting to be found."

Mary closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself against the table on which the telephone sat. "I-She-"

"My granddaughter had a problem a few weeks back." Carl Anderson spoke into the silence that had suddenly descended on the room. "She was very unhappy, and she tried to kill herself. But that's all over with now."

Kitteridge, his brows knitting, turned to Ted. "I need to know what happened. Did your daughter just take off?"

Unable to meet Kitteridge's steady gaze, Ted haltingly repeated what had happened, glossing over the worst of it. "She was really upset about being picked up by the police," he finished, but Mary broke in, her eyes fixed angrily on her husband.

"It wasn't like that at all, Ted! It was your fault! You blew up!" She shifted her attention to the police chief. "He told her she was crazy," she said, her voice trembling. "He told her-Oh, G.o.d, I don't know! What does it matter? Just find her." She began sobbing, sinking brokenly into a chair and burying her face in her hands. "Please-just find her...."

"I'm going, Dad," Michael said, his voice carrying a quiet determination that Craig Sheffield had never heard before. Craig had been home only a few minutes, and was about to leave with Barbara to go to the Andersons' when Michael appeared in the kitchen.

"You're not going anywhere," Craig replied. "You're going to stay right here and take care of your sister. She's too young to stay by herself, and your mother's going to sit with Mary Anderson."

Michael's features set stubbornly. "Let Jen go with Mom. I know the swamp better than practically anyone in town. Besides, I feel like it's my fault that Kelly's out there. If I hadn't gotten into that fight, none of this would have happened."

"So I'm supposed to reward you for your irresponsibility by letting you go out and prowl around the swamp all night?" Craig replied, intentionally infusing his words with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Michael ignored his father's mocking tone. "I can help, Dad. I know my way around."

Craig looked to Barbara for support, but instead of backing him up, she nodded. "He's right, Craig. He knows the swamp as well as anyone, and he's never gotten lost. I'll go get Jenny."

While they waited for Barbara, Craig, still unconvinced, turned the matter over in his mind. Finally he spoke: "All right, but here's the deal. You don't take off by yourself, and you keep either me or someone else in sight at all times. Fair enough?"

Michael nodded his agreement. By the time Barbara appeared with Jenny, who, though dressed, was still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, he'd gathered two flashlights, some extra batteries, and some rope. "She could be caught in mud, and there might not be a way to get to her," he told his father.

"Who?" Jenny asked, the last of her sleepiness disappearing.

"It's Kelly, darling," Barbara explained. "She went for a walk in the swamp, and now people are going to look for her."

Jenny's eyes widened. "Is she lost?"

Barbara hesitated, but saw no reason not to tell her daughter the truth. "Yes, she is. And that's why I've always told you never to go into the swamp by yourself." She looked up at Craig. "Ready?"

They went out the back door and crossed the lawn to the dock, where Michael got into the outboard-powered rowboat while his parents and sister climbed into the larger Bayliner. Checking the gas supply, Michael jumped out of the boat again and ran up to the garage, returning a moment later with an extra tank. By the time he had it stowed under the bench of the dory, the engine on the Bayliner was already rumbling softly. "I'll meet you at the Andersons'," Michael called as his father cast the cruiser off and moved out into the center of the channel.

"We'll wait," Craig replied, letting the engine idle until Michael had started the outboard and maneuvered the dory away from the dock.

Five minutes later, after two more boats had joined them from other branches of the ca.n.a.l, they pulled up to Carl Anderson's dock and rafted their boats onto the three that were already there.

Inside the house, Tim Kitteridge was organizing the search, while Mary Anderson, her face pallid and her eyes rimmed with red, sat silently on the couch. She seemed unaware of what was happening, but as Barbara approached her, she came out of her reverie and stood up. "Thanks for coming," she said softly. "You were right-I think I would have gone crazy if I'd had to wait here by myself." Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. "I'm scared, Barbara. I'm so scared."

Barbara slipped her arms around the other woman. "It's going to be all right," she a.s.sured Mary. "They'll find her." But as she listened to the men talking among themselves, she wondered.

"If she doesn't go far, we have a chance," Billy-Joe Hawkins said. "But I don't know-it's dangerous enough hiking in there in broad daylight, when you can at least see where you're goin'. At night..." His voice trailed off among murmurs of agreement.

At last they were ready. Ted Anderson would accompany Tim Kitteridge in the squad car to the place where Kelly had taken off. The rest of the men would go in boats, rendezvousing at the footbridge Kelly had crossed, then spread out from there, forming a loose net that would move out into the dark wilderness.