25

For a long time rain dripped from the hoods of their rain jackets as they listened to the crash of water through the boulders. Then Paul took the flashlight, and tried to follow the tracks of the car as if it were a wounded beast.

The ground was rich with a carpet of rust-red redwood needles, and the tracks vanished as if the car had been lifted up into the air. Beads of water stood out on his hand, and long slashes of rain scissored in the beam of light.

“So someone is still here,” said Lise.

“A car thief,” offered Paul.

“And we go back to the cabin.”

The one place he did not want to go. But they had no choice. To spend the night in the driving rain seemed not only pointless, but an admission of cowardice. Paul would not allow himself to be afraid.

He held a branch so she could pass. The cabin hunched before them, a smear of smoke flattening as it left the chimney. “He’s in there,” she breathed.

“We are a threat to him, too,” said Paul, and he was shocked at the harshness of his voice. “Wherever he is, he doesn’t know what we’ll do.”

“He knows,” she said.

Paul snapped off the light. The rain made a high, plastic rattle on their jackets. “If we stay together, and stay calm, we are stronger than he is.”

“He’s insane,” she said softly. “That gives him a certain animal advantage.”

“We’re going back into the house, and we will sit in front of the fire, and whatever happens we will take care of each other.” It sounded brave, but neither of them moved.

Paul did, finally, running in a crouch, gripping the head of the hatchet so it would not dig into his belly. He felt his way along the house, and then fumbled for the flashlight.

In the dim light, the cut end of a wire gleamed.

Paul straightened, almost glad. The electricity had not been knocked out by the storm. Someone had severed the wire.

They paused at the front door, listening, and, as they expected, heard nothing but rain. They stepped inside, and the fire snapped a spark out into the room that turned into a black seed at their feet.

It was this second coming to the cabin, their second arrival, that made Paul certain that something evil was taking place. The way they looked up, into the ceiling, as if they could see into the rooms above, the way they stood dripping, unable to speak, made him understand that he was ready to fight for his life.

“We will behave as if we have never felt fear in our lives,” Paul said, unzipping his jacket.

She saw the hatchet.

“We shouldn’t expect too much of ourselves,” she said.

“But now I’m angry.”

She made a strange smile. “Perhaps it’s the place that is evil.”

“You can indulge whatever fantasies you like. I’m reheating the beans.”

“Perhaps the place broke Len, the way it is breaking us.”

Giving people the same nightmare, thought Paul, wrapping his hand around the black handle of the skillet.

He wanted the cabin to seem different now, even more menacing and untrustworthy. But here was Lise’s paperback, a detective story acclaimed by newspapers in Baltimore and Denver. Here was the water they had trailed across the floor.

Here was the camera on the kitchen table.