THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 11:58 P.M.
What was it that Sarah said?
I'm starting to think everything is connected. The secret society, the dredge, New York Gold and Silver, Old Joe Bush — I think it's all somehow linked together.
But that's not all. It's not just some secret society, New York Gold and Silver, and Old Joe Bush. It's Sarah. And me.
And now this new wilderness ranger.
Why did he ask Sarah if we saw anyone at the dredge?
What does he know?
Which is the same thing as asking:
What don't we know?
I have to try to get some sleep.
If I can.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 7:10 A.M.
I have this very weird feeling that someone came in my room last night. I woke up but I was too afraid to look around. Plus, it was dark. I couldn't shake the feeling. And then I started wondering if I'd deleted the history after I watched the last video. I reached under my pillow and felt for my journal. It was there. It doesn't seem like it was moved.
It's crazy how paranoid I am.
I've been lying in bed for an hour staring at the picture my dad left me and replaying his warning in my mind.
Old Joe Bush got pulled into those gears because he wasn't careful.You nearly died doing something careless yourself. Don't let it happen again.
After sixty-one minutes of contemplation, I've determined that what my father asked of me was stupid. Carelessness may not be a virtue, but it's unavoidable, especially for someone my age. And besides, super-careful people are really boring. I know a girl at school who won't drink out of the water fountain. She won't eat food from the cafeteria. She has a note for gym class that allows her to sit out whenever we do something she feels is too dangerous. She barely has a pulse.
Old Joe Bush doesn't look like the careless type. If I had to say what he looks like in his picture, I'd say … well, I guess I'd say he looks single-minded. Probably he was pushed. Foul play, that's what killed Old Joe Bush, not carelessness.
It was really late when I watched Sarah's video last night. I dreamt about it, so when I woke up I wasn't sure if I'd wat
ched it at all. In my dream, Daryl Bonner the ranger and Gladys the librarian were walking in the woods. Gladys had her shotgun and then Old Joe Bush came out of the bushes dragging his leg and said, "Number forty-two is mine. Stay away from this place. I'm watching you." Gladys fired buckshot into the air, and Old Joe Bush tried to run away, dragging his leg down the path toward the dredge. Gladys laughed and laughed, but Daryl Bonner went on ahead and helped Old Joe Bush step down into the black pond and disappear under the water. In my dream, the pond looked like a tar pit.
The thing about dreams is that they sometimes mean something. I have dreams all the time, but I get this feeling about certain dreams that makes me think something important is hidden there. This was one of those dreams. The sticky goo of the tar pit hides things. I know it does.
I don't think Gladys is important. I think she's just in there because I'd never gone through a door and found someone pointing a shotgun at me. She's been appearing in a lot of dreams since. She's like wallpaper. She's just there.
But Ranger Bonner — he's new — and he's helping Joe into the water or the tar. Why did I connect the two in my dream? My unconscious mind must see something in the video or the picture that my waking mind doesn't. An hour of looking at the picture my dad gave me isn't helping me see things clearer. I'm going to risk watching Sarah's video again, but this time I'm going to keep the picture handy so I can look at it. It's almost 7:30 and my mom usually comes in between 7:30 and 8:00.
I better hurry.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 7:36 A.M.
No sign of mom yet, and I've watched the video again. I scanned the picture of Old Joe Bush and sent it to Sarah. Dangerous move. If her parents open her email before she does, they'll suspect I've sent it. Even though I used an account that doesn't have my name on it and I didn't say hardly anything.
I didn't put my name at the end. I just attached the photo and sent it.
I think I know why Daryl Bonner and Joe Bush are together in my dream. It's because in real life they look sort of similar. The photo is grainy, but the bone structure, the nose, the forehead — they're similar. Too similar.
What does that even mean?
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 8:00 A.M.
Mom has been here with my breakfast and gone. It was a miracle she didn't check my computer, because I totally forgot to erase my tracks. It feels like every day I'm a whisper away from losing everything, including my best friend. I totally believe my parents when they say they'll sell the house and move us to the city if they catch me talking to Sarah. If they knew how much we were emailing — all the stuff we were doing — they'd pack the car and have me out of here tonight.
Like Dad said, I have to be careful. I can't be careless when it comes to communicating with Sarah. There's too much at stake.
I've got something weird I want to try — just to see what will happen. It's not the most careful thing in the world, but I can't stop thinking about it.
Here's my plan:
I'll call the ranger station. It's early, so Ranger Bonner probably won't be on the trail yet. When he picks up I'll ask for Joe Bush and see what he says. I wonder what he'll do? What if he has caller ID? Do ranger stations have stuff like that?
I'm risking it. If I get caught, I'll say it was a prank. I'll play up the fact that I'm crazy.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 8:10 A.M.
I called Daryl Bonner.
Here's what happened:
Him: "Skeleton Creek Ranger Station."
Me: "Can I speak to Joe Bush?"
Him: "Who is this? Why are you asking for Joe Bush?"
I didn't reply.
Him: "Did Sarah Fincher put you up to this?"
I didn't reply.
Him: "Answer me! Why are you asking about Joe Bush?"
I hung up.
And now I wonder:
Why was he so freaked out?
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 9:15 A.M.
I have just endured an eventful hour and five minutes. About two minutes after I hung up, the phone rang. I tried to intercept the call myself, but I picked up at the same moment my dad did. He's a notoriously quick grabber of the phone. He hates hearing it ring and ring. I thought he'd already be halfway out the door for work, but I guess he stayed late this morning.
Just my luck.
Dad: "Hello."
Bonner: "This is Daryl Bonner at the ranger station. Did you just call this number?"
Dad: "I did not. My son might have."
Bonner: "Is this the home of the boy who had the accident at the dredge?"
Dad: "Might be."
Bonner: "I think he might be getting bored. He just called here with — I don't know — I guess you'd call it a prank call. He asked for Joe Bush, whoever that is. And the girl involved in that accident — Sarah Fincher — she seems interested in the dredge as well. It might be a good time to keep an especially close eye on them both. The dredge isn't safe — at least that's what the state supervisor told me. No one should be going out there."
Dad: "I'll have a talk with my son."
Bonner: "Thank you."
I hung up right after they did, then listened to my dad coming up the stairs and wondered if my actions qualified as more than careless. I had the feeling they did. Sarah's interview ran through my head, then my call. I felt stupid for having done it. There were dots that could be connected. Sarah, Bonner, me. There was a flurry of activity. Maybe it was enough to get the house on the market.
I already had a fondness for Henry, but when the doorbell rang and my dad went back downstairs I liked Henry ten times more. Our fall visitor had arrived, and I was spared my dad's wrath. His anger usually boiled over pretty fast. If I could stay out of his crosshairs while he calmed down, the consequences were always less severe. Until he showed up in my room with Henry in tow, I even had a glimmer of hope that my dad had forgotten all about the phone call.
"That's one heckuva cast!"
Those were the first words out of Henry's mouth when he came into my room with my dad. They were both smiling and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Henry went on, "Any chance I could have it when you're done? That thing could be a real hit at the card table."
"They'll have to cut it off. I could only give you the pieces."
"I've got duct tape. It'll be perfect."
Henry had his fishing hat on, rimmed with flies, and his rainbow suspenders.
"Your dad tells me he needs to run across town and see the ranger. Mind if I keep you company while he's gone?"
"I'd like that."
My dad asked for his picture of Old Joe Bush, and I gave it to him. He looked at me as if to say, We're not quite through here yet, I'll be back, and then he left me and Henry alone in my room. I so wish I'd never made that phone call. It feels like I've opened a can of worms and they're squirming out all over the place.
Henry chimed in when the sound of our front door closing reached my room.
"Can you get down those stairs?" he asked.
"I think I can. But I always feel better in the afternoon. I think I'll wait a little bit."
"Fair enough. How bored are you?"
"Very."
"I suspected."
"How long are you staying?"
"Seventeen days of bliss! Two poker nights, fishing on the river, and your mom's home cooking. You don't appreciate it now, but Cynthia is the queen of comfort food. Old bachelors love comfort food, especially when we're from the city. She's making that baked noodle dish with the crunchy cheese on top tonight. I've been thinking about it for three days."
"You should get married," I joked.
"And give up Yankee games, dirty laundry, and my twelve girlfriends? I don't think I'm ready for that kind of sacrifice."
"You don't have twelve girlfriends."
"Do so."
"Liar."
"Well, I've had twelve girlfriends. It's the same thing."
"I bet all twelve are now married with kids and have long since forgotten the Yankee-loving slob they dated ten years ago."
"You shouldn't talk like that with a cast on your leg. You won't be able to run away when I dump a bucket of cold water on your head."
"You're all talk."
"I'm making your lunch."
Henry smiled and I knew I was in big trouble. I hated not knowing what disgusting thing he might add to a Hot Pocket or swirl into peanut butter before spreading it around. He probably wouldn't do anything, but I'd never know for sure, and it would drive me crazy.
We talked about the accident and about how I couldn't see Sarah anymore. The news about Sarah bothered him and he said he would talk to my parents. He liked Sarah and I appreciated it, but I knew somewhere deep down that it didn't matter what Henry said. My parents had already made up their minds.
I had no idea how many more times I'd have Henry to myself. I decided it was time to begin my inquisition, especially since he was in such a friendly mood.
"Hey," I said. "How come you never talk about when you used to work for New York Gold and Silver?"
"It's not my best chapter."
"Why not?"
Henry took off his hat and laughed nervously. Then his smile went away and I felt terrible for asking him.
"Since you're all busted up, I suppose I'll tell you. I made a lot of mistakes back then because I was young and ambitious. I could lie and say I didn't really know what I was doing, but I knew.
Skeleton Creek got into my bones, though. It saved me."
"Did you ever meet Joe Bush?"
Henry looked at me
a little curiously then, but he still answered. "Why sure I did — lots of times. He was a hard worker. You know he died on the dredge?"
"I do."
"That accident was the beginning of the end. I quit not too long after that. There were a lot of lawsuits flying around. They were asking me to do things I couldn't do."
"Like what?"
"You sure are curious when you're laid up."
"Like what, Henry?"
"They wanted me to lie about things, and that's when I knew for sure I'd been doing something wrong all along."
"Did you ever hear of Old Joe Bush coming back?"
"You mean like a ghost?"
"I guess so."
"Let's just say there are stories floating around — none of them true, mind you — about the ghost of Old Joe Bush. It's all hogwash."
"Can I ask you one more thing?"
"Sure you can."
"Have you ever heard of the Crossbones?"
"Now there's an interesting question!"
"Really?"
"It's especially interesting for an outsider like me. Did you know membership is only allowed if you can prove you were either born here or have a relative that was born here?"
"No. I didn't know that."
"That's the truth — or at least I think it is. I'm pretty sure the Crossbones came into existence back when the dredge was still working."
"Why do you say that?"
"There was talk of a secret group forming. You hear things."
"What did they do?"
"If I knew that, I'd be a member. But as I said, I'm from the outside. A New Yorker, no less! No matter how much I love this place or how many times I come back, I'll never know more than I do right now about the Crossbones. Which isn't much."
I was afraid to ask one last question, but I asked anyway.
"Is my dad a member?"
"If I were a betting man, I'd put good money on it. But the truth is, I have no idea. We talk about a lot, but not about those kinds of things."
Then he left to unpack his things, and I wrote all of this down.
I can't wait to tell Sarah.
But how?
It's riskier with someone else around. I don��t think Henry would tell my parents if he caught me emailing — but I can't be sure.