Chapter 9: The Truth in the Pages

James Evans' case files filled three bankers boxes stored in the attic of Cora's childhood home—a Victorian-style house overlooking the harbor that she hadn't visited in years. The caretaker, an elderly man who had worked for her family since before she was born, let them in without question and disappeared into the back of the house.

"You own this place?" Mason asked as they carried the boxes down to the study.

"Technically. I could never bring myself to sell it." Cora looked around at the dust-covered furniture, the faded photographs on the walls. "I haven't been back since the funeral."

The study remained exactly as her father had left it—desk positioned to face the window, walls lined with bookshelves, a worn leather chair pulled at an angle before the cold fireplace. The only addition was a thick layer of dust that swirled in the beams of late afternoon sunlight cutting through the partially opened curtains.

They worked in silence, methodically going through the files—police reports, witness statements, autopsy findings for Jacob and Sarah, photographs of the scene, detailed notes in her father's precise handwriting. The more they uncovered, the more Cora's head ached—not with the pressure she'd felt at the lake, but with the strain of memories fighting to surface.

"He knew," she said finally, holding up a journal filled with observations. "He connected the drownings to local folklore about Blackwood Lake dating back centuries. Stories about something ancient living in the water, something that periodically required sacrifice."

Mason nodded, unsurprised. "The indigenous people who originally inhabited this area refused to fish from Blackwood Lake. Called it 'the water that watches' in their language."

"You've researched this before," Cora noted.

"For years," he admitted. "After what happened... after losing all of you, it became an obsession. I needed to understand."

"You didn't lose me," she pointed out. "I survived."

A shadow crossed his face. "I did lose you, Cora. You came out of that water physically intact, but you weren't the same. You didn't remember me, didn't remember Mia or anything about your life before. It was like talking to a stranger wearing my best friend's face."

The pain in his voice triggered something—a memory of a boy sitting beside her hospital bed, showing her photographs of people she should have recognized but didn't. The desperate hope in his eyes fading to resignation as he realized she had no idea who he was.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It must have been horrible for you."

He shrugged, the motion failing to disguise his discomfort. "Your father thought the amnesia was protective. That your mind was shielding you from something too terrible to remember."

"He was right." Cora gestured to the files spread between them. "But it didn't stop with forgetting the drowning. I lost everything before it too. My entire childhood, erased."

"Not erased," Mason corrected. "Just... locked away. The memories are still there, Cora. They're coming back now, aren't they? Since you returned to Port Blackwood."

She couldn't deny it. Ever since taking the consulting position with the local police department three months ago, she'd experienced increasingly frequent episodes—flashes of memory, moments of déjà vu, dreams more vivid than any she'd had before.

"That's why you came back too," she realized. "You knew I'd accepted the position here. You've been watching me."

"Protecting you," he corrected, meeting her gaze without apology. "When I heard you were returning, I knew it would trigger the recovery process. And I knew it would make you vulnerable."

"To what, exactly?"

Mason gestured to the files. "Whatever's in that lake. It's been dormant, Cora, but not gone. Never gone. The nightmares are how it reaches out, how it identifies potential vessels. People sensitive to its presence."

"Like me." The truth of it settled with cold certainty. "Like Mia."

"You were always more sensitive than the rest of us. Both of you." He hesitated, then added quietly, "That's why you were targeted twenty years ago. Why it's targeting you again now."

Before she could respond, her phone rang—Lambert. She put it on speaker.

"We've got another problem," the detective said without preamble. "Eliza Markowski is awake and talking. Says she knows who's taking the nightmare patients."

Cora and Mason exchanged looks. "Who?"

"Dr. Nathan Reeves. He runs the sleep clinic at Port Blackwood Memorial. Specialized in parasomnia and night terrors. He was consulting on all of the missing patients."

"He has medical access," Cora said, thoughts racing ahead. "Knows exactly which patients are experiencing the specific nightmare pattern. Means, motive, opportunity."

"There's more," Lambert continued. "Hospital records show he's been signing out unusual amounts of psychoactive compounds—the same ones found in the victims' systems."

"We need to bring him in," Cora said. "Now."

"That's the problem. No one can find him. He didn't show up for his shift today, and he's not at home. But here's the kicker—his car was spotted heading toward Blackwood Lake three hours ago."

The implication settled over them like a physical weight. "He's making a delivery," Mason said grimly.

"Or a collection," Cora added. "How quickly can you get a tactical team to the lake?"

"Twenty minutes, minimum," Lambert replied. "You two stay put until backup arrives."

The call ended. Cora was already reaching for her coat.

"You heard Lambert," Mason protested. "We need to wait for backup."

"If Reeves is collecting another victim, we don't have twenty minutes." She checked her weapon, determination hardening her features. "Besides, you said yourself—it can sense me. Maybe that's what we need right now. A way to draw it out."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Mason said, but he was already following her to the door.

Outside, the last light of day was fading, the sky deepening to indigo as they drove back toward Blackwood Lake. The rain had stopped completely, leaving the air unnaturally still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

"My father figured it out," Cora said as they drove. "That's what's in these files. He connected the drownings to this... entity... and to the historical pattern of disappearances around the lake. He was getting too close."

"You think that's why he killed himself?" Mason asked carefully.

"I think someone made it look like suicide," she corrected. "Someone working for the entity, just like Reeves is now. My father was a threat, so they eliminated him."

Mason didn't argue, which told her more than words could have. "The people who survive their initial encounter with it—like you did—they're changed," he said instead. "More receptive to its influence. More valuable as potential vessels."

"Is that what happened to Dr. Reeves? He had the nightmare, survived, and became its servant?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he sought it out deliberately. There have always been people drawn to power, no matter the source."

They were getting close to the lake now, the road narrowing as it wound through dense forest. In the headlights, the trees seemed to lean toward them, branches reaching like grasping hands.

"We should wait for backup," Mason said again, though he made no move to slow down.

"You've been chasing answers for twenty years," Cora pointed out. "Don't tell me you want to wait now that we're close."

He glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression. "I came back to protect you, Cora. Not to put you in danger."

"I don't need protection. I need the truth." She held his gaze. "And so do you."

The tension between them shifted, evolving into something more complex than professional cooperation or even the tentative trust of reluctant allies. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of the boy he had been—fiercely loyal, protective of those he cared about, carrying the burden of survival when others didn't.

"We had a pact," she said suddenly, the memory surfacing with perfect clarity. "The four of us. Blood sworn on the shore of this lake when we were twelve. No matter what happens, we face it together."

Mason's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You remember that?"

"I'm remembering more every minute," she admitted. "Being here, seeing the files, talking to you—it's like someone gradually turning up the volume on a conversation I've been hearing faintly my whole life."

They rounded the final curve, and Blackwood Lake appeared before them—a vast expanse of darkness reflecting the emerging stars above. Near the shore where they had stood earlier, another vehicle was parked—a black SUV with its lights off.

Mason cut the engine, letting them coast to a stop at a distance. "Reeves," he murmured.

Through the trees, they could make out movement at the shoreline—a solitary figure dragging something from the back of the SUV. Something person-sized, wrapped in dark material.

"He's got another victim," Cora whispered, reaching for her gun.

"Wait." Mason put a hand on her arm. "We need to see where he's taking them. The recovery site might be different from the entry point."

They watched as Reeves struggled with his burden, dragging it down a path that led away from the main shoreline toward a more secluded cove. Once he disappeared from view, they exited the Jeep silently, following at a careful distance.

The path wound through dense undergrowth, hardly visible in the growing darkness. Without flashlights, they moved slowly, guided more by intuition than sight. The sound of water grew louder as they approached a small inlet surrounded by steep rock formations.

There, in a small clearing illuminated only by starlight, Dr. Nathan Reeves had arranged his victim on a flat stone at the water's edge. The body—Cora couldn't tell if it was male or female—was positioned ceremonially, arms extended, three feathers placed on the chest. Reeves himself knelt beside the water, head bowed, murmuring words too low to distinguish.

Cora raised her weapon, prepared to announce herself, when Mason suddenly stiffened beside her. Following his gaze, she saw what had alarmed him—the water in the inlet was moving strangely, rippling outward from a central point despite the lack of wind or current.

"It's coming," Mason whispered, horror evident in his voice.

As they watched, the surface of the water began to bulge upward, forming a dome that rose higher by the second. Reeves continued his chanting, louder now, words in a language Cora didn't recognize but somehow understood—invocation, invitation, offering.

The water parted, and something emerged—not a creature, not a person, but a presence that distorted the air like heat shimmer above asphalt. It moved toward the unconscious victim on the stone, hovering, assessing.

Then it turned, facing directly toward their hiding place.

"It senses you," Mason breathed, pulling Cora back. "We need to leave. Now."

But it was too late. Reeves had spotted them, rising to his feet with a snarl of rage. "You shouldn't be here!" he shouted. "This isn't for you to witness!"

Cora stepped forward, weapon raised. "Police! Step away from the victim, Dr. Reeves!"

The psychiatrist laughed, the sound unhinged. "Police? You think earthly authority matters here? You of all people should know better, Cora Evans."

The use of her name sent ice through her veins. "How do you know me?"

"I don't," Reeves said, smiling now. "But my master knows you very well. Has been waiting for you to return." He gestured to the shimmering presence beside him. "She wants to see you again, Cora. Her sister. Her twin."

The distortion in the air shifted, coalescing into something more defined—a silhouette that might have been human once, female in form but wrong somehow, proportions subtly distorted.

"That's not my sister," Cora said firmly, fighting the dread that threatened to overwhelm her. "Whatever's wearing her face, it's not Mia."

"Are you sure?" Reeves taunted. "She remembers you, even if you've forgotten her. Remembers how you left her down there in the dark. How you escaped while she was claimed."

"Don't listen to him," Mason warned, moving to stand beside her. "He's trying to distract you."

The shimmering figure drifted closer, and with each inch, Cora felt the pressure in her head intensify—that same whispering she'd heard earlier, but clearer now, almost intelligible.

Cora... help me...

The voice was achingly familiar—the voice of the sister she'd forgotten, calling from twenty years and fathoms of dark water away. Against all reason, Cora took a step forward.

"Cora, no!" Mason grabbed her arm, snapping her back to awareness.

Reeves seized the moment of distraction, lunging for a weapon concealed beneath his coat. Cora reacted instinctively, firing twice. The psychiatrist staggered, clutching his chest, then toppled backward into the water with a splash that sounded too loud in the sudden silence.

The shimmering figure paused, hovering between them and the unconscious victim on the stone. For a moment that stretched into eternity, Cora felt it studying her—not with eyes, but with a presence that pressed against her mind like fingers probing a wound.

Then, without warning, it plunged back into the water, creating a vortex that pulled Reeves' body down with it. The surface closed over them both as if nothing had disturbed it, returning to a placid mirror reflecting stars and darkness.

Cora moved immediately to the victim—a young man she recognized from the files as another of Eliza's patients. Still alive, pulse steady if slow, showing the same marks of drug-induced unconsciousness as the other victims.

"We need to get him out of here," she said, already pulling him away from the water's edge. "Before it comes back."

Mason helped her carry the unconscious man back up the path toward their vehicles. In the distance, they could hear sirens—Lambert and backup, finally arriving.

"It wasn't trying to kill him," Mason observed as they worked. "Or any of the victims. It was testing them."

"For compatibility," Cora agreed, the truth settling with cold certainty. "It's been looking for a better vessel. One that won't deteriorate like Mia's has been."

"And now it's found you again." The fear in Mason's voice was palpable. "The perfect match it lost twenty years ago."

Cora met his gaze in the darkness, seeing the boy he had been overlaid with the man he'd become—both versions carrying the same burden of survivor's guilt, the same desperate need to protect her.

"What happened that day at the lake," she said slowly. "You didn't tell me everything, did you?"

For a moment, she thought he might deny it. Instead, he looked away, shoulders heavy with the weight of long-kept secrets. "No," he admitted. "I didn't."

"What aren't you telling me?"

The sirens grew closer, flashes of red and blue visible through the trees now. Mason met her eyes again, and in them she saw a decision being made.

"It wasn't chance that Mia stayed and you escaped," he said finally. "It was choice. Her choice."

"What do you mean?"

"The pact we made was a protection spell, something Mia found in one of the old books at the library. It was supposed to shield us from the entity's influence, but it required a price." His voice roughened. "One of us had to serve as anchor—had to connect directly with whatever lived in the lake to keep the rest safe."

Cold realization washed through her. "Mia volunteered."

Mason nodded, the admission clearly painful. "She knew it would be one of you—it needed a certain kind of vessel, someone with what the old books called 'the sight.' Both of you had it, but Mia's was stronger. She planned it from the beginning, made me promise to get you out if anything went wrong."

"She sacrificed herself for me." The words felt hollow, inadequate against the enormity of what she was learning. "And I forgot her completely."

"Not by choice," Mason said gently. "Your mind couldn't reconcile what happened. The trauma of losing her, of almost being taken yourself—it was too much."

The first police cruiser appeared on the road above, followed by an ambulance and more vehicles. Their moment of privacy was ending, the chance for unburdened truth slipping away.

"There's something else," Cora said, certainty growing with each recovered memory. "Something about my father. He knew more than what's in those files, didn't he?"

Mason's hesitation told her everything. "Cora—"

"Tell me the truth, Mason. All of it. Now."

He met her gaze, conflict evident in his expression. Then, with the air of someone stepping off a cliff, he spoke the words that would change everything between them.

"Your father didn't kill himself. I did."