Free In the Dark of the Night by John Saul

you there.”
    Adam pushed harder on the throttle, and Cherie was finally forced to let go of the cleat. She waved back at Eric, who stood silently on the dock, watching them go.
    “You were pretty rude,” she said to Adam when they were far enough from the dock so Eric wouldn’t hear her.
    “Why did you tell him about the dances?” Adam shot back, ignoring her question.
    “Why shouldn’t I?” Cherie countered. “They’re for everybody, aren’t they? And besides, he already knew. So what’s the big deal?”
    “They’re summer people,” Adam said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “They’re coneheads. I hate them.”
    “Well, I think you’re an idiot,” Cherie said, sitting up straight in the stern and crossing her arms over her chest. “And I thought he was cute.”
    Adam threw the throttle forward so quickly that the boat’s surge almost tossed Cherie into the lake. When they got back to the dock, she ignored his hand, easily stepping out of the boat unassisted.
    “And I think I can walk myself home, too,” she said, turning and marching up the dock before Adam had even the first of the boat’s four lines secured to the dock.
    Furious, he watched her go. This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to end, and he knew whose fault it was.
    Eric Brewster’s.
    And if he had anything to do with it, Eric Brewster would get exactly what was coming to him.
    That, and maybe a whole lot more.
                      
    T HE OLD DOG moved restlessly in the bottom of the boat, and the even older man put a quieting hand on his flank. “Shhh,” he said gently to the animal, who settled down with a tired sigh.
    Logan parted the branches of the overhanging willow he had slipped into when the loud fishing boat came charging around the point from town. It was a good thing, too. Yes, it was a good thing, because a boy had been in the boathouse, and he hadn’t known that.
    Hadn’t known that at all.
    But now, peering between the willow branches, he could see the faint light of the bare bulb in the boathouse, and as he watched, it went out. A moment later the boy closed the boathouse door behind him and walked up the lawn toward the house.
    Logan waited a few more minutes, then quietly rowed around the overhanging tree just far enough so he could see up the lawn to the house.
    The old mansion was ablaze with light; a warm, yellow light.
    The house looked happy.
    And if the house was happy, then the evil was angry.
    “Mercy,” Logan breathed softly, his eyes shifting from the house in the distance to the cross he’d mounted in the bow of his boat. “May the Lord have mercy on us all.”
    He bowed his head and prayed silently for a moment, then looked up again. But what was he supposed to do now?
    Keep watching—that was it! Keep watching, and see what happens!
    Then maybe he’d know what to do—maybe the answer would come into his head like answers sometimes did.
    But the answer, when it came, would be bad.
    He was pretty sure of that.
    In fact, he knew it.
    Sighing almost as tiredly as the dog had a moment ago, Logan quietly dipped the oars into the water and brought the boat right up to the shore at the edge of the property. He secured the bow line to a branch and touched the dog on the head to reassure him, then stepped out into the shallow water and moved slowly up the bank.
    He edged up the property, staying out of the light, keeping to the shadows of the trees.
    Making sure he was invisible.
    Soon he was close enough to the house to see people inside, and the sight of them drew him on.
    His heart began to pound, and his head throbbed. He tried to turn back, tried to go no closer than he already was, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted—he
had
—to see what they were doing inside.
    And who they were.
    There was a boy inside, he knew that.
    But who else?
    As he edged yet closer to the house, he glanced over toward the carriage house that seemed almost like it was trying to hide behind the