The Home

SIX

Starlene sat on one of the flat gray rocks that jutted from the ground beside the lake. The water, which smelled of moss and fish, distorted the reflection of the tall trees. A leaf fell to its September death, sending low ripples out from where it floated along the silver-blue water. Starlene thought falling leaves were like angels, except she hadn't worked out the part about how leaves rose up to heaven again after they had fallen. An angel shouldn't just drown and sink and then lie rotting on the mud at the bottom.

The kids had a short break between classes and dinner. They were allowed out on the grounds in the company of their house supervisors, and soon would be scattered across the lawn, laughing, chasing each other, almost forgetting their world had walls. For the moment, though, she had the grounds to herself.

Starlene looked at the rear of Wendover Home, at the cold stones that were always in shadow. Behind those windows were tiny hearts, grown as cold and hard as the stones that walled them in. Society's children. The troubled, lost, and unwanted. Starlene hugged her knees to her chest. God didn't send you anything that you couldn't handle, though, so she must be here for a reason.

At least the staff seemed to care about the kids. She'd heard horror stories of the glory days when orphanages were little more than juvenile work farms. Though she'd only been at Wendover for three months, fresh off a Social Sciences degree at Appalachian State University, she got along well with the other counselors and house parents, especially Randy. Francis Bondurant was still a mystery, with something slippery behind his smile, but his reputation was solid with people who mattered. Dr. Kracowski was likewise elusive, keeping odd hours and holding private sessions at times when the young clients were supposed to be in class. Without Bondurant and Kracowski, though, she couldn't imagine such a difficult enterprise as Wendover ever lasting as long as it had. Better to offer prayers for them than to be suspicious.

Starlene took a granola bar from her pocket and peeled back the wrapper. She said a quick blessing and took a bite. She was about to take another, to convince herself that dry sweetened oats were tasty and not meant solely for horses, when she saw the figure on the far side of the lake. The figure stood at the water's edge, two hundred feet away, almost obscured by the branches of a weeping willow.

Must be one of the landscaping crew. She waved. The person didn't respond. On closer examination, the person appeared to be draped in some sort of gray-colored gown. Odd clothing for yard work. And didn't the landscapers get off work in the early afternoon?

Starlene squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the water. The wind had picked up a little and the golden willow branches swished around the shadowy figure. She waved again, the first unease fluttering around the granola in her stomach. What did the handbook say about reporting unauthorized persons?

The back end of the property bordered a couple of farms whose fields gave way to the steep mountain slopes that were coated in autumn's patchwork. A fence circled the Wendover lawn, but an adult could scale it without much difficulty. An adventurous local fisherman might have crept in for a try at the lake's bass, but casting a line would be awkward among those branches. She wasn't naive enough to think that clients never sneaked out of the home, but who would want to sneak into a place as imposing as Wendover?

She stood and shaded her eyes. The figure moved closer to the water's edge. She saw no fishing pole, and she was sure now it wasn't a groundskeeper. It was an old man, the sun glancing off his pale bald head. The breeze that skated over the lake ruffled the man's long gown. Starlene was reminded of a biblical movie, John the Baptist doing God's work in the water.

The man hesitated a moment, looking across the lake at the home. Starlene wished she had carried her walkie-talkie with her, but she had learned to treasure her rare moments of privacy. She thought of calling out to him or shouting for assistance, but something about the man's odd, hunched manner kept her silent. She crouched down on her rock.

Surely the man had seen her. But he showed no sign of being observed. Instead, he stepped forward into the lake. Another step, and he was in up to his knees. The water had to be forty degrees or so, but the man didn't hesitate. When he was waist-deep, an alarm went off in Starlene's head, the same alarm that warned her when a client was about to throw a fit or slip into a suicidal depression.

Starlene jumped from the rock and began hurrying around the lake. She broke into a full run just as the water reached the man's shoulders.

"Hey," she shouted. Her sprint brought her to a trail leading through a small copse of white pines. The sunlight dappled crazily off her face as she forced air into her lungs, drove her knees high, pounded her feet against the packed earth.

By the time she came out of the trees, the man had disappeared. She shouted again, her breath rasping as she reached the willow.

Not even a ripple marked the surface where the man had gone under. Starlene knelt by the water's edge, peering into the murk. Surely some air would have escaped his lungs, bringing bubbles to the surface. The water along the bank should have been muddied by the man's footsteps, but the bed of sediment hung intact like a greenish skin.

Starlene gave one more glance at the home. The shadowed walls offered no help. What would Jesus do, if Jesus ever had to save a drowning man? A more immediate question, what would she do?

She peeled off her blazer and tossed it high on the bank. Shucking her sandals, she took a deep breath and arced into the water, praying that she and the man didn't meet headfirst.

The chill hit her like a fist, nearly causing her to gasp a mouthful of water. She opened her eyes to a disorienting universe of silver speckles.

Kicking her legs, she forced herself downward fighting the natural buoyancy caused by the air in her lungs. Aided by the weight of her soaked clothing, she touched bottom and spun around.

Judging by the pressure against her ears, she was probably twelve feet deep. Here the water was darker and bluer, with loose particles of algae drifting around her stirred by her dive. Starlene pushed with her arms and turned in a circle.

No sign of the man.

She stroked with cupped hands, skimming the bottom. Above, the muted sunlight played against the surface, creating the illusion that the sky, too, was water.

Her lungs burned with held breath. No man, only mud. The cold water stung her eyes. Finally she made for the fresh air waiting above.

A shout greeted her as her head broke the surface. She shook hair from her face and treaded water, trying to orient herself. Another shout came, its direction disguised by the flat floor of lake. Then she saw them running toward the willow tree: Randy, followed by the huffing, gangly form of Bondurant.

"Are you okay?" Randy yelled.

Starlene nodded and took a gulp of air, then dove back under. This time she stayed shallow, peering through the gloomy water. The man was gone. If indeed he had ever been.

By the time she rose for her next breath, Randy had stripped his shirt and was at the water's edge. He waded into the water, eyes wide from the shock of cold. Starlene waved him back. After waiting to see that she was mak-ng steadily for shore, he climbed up the bank, then relieved his shirt and her blazer.

Bondurant had caught up with them by the time Starlene was standing, dripping and shivering, on solid ground. Randy gave her his shirt to use as a towel. Her nipples had hardened from the cold and he looked away.

"What's going on?" Bondurant said, shifting his gaze from her chest to the spot in the water from which she lad emerged.

"Some… man," she said, fighting to fill her lungs. 'He was here under the tree, then he just… walked in."

"A man?" Bondurant said.

"Dressed in a gray gown. Like a hospital gown. I didn't recognize him, so I don't think he worked here. I yelled but le didn't even look up, just went under and disappeared."

"How long ago?" Randy asked.

"Couldn't have been more than four or five minutes."

"Even Houdini couldn't hold his breath that long." Randy went into the water up to his knees, then put his hand over his eyes to shield the sun. "I don't see any bubbles."

"We should call the police or the rescue squad."

Bondurant pushed his glasses up his nose. "A man, you say. Just disappeared into the water."

"Yeah."

"Miss Rogers, you expect us to believe a man would voluntarily walk into water that's not far above freezing?"

"Why else would I jump in myself?"

"The sun off the water could have played tricks," Randy said. "Happens a lot around here, seeing things. You know that from talking with the kids."

"I know what I saw."

She hunched under the warmth of the blazer as Randy waded back to shore. Bondurant raised one eyebrow at Randy, who shook his head.

"This is a very stressful job," Bondurant said to her. "Someone with your limited experience must go through a period of adjustment. The practical applications taught in the classroom are far different from what we have to do inside those walls." He paused, then added, "In the real world."

Starlene gazed across the calm expanse of water. She expected a gray-clad corpse to bob to the surface at any moment.

"We'll say nothing of this." Bondurant turned and headed back toward Wendover.

"I'm not crazy," she said.

Randy looked at the lake.

"I'm not crazy," she repeated.

"Let's go," Randy said taking his shirt from her. "You better change before you freeze to death."

As they rounded the rocks on the far shore, Starlene looked back at the willow tree. Her legs and arms felt leaden, weighted by more than just her wet clothes. She hadn't imagined it. Had she?

Randy put a possessive arm around her. She let herself lean against him, all tan muscles and chest hair.

"I'm not making this up," she said.

"You heard Bondurant," Randy said. "Don't say anything."

"Oh, God. You don't believe me, either, do you?"

Randy didn't reply.

And she'd thought he understood her, that they shared the beginnings of a growing trust. "Randy?"

He faced her and put his hands on her shoulders. "One thing about Wendover is that you're not supposed to ask any questions. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."

She looked into his ice-blue eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"That sounded like a question." He turned and walked up the path ahead of her.

She took one last look at the lake, shivered, then followed.