Chapter 3 - The Cold Water
Two firefighters jumped into the pool in heavy neoprene waders, splashing through the scummy, algae-slick water. The stench of stagnant sulfur and chemicals billowed outward as the heavy tarp was dragged entirely off the frame.
"Bring the chain snips," one yelled.
A dull metallic crunch resonated through the water. A minute later, four men hoisted a massive, white-and-red Coleman marine cooler over the aluminum rim of the pool, dropping it onto the grass with a heavy, sickening thud.
It was wrapped twice in rusty utility chains, secured with a heavy master lock identical to the one I had sheared off Emily’s cage ten minutes earlier.
"Mark," Mrs. Harris sobbed from behind the fence, clutching her chest. "Take that baby away. Don't let her see this."
I didn't move. My feet felt glued into the mud.
The paramedic tried to wheel Emily toward the ambulance gurney, but she was thrashing now, kicking her tiny sneakers against the metal side rail. "Daddy! Daddy, don't let them open it! Mommy said don't look!"
The words hit me like a bullet.
"Wait!" I yelled, charging toward the cooler. "Stop! Don't cut that lock!"
Martinez grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. "Step back! Now!"
"Listen to me!" I screamed in his face. "Emily said Sarah told her not to look! That means Sarah talked to her after that box went into the pool!"
Martinez paused. His eyes flickered toward the little girl screaming in the ambulance.
"Cut it," Martinez ordered the firefighter anyway, keeping his grip tight on my jacket.
The heavy jaws of the bolt-cutter snapped through the padlock shackle. The chains fell away in a wet, clinking heap on the grass.
A rookie cop reached out with gloved hands and flipped the plastic latches. He lifted the heavy white lid back.
Nobody gasped. Nobody made a sound.
The rookie took one look inside, staggered back two paces, doubled over at the waist, and emptied his stomach violently into the flowerbed.
I strained my neck to see over Martinez’s shoulder.
Inside the cooler wasn’t a body.
It was five heavy concrete blocks, soaking wet clothes, and Sarah’s wedding ring sitting on top of an encrypted digital hard drive wrapped in waterproof plastic.
And taped to the inner lid of the cooler was a single index card with three words written in Sarah's neat cursive:
May you like
HE'S NOT ALONE.
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