We got to a chain-link fence with more no-trespassing signs. Someone had cut a hole out of the chain link at the bottom, just big enough for a person to squeeze through. Bobbi checked the map, said this was the place, exactly where Miguel drew it. I protested, said she had to be kidding, could you imagine what kind of creepy-crawlies would be on the ground, and we were going to get lockjaw from that rusty fence… but I knew it was no good. Bobbi crawled right through that hole. And I followed her, of course.
We wound our way down a stone-lined path—then we came to a set of steps carved into the pale stone, descending into a narrow passage between two boulders. We squeezed through. The stairs were slippery, uneven. Bobbi told me to be careful and took my hand. Down we walked, the damp limestone walls rising up around us. The temperature dropped as we went down. I felt like we were walking into the center of the earth. Finally we reached the last step. There was a pool of dark water before us, perfectly still. When Bobbi shone the light into it, it reflected back up at us like a great dark mirror.
Bobbi handed me the flashlight and started to undress.
“You’re not actually going in there, are you?” I said. I thought she was crazy—the whole thing, the fact that we were even there all, it was just nuts.
You know what she said? “Of course I am. I want to hear what secrets the dead guy has to tell me.”
She stood for a few seconds, facing the water, her back to me, her skin pale as alabaster. She looked so perfect, like a goddess carved from stone.
She dove gracefully, barely making a splash.
I waited, scanning the surface of the water with the flashlight beam. The pool wasn’t very large—maybe ten feet across.
Bubbles surfaced. But Bobbi stayed down.
I swear my heart was banging so hard in my chest that I was sure I could hear it echoing off the dripping limestone walls in the little chamber.
I called her name.
She’d been under a long time.
Too long.
I kicked off my shoes, set down the flashlight. I’m not the strongest swimmer, and that dark water terrified me, but this was Bobbi down there. My Bobbi.
Then, just as I was about to dive in, Bobbi surfaced, gasping at the air.
“Shine the light over here,” she said. “I’ve got something.”
And you know what I thought?
I thought Bobbi had found the bones of that long-dead madman. That she’d come up from that water holding his skull in her hands. I could see it so clearly—the eye sockets leaking dark water like tears.
I bent down for the light and shone it on Bobbi, who was treading water and holding a piece of rock in her hand. But it didn’t look like limestone. This rock was clear, with stripes of a darker mineral streaked through it.
Bobbi blinked at the stone, turned it in her hand like it wasn’t what she’d expected to see, like she was surprised. She started to say something.
“What?” I asked her.
“Never mind,” she said. She swam to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out, still holding the stone.
“Well, did the dead guy speak to you?” I asked.
Bobbi didn’t answer. She just kept looking at the stone like it was a puzzle she was trying to solve.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Bobbi said.
“Sure,” I told her. Then I said she should hurry up and get dressed. That place gave me the creeps. I couldn’t wait to get out.
But she was right. It is a pretty rock, don’t you think?
Can I tell you a secret?
Sometimes when I look at it, I can still see Bobbi in that pool—young, just-out-of-college Bobbi—holding this very stone, treading water. The look on her face. The look of absolute wonder.
Sometimes I think… well, it’s not important.
