My father is there. We walk into the Arrivals hall and he is standing there, a shy smile on his face like he’s not sure if I’ll be happy to see him. And then I’m standing beside him, hugging him, closer to him than I’ve been for five years.
“I rented a van,” he says by way of explanation, almost apologetically, as though I might be angry with him. I’m too emotional to speak, but Ondine steps forward and introduces herself, followed by Dr. Pendle and Dr. Sidris and finally Robbo.
They all manage to keep up a stream of chatter while we walk to where the van is parked, but all I can do is stare at my father, taking in his appearance – all of the ways he looks exactly the same as the last time we were together, and the ways he’s changed. It hurts a bit to see some of them – a small bald patch at the back of his head, the slight curve of his shoulders and the way his torso bends forward when he walks, the loose skin on the top of his hands.
After we’ve loaded our bags in the back of the van, everyone piles into the two bench seats, leaving the passenger seat for me. I try to protest – insisting that Dr. Sidris would be more comfortable there – but no one moves, and I’m grateful to be able to sit close to my father. Ondine and Dr. Sidris keep up a fairly constant level of chatter in the back, leaving my father and I free to talk to each other.
“I can’t believe you came to pick us up – I mean of course I can believe it, it’s something you would do – but I couldn’t quite believe it was really you I was seeing standing there.”
“I didn’t want to wait another minute to see you. And don’t worry – I called the airport bus to cancel your reservation.”
“Of course you did,” I say, smiling.
“It’s good to see you son.”
“It’s good to see you too, Dad.”
“You’re all here to do some research on The Wash, is that right?”
That was the reason I’d given my father for coming home, and for the fact that I was bringing guests. “Dad, I read about the disappearance of Harry Turnbull.”
A pained look passes across his face. “Terrible. His parents are beside themselves.” He glances over at me. “How did you hear?”
I tell him about the woman sitting next to me on the plane. “Dad, has anyone else gone missing since Rufus?”
Grimacing, Dad says, “No son. Not until Harry.” He’s silent for a minute or two and then adds, “They should just drain that damn lake. A landfill site in the middle of town would be better than that stinking cesspit. Well I guess that would be a stinking cesspit, but you know what I mean.”
“How many, Dad – how many people have disappeared in the lake in your lifetime?”
Before he can answer, Dr. Sidris shouts, “Ooh – The Donut Emporium! Now a fancy donut shop might be something I’d be interested in seeing.”
Dad quickly changes lanes, takes the next exit and steers the van into a parking spot right outside the so-called emporium of donuts. If Dr. Sidris is disappointed by the appearance of this unassuming place, located in a depressing strip mall, he doesn’t show it. His face lights up when he catches sight of the rows and rows of donuts iced in colours like precious gems. He asks the bemused girl behind the counter for one of everything, but Dr. Pendle manages to talk him down.
“Think of your teeth, Sylvester. Why don’t you choose two that look most promising.”
“I wasn’t going to eat them all myself, Alasdair – I want to share them, and give some to our hosts.”
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Smiling, my father says, “Oh, thank you. In that case, a dozen will be fine.”
“Make it four dozen,” Dr. Sidris tells the girl. “Four dozen of your best donuts.”
*
Two hours later we’re sitting in my father’s living room, loaded up with donut carbohydrates and coffee. Robbo’s been displaying restless energy for the past twenty minutes and finally says, “I think it’s time you show us the lake.”
“The Wash?” I ask, my tongue tripping over the words. That’s why we’ve come here, of course, but now that seeing it again is imminent I realize I don’t want to see it again, or breathe in its sulfurous pong.
“Oh yes, good idea,” Dr. Sidris says excitedly. “Can we go in the van?”
Dad looks bemused but says, “Sure, I’ll drive you down there.”
We pile into the van – same seats as before – and my father drives slowly, whether to allow our guests the chance to get a good look at the scenery or because he can sense my reluctance I’m not sure. Although his house is a modest bungalow in an equally modest neighbourhood, as we near The Wash the houses become larger and grander. I feel a pang of something like sadness for the poor unsuspecting settlers of Juniperville, who thought they were buying land in a prime location, but were actually paying well over the odds for cesspit-adjacent land.
But our guests make appreciative noises from the back seat, like they’re enjoying at least something about Juniperville. My father takes the long route around the lake, the one that starts in the residential area, curves south and then bends back up the length of the western side of the lake, and ends up in Juniperville’s downtown core. When our guests see the incongruous 1950s stores and restaurants for the first time, their excitement is at least a little bit infectious, and my father and I smile at each other.
“I thought you told us this was a terrible place!” Dr. Sidris leans forward and shouts.
“Sylvester,” Dr. Pendle says, a note of warning in his voice. “I believe what Thom said was that the lake is an unpleasant place.”
“Deeply unpleasant,” Ondine says.
“You’re about to see it for yourselves,” my father says, pulling the van into a space on a small road off the main drag. “We’ll park here and in less than two minutes we’ll be on the northern edge of The Wash.”
Dr. Sidris is the first one out of the back seat, and he claps his hands together, sniffing the air. “Smell that – it smells hideous!”
Dr. Pendle gives my father and I an apologetic look, but Dr. Sidris isn’t wrong – The Wash does smell bad, and this foul odor is even worse than I remember it.
“The smell’s got worse the past year or two,” my father confirms. “They say it has something to do with falling water levels, but I’m not sure that’s the reason.”
A minute later we emerge through some giant rhododendron bushes and there it is in all its glory – The Wash.
“I can’t believe it,” Ondine says. “It’s even worse than I thought. It’s way worse than even the North Sea on its worst day. I mean, what shade of grey even is that water?”
“Demons’ slate,” Robbo says without missing a beat.
The lake is empty, as it always is. My father starts along the footpath that runs along the eastern edge of the lake, heading south. He turns once and looks at me over his shoulder, and I nod once. This is the side of the lake Rufus’s house is on, the location of my last-ever time with my best friend, and Dad's checking that I'm okay being here. The gardens on this side are beautiful, though, and I think my father is trying to give our guests the best possible impression, given the circumstances.
My lower back is tingling so much it’s as though someone is running a lighter back and forth across my skin. I’m trying not to look directly at the water, afraid of what I might see there, or what I might do in the presence of my father. I’m not ready for him to know about me – not yet. But it’s clear that the lake is responding to my presence, because the water has started lapping against the shore like something is generating waves.
“You okay?” Robbo asks me gruffly, clearly trying to be discreet.
“Something’s happening for sure, but I’m just trying to act normal,” I answer quietly.
“Impossible,” Ondine says, coming up to join us on my other side. “Is your back tingling?”
“It is. And I can tell the water has started moving.”
Ondine’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell she is staring out at the water. “Huh – as if it isn’t creepy enough, there’s a giant whirlpool in the centre of the lake.”
I start to tell her there’s no whirlpool in The Wash just as Robbo says, “Whirlpool? What do you mean? Where?”
“Right across from us, in the middle of the lake.” Ondine clocks Robbo squinting and staring in confusion, and then looks at me, eyes wide. “Do you see it Thom?”
“I do. But I can assure you there was never a whirlpool in The Wash before.”
“You know what this means, right?” Ondine asks, her skin three shades paler than it was a minute ago. “You and I can see it, but Robbo can’t. We’re looking at another portal.”