True believer - Nicholas Sparks [73]
“I remember it was a night like tonight, so Doris held my hand to keep me from stumbling. We wound our way among the tombstones and then sat for a while until the lights came. They looked almost alive—everything got really bright . . . until the lights just faded away. And then we went home.”
He could almost hear her shrug. “Even though I was young, I knew then what had happened, and when I got back home, I couldn’t sleep, because I’d just seen the ghosts of my parents. It was like they’d come to visit me. After that, I stopped having the nightmares.”
Jeremy was silent.
She leaned closer. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” he said, “actually, I do. Your story would have been the one that I remembered from tonight, even if I didn’t know you.”
“Well, just so you know, I’d rather my experience not end up in your article.”
“Are you sure? You can be famous.”
“I’ll pass. I’m witnessing firsthand how a little fame can ruin a person.”
He laughed. “Since this is off the record, then, can I ask if your memories were part of the reason you agreed to come out here tonight? Or was it because you wanted to enjoy my scintillating company?”
“Well, it definitely wasn’t the latter,” she said, but even as she said it, she knew it was. She thought he realized it as well, but in the brief pause that followed her remark, she sensed that her words had stung.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” he said, waiving it off. “Remember, I had five older brothers. Insults were mandatory in a family like ours, so I’m used to it.”
She straightened up. “Okay, to answer your question . . . maybe I did want to see the lights again. To me, they’ve always been a source of comfort.”
Jeremy picked up a twig from the ground and tossed it aside.
“Your grandmother was a smart lady. Doing what she did, I mean.”
“She is a smart lady.”
“I stand corrected,” he said, and just then Lexie shifted beside him, as if straining to see into the distance.
“I think you may want to turn your equipment on,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because they’re coming. Can’t you tell?”
He was about to make a crack about being “ghostproof” when he realized that he could see not only Lexie but the cameras in the distance. And, he noticed, the route to the car. It was getting lighter out here, wasn’t it?
“Hello,” she prompted. “You’re missing your big chance here.”
He squinted, trying to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, then aimed the remote at each of the three cameras. In the distance, the red power lights switched on. Still, it was all he could do to process the fact that something actually seemed to be happening.
He glanced around, looking for passing cars or illuminated houses, and when he looked toward the cameras again, he decided that he definitely wasn’t seeing things. Not only were the cameras visible, but he could see the electromagnetic detector in the center of his triangle as well. He reached for his night-vision goggles.
“You won’t need those,” she said.
He put them on, anyway, and the world took on a greenish phosphorescent glow. As the light grew in intensity, the fog began to curve and swirl, assuming different shapes.
He glanced at his watch: it was 11:44:10 p.m., and he made a note to remember it. He wondered if the moon had suddenly risen—he doubted it, but he would check on the phase when he got back to his room at Greenleaf.
But these were secondary thoughts. The fog, as Lexie had predicted, continued to brighten, and he lowered the goggles for a moment, noting the difference between the images. It was still growing brighter outside, but the change seemed more significant with the goggles. He couldn’t wait to compare the videotaped images side by side. But right now all he could do was stare straight ahead, this time without the goggles.
Holding his breath, he watched as the fog in front of them grew more silver by the moment, before changing to a pale yellow, then an opaque white, and finally an almost blinding brightness. For a moment, just a moment, most of the cemetery was visible—like