THE SHADOW BETWEEN US

Blackwood Lake stretched before them, still and silent in the late afternoon light. The rain had returned, a gentle mist that softened the landscape, blurring boundaries between water and sky. Cora sat in the passenger seat of Reid's Jeep, staring at the placid surface that had claimed three young lives twenty years ago. Two bodies recovered. One never found.

"I don't remember this place," she said finally. "I should, but I don't."

Reid's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You were thirteen when it happened. Your father was lead detective on the case."

"The drownings." She spoke the word carefully, testing it against the void in her memory. "Three children."

"Jacob Miller, age twelve. Sarah Keller, age thirteen." Reid's voice took on a mechanical quality, as if reciting facts long committed to memory. "And Mia Evans, age thirteen."

The name hit her like a physical blow. "My sister," she whispered. Not a question—a recognition, rising from somewhere beyond conscious thought.

"Your twin sister," Reid corrected gently. "The body that was never recovered."

Fragments of memory flickered at the edges of her mind—a girl with her face but softer features, laughing as they raced across ice. The sound of cracking. Screams. Cold water closing over her head.

"I was here," Cora said, the realization washing over her. "When it happened. I was with them."

Reid nodded, watching her carefully. "You were the fourth child on the ice that day. The only survivor."

"That's not possible." She shook her head, rejecting the idea even as something deep inside recognized its truth. "I would remember something like that. Losing a sister. Nearly drowning."

"Not necessarily." His voice remained gentle, but his eyes never left her face, gauging her reaction. "Traumatic amnesia is a documented response to extreme psychological distress. Your mind protected you the only way it could—by forgetting."

Cora opened the car door suddenly, needing air, needing space from the intensity of his gaze and the implications of his words. The rain fell more heavily now, soaking through her jacket as she walked toward the shore. Behind her, she heard Reid's door open and close, his footsteps following at a respectful distance.

The lake's surface rippled under the rainfall, each drop sending concentric circles across the dark water. Cora stopped at the edge, looking out over the expanse. Nothing about it seemed familiar, yet standing there filled her with a dread so profound it could only come from experience.

"My father investigated the case," she said, piecing together the fragments as they came. "His own daughter's drowning."

"He never believed it was an accident," Reid confirmed, coming to stand beside her. "The ice was six inches thick—too solid to break without help. And then there were the symbols carved into the surface. The same symbol we found on Caroline Webb's forehead."

Cora turned to look at him, really look at him for the first time. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, running in rivulets down his face. There was something achingly familiar about him, something beyond their brief professional interaction.

"How do you know all this?" she asked again, but this time the question held no antagonism—only the desperate need to understand.

Reid held her gaze, seeming to come to a decision. "Because I was here too, Cora. Not on the ice—on the shore. I saw it happen. I saw you go under."

The admission sent another shock wave through her fragmented memories. A boy on the shoreline, screaming her name. No—not her name. Another name.

"You knew her," Cora whispered. "You knew Mia."

Pain flashed across his features, raw and unguarded. "We both did."

More pieces clicked into place—his familiarity, the way he seemed to know her without knowing her. "That's why you've been lying about how we met. You knew me before."

He nodded, rain dripping from his chin. "I knew both of you. We were friends, the three of us. Inseparable since kindergarten." His voice roughened. "Until that day."

Cora closed her eyes, willing the memories to surface. Fragments appeared—three children laughing, sharing secrets, blood-sworn promises of eternal friendship. But the faces remained blurred, the details just beyond reach.

"I should remember you," she said, frustration bleeding into her voice. "Why can't I remember?"

"Because remembering me means remembering everything else," he said quietly. "And your mind isn't ready for that."

"Stop telling me what I'm ready for!" The sudden flare of anger felt good—clean and sharp against the confusion muddling her thoughts. "People are dying, Reid. Whatever happened here twenty years ago is happening again."

"Not again," he corrected. "Still. It never stopped, Cora. It just went dormant for a while."

"What are you talking about? What never stopped?"

Instead of answering, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a smooth, flat stone—identical to those found with each victim. "Your sister gave this to me the day before it happened. Said it would protect me from the dreams."

Cora stared at the stone, feeling the pressure in her head intensify. Something about it called to her, like a voice just below the threshold of hearing.

"The nightmares had already started," Reid continued. "For all of us. Dark water. Watching birds. Something pulling us down, trying to reach inside our minds." His eyes never left hers. "Sound familiar?"

It did—terrifyingly so. The same nightmares that had plagued her for as long as she could remember, the ones she'd written off as stress or an overactive imagination. The ones that had intensified since returning to Port Blackwood.

"They're not just dreams," she said slowly, the realization taking shape. "They're warnings."

Reid nodded, relief evident in his expression. "That's what your sister believed. That something in the lake was calling to us, trying to make us listen."

"Something in the lake," Cora repeated, looking back at the dark water. As if in response, the rain intensified, pounding the surface with increased urgency. "What happened that day, Mason? The truth."

The use of his first name seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, he looked like the boy he must have been—vulnerable, haunted by what he'd witnessed.

"We made a pact," he said finally. "The four of us. We were going to confront it—the entity sending the dreams. Mia thought if we all went out on the ice together, we could combine our strength somehow. Resist its pull."

"But it didn't work."

"It knew what we were planning." His voice dropped, nearly inaudible over the rain. "It was waiting for us. The ice broke, but not accidentally. It broke in a perfect circle, the same symbol we keep finding. You and Mia went under first. Jacob tried to pull you out but got dragged down too. Sarah ran, made it almost to shore before the ice gave way beneath her."

Cora's heart pounded, memories threatening to surface. "And me? How did I survive?"

Mason hesitated, conflict evident in his expression. "Your sister saved you," he said finally. "She pushed you toward the surface, used the last of her strength to get you to the edge of the ice. I pulled you out, but I couldn't reach the others."

The image formed with perfect clarity: looking up through dark water, seeing a figure identical to herself pushing her upward while something dark and shapeless pulled at her sister's legs, dragging her deeper. The memory hit with such force that Cora gasped, doubling over as pain lanced through her head.

Mason's arms were around her instantly, supporting her as her knees threatened to buckle. "Easy," he murmured. "Don't force it."

"She sacrificed herself," Cora whispered, the truth of it tearing through her. "Mia knew what would happen. She knew one of us had to stay."

Mason's grip tightened. "Stay?"

"With it. Under the water." The words came from somewhere beyond conscious thought, knowledge she couldn't possibly have but somehow did. "It needed a vessel. A way to reach the surface world."

Understanding dawned in Mason's eyes. "That's why the bodies were different," he said. "Jacob and Sarah showed signs of drowning, but also something else—marks on their bodies, their brains altered somehow."

"It tried to use them but couldn't," Cora continued, the narrative forming as she spoke. "They weren't compatible. But Mia—"

"Was your twin," Mason finished. "Your perfect genetic match."

The implication hung between them, too terrible to voice aloud. If Mia had been the perfect vessel for whatever dwelled beneath Blackwood Lake, then Cora would have been equally suitable. One twin sacrificed so the other could escape.

"The dreams never stopped because it never stopped calling," Cora said, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "It's been using Mia all these years, reaching out through her consciousness to find others like us—people sensitive to its presence."

"The victims," Mason agreed. "All experiencing the same nightmares, all connected to water somehow."

"Not victims," Cora corrected, a horrible certainty settling over her. "Candidates. It's been looking for replacements."

The rain fell harder now, sheets of water that made the lake's surface seem to rise toward them. The pressure in Cora's head intensified, accompanied by a distant whisper that might have been the wind—or something else.

"We need to leave," Mason said suddenly, his body tensing. "Now."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"It knows we're here," he said, gaze fixed on the lake. "It can sense you."

As if in response, the water at the shoreline began to roil, small waves lapping with increasing agitation against the rocks. The whispering grew louder, resolving into what almost sounded like her name—not Cora, but another name. The name of a girl who had gone into the dark water twenty years ago and never returned.

Mia.

Cold dread washed through her. "We need to call Lambert. Get a dive team out here. If Mia's body is still in the lake—"

"It's not her body anymore," Mason cut her off, pulling her away from the shore. "Whatever's down there just wears her face now. We need to leave, regroup, figure out who's helping it on the surface."

"Helping it? You think someone's working with this... thing?"

"The victims aren't taking themselves, Cora. Someone's abducting them, drugging them, leaving ritualistic objects with the bodies. Someone human."

The whispering intensified, a pressure against her mind that made coherent thought difficult. Images flashed behind her eyes—dark water, reaching hands, a face identical to her own twisted into something inhuman.

"Come on," Mason urged, practically dragging her toward the Jeep as she stumbled. "We need to get you away from here."

Through the haze of pain and confusion, one thought clarified: "The doctors," she gasped. "The therapists treating the nightmare patients—they'd have access to drugs, medical knowledge."

Mason nodded grimly as he helped her into the vehicle. "And access to everyone experiencing the dreams. They'd know exactly who to target."

As they drove away from Blackwood Lake, Cora pressed her hands against her temples, trying to alleviate the pressure. The whispering gradually subsided, replaced by a hollow ache and the unsettling certainty that something had recognized her—something that had been waiting for her to return.

"My father," she said suddenly. "He investigated the original drownings. If he suspected they weren't accidental, he must have documented his findings."

"He did," Mason confirmed, hands tight on the steering wheel. "But after you recovered physically and showed no memory of what happened, he stopped pushing. Officially, anyway."

"And unofficially?"

Mason hesitated. "He never stopped looking for answers. It consumed him."

The pieces connected with devastating simplicity. "That's why he killed himself," Cora said, the knowledge surfacing like a body rising from dark water. "Ten years ago. They said it was depression, but it was this. He found something."

The rain had eased to a gentle patter, almost apologetic after its earlier fury. Through breaks in the clouds, late afternoon sunlight painted the landscape in an unsettling golden glow that failed to dispel the shadows.

"I need to see his files," Cora said. "Everything he collected on the case."

Mason nodded, unsurprised. "I know where they are."