The drive to Summer Camp Aurora took four hours.
Four hours of questions.
Four hours of silence.
Four hours of trying not to think about the message.
"The third child never drowned."
The camp had been abandoned for years.
The wooden entrance sign hung crookedly.
Nature had reclaimed most of the property.
Tall grass covered the paths.
Trees crowded the old cabins.
Yet somehow...
The place felt familiar.
Painfully familiar.
As though part of me had never left.
The three of us climbed out of the car.
For several moments nobody spoke.
Then Vanessa pointed.
"The lake."
I followed