When people disappear, there’s always the chance that you’ll see them again. The rain comes down so hard the demon lover can barely see. He thinks he is still moving in the direction of the craft tent and not the lake. There is a noise, he picks it out of the noise of the rain. A howling. And then the rain thins and he can see something, men and women, naked. Running toward him. He slips, catches himself, and the rain comes down hard again, erases everything except the sound of what is chasing him. He collides headlong with a thing: a skin horribly clammy, cold, somehow both stiff and yielding. Bounces off and realizes that this is the tent. Not where you’d choose to make a last stand, but by the time he has fumbled his way inside the flap he has grasped the situation. Not dead nudists, but living people, naked, cursing, laughing, dripping. They carry cameras, mikes, gear for ghost hunting. Videographers, A2s, all the other useful types and the not so useful. A crowd of men and women, and here is Meggie. Her hair is glued in strings to her face. Her breasts are wet with rain.

He says her name.

They all look at him.

How is it possible that he is the one who feels naked?

“The fuck is this guy doing here?” says someone with a little white towel positioned over his genitals. Really, it could be even littler.

“Will,” Meggie says. So gently he almost starts to cry. Well, it’s been a long day.

She takes him to her trailer. He has a shower, borrows her toothbrush. She puts on a robe. Doesn’t ask him any questions. Talks to him while he’s in the bathroom. He leaves the door open.

It’s the third day on location, and the first two have been a mixed bag. They got their establishing shots, went out on the lake and saw an alligator dive down when they got too close. There are baby skunks all over the scrubby, shabby woods, the trails. They come right up to you, up to the camera and try like hell to spray. But until they hit adolescence, all they can do is quiver their tails and stamp their feet.

Except, she says, and mentions some poor A2. His skunk was an early bloomer.

Meggie interviewed the former proprietor of the nudist colony. He insisted on calling it a naturist community, spent the interview explaining the philosophy behind naturism, didn’t want to talk about 1974. A harmless old crank. Whatever happened, he had nothing to do with it. You couldn’t lecture people into thin air. Besides, he had an alibi.