Cracking these thoughts in half, severing the screams from the cheers, the sound of water crashing, and the distant motors, too (a discordant symphony of frenzied youth set free)…in the center of all that noise, from the docks, the whistle blew.

The activity subsided slowly and, tasting the lake on his lips, Richard looked to the height of that rickety H, then to the base of the pines, as far as the water could go.

And he had no idea where Charles was.

“Buuuuuuuddy call!”

But this was impossible because it had to be. Charles couldn’t rightly go missing in a lake. Not the way he swam. And yet, as kids locked hands and headed for the dock, Charles simply wasn’t there. He really wasn’t there.

And with every pair who reached the dock, there was that much more empty water surrounding Richard.

Still treading, alone now, he thought of the counselors calling Charles’s mom.

We’re sorry, Mrs. Ridnour…we know you thought this whole camp thing a good idea but, as it turned out, your little Charles up and vanished and we couldn’t find him. Not for a few hours anyway. The county deputy came and rolled up his pant legs and went after him personally. Yes…found him at the bottom of the lake…seems he got a little tangled up in all that seaweed. Turned his skin green. It’s a wonder Deputy Johns could even differentiate. Oh, and one more thing: Your neighbor’s kid, Richard? He was supposed to be watching him.

“Charles!”

Richard’s voice traveled, unimpeded, to the pines.

“Where’s your buddy, kid?”

A counselor stood on the edge of the dock, looking down at him.

This was really happening.

“Come on, kid. Don’t fuck around. Where’s your buddy?”

But Richard didn’t know where his buddy was.

“This isn’t funny,” the counselor said. “You know that, right? You know this isn’t a freakin’ joke, right?”

Richard started crying. He couldn’t help it. And his tears fell to the surface of the lake.

Then Richard saw the moment of comprehension, when it registered with the counselors that this was real.

They all jumped in at once.

None of the campers spoke as the counselors dove deep, came up, and dove deep again.

Some of them watched Richard.

That kid lost track of his buddy.

The counselors started to panic.

They started to yell at one another.

“Where’s that kid? WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT KID?”

They went under for long stretches. Too long. Richard saw their feet swallowed by the dark water. When two came up, three more went down. They were getting tired. Those who treaded at the surface breathed heavy. Waiting.

A girl counselor started to cry.

“Where is he? Dan? Did we do something wrong? Dan?”

Dan didn’t have any answers. None of them did. Seventeen years old…camp counselors…supposed to be watching these kids…

“Dan? What’s happening? Have we done something wrong? Where is he?” Her voice shook. The campers began trembling on the dock.