In response, Manuel rattles off some Spanish. He glances around, wiping his face with his sleeve. I try to make out what he’s saying. He seems distracted as he peers into cabinets and turns on the kitchen sink.

“What the hell is he saying?” Elliot asks.

“He’s speaking too fast,” I say.

Manuel wrings off his jacket, still muttering to himself.

“Screw this. Come on.” Jackson shoves past Manuel and dashes through the rain.

“But maybe he can help,” I say.

Elliot hoists himself up, clinging to the kitchen table for support. Slowly, he limps behind Jackson. With one last look to Manuel, I head out the back door. Even when the door slams shut, I can still feel Manuel’s eyes on me.

In the rear courtyard, Jackson rushes through the vine-entwined space. He cups his hands to his mouth. “Beth?! Beeeeth!” he yells. Elliot teeters on the grass. I help him lean against the wall of the house.

In the middle of the lawn, Jackson’s body tenses. His eyes fixate on the pond and he lets out this heart-wrenching cry. Hard rain pelts the murky, weed-encrusted surface.

“Oh no,” Jackson says. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Floating in the middle of the swampy pond, a tangle of blonde hair bobs up and down. Jackson rushes towards that blonde hair at full force. “Beth!” he calls out. “Beth!” I follow him through the rain, splashing in puddles.

He reaches the edge of the pond and extends an arm over the murky water. His fingers grab a few strands, but then an odd expression crosses his face. He shuffles back, staring at the bobbing hair.

“What is it?” I ask. “Jackson?”

Kneeling down, I reach for the wispy blonde hair. My toes teeter at the edge of the pond. Rain pelting my face, I grab the hair and gently pull it towards me. The clump rolls over to reveal plastic eyes and a mouth that has been stitched shut.

Elliot cranes his neck from where we left him. “What is that? Is it Beth?” he says. His voice hardly carries over the rain.

“It’s a doll,” Jackson replies.

I reel my arm back, careful about how I shift my weight so I don’t fall in. Dirt clings to my shoes as I slide over the grass. Suddenly, a child’s hand pokes up from the liquid surface. Tiny mud-slick fingers graze my wrist.

I jump back, my ears ringing, and so does Jackson. His jaw drops as I stumble back onto the lawn. Catching my breath, I look back to the pond, but there’s nothing there but the doll.

A small bead of blood trickles from Jackson’s nose. He sniffs, wiping it away with his hand. Before I can say anything, he walks back towards the house. Did he see the girl too? The question sticks in my throat.

Thud!