I stared at the three hundred year old chateau. Situated on four hundred acres of forest and grassy knolls, Aldourie Castle was like a vision out of Camelot. Long abandoned, rumored to be for sale, the baronial mansion was known for its many Nessie sightings and had once hosted the premiere party for Loch Ness, a movie starring Ted Danson and Joely Richardson. I had enjoyed the flick, up until its fairy-tale ending, which featured Nessie as a pair of friendly plesiosaurs—exactly the kind of rubbish that kept most reputable scientists away from the Loch.

Tea-colored waters, stained brown by an overabundance of decomposing vegetable matter, lapped at the gravel beneath my hiking boots. Overhead, a slit of sun peeked through the ceiling of clouds. The view was breathtaking, the mountains rolling away to the southwest—

—as subliminal dark, underwater images flashed in my head, replaced by a sickening rush of fear that sent my stomach gurgling.

They were the same mind-flashes I had experienced in South Beach, and, unnerved, I backed away, then hurried up the path to the lay-by. It was all I could do to keep myself from retching.

Easy, Zack. It's just a lake. It can't hurt you if you don't go in.

My hydrophobia said otherwise.

I took several deep breaths, then staggered to the Harley. Climbing back on, I started the motor and gunned the engine, continuing south along the busy two-lane highway toward Drumnadrochit.

The cold mountain breeze whipped through my clothing, doing little to soothe my frayed nerves. Seventeen years may have passed, but the drowning incident of my childhood still haunted me.

I rode on for another three miles, then forced myself to steal a quick glance at the Loch as I passed Tor Point. It was here that the eastern shoreline receded, doubling the Ness's width to a full mile. It would remain that wide until the waterway reached Fort Augustus, another twenty miles to the south.

It was almost eight o'clock, yet the evening summer sky was still bright as I passed the hamlet of Abriachan.

Fifteen minutes later, the A82 curved away to the west as the Loch's shoreline opened to Urquhart Bay. Another mile and the waterway was gone, replaced by a small cemetery and the river Enrick.

Crossing the Telford bridge, I followed the road into the village green of Drumnadrochit.

I was home.