"Xavier?"
He stops and looks up at Dean. "Hmmm?"
"We should get going. We don't want it to be too late when we get back to the house," Dean says.
"Okay. Sam, remind me next time to tell you about the Egyptian tomb cheese." Xavier walks over to Bellamy and crouches down in front of her. "Goodbye, fetus. The amniotic fluid and layers of tissue between us likely mean my voice is muffled to the point that it's impossible to clearly identify words, but considering evidence suggests language development begins before birth, I don't want you to feel excluded. I hope you had a lovely evening, and that the nutrients your mother consumed will help you grow healthy and strong during these last weeks of the third trimester. I will be in your presence again soon, and will see you in six weeks, give or take two weeks for date of conception and natural variance in gestation."
He stands up and Bellamy gives him a tight smile.
"Thank you, Xavier."
"Goodnight, Bellamy."
"Night."
Xavier comes over to me for a hug, says goodbye to Sam, and follows Dean out of the house. Eric and Bellamy follow after, and I gather up the dishes to take into the kitchen.
Chapter Five
Sam is going through his various steps of locking up for the night when I get back into the living room with another cup of coffee. I curl up in the corner of the couch and he walks over to sit beside me.
“Well, I didn't know before that ‘Egyptian tomb cheese’ were words I never wanted to hear together, but I do now. Thank you, Xavier. I also know about bog butter, so that's something,” he says.
“Bog butter?” I ask.
“Seventy-seven pounds of three-thousand-year-old butter were found in a bog in Ireland. Historians think it was submerged in the water to preserve it, or possibly to keep it hidden away from thieves. Because apparently, butter thievery was a serious problem three thousand years ago. Now it's in a museum and considered a national treasure. And it's also in my brain, and now in yours as well,” Sam says.
“Hmmmmm," I say, nodding as I spin my mug back and forth in my hands.
“Something on your mind?” Sam asks.
“Did you notice Dean was acting strange tonight?” I ask.
“Not really,” Sam says. “He was kind of quiet.”
“He was really quiet,” I tell him. “He didn't say anything. Not after we came in here and started talking about the investigation. It was as though he totally checked out of the conversation. Then when I went in the kitchen to talk to him about it, he was really distracted and kind of short with me.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
“I just asked him if he was okay and pointed out that he hadn't really been a part of the conversation. He said he didn't think anybody should be up at the campground. That it was abandoned for a reason and people shouldn’t mess with it. And he doesn't know if there's any such thing as ghosts, but if there are, that's the kind of place where they would be.”
“So, he doesn't think people should go to the campground because he thinks there might be ghosts?” Sam asks.
I shake my head and turn to look at him. “I don't think that's what he meant. It was as if those were two different thoughts. That he wanted to say something about the ghosts because that's what we were talking about. But this not thinking anybody should go up there wasn’t about that. He didn't say anything else about it or explain why he felt that way. He just finished his coffee, got Xavier, and left.”
“I guess that's a little strange, but maybe he just doesn't like the idea of paranormal investigations, either. The two of you have both devoted your lives to solving crimes and hunting down people who have done horrible things. I can see how it would possibly aggravate him a little.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but I feel in my heart there's something more to it. What can you tell me about the campground? I’ve never heard anything about it.”
“That actually surprises me,” Sam says. “It was a really big story. I remember hearing about it when it first started. Would have been when we were in high school.”
“I can't remember ever hearing anything about it. I mean, I might have. But if next week is the thirteenth anniversary, then I was in college. I was distracted by what was going on with Julia,” I say.
“Next week is the thirteenth anniversary of the last set of disappearances,” Sam clarifies. “It started before that.”
“It happened more than once?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “That's why it was shut down. That's why people call it the Black Campground. I know you're familiar with the national park.”
“Of course, I am,” I say. “I used to camp there when I was younger, and I hiked there during college. We were just there in December.”
“The same park,” Sam nods. “But a completely different portion of it. Hollow River Mountain is down past Richmond, a couple of hours from Crozet. It's full of old ruins of houses and little huts for hikers to stay in. But there are also campgrounds for regular camping. Some of them are really modern with hookups for RVs, nice bathhouses, the whole thing. Then there are others that are more rugged with just little cabins and tent sites. Arrow Lake is one of those. It's definitely one of the older campgrounds, but some of the cabins got upgrades in the sixties."
"Cutting edge," I remark.
"Oh, pure luxury. Essentially some of the cabins that were rented most frequently added little kitchens and upgraded bathrooms. But for the most part, everything was still pretty rugged. Anyway, it was a really popular place for families to vacation, especially in the summer. It was open all year, which most of the campgrounds aren't. But hikers and really dedicated campers would come to get shelter
