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Harlan had been right. Adam heard and saw things—crazy things—as he hiked up the path toward the altar. It reminded him of when he’d found Rachel on the mountain, the confusion and swirling shapes and shadows and voices. But this time, they wanted him, not Rachel. And this time, he was ready for it. Most of them were like insects, no worse than annoying as they buzzed around, vying for his attention. But one voice—an insistent, menacing whisper—had power. And it was familiar, so familiar that Adam almost spoke to it aloud.
But acknowledging his dead grandfather was probably a bad idea.
What did it mean that he was hearing Lawrence, and for that matter, how did Adam even know it was him? Was his grandfather’s voice a residue imprinted on this place, like a lingering odor? Or was it so
