For the first time in weeks, no one slept through that day.

After the events of the night before, adrenaline coursed through Pinevilles, and more than one temper was running a little hot.

Need to read the first two parts? Part one here, Part two here

"Look, I completely appreciate the situation, Mayor Woodzi, trust me I do. I got two kids in the bottom of that lake, but I'm telling you, burning up my pump motors ain't gonna drain that lake enough to see what's down there," Jack Reynolds said. "And, meanwhile, we get a fire in this tiny tinder box filled with hundred year old wood structures and then what?"

Don Price nodded. He'd been running numbers.

"The Captain is right. There's just no way to pump it out, and even if we could, there's nowhere to put it all," he said.

"Well, tell you what, you boys don't come up with something fast, I'm about to forget I'm the damn mayor here and let Stanley Botwell take that dynamite out to the dam like he offered this morning! We've got to do something!" Del Woodzi was red. In addition to having no sleep, his wife had been pleading with him to empty the lake.

"Look, Mayor, I agree with your sentiment, Del, hell, you and I been best buds since kindygarden. But washing half the towns in the next three counties halfway to the Gulf of Mexico to drain this lake, on a hunch, ain't gonna fix nothin'", Captain Reynolds said. "You know it and I know it, there's only one man ever been to the bottom of that lake, and like it or not, we got to go get Rodney and send him down there, whether he wants to go, or not."

Rodney Daniels was a town legend. He'd been a Navy Seal, survived three IEDs in Iraq and Feluja, and now ran a dive service searching for wreckage in the Gulf of Mexico. He also hated Pineville.

Since his brother Clem had disappeared ten years before, he'd driven into town twice a month for supplies, having sent his shopping list in a week in advance, and paying by card over the phone. He had no time to help Pineville.

"After what happened to his brother, Jack," Del said. "We just can't ask him to do this. He won't."

"He might, if it's the kids we pitch to him," Jack Reynolds said.

"Can this man get to the bottom of that lake?" Don Price asked.

"If he can't, nobody can," Del said.

And that is why, at two twenty-three in the afternoon, Del Woodzi's truck was seen turning off of route 17 into the Daniels' ranch. No fewer than three cars waited along the highway shoulder to see if he'd come back out. It was rumored that Rodney had buried more than one would be visitor who'd shown up unannounced.

"Can't help you," Rodney said.

They were in his shop, a huge, 100 year old barn housing his wrecking boat, and every kind of equipment you could imagine, including a small, handbuilt submarine, of Rodney's own design.

"Can't? Or Won't?" Del asked.

"Don't matter," Rodney said, "Answer's the same. Got to be in the gulf by Tuesday, can't put her in the water here and get her ready in that short of time."

'Her' was the "Norma Jean" named after the actress Marilynn Monroe. Norma, was Daniel's salvage boat. The diving rigs on board would have made reaching the bottom of the reservoir not only possible, but simple.

"Look, it's over thirty kids, Rodney, can't you give us just a few hours?" Jack Reynolds asked.

Rodney scoffed, "Last time you people asked for this family's help, you talked my brother into teaching school, accused of him of molesting some of these same kids, then killed him in cold blood."

"That, or he left," Del said.

"Calling my brother a coward, Del? Is that your plan? Think you can get under my skin? Look, say I was willing to drag her out of bed and down there, what makes you think there's anything to find?"

"Never was a body, is all I'm saying," Del said.

"We don't really know what happened to Clem. It's a shame, I thought he was a great teacher," Reynolds said.

"Yeah, and you really gave it your all in the search, huh? Six hours in them woods and you were done, even after they found his shoe, and his blood, but why won't you just answer the question, what makes you think your kids are down there?" Rodney asked.

Don Price stepped forward, "Here, shot this last night off the bluff. Take a look for yourself."

He handed Rodney his phone, a video played on the screen.

"Holy hell, what was that?" Rodney asked.

"That's what we'd like to know. That's as close as anyone has come to a solution. We don't know who, or what, or why, but we do know where to start looking. If you can help us," Price said.

Rodney scoffed again, "Army Corps told you no on blowing that dam, huh?"

He thought for a minute. "All right, but Norma's not going out. Get me a boat big enough to handle Fat Max," he said, pointing to the sub. "Have it there at four, I'll give you til seven, it will be too dark after that."

The men shook hands and the three visitors climbed into the truck and went out the way they came in, stopping to wave at the onlookers in reassurance.

"Dammit, Mike, it's not what we want either, but it's got to be done. We just need to borrow your boat for a few hours," Del Humboldt said. "Now, we can strip this down in thirty minutes, but we got to do it now."

They were standing in Mike Leonard's repair garage, in front of his pride and joy, a huge pontoon boat that spent most summer nights cruising the reservoir.

"Yeah, but there ain't no way to tear it down to the deck in thirty minutes that allows me to put it back, so what you're really asking is for me to donate my boat," Mike said. "I appreciate what everyone is going through, but I was there last night and ain't no way any good is coming from messing with any of this. Missy and I are planning to sell and get out. This town's just gotten too dark."

"Well, hell, Mike, if it's about money, I'll get you the ten grand, but we got to go now!" Del said.

"No, I don't want your money, I want my boat and I want my damn son up on it next summer and.." Mile Leonard broke down. He wept.

"I'm sorry guys, I just miss him so much," he said.

All four men were teary eyed,"You know we understand Mike. If there was any other way, we'd do it, but you know Rodney," Jack Reynolds said.

"Can't blame him, what happened to his brother was rough," Mike said.

The sun beat down on the bright white hull of Fat Max as eight big men pushed the submarine off the bow of the pontoon boat. They'd cut the wheels off an old boat trailer to create a makeshift launch cradle under Rodney's supervision.

Rodney stood up from the hatch in the center of the sub, then pulled it closed behind him, pressuring up for his dive. Within a few minutes, he was out of sight, except for the massive spotlight, diving deeper and deeper. They'd managed to pintpoint the spot using some salvage software Rodney had, that triangulated the position of the light in the water, from several landmarks visible in the video, when put through a processor that lightened the exposure considerably.

"It's still a big area, boys, I'm looking for an invisible needle in a haystack the size of Texas down there, and I don't even know what it would look like, if I could see it," he said. "But, I'll do my best. I've got enough juice for two hours, after that..."

From the bluff a huge crowd looked on, watching the dive operation through binoculars and digital camera zoom lenses.

"He's been down there a long time, think we should check on him?" Del Humboldt asked. He was on the deck of the pontoon boat.

Price checked his watch. "He said he could stay down for two hours, he's got twenty minutes."

"He also said, not to use this radio unless it was an emergency," Jack Reynolds said.

Being the only one with search and rescue experience, Rodney had left the radio in his care.

"Hell, ain't been nothing but emergency in this town since this all started," Woodzi said.

The radio chirped.

"I got something. I'm bringing it up now," Rodney's voice said from the radio. Then it went quiet.

Moments later, the water near the bow of the pontoon boat bubbled as the sub surfaced. Cradled in the sub's claw salvage arm was a blue plastic, 50 gallon drum. It was remarkably well preserved.

Del Woodzi turned pale.

"What is it?" Jack Reynolds asked.

"Barrel," Rodney said, scrambling from the sub to the deck of the boat.

"I can see that, what's in it?"

"'Bout to find out," Rodney said.

He expertly tossed a loop of braided aircraft cable over the barrel, and activated the winch of the bolted on boat trailer frame, pulling the barrel up onto the deck of the pontoon boat.

Del Moved as far from the barrel as he could get. He was white and trembling.

"What's the matter with you?" Price asked. "You know something about this?"

"Can't be, it's impossible," Del said, quietly.

"If you know what I'm about to find in here, Mayor, you best speak up. Especially if it's what I think it is," Rodney Daniels said. He held a two foot long wrecking bar in his hand and the look in his eye said he was not afraid to use it.

"No, can't be, I don't know anything about this, cause you dragged this out of the bottom of that lake and it can't be there!" Del said.

"You're not making much sense, Del, what's going on?" Reynolds said.

Rodney snapped the metal retaining ring from the top of the barrel. He looked grim. Black water oozed out, followed by a mass of what looked like hair, attached to a human head and shoulders.

"Give me a hand, Del," Rodney said, through clenched teeth.

"No, no, I don't know anything about this and it can't be here!" Del said, his eyes wide.

"You can, and you will, it's the least you could do after dropping my brother into a barrel," Rodney said, icy calm in his voice.

"Would somebody please tell me what is going on here? What makes you think this is your brother, and what does Del have to do with it?" Captain Reynolds said.

"Fine, I'll do it myself. Take a good look Reynolds, this is what your buddy Del Woodzi does to a man, without trial, or even charges," Rodney said.

He got underneath the closed end of the barrel and dumped a waterlogged corpse onto the deck, the flesh around it lips eaten away, its skeletal arms hanging limply, just as the phantom's had the night before.

Rodney nodded, "It's him." He pressed his lips together. "I'd know that tat anywhere."

A large American Eagle was visible, just below the elbow of the left arm, swollen and bloated, but every man on the boat, except for Price, had seen it a thousand times. There could be no doubt.

"What did you do?" Rodney asked Del.

"I, I, it wasn't just me," Del said.

"I asked what you did. To my brother, what did you do?"

"I didn't kill him, Rodney, that wasn't me. We just went to talk to him, after the rumors started. As the mayor, you understand, we had to look into it," Del said. He was trembling.

"How did he end up in your god forsaken barrel, Del?" Rodney rolled the barrel over, the painted label read 'Woodzi's feed and things'.

"Well, I put him there, after he, after they questioned him," Del said. He was having a hard time breathing.

"You put him in there alive?" Jack Reynolds looked at his lifelong friend, terror in his eyes.

"No, Jack, no, it wasn't like that. The boys, they just got carried away and then once it was done, what good could come from it? So I said, he left, he left town, no harm, no foul," Del said. "He just couldn't face the music, that's what happened and this, this wasn't supposed to ever happen?"

"Why not, Del, why wouldn't this ever happen?" Price asked.

"150 foot well, Price. Three bags of concrete!" Del was laughing hysterically now. "Five men to lift it, and it was gone, forever, or until long after all of us were dead." He spun, confused, arms out, "But out here? No, never! That well was dead, poisoned, everyone knew it, no one goes near it, but not out here, how could it be?"

"The aquifer," Reynolds said.

"What?" Del Woodzi spun on his friend. "No, we made sure, no!"

"The aquifer, Del, some of the concrete must have seeped out, enough to let it float, the old railroad well, behind your grain elevator? It's connected, to all of this," Jack Reynolds indicated the whole lake.

"He. Loved. Those Kids. Like a father, not like some pedophile priest, Del. He was a good teacher, and now, now he's taken them. You got what you deserved!" Rodney said.

"Whoa, hold up there, I had nothing to do with killing Clem, or hiding his body. I'm just as shocked by this as you, I didn't deserve this!" Jack Reynolds said.

"None of you listened. None of you stood up for him, or heard his side. You all just went with what you thought you knew, what you thought you saw," Rodney said.

"Why?" Del knelt beside the body. He grabbed the ragged shirt by the chest and shook it. "Why would you do this? No one meant to kill you! You're a monster! Why would you kill all of those children?"

"He wasn't killing them, he was doing his job, a job you hired him to do," Rodney said. "The day he was accused, the last day he taught. There was a field trip, here, to the bluff."

"He's right Del, I remember it, then two days later, Clem was gone," Jack said.

Rodney started the boat, towing his sub behind they pulled into the marina about fifteen minutes later. The sun was going down.

Back in town, Clem's body was laid out at the mortuary for an autopsy. He'd been killed by a blow to the head. Del named names. Six in all, six fathers. State police came, one tragedy stacked on top of another.

As one reporter put it, "It doesn't look good for Pineville, a town reeling from one tragedy into another."

By the time the last of the state police had left with the body and the six prisoners, it was getting late. It was generally hoped that at least their nightmares would be over and Penny might be safe. But no one knew if the town would ever recover.

At 11:03 p.m. the first knock was heard. The Humboldt family was whole again, Jason had returned. And one by one, the children of Pineville came home. They never talked about their experience. No one even knows if any of them remember it. But every night, at eleven p.m., if you happen to walk by the town's only playground, outside the school, a single swing will begin to sway.

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