The Lake

She caught her toe in a broken stair and stumbled.

Flinging out her arms, she clawed at the balustrade, almost falling headlong.

No need to search for Charlie.

His legs sprawled at weird angles in the room facing her.

“Charlie. I’m here. Don’t move…”

Then her heart stood still.

She was terribly afraid.

More afraid than she’d ever been in all of her eighteen years.

Her stomach turned to ice.

But she went forward, through the doorway.

To get to Charlie.

Lying there.

So still.

She was in an old-fashioned kitchen. Dark with shadows. Shuttered windows. Narrow rays of the setting sun carving through dust motes rising from where he’d fallen, in an awkward nest of wood and flaking bits of plaster.

She stared at Charlie.

“Oh, God. NO! NO NO NO-OOO!!!”

Forced herself to look at what had been his head.

Clumps of brown hair clinging to slivers of scalp, scattered in a mess of brain and shattered skull.

Slimed with matter, the base of the stove poked through the red mush of Charlie’s face. An eye, a bloodshot globe attached to bloody strings, escaped from its socket.

Leigh stared. The eye slipped a little.

Showing the brown iris.

It knows I’m watching it. It’s smiling Charlie’s smile at me…

Leigh heaved, swayed, doubled over, and slid to her knees on the dusty clay floor.

Breath burst from her lungs in great, ragged gasps.

Hot, chunky vomit rose in her throat.

This, this…wasn’t…couldn’t be Charlie.

Charlie’s beautiful, strong—and he loves me. I know that. He loves me…

Taking one last look at Charlie, flaked with dust and plaster like a discarded tailor’s dummy, she fled down the passageway, out onto the stoop, and stumbled down the steps.

Whimpering.

Fighting back vomit.

Sobbing, muttering, as she ran.

Straight into the small, rigid figure of a woman.

Charlie’s mother.

Thin, birdlike.

Openmouthed.

Shocked. Staring at Leigh’s naked body with horrified, accusing eyes, bright as polished stones in the fading light.

The woman skimmed past her. Into the house. Leigh hurried on, toward the canoe, her feet cut and bleeding as she fled over stones and fallen branches.

The scream coming from the house pierced the evening quiet, renting the air like a knife through silk.

Pure. Vibrant. Agonized.

An animal caught in a trap. Then…

“Whore; Lilith; poisonous bitch; filthy murderess!”

Under glowering skies, Leigh pushed her canoe into the lake and climbed in. Grasping the paddle, she worked it hard, bending forward and back; dipping, skimming through the dark water. As she traveled, crisp, white wavelets lifted around the bow, telling her the wind had changed direction.

She shivered, feeling its chill on her tear-streaked face, on her cold, trembling body.

Paddling hard, her uneven breaths coming in raw, hurting gasps, she left Goon Lake behind.

The screams of Edith Payne followed her like arrows from hell.

EIGHTEEN

“Hey. Earthling. Anybody home?”

Jenny eyed Leigh over the breakfast table. She didn’t like what she saw. Yesterday Leigh had been bright and breezy. Today, it looked like her personal piece of sky had just caved in.

“Sorry, Jenny. I…I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“Didn’t hear you come in.” A pause. “We waited to eat supper, just in case. Then, when you didn’t show, we ate your share and decided to turn in.” She paused, not wanting to appear heavy—after all, Leigh was on vacation. She decided on the concerned-aunt routine, hoping it wouldn’t come over too strong.

“Didn’t you know that Mike and I would worry if you stayed out late? ’Specially nights…What happened, Leigh—or is it a state secret?” Beneath her determined smile, Jenny was worried.

If this is what life with a teen is all about, Mike and I sure missed out on all the excitement.

They’d regretted not having kids, and visiting Jack and Helen on the West Coast once in a while made up for it to some degree. That, and teaching kids at high school, helped them both understand what went on in those young minds.

Leigh hung her head. Put her fork down and pushed away her untouched eggs. Her lip trembled. She scraped back her chair and rushed from the table.

Jenny followed her to the guest bedroom. She spotted Mike coming out of the bathroom and put a discreet finger to her lips. With raised brows, he carried on rubbing his damp hair and went on his way.

Kids, eh?

Jenny sat on the bed and drew the sobbing girl to her. “Come on, now, tell Aunt Jenny,” she said gently, cradling Leigh’s head against her shoulder.

Leigh let everything go, crying as if her heart would break. Eventually, the great, gulping sobs trailed off and she recovered sufficiently to wonder where to begin her story and what, if necessary, should be left out. The plain, unadulterated truth was just too awful to say out loud.