by L. T. Vargus
The sound of the lake caught her attention again. The surf crashing against the beach in the dark. Closer than ever.
She could make out movement in the distance. Liquid thrashing that she knew must be the waves, even if she could discern little detail for now.
She remembered the lakefront as she’d seen it in the daylight.
The long dock extended into the water, waves rippling alongside it, the surface of the water a shimmering, chaotic thing that never stopped moving. And then she remembered what lay alongside the dock.
A boat.
A cabin cruiser, as she recalled. Yes. This scene was starting to make more sense to her, even in her deflated state.
He was going to take her out on the boat. If he took her out far enough, he wouldn’t need to use the gun at all. A burial at sea made to look like an accident. A drowning. Let the body wash up on the shore, bloated and fish-belly white. Neat and tidy. No forensic evidence to speak of.
And that was if she was even found. Lake Huron was practically a sea, it was so vast. Twenty-three thousand square miles of churning, thrashing water. Her body was just as likely to sink to the bottom where all the marine life would pick her bones clean.
Charlie could see a change in the path ahead. That smooth cement trail receding into something darker, right where the water met the coast.
She marched toward the dark place. Not sure what else to do.
The sidewalk ended and the dock began. The wood sounded hollow underfoot. Thudding and ringing out reedy notes like a giant xylophone.
The smell of the lake came clearer out here in the open. Crisp and fresh.
And a great sprawl of night seemed to spread outward from here. The great wide open. No more trees or bushes around. No more grass. Just planks of wood laid out atop the choppy water. Empty air all the way to the horizon.
Moonlight gleamed down on the top of the boat. The silvery glint changing shapes as the vessel rocked back and forth.
They sidled up to it, and Brandon waved the gun at the deck.
“Hop on board,” he said.
Charlie stepped up and on, and the boat shifted beneath her feet. Tilting.
Brandon knelt to undo some ropes, and Charlie gazed over the opposite edge. The water seemed mostly peaceful now that she was closer.
She clenched her fists. Resisted the urge to jump into the shallows. Wade away into the dark.
It’d never work. Running in the water was so slow. He might not want to shoot her, but she knew he would if given no other choice.
He boarded the boat. Feet thumping over the deck as he moved to the captain’s seat.
He lifted the cushion and pulled a length of rope from the cavity there. Something heavy thunked down beside his feet. Seconds passed before Charlie realized it was an anchor.
With the press of a button, he fired up one motor. Then he pressed another, and a second growl joined the first.
The grind of the engines leveled out into a purr, and the vibration thrummed upward from below.
Brandon eased up the throttle, and they were off. Moving out into the vast expanse of Lake Huron.
“I figured we’d take a little ride,” he said. “Just the two of us.”
EIGHTY-FIVE
The boat rocketed out into the nothing. Brandon flicked on a light now and again—a strange wedge of glow slicing into the blackness, shimmering on top of the dark water—but they mostly traveled in the inky gloom.
That made sense, Charlie thought. Fit his plan. He probably wanted to stay as low-key as possible until they got way out in the deep.
Away from the shore. Away from civilization. Away from any lurking Coast Guard types, though she doubted they were even out at night, unless they had a reason. Miles away from everyone, out where light didn’t matter anymore.
The wind whipped at her face as the boat accelerated. Cold biting at her cheeks. That heavy lake air turned wintry at night, a humid type of chill that saturated her flesh rapidly.
Charlie flinched when Brandon spoke. His raspy voice rising out of the darkness, sending another kind of chill all through her.
“You know, if we head due north from this spot, we wouldn’t hit the shore for, oh, a hundred and fifty miles or something like that. Pretty wild, right? People don’t understand just how big a bastard ol’ Lake Huron really is. Seven hundred and fifty feet deep, at its deepest. Two and a half football fields of water, straight down.”
His silhouette shook its head. And she could see a faint wetness split the shadow face in front, his smiling teeth shiny with saliva.
“You ever swim fifteen miles in rough waters? Thirty miles? Might be a little chilly, though. Or what’s the word? Frigid.”
Two puffs of laughter vented from his nostrils, and then a few moments of silence passed.
“So quiet,” he said, and it was a second before she realized he was talking about her. “And here I thought you’d have questions. You had so many before.”
Charlie didn’t respond, which seemed to amuse him even further.
“Or do you think you have it all figured out?”
She ground her molars together. She didn’t have any real interest in talking to him, but maybe it would buy her some time. Distract him and deliver some kind of opening.
“Marjory’s the one who pushed Dutch down the stairs. She’ll be broke once Trevor divorces her, so she’d have a few million reasons as far as motive.” Charlie pushed a strand of hair from her face. “And you murdered Gloria because she’d found out the two of you are fucking.”
The wolfish grin spread over his mouth once again. She’d expected the last bit to rattle him, or maybe for him to show some shred of shame, but if either emotion touched him, she saw it not at all.
“Very good.” He made a show of clapping. “I’m impressed.”
“And it was you who ran me off the road?” Charlie asked, though this time she was less sure of the answer.
“Right again.”
“So all of this was just about money? From the beginning?”
Brandon faced forward and studied the vast blackness before them.
“Isn’t it always?”
They rode on for some time with only the sound of the wind in their ears.
“The funny thing is, this probably could have been avoided if you’d just gone out with me,” he said.
Charlie scoffed.
“How do you figure that?”
“I have a certain power over women.” He shrugged, totally serious now. “Call it an in-born talent.”
Charlie wanted to laugh but was too tired. She rolled her eyes.
“What, you think Marjory came up with the idea to give our father a little nudge toward the grave?” Brandon asked. “No. It was my plan all along. Marjory does what I tell her.”
“Is that why she tried to kill herself? Did you tell her to do that too?”
One of the tiny muscles under Brandon’s eye twitched. He looked annoyed for the first time, and Charlie realized she’d gotten under his skin. Good.
“No. That was… Marjie’s always been weak of will.” He sighed. “Once she found out we’d gone to all this trouble for a fortune that doesn’t even exist… she wasn’t happy. She possibly even felt a bit of regret, I suppose. Silly girl.”
Charlie felt a new wave of disgust roll over her. He sounded not at all sorry that Marjory had attempted suicide, only irritated that she’d gone off-script. She’d assumed their incestuous relationship meant they loved one another—in all the wrong ways, of course—but now Charlie wondered if the grinning jackal before her was even capable of love.
He throttled the boat down. The vibration underfoot lost its intensity all at once, and that cold wind likewise had its energy drained as the vessel lost velocity.
Then he killed the engines, those throaty growls dying out to silence. She could feel the emptiness where the thrumming in her ears had been.
The boat drifted, slower than before but still advancing. Creeping. The waves be
gan to have their way with the ship, making the thing shimmy and pitch atop the water.
She thought he’d turn on the light now. Out here where no one could see. Shed light on this final task. And she steeled herself for the fight, jaw clenched so tightly it shook.
Instead she lost him in the gloom. One second his silhouette had been standing at the console, small display LEDs glowing up blue to partially light his face beneath the chin. And then he’d vanished.
She squinted. Strained to see his dark figure among the many shades of black.
Instinctively, she backpedaled as she scanned for him. Slow steps. Inching back until her calves butted up against the stern of the ship.
She stopped there. A breath hitching into her. She squinted harder. Tried to flex her eyelids hard enough to see something. Anything.
Forms shifted in the shadows before her. Indistinct drifting. Ripples in the murk.
And then he lurched for her. Something large and angular glinting in his hands.
He exploded forward. Legs pushing. Hips rotating open as he swung his hands in her direction.
Charlie dodged to one side. Head and shoulders jerking back as the anchor grazed the air in front of her nose. She felt the wind of it.
Her top half now leaned over the water. Her balance wobbled. Legs shaky beneath.
She went with it. Rode the momentum. Jumped.
And for just a second she was weightless. The wind held her above the glimmering surface of the lake. Lifting her. Embracing her.
She twisted as she fell. Hit face first. Slapped the water.
And then the lake took her.
Submerged her in blackness. All sound cutting out save for a wet flitting in her ears.
The shock of the cold surrounded her. Gripped her. Squeezed her torso. Sucked the breath out of her. Dragged her into the deep.
EIGHTY-SIX
Charlie’s downward drift slowed. Her body hung there, motionless. Like a sample floating in a jar.
She hovered. Arms splayed out at her sides. Gliding up over her head.
Already the cold had faded, her body numb to it. Strange how quickly that happened.
She peered up. Saw the moonlight glittering down through the water. The shape of the glow changed over and over as the waves chopped and lurched and dipped.
And she could just make out the boat’s hull—the dark shape amid those dancing motes of light. Solid. Faintly bobbing. Two massive propellers jutted out from the back, looking more like something you’d see on a jet than on a boat.
Something heavy clicked above, and a brighter light joined that of the moon.
A spotlight shone down. A great glowing shaft that angled a few feet into the water, though it died long before reaching her. The darkness squelched it.
The beam shifted around. Kept moving. Scanning. He was looking for her.
And then the engines fired, one after the other. He was ready to pounce once more.
Time to move.
Charlie batted her arms. Kicked her legs.
She swam away the best she could. Going the opposite way that the boat was pointed. Limbs feeling heavy and awkward in the cold, her clothes dragging her down, her breath running out.
She slowly drifted to the surface as she swam. The water lifting her little by little, whether she wanted it to or not.
She’d hit the top before long. And she knew he’d come ripping after her then.
She focused on those kicking legs. Keeping their motions tight. Controlled. Streamlined. Getting as far as she could.
She breached the surface. Sucked in a big breath.
The engine revved somewhere behind her. Purring and then roaring.
She dove again. Got ten or so feet down and gazed up.
She watched the boat circle back, slow as it got above her. Drifting directly over her. Passing her in slow motion.
The spotlight swung all the way around now. Going from behind the boat to in front of it. Brandon must be standing on the bow now. Looking out the wrong way.
This was her chance.
Charlie kicked again. Paddled her arms.
Watching the light angle harder to the starboard side, she surfaced just off port. Stayed low to let the hull mostly hide her.
She clasped a hand around the rail on the side of the boat. Held on. Listened.
Brandon’s footsteps thumped, but she couldn’t place them very well from this angle. The water kept sloshing against the side of the vessel. Slurping and muffling everything else.
The engine lurched. She could feel its vibration change pitch in that metal bar clutched in her hand.
The thrum grew taut. Strong. Strident.
The boat slowly accelerated. Lifted a few inches higher as the speed built. Hull riding more on top of the water.
He’d drifted past the spot where he’d last seen her, so now he’d probably have to circle back to continue the search. Hopefully she could hold on long enough to see this through.
She gripped the rail with both hands. Pulled herself up, arms shaking.
Then she tucked her legs up to reduce the drag. A small thing huddling against the side of this boat. Hanging there.
The bow split the water. Sliced it off so two wakes rolled off of each side of the ship. Smooth ripples.
And that rolling wet reached for her. Surged up onto her shoes and then her ankles. Higher and higher. Tugging. Trying to wrench her free. If she lost her grip now, she’d be sucked right into the path of the twin propellers.
She’d seen them when she had been under the boat. Massive blades spinning and sucking and chewing up water.
The cold bit into her now that she was half out of the water. Her fingers ached with it, and as hard as she tried to cling tight to the rail, the tiny muscles of her hands began to shake.
Her strength faltered for a second, and she slid a few inches closer to the stern. She clamped down again, fighting now. She glanced back at the churning froth. She couldn’t hold on much longer.
And then the vessel slowed. The front half sagging back down. That pulling current dying off.
She lowered herself. Submerged up to the shoulders. Nearly hidden. All the muscles in her hands and arms thankful to be released from the strain.
Another set of heavy footfalls thumped over the deck. And then the spotlight started swinging over the top of the water.
He scanned the light off the stern this time. Swung it back and forth behind the boat. The light sliced a tube in the dark, glared some where it touched the glassy surface.
When the light winked out, she hoisted herself up again, her top half rising out of the wet. He pounded back over to the console and the boat started accelerating again. She knew it was time to make her move. Now or never.
She breathed a few times. Felt the cold lake air sucked deep inside and slowly expelled.
Then she hauled herself up onto the boat, spilling onto the deck like a fish dumped out of a net, water gushing all around her.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
She crouched on the deck on hands and knees. Staying low.
Her eyes took a second to get oriented. Staring. Blinking. The dark shapes slowly drifting into forms that made sense.
His broad shoulders coagulated from the void. Standing at the wheel. One hand on the accelerator.
And then she could see part of one side of his face. The stubbled chin and jaw glowing blue from the little LEDs on the console.
He stared straight ahead. The rising grumble of the engine had covered the sounds of her surfacing. He was oblivious for the moment. Totally focused on steering the ship.
She scanned for a weapon. Needed something hard or sharp or heavy. Anything.
She saw the fire extinguisher first. The large object stark against the white floor in the back corner. The slender nozzle protruding from the fat tank. It was one of the bigger models. Probably weighed fifteen pounds.
That would work.
Her tongue flicked out to touch her lips as she crawled toward it. Taste
d lake water as it did. That little hint of algae and scum worming across her palate.
She inched over the floor. Wanted to be quick. Wanted to be decisive. But needed to be soundless above all.
Just a few more seconds now. And then it would be over.
The boat lurched, and she froze. The deck almost seemed to jump and then dip. Slowing. Was he stopping already?
No. He was taking the turn at speed. Everything tilted to the right as the boat leaned. Hard. Rough.
She got low again. Braced her hands wide to keep her balance.
Her right wrist caught on something. Something sharp. And hard. And heavy.
That would work, too. Even better, she thought.
The boat leveled out. That sideways tilt relenting.
Any second now, he’d stop again. She needed to pounce while she still could.
She stood. Wrapped her hands around the anchor. Lifted it.
Charlie crept toward the figure at the wheel of the boat.
EIGHTY-EIGHT
The anchor was twenty-two pounds of hard metal. A curved piece that locked onto a pointed wedge of flattened metal that looked like a stretched-out home plate. It felt heavy in her hands. Awkward.
Charlie slinked forward. Feet light. Chin tucked.
Brandon faced away from her. Arms working the console, the wheel, the accelerator. Flipping switches. Adjusting the throttle ever so delicately.
She kept her gaze leveled on him as she got closer. Locked onto his torso. Unblinking.
The back of his shirt rippled in the darkness. His shoulder blades knifing into the fabric.
She breathed in and out through her mouth. Soundless wind passing over wet lips.
And electricity thrummed in her brain now. The inside of her head prickling and jolting and alive with it.
Aggression. Fury.
She was barely a yard away from him now. Within striking distance.
She adjusted the anchor’s heft. Readied to swing it.
And a shiver overtook her limbs. The cold suddenly intensifying. Made her elbows rattle against the bottom of her ribcage.