by L. T. Vargus
Brandon turned then. Perhaps sensing her presence at last.
She watched as his stubbled jaw passed through the blue light of the LED as he twisted to face her.
And she swung with all her might. Thrusting the anchor upward from her waist. Arcing it toward his skull.
Every muscle in her body worked as one. Coiling and releasing. Feet and then legs and then hips and then hands, just like she’d learned in softball.
Metal cracked against bone. Hot liquid spattered against her face.
The anchor caught Brandon on the temple just as he came around. Flung him like a ragdoll.
He bashed into the sidewall and toppled over the rail. Tipping and plummeting overboard. Knees banging the side of the boat on the way down.
The splash sounded heavy and hollow at the same time. Impossible.
Disturbed water lurched everywhere. Dark and thrashing.
The surface swallowed him whole. She waited a second for him to bob to the surface, but he didn’t.
In an instant he was gone. Vanished into the inky deep.
EIGHTY-NINE
Charlie dropped the anchor, the heavy metal thunking at her feet. Then she moved to the console. Throttled down the boat, the growl of the engines quieting.
Still, the ship drifted forward. Slowly creeping due to the momentum. Leaving Brandon behind.
She turned. Stared at the place where he’d gone into the water.
And an emptiness came over her. A vacancy roiling in her chest cavity.
She felt no triumph. No sense of victory. She felt cold and wet and exhausted.
Her shivering intensified. The chill seemed to reach to the core of her all at once.
She needed to find him. She took little comfort in the roles being reversed.
She pointed the spotlight out at the place where he’d gone under, or the place she thought he had, at least. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact spot, now that they’d drifted.
She moved back to the boat’s control panel. Twirled the wheel. Pushed the throttle to give it some speed.
“What are you doing?” Allie said. “It’s over. Take us back to shore.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why?”
Charlie thought a second before she answered. Tried to ignore the icy wind blasting her in the face.
“Because I have to be sure. It’s just like he said, right? We have to make sure.”
“Make sure he’s dead?” Allie seemed a touch confused. “His odds of making it to shore are slim to none. He’s dead either way.”
They rode on in the quiet. The headlight pierced the darkness before them, made the top of the water glisten.
“What if we get back there and he’s not dead?” Allie asked.
Charlie shrugged.
“Then we drag him aboard, I guess.”
Allie groaned.
“Hold up. You’re not actually going to save this scumbag, are you?”
“If I can, but it might already be too late. The anchor hit him square in the temple. I saw the light go out in his eyes.”
Charlie slowed as she drew up on the spot where he’d gone under. She leaned out over one side of the boat and then the other.
“You see anything?” she asked.
“Negative,” Allie said.
Charlie swung the spotlight around. Watched it shimmer off the swells and dips in the waves. She gave a good long look off all four sides of the boat but saw no signs of movement or life. Just the endless wet.
She swallowed.
Even with the perpetual stirring and chopping of the water, the lapping of it against the sides of the boat, it felt desolate. Empty. Lifeless.
She pushed the accelerator again. Eased the boat forward. Leaning off each side again as it toddled forward. Saw nothing but waves.
And then something thudded on the starboard side of the boat. She pointed the light that way.
Saw him.
Brandon’s sopping hand reached up. Clutched that chrome bar on the side of the hull. Then the rest of him emerged from the black water.
Before Charlie could move, his dark figure heaved over the sidewall. Tumbled onto the deck the same way she had, water gushing everywhere around him.
He still had the gun in his hand.
NINETY
Brandon pointed the pistol at her. Slowly getting to his feet.
The gun might not work, she thought. Might not fire after being submerged. But if it did still work? She wasn’t willing to stand here, waiting to find out.
The light was aimed at his feet. The glow sheening against the wet of his jeans. Shadows swirled around his face, but she could just read the subtle smile etched on his lips.
“Should have raced for shore while you still had the chance,” he said, smiling harder. “Dumb bitch.”
His arm shook faintly. The gun quivering at the end of it.
Charlie lurched for the throttle. Jammed it all the way forward. Instinctively squatting as she did to brace for the thrust of the boat’s momentum.
The engines roared. Angrier than ever. The boat lifted.
Brandon squeezed the trigger just as the ship jerked to life beneath him. His trembling arm wobbled upward as it shook him off balance.
The muzzle blaze lit up everything for just a second. An orange flare that cast a momentary flash against Brandon’s chin and brow.
And then the crack of the gunfire split the wet night air around them. So loud. Percussive. A violent sound rolling out over the open water.
It made Charlie’s shoulders hunch. Made her skin flex.
But the shot went high.
And then a choppy wave slammed into the hull. Jolted the ship. Knocked them both to the deck. Flung them like they were nothing.
Charlie blinked. Face down. Confused.
She watched the spotlight swing around everywhere. A beam of light untethered. Touching everything.
The gun. He’d lost the gun.
She’d seen just a glimpse of the fumble as he’d slammed down somewhere in front of her.
She propped herself up on hands and knees. Scrambling forward in a crawl. Fingers feeling everywhere for the cool, hard metal of the weapon.
And then the light swung past. Lit up the deck for a second. And she could see him.
Brandon. A few feet away. He was searching for it too. Hands clawing over the glistening deck. Looking anywhere for the gun.
Only one of them could find it. And it had to be her.
The engine seemed to rev higher, past the point of impossibility. The waves slammed into the hull. Rocking them over and over. Making Charlie wobble in place.
The engine rasped and snarled. Strained for higher and higher notes.
The next time the light swung past, she saw that Brandon wasn’t looking for the gun.
He hurled himself at her.
NINETY-ONE
Brandon crashed into her. Torsos colliding. His arms wrapping around her frame and squeezing. The force of the impact lifting her from the deck.
Weightless.
Floating in the dark.
They slammed down. A solid thud ringing out. Bright stars exploding in Charlie’s field of vision.
Brandon’s shoulder drove into her chest. That pointed piece of bone trying to spear her, pierce her.
They skidded over the wet deck. Water flung everywhere around them. Limbs entangling.
They scrambled in the dark. Grappled. Each trying to free themselves from the knot of body parts, trying to shove and bend and pry themselves away from the other.
Charlie got her feet under her. Moved into a semi-upright squat. Instinct keeping her low in case any more waves jostled the solid footing of the deck out from underneath her.
She sensed that Brandon had done the same. Gotten to his feet. He was close.
She shuffled to her right. Half trying to conceal her position. Half twirling away from his dominant hand. Working the deck of the boat like a boxer in the ring.
She’d
lose a fistfight, though. She needed to be smarter than that. More strategic.
The light swung past just in time for Charlie to see Brandon winding up for a big haymaker. She ducked. Felt the wind of the punch swoop overhead.
And then she launched herself into him. Flung her body with total abandon. Legs firing like pistons. Catapulting her.
She drove the crown of her head under his chin. A thick crack ringing out like a snapped femur.
Exploding stars again. Brighter and more plentiful than before. Raining and firing and rocketing toward her.
And she felt him lifted from the deck. Thrown. All of that force guided into his jaw. Detonating there.
The light drifted to a stop just on them then. And she saw him.
Flailing arms. Head thrown all the way back. Limp atop his neck.
His legs bashed into the sidewall of the boat. The force of it folding him in half. Dumping him over the rail yet again.
He seemed to come to life just then. Thrashing his limbs as the water tried to take him once more. Wet splashing everywhere around him.
Most of his figure disappeared into the murk. Swallowed.
But his head and arms still jutted up from the water.
It took Charlie’s eyes a second to make sense of what she was seeing.
The rail.
He was clinging to the rail. The same as she had. Knuckles going white as she watched.
And then he slid further down the metal pole. Inching toward the back of the boat. Struggling to regain his grip.
The propellers.
The boat was still hurtling along at top speed, and the propellers were pulling on him. Sucking. Trying to take him.
Charlie didn’t hesitate. She reached for him. Arm outstretched to where his hands clung to the metal.
His fingers squeaked a little as he slid further down the siderail. His eyes went to the churning water at the back of the boat and blinked hard.
And then he was gone.
Just gone.
Under.
The boat rattled. A heavy thump nearly knocking Charlie over again as the ship slowed abruptly.
A whir vibrated through the deck. Choppy tremors. Violent. Hateful. The force shook the entire hull.
“Jesus!” Allie said.
The propellers whined and shuddered. Whirring and gritting and crunching.
Charlie winced. Closed her eyes.
It was a terrible sound. Half coffee grinder. Half woodchipper.
It seemed to go on and on. Endless grating. Gritting. Scraping.
And then the noise cut out all at once, and the boat lurched forward again.
Charlie couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Uh-oh,” Allie said.
NINETY-TWO
Charlie cringed. She quickly turned the boat around and then slowed the forward momentum. Let it drift back to where the disturbance had taken place.
She killed the engines. Some instinct kicking in. She wanted to be able to hear in this moment.
“Uh-oh,” Allie repeated, her voice soft and small.
The silence felt huge. Ominous. Wrong.
Charlie spun the light to shine off the bow. The glow glittered on the water there. And almost right away she found it.
A dark shape bobbed atop the lake. Motionless apart from the water’s undulating movement. It came into focus more and more as they glided toward it.
And then she realized that it was more than one chunk bobbing. A mess of them rising and falling with the wet, though she still couldn’t get a good enough look to identify any of them.
She shined her spotlight toward the floating shapes. Adjusting for the boat’s continual movement, like a cameraman following the action.
A red cloud slowly spread through the lurching water, surrounding the dark objects. Opaque. Bright scarlet.
And then she saw a little piece of a plaid flannel shirt—red and blue.
“Found him,” Allie said.
NINETY-THREE
Charlie stood on the shore, feet planted in the sand. A Reflexcell blanket draped over her shoulders, a thin metallic layer of aluminum-foil-type material that was colored bright emergency orange on the outside. Surprisingly warm. One of the EMTs had given it to her. She held it shut in front of her, her right hand serving as a clasp, pinching the two sides of her foil cape together just like she had as she’d watched her car being pulled from the water.
Law enforcement milled around the scene like worker ants. One crew of crime scene techs worked the boat, hands sheathed in nitrile gloves, shining flashlights into the gray murk of the predawn morning.
The rest of the officers waited for the Coast Guard search crew to turn up Brandon’s remains, if they did. Charlie wondered if they’d be able to find him, or what was left of him, out there in all that endless lake. The boat’s GPS tracker would give them a good starting point anyway.
And for just a second, she pictured those objects bobbing atop the dark water, the wet of them glittering. And that red cloud surrounding them, a pool of thicker, darker stuff.
She shuddered. Pushed the images away.
She stared out over the water, gazing off into the horizon where the choppy waves seemed to end, though she knew firsthand that they only went on and on.
Her left hand tightened around the Styrofoam cup she held, lifting it to take another slurp of coffee. The heat made her tongue and throat tingle.
She was dry at least. She’d found some spare clothes in one of the closets inside the cabin and warmed up in front of the big gas fireplace in the den before coming back out to watch.
Footsteps crunched behind her, and she turned to find Zoe striding over the rocks washed up by high tide.
“Just got off the horn with the sheriff. They’re officially charging Marjory with first-degree murder and a boatload of other charges, pardon the expression.” Zoe came to a halt at Charlie’s side and thrust her hands in the pockets of her uniform jacket. “She’s still in the hospital for now, but when she’s discharged later today, it’ll be straight to a jail cell. I can only imagine the judge will deny bail.”
When Charlie only nodded, Zoe went on.
“If I’m being honest, she doesn’t seem so tough to me. I’m thinking she’ll crack pretty easy. Especially once she sees what’s on this.”
Zoe dangled an evidence baggie containing the thumb drive Charlie had found in the house.
“I doubt you’ll even have to show her what’s on it,” Charlie said, shaking her head. “Once she sees you’ve found out all her secrets, she’ll spill everything. That’s my guess, anyway.”
They moved off the strip of sand and over to the dock, the planks ringing out their hollow thuds underfoot.
Charlie could hear the chopper circling way out over the lake. She had watched it ride out, its search light aimed down at the water. It had shrunk in slow motion, disappearing into the distance little by little until it was just a speck above the horizon.
Hearing the propellers chopping the air had made her cringe, and another twinge of that hit her now. She closed her eyes. Lowered her head to her chest. Fought to keep her mind blank.
“You OK?” Zoe asked.
Charlie breathed and lifted the coffee cup again. Steam wafted off the top of it, warming her nose. She took another drink. Felt steady enough to open her eyes again.
“Yeah.”
Behind them, she heard the engine of another boat rumble to life. A new crew joining the search.
“Let’s go home,” Charlie said, heading back up the long walk toward the cabin.
NINETY-FOUR
Charlie had been right about Marjory’s confession. As soon as she peered through the plastic film of the evidence baggie the detective presented and spied the small black thumb drive, she agreed to a plea bargain.
Charlie watched it all from behind the two-way glass separating the observation room from the interrogation room. Noticed the way Marjory fidgeted as she spoke, picking her fingernails and twitching her
nose.
“Brandon needed the cash,” Marjory explained when the district attorney asked her to explain why she’d murdered her father. “He owed some rather large sums to what I understand are some very unsavory people in the gambling world, and their reminders were becoming more and more threatening. And then of course there was my divorce to consider. In the past, I’d always been able to help him out of binds like this, but that wasn’t going to be the case this time. Unless we found a way to pay off his debts, I truly believed Brandon’s life was in danger. Those are the people you should be after. Those are the real monsters in all this.”
This revelation jarred something loose in Charlie’s mind, and she let out a thoughtful gasp.
“What?” Zoe asked.
“Back when all this started, someone mentioned that Marjory’s house had been burgled a while back. The thief broke in and stole the husband’s coin collection. Trashed his study. But that was all he did. Oh. He also peed on the carpet. Marjory referred to it as ‘marking his territory.’ I think I have an idea of who the burglar was.”
Zoe nodded.
“Brandon Carmichael.”
“Yep,” Charlie said. “I bet he stole the coins to pay off one of his debts. And then caused a little damage just to… I don’t know. Make a point, I guess.”
When the lawyers on both sides had come to an agreement and wrapped things up, Charlie asked if she might have a minute to talk to Marjory herself. Because there was one thing Charlie hadn’t figured out. One nugget she’d neglected to pry from Brandon before their final struggle.
Besides that, she wanted Marjory to see her face before being transported to whatever cell would hold her until the sentencing hearing.
No one objected.
The detective opened the interrogation room door, and Charlie slipped inside. Marjory looked much older without all the makeup. And the prisoner jumpsuit she wore hung awkwardly off her thin frame.
Marjory’s eyes slid up when she heard the door opening and narrowed down to slits when she saw Charlie standing there.
“Come to rub it in, have you?” Her tone was acid. Biting. “I hope you don’t honestly think you can bring me any lower than this.”