Daniel?
His younger brother.
A world of confusion rained on Martin as he peeked around the corner.
What the hell is he doing here?
Daniel loved Izzy, and she reciprocated his adoration. He was the fun uncle, taking her to amusement parks, museums, and random stops for ice cream during summer break.
How is Daniel involved in this night?
Martin couldn’t recall a single police statement that mentioned his brother. Daniel walked up the front steps and rapped lightly on the door. It only took seconds for the screen door to fly open from Lela’s skinny arm, and Daniel disappeared into the house.
Dear God, please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.
Martin kept his neck craned to look around the corner.
Any minute Daniel is going to walk back out and drive home. He just stopped by for something, right?
After five minutes passed with no sign of the door opening, Martin leaned back against the house, panting like a thirsty dog in the middle of summer. Tension had built up that he hadn’t realized until he released his clenched fist and his tight jaw. Think, Martin. There could be one hundred other reasons that he’s here.
He thought back and tried to remember what was going on in Daniel’s life. Was there something troubling him where he felt he could confide in Lela?
As best he could remember, life was pretty simple for Daniel in 1996. He would’ve been recently graduated from college, and had jumped right into a job. He had no romantic relationship from what Martin could recall.
He didn’t need a relationship because he was fucking your wife.
Martin couldn’t bring himself to accept the possibility of what might be going on inside the house while Izzy slept in her bedroom.
He had no choice but to confront it. His and Lela’s bedroom was on the same side of the house he currently stood, only closer to the backyard. He dragged his feet to the spot below their bedroom window, his gut feeling like a wrung out rag. The nerves fled as his mind focused on the new task ahead.
Did this even really happen the first time around, or is the past just fucking with me to throw me off right now?
He gave the thought a whole second of consideration before dismissing it. The past had never done anything to psychologically mess with his plans, but rather did things like run him over with a semi-truck, or set liquor stores and high schools on fire. Whatever was going on between his brother and ex-wife inside the house was all part of the original story.
Martin looked up to the bedroom window. Lela hadn’t put up a thick curtain as Izzy had, leaving flimsy blinds to fill the space. The room was black, not even the glow of a TV, but he could hear the faintest sound of a woman giggling. They were in the bedroom, not in the kitchen or living room having a discussion. In the fucking bedroom.
The soft laughter fell silent for a couple minutes before the sounds of moaning and groaning replaced it, followed by a pleasurable scream.
Jesus Christ, they didn’t even try being quiet!
Martin felt his face flushing bright red, his temples pulsing with rage. His hands returned to white knuckled fists, shaking at his sides, as he fought off every urge to barge into the house and beat the living hell out of his brother.
How could they?
Martin stepped away, returning to his post below Izzy’s window, thoughts from his past flooding his now distracted mind.
How long were they doing this? When did this start? Why did this start?
His and Lela’s sex life was by no means lackluster. They had enjoyed each other at least three times a week, even when he started working the inconsistent hours. So why the hell did this come about?
Martin knew he should push these thoughts out of his mind—he tried, but failed—remembering he had come here to save his daughter, not learn about a lifetime of secrets that had remained buried underneath her disappearance.
Is this why Daniel moved away after the funeral? Did his guilt get the best of him and he couldn’t bear to see us anymore?
Daniel had moved across the country to Delaware, citing a new job opportunity. At the time, it was positive news for a devastated family, but his phone calls became rare, and after two years, he simply stopped reaching out to the family. Their mother said Daniel would call her on occasion, but it was always out of the blue. Martin wondered if this was the real reason he left and broke off all communication. Even in 2018, with social media, Daniel Briar was nowhere to be found.
Just worry about Izzy.
The thought was easier said than done. He couldn’t help but imagine the 1996 version of himself on his way home in a few hours, oblivious that his daughter was missing and his wife and brother had a quickie in his own bed.
He wanted to cry and scream at the same time.
Just worry about Izzy.
Martin peered back around the corner of the house, saw Sonya parked in her same spot, and wished he could go tell her the new developments.
Over the next twenty minutes Martin struggled to control his breathing and clear his mind. The night no longer felt still, but rather chaotic on Cherry Street. The crickets had silenced, leaving the only audible sounds to be his breathing and pounding heart. The temperature remained cool.
When the front door swung open, Martin almost missed it, too busy staring into the night sky, trying to piece his life together. Daniel stepped onto the porch, Lela joining him in her robe and slippers. She giggled as she ran a hand down his chest and stomach. Martin could hear their voices whispering to each other, but couldn’t make out the actual words.
Lela planted a kiss on Daniel’s lips before he hurried down the steps, jumped into his car, and left as abruptly as he had arrived. Still no sign of Izzy.
Lela returned inside as Martin watched the screen door glide shut.
He slid back to ground, relieved the adultery had passed, and allowed his mind to refocus on the task at hand. Just as his thoughts started to settle, Martin heard muffled shouting coming from inside the house—from Izzy’s room specifically. He pressed his ear against the house, knowing he’d never be able to make out the words clearly, wishing more than ever to be a fly on the wall.
What he could hear was a back and forth between Lela and Izzy. Izzy’s voice, though young and not fully developed, still projected. Lela responded with the same tone, only louder and approaching the level of a scream.
Is this what prompts this? Does Izzy run away after catching her mom in the act with her uncle? Why wouldn’t she have just come to me and told me? Why run away from it all?
It pained Martin to think that his daughter might have carried this burden with her all of these years, feeling as if she had to leave her life behind because of the mistakes her mother made. Why would she leave without saying goodbye? Was I that unavailable that she couldn’t confide in me?
Martin kept his ear pressed against the house like a burglar listening to a safe, patiently waiting for the click of the lock. As the doubts of his effectiveness as a parent continued to pour into his mind, he knew the next few minutes were the key to everything. The voices continued to rise but seemed more distant, likely having gone from Izzy’s bedroom to the living room further down the hallway. He debated moving to the other side of the house, but decided to wait. He couldn’t risk being caught in his own front yard at such a crucial time.
The sounds from Izzy’s room had completely stopped, so he ran to the backside of the house and crept along the edge to see if the drama inside was continuing in a different part of the house.
For a moment he thought the shouting had ceased, but it picked up again, this time from the kitchen. The kitchen window overlooked the backyard, so Martin would need to stay put on the side of the house, especially with the backyard porch light turned on for when he would be arriving home later that morning.
Martin craned his neck and saw the kitchen light splashing across the backyard’s grass. The voices remained muffled, covered further by a clatter of pots a
nd pans.
Is Lela putting away the dishes while having this conversation with Izzy?
It wouldn’t be the first time his ex-wife resorted to cleaning while in a rage. She used to claim that it helped clear her head.
The shouting reached another peak before abruptly stopping. It sounded as if Lela were screaming and was cut off mid-sentence.
Martin studied the window for any movement of shadows that would suggest the activity inside. There were none, and he pressed his head against the house to catch any sounds.
The bedrooms and kitchen had fallen into complete silence, as if no one were home, and Martin could only hear the sound of his own heart, pounding in his head like a distant drum.
This is it. The fight is over. Izzy must be in her bedroom packing up her things and getting ready to storm out of the house.
He knew it could take another hour or two before anything happened. Lela would need to go to sleep before Izzy made a run for it. She must have let herself out well after Lela fell asleep, but before Martin arrived home from work.
Martin squinted at his watch, but had no chance at reading the time as it remained consumed in the darkness. He calculated it to be around ten o’clock, but couldn’t pin down a precise time. Daniel had come over just after nine, had his romp in the sheets with Lela, and was out before she could even brew the coffee. Then the shouting had started and lasted between ten to fifteen minutes.
If the timeline held true, it was certainly no earlier than ten, leaving him a four-hour window until his past self arrived home for the night.
Martin returned to the backyard and found the kitchen light turned off.
Strange, he thought, remembering Lela had always left an inside light on for Martin on the nights he worked late, but pitch-blackness came from the back of the house. Away from the street light, Martin could barely see his own hand in front of his face.
She wouldn’t have gone to bed already, would she?
Lela had always needed time to cool off after an argument.
It doesn’t matter. This speeds up the timeline, if anything. Stay here and wait for her to come out.
Martin knew Izzy would come out of the back door. They rarely used the front door since the driveway stretched to the backyard where Lela’s car currently sat in the darkness. Besides, the front door creaked and groaned when opened, making a silent escape impossible.
He crouched, ready to pounce on Izzy the second she stepped outside, waiting like a vulture circling its prey, anticipating the perfect moment to swoop in and change destiny.
When five minutes passed, Martin remained frozen, both from shock and disbelief at what his eyes witnessed.
Lela swung open the screen door and ran down the porch steps to her car, unlocking the trunk, and flinging the door open.
With the house door and trunk wide open, Martin tried to piece it all together in a frantic attempt to make sense of what he didn’t want to believe.
Don’t you fucking do it, he thought as Lela returned into the dark pit of the house. Please, God, don’t let her fucking do this.
He braced himself for what would come out of the door next, and when he saw it, his body fell into an instant state of numbness.
Lela appeared in the doorway, arms in front of her body as they held a white cloth draped over a limp body. Martin heard the faintest sob from his ex-wife as she dumped the body into the trunk and slammed the door shut. Lela returned to close the house door before dashing to the equipment shed in the back corner of the yard. She grabbed a shovel and sprinted back to the car.
She tossed the shovel into the backseat and fired up the engine and headlights, backing out of the driveway and leaving Martin alone in the darkness, still unable to process the horror of what he had just witnessed.
Lela killed her, he thought, lips quivering in unison with his now shaking body. Two decades of wondering. And she fucking killed her.
Martin turned back to the side of the house and vomited before making a run for Sonya, who was hopefully still waiting close by.
51
Chapter 50
Sonya already had the car running when Martin reached it. The adrenaline provided him a boost in speed he hadn’t experienced since his high school days. He dove into the car just as Lela reached the end of the street, and turned right at the stop sign.
“Go!” he barked. “Follow her, and keep your lights off!”
Sonya obliged and swung the car around in a U-turn, tires screeching in the quiet night. Martin knew she had seen everything by the obvious shock in her bulging eyes and hanging jaw.
“Don’t lose her!” he shouted as they reached the stop sign. Lela drove at a surprisingly normal pace as she crept away from the neighborhood, giving Sonya the perfect window of opportunity to catch up as a red light stopped her three blocks ahead.
“Stay 200 feet back, keep the lights off, and match her every move and pace from here on out.” Martin felt like a movie director barking out his orders, knowing he had this one chance to follow Lela and see where she hid their daughter’s body that would never be found.
Where would she go? he wondered as Sonya steadied the car two hundred feet behind Lela. They were the only two cars on the road, and it would likely stay that way for a while. Martin saw the clock on the dashboard reading 11:02, much later than he had mentally calculated.
I guess time flies when you’re watching yourself get cheated on before your ex-wife kills your only kid.
The light turned green and Lela wasted no time crossing the intersection of Highway 85. Sonya kept her distance and followed as they drove through a dark service road with no street lights.
She only has four hours until I get home. She can’t go too far. And if she’s digging a hole, she needs to start right now.
The thought of the shovel sent a spark of rage through Martin. This meant Lela never thought twice about owning up to her crime, and had her mind set on taking care of the matter herself.
Sonya remained silent beside Martin, her eyes focused on the car ahead and waiting for Martin’s next instruction.
Lela’s brake lights filled the darkness, and they reminded Martin again of peering red eyes, much like the circle on the calendar in Sonya’s kitchen.
Is that you, Chris? he thought, questioning his own sanity for a brief moment.
Lela turned right onto Dahlia Street, a quiet and scenic road that separated two lakes, but also connected Larkwood to the neighboring town of Grant. A thick fog blanketed the road and killed all visibility as Lela disappeared into the clouds. The past can kiss my ass and take a seat in the back if it wants to try anything right now.
Lela slowed down and flicked on her high beams, which actually made it harder to see as the light reflected off the fog, creating a virtual gray sheet of obstruction.
“Keep your lights off,” Martin said calmly. “We can see her and that’s all that matters. Get closer so we can follow her every move. This road is narrow and we could drive into a ditch.”
Sonya nodded and closed the gap between her car and Lela. The fog provided them with coverage as they drove deeper in toward the lakes. She could pull up right behind the old Chevrolet and Lela would never know it.
Lela suddenly swerved to the right and slammed on her brakes. Sonya pulled up cautiously, stopping 100 feet behind as the fog lightened up just enough to see that distance.
“No, not here, Lela,” Martin said absent-mindedly. “Not here dammit!”
“What is this place?” Sonya asked, speaking for the first time since they left the house.
“It’s a lake we used to come to in the summers as a family,” Martin said in a distant voice. “We’d have picnics and splash around in the water with Izzy. She always looked forward to it.”
He fell into a deadly silence; Sonya nudged him to make sure he was okay.
“Now she’s being buried here by her own mother.”
Martin’s bottom lip trembled as he spoke, and he sniffled to keep the tears and emot
ions inside.
“There’s not even anything I can do to stop this,” Martin said, slouching into the passenger seat as if it were swallowing him piece by piece. “She’s already dead.” The words came off his lips cold and surreal.
The amount of reality that had been dumped on Martin in the last two hours was the emotional equivalent of being buried alive, and he felt the suffocation of it just the same.
They watched as Lela jumped out of the car and popped the trunk open. Martin sat still, staring as if it weren’t really happening. He shook his head as Lela struggled to lift Izzy’s body out of the vehicle, a limp white arm falling below the sheet’s coverage.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” Sonya demanded, a stream of tears running down her face.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he said in a depressed voice. “Nothing at all. I just wasted the last six months thinking I had a chance at saving her. And she was going to end up dead before I even got the chance.” He paused and looked down to his shaking hands. “I should’ve knocked on the door when I saw Daniel go inside. I should’ve done something then. This wouldn’t have happened.”
Sonya sat up stiffly in her seat and tossed her arms in the air. “You’re telling me you’re going to sit here and watch her throw your daughter in the lake? Are you fucking crazy? After all this, it ends with you sitting here in defeat?”
“What can I do?” he responded calmly. “I played out this scenario already. What do you think I’ve been doing for six months? I’ve thought every possibility all the way through to the end. I never gave this scenario much thought, but I did consider it.”
Sonya stared at him with her mouth agape. Lela had carried the body and disappeared into the thick fog where the lake waited.
“What happens next is we go back to 2018, I tell the police that Izzy’s body is in this lake, and then I confront Lela about it.”
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