The Lake

by Natasha Preston

  “You’re lecturing me on morality?”

  “Hey, y’all can’t do this now!” Rebekah snaps. “Lillian could be here any freakin’ second!”

  A shrill siren cuts through the air as another cop car races along the road and into camp. We watch from across the lake as it screams to a halt.

  “Let’s go,” I say, and start running for help.

  At least that’s what I want to do, but I’m stopped by the bang of a gun.

  The hollow sound radiates through me.

  I turn. Rebekah and Olly are looking at me with wide eyes.

  Was it me? Did Lillian shoot me?

  I don’t feel pain.

  Then I see it. A red circle spreading across Olly’s shirt.

  “No!” I scream as he falls to his knees.

  Lillian walks into view with Kayla right behind her.

  I drop to the ground in front of Olly and place my hands over the wound.

  His blood is red-hot and seeps between my fingers. “You’re going to be okay,” I tell him.

  His eyes travel behind me and he whispers, “Esme.”

  Turning slowly, I look over my shoulder. Lillian is close. Kayla cowers behind her, eyes trained on the ground.

  “Now you can join your disgusting friend Jake,” Lillian says to Olly.

  “You’re a psycho,” he spits.

  Her lip curls. “I’d finish the job for that, but you’ll bleed out soon and I need the bullets.”

  “Lillian, what happened?” Rebekah asks.

  “Oh my God, stop. Do you know how tragic you are? Quit the poor-me act, Rebekah, it’s boring. Get on the ground beside them.”

  “Lillian, can we talk about—”

  Bang.

  I blink in horror as blood splatters from Rebekah’s forehead and she falls heavily to the ground.

  I whimper, pressing my lips together.

  Rebekah’s eyes lose focus and her jaw drops open.

  “You have to get out of here, Esme,” Olly croaks, wincing in pain.

  How?

  “I can’t leave you. I can’t move my hands. She’s right, you’ll bleed out.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Try to get back.”

  I shake my head, my eyes welling with tears until Olly is a blur. “Please hold on.”

  “Esme,” Lillian sings.

  My body ripples in disgust at the excited tone in her voice.

  “Hold your hand over the wound and press hard,” I tell Olly.

  Olly replaces my hands with his hand and winces.

  I rise to my feet and face Lillian. “You’re sick.”

  I’m done trying to play nicely with her.

  Lillian smirks. “Do you think I care what you think of me?”

  “You were burned, something terrible happened to you, but everything that’s happened since then has been on you. No one else is at fault here but you. Stop pretending what you’re doing is justified. It’s not. You’re a murderer.”

  “Shut up!” she screams.

  “Wait,” Kayla says.

  Lillian stills and glances to her side.

  Kayla opens her mouth and her eyes widen when she realizes she has nothing to say.

  “Go ahead, Kayla,” Lillian instructs.

  “Um…I was thinking…”

  Lillian turns her head.

  I take the chance. Screaming, I launch forward and knock into her.

  Lillian falls back, shouting out.

  I spot a rock. Do it.

  Without hesitation, I pick the rock up and smash it against the side of her face.

  “Run, Esme!” Olly shouts.

  I leap to my feet and turn to him. “I’ll help you up.”

  “She’s not dead. Go and get help!” he shouts, still pressing his hand against his wound.

  Olly…

  “Go!” he rasps, spluttering. Dying.

  I take off, my eyes stinging with tears. Maybe I should have killed her. But I don’t want to have to live with that.

  I sprint toward the lake, but a third gunshot brings me crashing down. I freeze.

  Gasping, I see Kayla stagger toward me holding her side. I run to her.

  “Kayla, no!”

  Her legs give way as I reach her.

  “Go, Esme,” she croaks.

  I fall to the ground and cradle her. “Oh my God, Kayla. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “No, I’m so sorry, Esme. I was scared and I didn’t think.”

  “Why did she shoot you?”

  “She told me to shoot you, and I refused. I was trying to run away with you.”

  “Kayla,” I whisper as tears stream down my cheeks. “You’re not going to die, you know that, right?”

  “I—I feel cold,” she murmurs. “It’s okay, though, because I just realized I would do anything to protect you.”

  When it came down to it, she chose me.

  Curling around her, I sob. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Her breathing rattles and my eyes widen. “Kayla!”

  Something lands beside me.

  I look down. What?

  Squinting, I reach down and pick up something black from the grass.

  My breath is knocked from my lungs when I realize it’s the gun.

  Suddenly, I know who called the cops.

  Kayla’s body relaxes, her full weight laying in my arms, and she takes one final, ragged breath.

  No. I sob, my heart splintering into pieces.

  “Police! Freeze!”

  My heart stills. I look up and see Lillian smiling from between the trees. She turns and silently disappears into the forest.

  Then, with wide eyes, I turn to find five gun barrels pointing at me.

  Kayla, Rebekah, Olly and Jake are dead, Lillian is gone…and I’m holding the gun.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I would first like to say thank you to my husband and sons. I love you guys.

  Sam and Vic. What would I do without you and our “Ungodly Hour” morning sprints? Though recently we’ve been spending more time drinking coffee and sending each other GIFs than writing!

  Kim, thank you for keeping me organized and taking care of my Facebook reader group. Tasha’s Tribe is an awesome place for my readers because of you.

  Ariella and Molly, thanks for being part of this journey with me. You are the best team.

  Wendy, Alison, Colleen and Heather. Thank you for working with me on this book. You guys are my rock stars!

  And to my readers, THANK YOU SO MUCH.

  1

  I dig the tips of my yellow-painted fingernails into the firm leather seat as Dad drives us home on the verge of breaking the speed limit. He’s anxious to get back, but I would rather he slowed down. My stomach dips, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes closed as he takes a sharp corner.

  With my muscles locked into place, I raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. Thankfully, Dad’s eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a tightness to them that’s unsettling. He’s a good driver, and I trust him with my life, but I’m not a fan of this speed.

  The car, a black Mercedes, is immaculate and still smells brand-new a year on, so I’m surprised that he’s driving so fast on dusty country roads.

  Everything is going to be different now, and he seems to be in a hurry to start our new life.

  It’s not right. We need to slow down, savor the ease of what our lives used to be, because the new one waiting for us in just five minutes, I don’t want. Things weren’t perfect before, but I want my old life back.

  The one where Mom was still alive.

  It’s spring, her favorite season. Flowers have begun to brighten our town, turning the landscape from a dull green to a rainbow of color. It’s my fav
orite time of year, too, when the sun shows itself and the temperature warms enough so you don’t need a coat.

  I’m always happier in spring. But right now, it might as well be winter again. I don’t feel my mood lifting, and I definitely don’t care that I’m not wearing a stupid coat.

  My twin sister, Iris, is in the front passenger seat. She’s staring out the window, occasionally starting a short conversation. It’s more than I’ve done. There’s been nothing but silence from me. It’s not because I don’t care; it’s because I don’t know what to say. There are no words for what has happened.

  Everything I think of seems dumb and insignificant. Nothing is big enough to fill the enormous void left by our mom.

  The warm spring sun shines into the car, but it’s not strong enough to hurt my eyes. I don’t want to close them again anyway. Every time I do, I see her pale face. So pale she didn’t look real. Her once rosy cheeks gone forever. It was like staring at a life-size porcelain doll.

  I wish I hadn’t gone to the funeral home to see her. My last image of her will be her lifeless body.

  When I go back to school, I’ll be fine. I’ll swim and study until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

  Or I’ll want that to work, but I know it’s going to take more than a couple of distractions to make the pain disappear.

  We turn down our road and my toes curl in my tennis shoes.

  I swallow a lump that leaves my throat bone-dry.

  Dad slows, pulling into our drive and parking out front. Our house feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere, but there are about ten houses nearby and it’s a five-minute drive into town. I love the quiet and the peace of my hometown, but I feel like it’s going to drive me crazy. Right now I need loud and fast-paced. I need distractions and lots of them.

  Iris gets out of the car first, her butt-length, silky blond hair blowing in the warm breeze. She’s home with me and Dad forever now.

  Our mom died after falling off a bridge while out running two weeks ago. She was by a farm and the land was uneven and hilly. It had been raining and there was mud on the ground. The rail on the steep side of the short bridge was low, there more for guidance than safety, and she slipped off. The bridge wasn’t very high, apparently, but she hit her head and died instantly. That’s what the police told us.

  Mom ran to keep fit and healthy so she could be around for me and Iris longer, but it ended up killing her.

  Her death is still impossible to process. I haven’t lived with my mom or Iris for six years, since she and Dad divorced, but her permanent absence weighs heavy in my stomach like lead.

  When I was ten and our parents sat me and Iris down to explain they were separating, I had been relieved. It had been coming for a long time, and I was sick of hearing arguments while I pretended to sleep upstairs. The atmosphere was cold at best, our parents barely speaking but smiling as if I couldn’t see through the crap mask.

  Iris and I have never had a conversation about it, but the separation was a surprise to her. She shouted and then she cried while I sat still, silently planning how I would tell them I wanted to live with Dad. It wasn’t an easy choice for anyone, but we had to make one. Dad and I had always been close; we share a lot in common, from movies and music to hobbies and food. He’s the one to give us clear guidelines, without which I would crumble. Mom was laid back, sometimes too much, and I would never get anything done.

  Besides, Mom always wanted to live in the city, and I never liked how densely it’s populated.

  Mom and Iris moved out; then they moved away to the city. I have spent school holidays flitting between houses, sometimes missing out on time with my twin thanks to conflicting schedules. She would be with Dad while I was with Mom.

  None of our family members, friends, or even neighbors could understand it. You don’t separate twins. I get it—we’re supposed to be able to communicate without speaking and literally feel each other’s pain. But Iris and I have never been like that. We’re too different.

  We’re not close, so although she’s my sister, it feels more like a distant cousin is moving in.

  She still has her bedroom here, which she and Dad redecorated last year when she visited for the summer. But she’s brought a lot of stuff with her from Mom’s. The trunk is full of her things.

  I watch her walk to the front door as Dad cuts the engine. She has a key to the house, of course, so she lets herself in.

  Dad scratches the dark stubble on his chin. He usually shaves every morning. “Are you okay, Ivy? You’ve barely said a word the entire time we’ve been on the road.”

  “I’m fine,” I reply, my voice low and gravelly.

  Fine, the modern I’m not okay definition of the word, is what I mean here. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye. Two weeks is all it has taken to turn my world upside down. And what about Iris? She was closer to Mom than anyone. What right do I have to fall apart when she has lost even more than me?

  “You can talk about it. Whenever you want.”

  “I know, Dad. Thanks.”

  His eyes slide to the house. “Let’s go inside.”

  I take a long breath and stare at the front door.

  I don’t want to go inside. When I go back in there, our new normal starts. I’m not ready to let go of the old just yet. Until I walk through that door, my twin isn’t living with us again because our mom has died.

  That’s all total rubbish, obviously. Not walking through that door changes nothing, but I can pretend. I need longer.

  “Ivy?” Dad prompts, watching me in the mirror with caution in his blue eyes, almost afraid to ask me if everything is okay again in case I crumble.

  “Can I go to Ty’s first? I won’t be long.”

  His brow creases. “We just got home….”

  “I’ll be back soon. I need a little time. It will give you an opportunity to check in with Iris too. She’s going to need you a lot, sometimes without me.”

  He opens his door. “One hour.”

  I get out, my heart lighter knowing I have an extra sixty minutes, which I can stretch to seventy before he’ll call. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Shutting the car door, I look back at the house.

  What?

  The hairs on my arms rise. Iris is watching me from the second-floor window.

  But she’s not in her bedroom.

  She’s in mine.

  2

  Tyler lives down the road, so I get there in under a minute and knock on the door.

  He opens up and his leaf-green eyes widen. “Ivy.” Reaching out, he tugs me into the tightest hug. His arms wrap around my back, and I sink into him. “Hey,” he whispers. “You okay?”

  “Not really,” I mutter against his Ramones T-shirt.

  “Come on.” His arms loosen but he doesn’t let go completely, his fingers sliding between mine as he leads me inside. “When did you get home?”

  “A couple of minutes ago. I haven’t been in the house yet.”

  He eyes me curiously as we walk up to his bedroom, his head turning back every second step. Even though his parents are at work, he leaves the bedroom door open. Rule one. If we break it, we’ll never be allowed to spend time together without a chaperone.

  Neither of us will break it.

  I let go of his hand and collapse onto his bed. His pillow is so soft, and it smells like him. It’s comforting and everything I need right now.

  The bed dips beside me as Ty sits down. Running his hand through his surfer style chestnut hair, he asks, “Do you want to talk?”

  I press against the ache in my chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m not your dad or sister, Ivy. I’m not looking for comforting words. You don’t need to pretend you’re okay for me. Tell me how you feel.”

  I roll from my side to my back so I can see him. “I feel lost, and
I feel stupid for being such a wreck.”

  “Babe, your mom died. Why do you feel stupid?”

  Shrugging, I shake my head and swallow so I don’t cry. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to be more together. Don’t I have a reputation for having a cold heart?”

  “No, that means you don’t cry when whatever boy band breaks up, not that you’re made of stone and don’t cry for your mom.”

  I love that he doesn’t know the names of any relevant boy bands.

  Iris has always been the emotional one. I’m the logical one. Unless something really affects my life, I’m not going to cry over it. What I rock at doing, though, is stressing and overthinking.

  “Iris hasn’t cried once that I know of,” I tell him. “And all I’ve done is cry. It’s like we’ve reversed roles.” Dad and I arrived at their house eleven days ago, the day Mom died. Iris was like a robot. She got up, showered, dressed, and ate. She tidied and watched TV. Iris continued her routine as usual, but it was all in silence as if Dad and I weren’t there. She only started talking properly again this morning.

  “Everyone handles grief differently.”

  I look up at his ceiling. Everyone deals with all sorts of things differently; I just didn’t realize that Iris and I would walk through this totally out of character. We may look the same, besides her hair being about five inches longer, but we’re nothing alike. Now we’re swapping parts of our personality?

  Sighing, I stare straight into his eyes and whisper, “I don’t know how to help her. I barely know her anymore.”

  “You can’t fix it. You only have to be there for her. There’s nothing anyone can do to accelerate the grief process; you have to let it happen.”

  I don’t like that at all. I like my control. If there’s a problem, I find a solution. I don’t handle it well when there’s nothing I can do.

  He chuckles. “You’ll learn how to do that, I promise.”

  Sighing, I blink rapidly as tears sting the backs of my eyes. “My mom is gone.”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry.”

  Get it together.

  “Mom asked me to visit for the weekend last month,” I tell him.