Echo Lake

by Letitia Trent

  She took off the rain slicker and let the water hit her. She was soaked immediately. The water at her knees was as cold as river water, but she stripped off her clothes anyway until she was down to her underwear. She turned off the flashlight, leaving herself in darkness, and put it in the pocket of her slicker, which she draped in the shoulder-high branches of the closes tree. She waded out until the water reached her chest, and then she dove.

  •

  She was not the only one at the lake that night.

  Levi woke from a dream he could not remember. He’d bitten into his inner cheek in sleep and tasted salt. He held the side of his face as it throbbed. Above him, the rain pounded against the roof.

  Then, it all rushed back to him: Frannie’s death, the community dinner where he had planned to lead his flock back to God, but had succeeded only in making a fool of himself and convincing nobody. The memory made his stomach churn. He deserved the pain. He had not been the man of God he should have been. He could not convince them of the clear, but difficult path of righteousness.

  He sat up in bed. It was still raining. Levi stood up and dressed carefully, choosing his best suit and his best shoes. He wore a raincoat over his jacket and plastic boots over has shoes, a habit he could not break, despite what he was planning. Yet another piece of evidence pointing to the obvious: he was too wed to the body and its needs, to the things of the world, even in a moment like this.

  Outside, his feet sunk into the lawn. The car would be useless—he’d have to walk.

  •

  Emily didn’t allow herself to register the cold and slide of broken branches and slimy grass that brushed against her feet and thighs. She held her tongue back away from her chattering teeth and brought herself back in time:

  Her first sleepover, at five, when she cried in bed until her best friend’s mother (she couldn’t remember the friend anymore, only the sudden feeling of all of the air being sucked out of her chest, the feeling of her throat closing up) made her get out of bed and marched her back to her mother’s house, where she could not help but hiccup and cry until she was back in her own bed, Connie sitting by and smoothing down her hair until she could sleep.

  In first grade, after failing to get a perfect score on a spelling quiz (the word momentum, easy when she thought of it, had momentarily escaped her), and after Tamara, the girl who sat in back of her in Math class, had tugged at her hair and said she didn’t brush it, clearly, because there was a big knot in the back, Emily sat waiting for her mother to come get her for ten minutes after the last bell had rung. She’d watched the other kids leave the school and enter the buses (which had seemed happy, full of people talking and laughing and not frightening, loud, and tribal, as they had when was actually inside of one) or their parents’ waiting cars and felt the bruise of self-pity growing. The world hated her. But then Connie drove up, just as tears were at the edges of her eyes, and said get in, silly. I’m taking you out for ice cream. The relief had been so sweet, so unexpected, that even thinking of that feeling brought up a sliver of comfort.

  And, after her first middle school dance, when everyone else had matched up, boy and girl, until she was left alone, she had left the auditorium decorated with purple and pink crepe paper and the floor piled with glittering confetti and run home, a mile at least, Connie had brushed out her hair, set so carefully in the curls and pins hours before, saying only that she was happy to have Emily home, that the house had been lonely without her. She had not asked Emily why her eyes were red or why she’d torn a hole in the knee of her stockings and had not scolded her for walking in the dark at night.

  Emily had more moments like this, ones she hadn’t thought of in years: they ran in a loop, the memories fresh for being so scarcely used. Her arms began to burn, but she did not allow the feeling to penetrate her mind. She focused on the repetition swish of water past her ears and the thoughts.

  She had loved her mother. The thought surprised her and she stopped, treading water. She had loved her mother and all this time, she’d thought otherwise. She was mistaken about her own feelings, which seemed impossible. But she had loved her. She had cried when physically separated from Connie, had sought her comfort, had been delighted, more times than she could count, at her presence.

  I loved her, she said out loud, her voice no match for the rain, which still pounded against the water. I loved her.

  •

  He’d played in the lake as a child, as everyone else who grew up in Heartshorne had, though with caution: like everyone else, he had heard the rumors about the fog, had been rushed, suddenly, from the water by his grandmother and mother on particularly damp and misty nights. He didn’t swim in front of his parishioners—after he became a pastor, he thought it a bit unseemly to go out in swimming trunks, his body exposed, the hair around his nipples and on his back showing to everyone. He had to keep an air of separation.

  Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for the lake to take him. It spoke a language he didn’t understand anymore but once had—like a child who knows Spanish at birth but speaks English now, who suddenly, upon passing a group of Spanish speakers realizes that he understands what they are saying. And so, the lake knew him, and he had not been able to refuse it.

  The walk to the lake was quick, and in the pounding rain, he heard it long before he reached the water lapping into the leaves and sticks of the woods—it had risen far beyond the shore.

  Much like Emily, he removed his clothes carefully and folded them at the shore. It had seemed important to dress well to bring himself to the lake, to show that he was still himself and not beaten, but now, the thought of sloshing in the water, his clothes dragging the twigs and branches, his body swollen and still grotesquely dressed like a live person, seemed silly. Better that he show himself naked now, showed that he understood that he would leave the world as he’d been brought into it. So he undressed and waded into the water.

  It was cold, and his body recoiled. He moved slowly, inch-by-inch, wondering if it were better just to plunge in and get it over with.

  Silly. This is the last time you’ll have to feel the cold. Why think about it? Even now, at the end, he couldn’t let himself go. He shook his head and dove into the water. The cold hit him—an enormous slap—and he began to swim, his body energized.

  He planned to swim out into the middle of the lake until his body was exhausted. Then, he would dive down, swimming deeper and deeper. People drowned accidentally all of the time. Surely he could make himself drown on purpose.

  •

  The lake was still. She felt the burning of cold in her arms and legs, but also a throbbing in her head like something trying to get in through her ear. Her body could not take much more of this.

  I loved her, she said aloud again, that’s all I have. What can you do with that? What can you create with that? I won’t give you anything else. She treaded water, the pain growing in her limbs, her body so cold she feared she wouldn’t be able to make it back to the shore.

  The rain continued to pound against the lake, making any small sources of light puddle and jump. Nothing would happen. She would swim back, warm herself in a hot shower, and then slip into bed with Jonathan, hoping that he had not noticed her absence. She wouldn’t tell him what she had done; she had already decided that as she turned back to the shore and began to paddle back. Not unless he caught her coming in or had been awake and waiting, worried. She’d figure out then what to say, if it came to that. If he was asleep, then she’d explain the mud by saying that she’d had to go out and take a walk. She’d say that she couldn’t sleep, which was understandable enough and part of the truth.

  As she paddled back, imagining she could almost see the outlines of her jacket in the tree, the water began to move. Waves rolled around her, ducking her under and bobbing her back up again like a cork. She spit lake water from her mouth (it tasted like mud and grass and something metallic) and prepared for the next wave, jumping up with it. She could not touch the ground with her fe
et, though she had swam back toward what she believed was the shore (had she turned herself around? Was she paddling back out into the middle of the lake? It didn’t seem so—the lights from the town were behind her).

  The water was rising. It pushed her back as it rose.

  She was a strong swimmer, but her teeth chattered, her arms felt burdened with weights. She kept swimming, fighting the push of the waves and the rising water.

  Something from below the surface of the water rammed up against her leg, bruising it and stunning her so badly that she stopped swimming and dropped below the surface. The object, large and block-like, rose up, pushing her out of the way. She spluttered up, clawing, her arms and legs burning with the effort.

  •

  Levi swam quickly towards the heart of the lake, as far from the share as he could stand until his arms ached and he had to stop. He bobbed there, his feet far from the ground,

  This seemed like as good a place as any. Levi held his breath and dunked his head. He dove downward, swimming hard to get himself so far down that he could not possibly make it back up in enough time. He meant to swim to the bottom, close enough to touch it, and then let go. He knew his body would fight him, would make him tear to the surface. He deserved that suffering. He only hoped he could resist his body’s desire to live.

  He had not gone far before the object rammed into his side, stopping his descent. Panicked, he fought his way back up, his side aching. He broke the surface of the water and saw, in the moonlight, that the lake was moving. It looked, too, like it was filled with bobbing objects. Coffins. The graveyard had come up again, as it had forty years before.

  About fifty feet away, something struggled against one of the coffins. The water sprayed and a hand popped up momentarily before it fell back down into the water again.

  Levi didn’t think; he swam toward the person. He knew what drowning looked like, that desperate attempt to stay above water, the arms reaching up, trying to get enough leverage. Drowning people do not usually shout; they are too busy trying to stay alive. He reached the coffin and grabbed the flailing arm, hauling the person up and onto the coffin, which floated easily.

  It was a woman, her hair plastered against her head. She was in her bra. Her skin was cold to the touch, her teeth chattering so hard that she could not speak.

  Hold onto this, he said, throwing her arms onto the coffin. I’m going to go on the other side and balance, he said. We’ll make it to the shore that way.

  I don’t know where the shore is, she said. The shore’s flooded.

  We’ll make it far enough to stand, he said, and find your clothes.

  He recognized Emily’s voice.

  •

  The sky was slowly transitioning from black to gray—she could see the outline of trees and objects now, and the horizon over the lights of the town grew a murky orange. It must have been around five thirty in the morning. She held onto the piece of wood, one arm slung over it, and padded to the shore, where she could see her flashlight glinting in the pocket of her jacket.

  Across from her, Levi kicked, propelling them forward. She was too cold to kick much, but she tried, though she could not feel her legs. She shivered uncontrollably, now too cold to speak. She wondered why Levi was out here—had he been following her? Did he mean to do her some harm? She didn’t think so; why would he have saved her, then?

  When they reached the shore, the water was knee-deep. Levi helped Emily down from the coffin and into the woods, where she had hung her clothes on a branch. They were damp, but better than nothing, and Levi helped her into them. His own clothes were somewhere else, probably spread across the water by now. He put the jacket over her head and helped her navigate her arms and head through the holes.

  Are you OK? He asked? Do you need to see the doctor?

  Emily shook her head. I don’t think I was out here too long, she said. She was deeply tired. She simply wanted to go home and get into bed.

  Levi nodded.

  Why were you out here? She asked. They were making their way back to her house, where she said she could find him clothes. He was naked, but not shivering. She noticed, in the dim morning light (the sun had almost broken over the horizon) that he was covered in scratches. He held his right hand against his left elbow, pressing it to his body.

  He shrugged. I guess I wanted to make my peace with this place.

  She nodded. Me too.

  They walked silently for a while.

  I tried to die, Levi said, breaking the silence. I was trying to punish myself for what happened to your aunt. I wasn’t brave enough to just turn myself in. I wanted the easy way out. But you were out there, too, and my plan didn’t work.

  Emily hugged her arms close to her body. It was too cold to think clearly. She heard Levi as though from a distance. She struggled to listen, to answer in a way that would be helpful to him.

  You shouldn’t turn yourself in, she said. You shouldn’t do it.

  I have to, he said. I told people I wanted change. I wanted justice. I can’t only want justice when it’s convenient for me.

  She shook her head. This is different. She didn’t know how. She only knew that she didn’t want him in prison. What purpose would it serve? What justice would it deliver? Frannie would still be dead. The town would lose him. He would lose everything.

  They approached the backyard. Emily felt a great relief at seeing the house, her back window lit from the light she had left on. She had never felt so much relief and happiness at coming home before.

  I’ll bring you something to wear, she said, slipping inside. She tiptoed into the bedroom, where Jonathan was snoring, sleeping heavily. She brought out a pair of pants, flip-flops, and an oversized sweatshirt.

  I’m not sure if these fit, she said, but it’s the best I could do.

  Levi pulled the clothes on, grateful to no longer be naked in front of Emily. As soon as he was clothed, he realized how cold he had been. But the air was already warming with the sun, and it would reach almost 90 degrees by noon.

  Don’t do it, she said. Don’t confess. It won’t do any good, not now.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do, he said. But I’m done here. It’s over for me.

  Emily nodded. She wanted to stay here, to give him some words of comfort, to hug him, even, but she was too cold and too tired.

  Goodbye, she said. And thank you for tonight.

  He nodded. I’m grateful I was there.

  He walked away, the plastic bottoms of his flip flops slapping against his feet. She never saw him again.

  10

  That morning, the sun emerged and the clouds cleared by eight AM. People tried to get to work, placing planks of wood across the mud puddles for the cars to slog through, though most called in—those whose phone lines still worked. Many met the sound of static when they placed the phone against their ears.

  Word spread about the coffins. Some had washed up intact, just worn boxes, the hinges rusted closed. Some had washed up and rammed against the trees, busting open from the impact, and the dressed bones lay now in the mud in their silks and necklaces and ropes of long hair. Others had washed up on the road out of Heartshorne, spilling their contents onto the major road to Keno.

  Other things had washed up, too—pieces of cars, shopping carts, years of garbage, and chunks of the waterlogged trees that broke apart from the surge of water. The county men came out to clear the road to Keno, while others took the back roads around the perimeter of the lake, which, though still high, had retracted from its nighttime levels. It was calm now, and few had seen the roiling and how the water had insisted its way over its usual edges.

  The county men found the children early, as they were clearing the road that ran adjacent to the bait shop. Fishing line was wound around the children’s hands and throats. They wore the clothes they had been lost in. The girl still had a purple plastic barrette in the remnants of her hair.

  The man who found them covered them with his jacket and wouldn’t let t
he others near them.

  Stay away, he said, his voice gone soft and hard to decipher. They’re sleeping.

  This is what his co-workers heard, and afraid (they had a brief glance at the bodies before he had covered them, the color of the skin and the shapes of them familiar enough that they understood what they were, if not yet exactly who), they tried to talk him away from the children.

  John, one of his friends on the crew, Martin, said, stepping forward. We’ve got to call this in. We aren’t supposed to touch people who…people who wash up like this. Martin’s mind flashed to a police procedural show that he watched every Tuesday night, one in which bodies were only coded information, nothing more. If he could put himself in that mind, like the police on those shows who walked around bodies placed on steel slabs, their heels clicking, he could help. He could lure John away and cover them up.

  We aren’t supposed to disturb the scene of a crime, he said. We might contaminate the evidence.

  Shh, John said. Don’t wake them up with that kind of language.

  John had expected only to clear away the slimy boughs and branches tangled with plastic Wal-Mart bags. He had not expected the children, the Harris twins, though earlier that month he’d been on a search party to find them. During the search party, a slog through the muddy woods around the lake, he had not expected to find them. Then, he’d imagined they’d been kidnapped, taken by some angry relative or even a stranger. Somewhere distant in his mind he understood that they could have been killed, but that thought had been so far away, so farfetched, that he had never seriously considered it. They had disappeared miles away, almost in Keno. They had not, he knew, searched as thoroughly as they should have.