by Glen Krisch
Krista dug through her purse. Rain splattered inside the window. As she rummaged around, a car pulled up behind her, effectively boxing her in. Even if she wanted to back out now, she couldn’t. She handed the woman in the booth her Visa card.
The woman stamped a ticket, ripped off a receipt, and handed everything to Krista.
“Place the ticket on your driver’s side dash. There’s a coffee shop on deck. The coffee is crap, but the cheese Danish ain’t too bad.”
“Thanks.”
“You have a good night.” The woman closed her window against the rain, ending the conversation.
The gate opened and Krista drove inside the fenced area enclosing the pier. A man dressed in yellow raingear guided her over the ramp. Another man motioned where she should park. She followed his gestures, inching close to the van in front of her. A green sedan pulled in behind her, making the ferry feel like a sardine can. A corrugated metal roof covered the deck, but gaps and dings in the metal allowed a steady trickle of water to splash the windshield.
When she turned off the engine, she was overcome by a sudden bout of tears.
She missed Neal and Clara and the rest of her family. But she also missed Breann, and seeing her at Nan’s grave had brought so much buried emotion to the surface. She couldn’t fight the tears, so she let them fall. She not only missed the Breann of her youth, but also the adult Breann she’d never meet.
After a few minutes, Krista sniffled away the last of her tears. A sign on the nearby wall read: The Best Views of Lake Michigan Right This Way! with an arrow pointing toward a stairwell leading to the deck above. Another sign read: Come for the Views, Stay for the Coffee!
She decided she didn’t want to see the storm. The idea of crap coffee didn’t hold much appeal either. More than a few drivers in the neighboring vehicles had decided to wait out the rain and she thought that was a good idea. She had hoped to get out and stretch her legs, but she didn’t want to get drenched in the short distance from the car to the coffee shop. Even though she’d soon be on open water, she was glad she was on the ferry. The huge ship felt sturdy beneath her, and certainly safer than driving all the way through Indiana and Illinois to get to Wisconsin.
Krista eyed the binder on the seat next to her. She opened the window a crack and finally took her foot off the brake pedal. Her foot had nearly fallen asleep; she didn’t realize how hard she’d been pressing until now.
As the storm settled over the area, the clouds continued to darken, making the late afternoon appear like night. She turned on the car’s dome light, opened Poppa’s manuscript on her lap, and began to read where she had left off.
“So, Edgar—”
“Eddie,” he said, cutting me off.
“Excuse me?”
“I like Eddie better. The papers, they’ve been calling me Edgar, but nobody calls me that. Not even my mom.”
“Okay, sorry … Eddie, speaking of your mother, how would you describe your relationship?”
“I get it. You’re digging, searching for something that ain’t there. My moms, she was normal, treated me normal. Not too mean. Not too touchy-feely.”
“I wasn’t trying to imply anything, Eddie, I—”
“The hell you’re not,” Edgar cut in. “You got an idea in your head and you want to firm up the details so you can publish your book.”
“Okay … okay, let’s back up a bit. Why don’t you tell me about the day you got caught? What was going through your mind? Those sorts of things.”
“The day I got caught? I no way intended to get caught. Not like some people, hoping to get stopped, you know? But good goddamn, I’m glad it happened the way it did on the ferry boat.”
Someone knocked on the window, startling her. An old man with a patchy gray beard gesticulated for her to roll down the window. He wore a red rain slicker and matching red rain hat covering most of his face. At first, she didn’t understand, but then he pointed to the U.S.S. Wolverine emblem on the breast of his rain slicker.
Krista rolled down her window partway.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave your vehicle.”
“Why, what did I do?”
She felt like a policeman had come to question her for some violation.
“Oh, I’m sure nothing at all but staying in your vehicle after we leave port. For safety reasons, I’m going to have to ask you to go up to the coffee shop, or if you’re the adventurous sort, the viewing deck.”
Krista looked around the parking deck. No one else had remained inside their vehicles. A young couple were heading over to the stairwell, the man holding an umbrella half-opened above them, ready to unfurl it when they reached the deck.
“Oh, of course. I’ve never taken the ferry. And with the rain—”
“Don’t worry, young lady. I hate to rush you into the rain, but I can’t make exceptions. Not on my salary.” He smiled, revealing coffee-stained teeth and probably more warmth than she deserved.
“I just need to gather my things.”
“Enjoy your stay on the U.S.S. Wolverine.” The man tipped the floppy bill of his rain hat, dribbling water down his front. He raised his flashlight and started off down the row of cars, looking for any other malingerers.
Krista hurried to grab her purse and Poppa’s binder. She tossed her keys into the purse, and after opening her door, remembered to snag the umbrella Neal kept stashed under the seat. When she climbed out, the air was cool and heavy with moisture. She wished she’d brought a coat or even a sweater, but in her haste to get on the road, the idea had never occurred to her. Even with LEDs blazing from every I-beam along the way, it felt like she was walking through dusk as she made her way to the stairwell.
Krista paused at the bottom of the metal stairs, long enough to ready the umbrella. Feeling like she was being watched, she looked back at the cars, but only saw the lone ferry worker walking farther away, occasionally flashing his light into vehicles.
The ferry.
Edgar had been captured on the ferry from Michigan during a return trip back to Wisconsin. For all she knew, he’d been caught on this exact boat.
She climbed the stairs, the treads of her shoes holding fast to the metal grating. A light mist greeted her as she rounded the corner for the last stretch. Cold droplets peppered her face before she could employ the umbrella. She hurried to the warm lights glowing in the coffee shop window. The deck lurched as a wave furled beneath the bulk of the ship. She was no longer on dry land, no longer tethered to the substantial.
Her family was behind her, and before her … before her she had no idea what she might face. She only now regretted leaving her family behind.
What could I possibly learn from this trip?
A man inside the coffee shop opened the door for her. He wore a tan overcoat and smelled of wet cigarette smoke. He nodded and said, “Nice night for a boat ride, hmm?” Before she could respond, the man turned away to stare out into the rain-drenched sky.
“Yes, thank you,” she said and took a seat at the counter.
The boat shifted beneath. Nausea bloomed in her gut.
She ordered a coffee from the waitress. While she waited, she took a deep breath, opened Poppa’s manuscript and read:
“I don’t know how it happened, but I was sure relieved when it did. I was leaning out over the railing on the viewing deck. I can tell you for certain what I was thinking when those cops came circling around me: I watched the thin white line of waves curling away from the front of the boat, thinking how I had no idea how something so heavy, so bulky and full of metal like that boat, could not only float but carry cars and trucks and a hundred people. Crazy, right? But I remember that’s what I was pondering when someone clapped me on the shoulder with a meaty palm. I turned. The copper asked me my name. Asked if he could search my van. I told him, su
re. Handed him the key. Four cops hovered around me, looking fierce, like they wanted me to agitate or run. But I did neither. I didn’t say nothing. Just looked out at the waves cut by the ferry’s bulk.
“It weren’t more than five minutes before they all came back at me, slammed me face-first into the deck and clamped some cuffs on me. Broke my nose, they did. One of them ‘accidentally’ kicked me in the ribs when he hoisted me to my feet.”
“They found the last suitcase, right? The one with Tanya Williamson inside?”
“Yeah, afraid so. You know how slow ferries move compared to cars or trains? Well, imagine how slow it felt with those cops itching to punch my teeth in with that poor girl getting colder by the minute.” Edgar snorted, trying to contain his laughter.
“Eddie, do you have any questions for me?”
“How so?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Haven’t you wondered why I’m writing this book?”
“You’re a writer, aren’t you? You write books. My story is a good damn goldmine. If it weren’t you, it’d be somebody else in this gray room asking me if my mom fondled my ballsack or ignored me or whatever bullshit.”
“You could be right, I suppose. But not really.”
Edgar leaned forward, glared into my eyes. He looked like he’d aged five years since our first interview two months prior. The lines were deeper across his forehead. His hair had receded into a widow’s peak.
“Breann’s family needs to know where she is. They need to heal, to find peace. We all do.”
“I don’t understand …”
I waited for the cogs of Edgar’s brain to pick up speed. I set down my pen. Checked to make sure my audio recorder was working properly. Took a sip from my water bottle.
“So it was you, right? You saw me parked by the lake.”
I gave the slightest nod.
“That was the first day I saw them, those three little girls frolicking on the beach. And then I saw you coming toward me, walking with clear intent, straight for my van.”
“That’s right.”
“And you, what, tracked me?”
“In a fashion. I had my suspicions. My gut made me aware of your presence, made me aware you were a danger to my family.”
“Those cops that nabbed me on the Ferry … you pointed me out to them, didn’t you?”
“Very good, Eddie. I’m glad you finally understand. Now, I need you to answer me that one question: Where’s Breann?”
From deep down in his belly Edgar began to laugh. It rumbled up his throat and he laughed so hard and long his cheeks verged on purple.
“Eddie? Eddie, come on,” I said, attempting to talk over his cackling. “You said you were relieved—relieved—you were caught. You didn’t want to hurt any more kids. You said as much in your first trial. You said you were glad there wasn’t a death penalty so you’d have a nice long stretch of years to consider why you did what you did. You had some small fraction of remorse at the time, and I bet it’s only increased since then.”
I was shouting, but I couldn’t help it.
CHAPTER 28
Clara stood outside the kitchen doorway, listening to her dad and Aunt Leah. She was worried about her mom, not just because she was out in the downpour, but because she wasn’t usually so nervous, so ready to jump at shadows.
“This is ridiculous,” her dad said.
Clara shifted slowly, chancing a quick look around the corner.
Her father shrugged into one of Poppa’s old rain slickers. The sleeves were too long, so he rolled them over once before pulling on a matching floppy rain hat. He looked like the guy on the box of fish sticks she liked—the Gorton’s Fisherman. He looked so miserable that Clara had to suppress a chuckle as she ducked away, pressing her back flat against the wall. She waited a beat before peeking around the corner.
“Of course, it is,” Aunt Leah said. “It’s because Jack is involved. Right now, he’s missing, so that means we need to find him.” She handed her dad an umbrella.
Lightning flashed, followed by a rumble of thunder.
“He’s not missing. He went out on the lake. I saw him, even helped pushed the boat into the water. At this point, I don’t know if there’s much I can do. We don’t have a second boat. I’m sure someone from around the lake has one, but tracking one down in this storm is pretty much out of the question.”
“But …?” Concern ticked her voice an octave higher.
“But I’ll see what I can see. Okay? No promises.”
A shiver ran through Clara, and when she crossed her arms in front of her, her elbow ever-so-slightly bumped the wall. She held her breath, hoping they were too caught up in worry to notice the muffled thud.
“If I can’t find him—” Her dad stopped in mid-sentence and turned the corner so he was a mere six inches from Clara. “And what do we have here?”
“I want to go with you,” Clara said as she entered the kitchen. She looked to Aunt Leah for support, but her arched eyebrow and sidelong glance weren’t promising.
He shook his head, looking goofy in the floppy hat. “Out of the question.” He pressed the button on his flashlight, flicked it off again.
“But Dad, I can hold another flashlight, another two, even, which will only help.”
“I don’t want you out in this storm.”
“I don’t want you out in it, either,” Clara said defiantly, tapping her foot.
“She’s got a point, Neal. Maybe we should call the police instead of waiting.”
The door slid open.
“Waiting for what?” Uncle Jack said, stepping inside, clothes dripping on the doormat.
“Jack!” Aunt Leah’s eyes widened with a mix of relief and anger. “What the heck?”
Uncle Jack smiled and shrugged. “What did I do?”
“You had us worried,” she replied.
Clara wasn’t used to seeing Aunt Leah angry. She was normally so laid back and reserved. It was sometimes difficult to see the family resemblance with her mom, but with her face flushed and her eyes livid, the family ties were obvious.
“What were you thinking?” Aunt Leah said.
“I was out on the lake. The lake is small. Where else would I have been?”
Clara’s level of disappointment over not being able to go out in the storm surprised her. Before coming to the summer house, she would’ve never desired to venture out in that mess.
Trev ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around Uncle Jack’s waist. “Daddy! Eww, gross. You’re so wet … and cold! Like a dead fish.”
“I am a bit cold,” Uncle Jack agreed. “I’ll go change into something dry.”
“What were you doing out there?” Aunt Leah asked. “You saw the storm coming in.”
“Yeah, I thought it would pass right over. There’s usually good fishing at the front edge of a rain storm.”
“I guess you didn’t luck out,” her dad said.
“Not at all, bro. Not at all.” Uncle Jack laughed and shook his head like a dog. Water flew from his sopping mop of hair, sending Trev running away in a fit of giggles.
Aunt Leah clucked her tongue. “Not cool, Jack.” She snagged a towel from the handle of the refrigerator and tossed it to him.
Caught off-guard, the towel smacked him in the face before falling into his hands.
Uncle Jack smirked and wiped his face dry, rubbed his hair until it wasn’t dripping everywhere. He tossed the towel back at Aunt Leah, looking refreshed for the first time since his arrival at the summer house. His eyes glimmered, the pupils wide black voids. He tipped his head back and laughed. No one else seemed to be in on the joke.
Thunder rumbled angrily and the lights flickered, sending out shouts of fear and excitement from Robby and Heidi, who were watching the storm through the front windows in the den. The lights flickered again.
“Mommy!” Robby called out from the den. His feet pounded the floor as he ran toward the kitchen. “The lights went out!”
“I know, sweetie,” Aunt Leah grumbled, mostly to herself. “Hopefully, it won’t be long.”
Robby flew into the kitchen, ran smack into Aunt Leah’s midsection, his arms squeezing her tight. Heidi followed a second later, arms crossed in front of her, apparently not as frightened as her brother, but not by much.
“Here, champ.” Her dad turned his flashlight around, offering Robby the handle.
“Thanks, Uncle Neal.” The boy took hold, pressed the power button, and with the shining beam of light under his control, his fear dissipated almost completely.
“Candles?” her dad asked. He pulled off the overlarge raincoat and hat, draping them over a stool.
“Top cabinet above the stove,” Aunt Leah said. “There’s also some hurricane lamps, flashlights, that sort of thing. It’s not unusual to lose power out here in the boonies.”
“I’m on it,” her dad said.
“I better change out of these wet things,” Uncle Jack said, “before Leah sends me to bed without dessert.”
“You’re pressing your luck,” Aunt Leah said, only half-angered.
Uncle Jack pulled his soaked T-shirt over his head, and Clara saw the heart-shaped tattoo over his heart with Trevor’s name at its center, and as he walked past her, the raised surgical scar on the back of his shoulder that ended his baseball days.
“I’m going to check on Poppa,” Aunt Leah said. “Robby and Heidi, mind your Uncle Neal.” She walked out into the darkened hallway. “Geez, Jack, water’s all over the hallway!”
Her younger brother’s laughter reverberated down the hallway.
Rain battered the windows and roof, a rising white noise that seemed even louder since the power outage.
“Hey, look, I’m a Jedi!” Robby sliced the beam of light across the floor, then up across his sister’s torso. “Hey, you’re dead, Heidi. You’re dead, ain’t nothing you can do about it!”