“Watch the step; it’s steeper than it appears,” Ruth says and ushers us into an elegant room lined with floor to ceiling windows, accented with the pelts and body parts of rare species. A massive stone fireplace is stuffed with burning logs and chandeliers with outsized stag’s horns and dangling crystals hang from the steeply pitched and girded rafters.
“The house is extraordinary. Where did you get all the wild animal trophies and hunting artifacts?”
“They’re from Ramey’s father’s summer house. He passed away a few months ago. His dad used to hunt in Africa and Asia and other foreign places, when that kind of thing was fashionable. He sometimes took him along when he was a boy.”
She sets her wine glass on a rhino hoof and fluffs her hair.
“My husband believes when you look a powerful animal in the eyes and take its life, you have a lifelong bond. But I say that’s a load of crap. The next time he leaves on a business trip, I’m going to throw the rotting carcasses in the garbage.” Ruth’s tone is shrill and discordant, unlike the sensuous purr she once cultivated.
“I’m sorry you missed the children. They stayed awake as long as they could.” She glides to a table covered in shimmering bronze organza laid out with delectable pastries.
“The desserts taste even better than they look—help yourself. You too Sammy, dear.
“Ramey will be back soon. He’s been out all day helping a neighbor brand cows and horses with his custom tools. He says it doesn’t hurt the animals because of the thick hide and fur. I asked which provided the information, the cow or the horse, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Men are strange creatures.”
Ruth takes a bottle of wine from of a silver bucket.
“I hope you don’t mind red; I’m out of white. We’ll pick up a case tomorrow.” She hands me a flute and pours with a shaking hand.
“You’re going to love it here on Black Lake.”
There is a crash—the sound of glass breaking on a hard surface. I turn and look to where Sammy stands next to the table. A rainbow goblet has slipped from his hand and shards of colored glass lie strewn around his feet.
“Don’t move; you’ll scratch the veneer,” Ruth exclaims.
“It’s all right, darling. It was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose. He’s tired, Ruth; we’ve had a very long day.”
“I’ll get a broom and sweep it up and we’ll forget it ever happened,” Ruth says, and retreats into the kitchen.
The front door flies open and in a gust of humid night air Ramey Sandeley strides inside, followed by a Golden Retriever. He wears filthy low-slung jeans, a torn black T-shirt, and heavy work boots. A watch with a thick leather wristband is his sole ornamentation. His cheekbone is slashed with soot, and piercing gray eyes gleam with a raw male energy that replaces the stale air with a baser vibration.
“Hold on a minute: let me tie the beast outside,” he says, and grabs onto the dog’s collar to drag the struggling animal out the door.
Sammy looks mesmerized by Ramey as by a magic spell, fated to forever stand beside a table of infinite delicacies on a perfectly glazed floor covered in tiny shards of glass.
“Are you okay, darling?” Sammy nods and we stand in transfixed silence, as I did so many years ago.
That fateful night I overheard someone remark that God had given Ramey too much and so he had a price to pay. I prayed this prophecy to be true, or at least time would have tarnished his deadly allure. But that is not the case. I notice no evidence of decline in his physical perfection or opulent lifestyle. The only difference is a mysterious darkness flickering beneath luminous gray eyes, a vague hint of a secret, dangerous and personal.
If beauty is nothing without a dark river running through it, then Ramey Sandeley now has more than God gave him.
He now claims the greatest of gifts.
“Welcome to Black Lake,” Ramey says as he strides back inside the house. “You look beautiful; the single life seems to suit you well.” He steps through the broken glass and takes me in a fierce embrace, leaving behind the faint smell of human sweat and burnt fur.
I avert his eyes to look down at my son.
“We’ll get you out for a game of soccer with the boys,” he tells Sammy. “I built a field on the edge of our property.”
“I thought I heard you out here.” Ruth reenters the room, carrying a long-handled broom and a metal dust bin.
“How did the branding go?” Her face blanches as she spots his heavy work boots implanted in the broken glass.
“We had a few squealers get loose, but we wrangled them down, tied ‘em up, and dragged them back to the party.”
“My husband likes to think he’s a cowboy. He can stand on a horse while it’s galloping, like an Indian.” She flutters around Sammy, sweeping up the glass slivers.
“I love to ride. But I haven’t ridden in years,” I say.
“I remember watching you try to tame a wild Appaloosa.
It was in the desert, wasn’t it?” he asks.
“Yes. But the animal tamed me in the end.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Ramey says and casts me a glimmer of the look that started it all.
“He breaks and trains all of his horses,” Ruth says as she sweeps up the last of the residue.
The bundle of logs inside the fireplace explodes, filling the room with intense waves of heat. I am soaked beneath my sweater and lift my hair to wipe away the perspiration.
There is a tug on my sleeve and my son draws me down to whisper in my ear.
“Sammy says he’s tired and would like to go to bed,” I announce to our hosts.
“Well, Sam, we’ll take care of that,” Ramey says. “Let me get a lantern and we’ll head out to the boat.”
“Why are we going out to a boat?”
“Didn’t Ruth tell you?”
“Alexandra dear, I told you. You’re staying at the house on the island.”
“I don’t remember you telling me that. I thought we were to stay here with you.”
“You’ll love the house, and it’s beautiful on the island.”
“The rooms here are full with the children and nannies,” Ramey says, then clenches his jaw and a pensive look seems to cross his face.
“We’ll row you back in the morning.”
“Thought you’d like a little privacy,” Ramey remarks with a flirtatious smile as he retrieves my suitcase.
“I’ll follow you out in a minute. I need to get the food and blankets,” Ruth mutters, and leaves the room.
“The dock is located below the grounds of the house. We’ll go out through the kitchen,” Ramey tells me.
I am disappointed by this turn of events and perplexed why Ruth has forgotten I can’t swim and have a fear of deep water. I want desperately to put Sammy to bed and sink into oblivion. But we are their guests and it would be impolite to protest. And truth be told, it is probably best there is some space between us. Ruth seems out of sorts and temptation best kept at bay. Surely the house is lovely and the island a quaint village where we can spend our days sunbathing by the lake. It is likely a paradise, and God knows I could use a reprieve from my troubles.
“Come Sammy,” I say and lead him to retrieve our footwear.
We follow Ramey through the back door to a patio littered with children’s toys and sports equipment. He walks ahead of us with the lantern held aloft, highlighting a pathway leading through magnificent grounds. But the scenery that most enchants is not the exquisite landscaping. It is lush hair, broad shoulders, a muscular back, and the way the man moves his body, with such effortless comfort in his own skin.
The scents of a fertile landscape blend with the salty lure of the aquatic as we meander through a vast lawn spotted with trees heavy with ripe fruit. I slap away the pesky mosquitoes and pick them from Sam’s hair, take in deep breaths and try to distract myself from the growing dread. The sounds of the crickets grow louder, nearly throbbing, as we descend to the pier.
At the entrance to t
he dock Ramey lowers the lantern to the ground, illuminating the landing and surrounding water. A tiny rowboat floats near the pier; it is the only boat visible.
“Be careful as you enter,” Ramey says as he steps down. “There’s an open spot between the landing and the water.”
“Let me take off my high heels.”
“Alexandra...”
“Go ahead, Sammy, you first.”
Barefoot, with shoes in hand, I step cautiously to the edge of the pier to look out over Black Lake. A shroud of vaporous fog, blushed a strange hue from the reflection of the blood-red moon, floats idly on the surface of the lake, creating an eerie glow. A dark bird spreads its wings and glides across the silhouette of the glowing orb, emitting a lonely cry, a lament that echoes across the landscape and resonates with the sound of the lapping water, the calls of the creatures in the shadows, and my own wildly beating heart.
A fierce terror claws up and takes me by the throat. It is the familiar phobia, of deep water and what I cannot control or escape. The wild fear threatens to submerge and drown me unless I fight its grip. I grit my teeth and steel myself against the dreadful force that has begun to claim my resolve.
“Is something wrong, Alexandra?” I hear Ramey call out to me from somewhere far away.
CHAPTER THREE
BLACK LAKE
“WHERE ARE THE LIFE JACKETS?” I ASK, LOOKING DOWN INTO THE warped craft bobbing from side to side in the dark water.
“You’re looking at it...” Ramey declares. He heaves my suitcase down and squeezes it into the hull.
“Sammy can’t swim. He needs a life preserver.”
“Jump down, big boy. I’ll catch you. Move to the edge of the pier. Let’s see if you can fly.”
Sam looks up at me with eager eyes, pleading for permission to make the leap. I realize it is hopeless; I will never win a tug-of-war with a master of beguilement. “Be careful,” I say, and lead Sam to the edge of the dock. He leaps to a rugged catch in the arms of Ramey, who helps him onto the knotty plank that serves as a seat.
“Come to me, Alexandra.”
Ramey’s T-shirt lifts as he raises his arms and moonlight shimmers off the golden skin of his abdomen. Shadows fall into the lines that cut deeply into his flanks, leaving little doubt that he wears nothing beneath his well-worn jeans.
“We need life—”
“I’ll save you if you fall in the lake, sweetheart. I’ve caught bigger fish than you.” He thrusts a foot against the dock and hoists himself up to grab me around the waist and draw me into boat. The rank smell of his body and the swell of his biceps cause me to recoil, lose my balance, and fall backwards. The skin of my ankle is ripped open by the sharp buckle of my suitcase as I land on the plank beside Sammy.
“Careful. You’re not on solid ground any longer. You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, and watch a stream of blood flow from the cut and soak into the porous wood beneath my feet.
“Hold on, Samuel, we’re launching.” Ramey reaches out to untie the thick braided rope securing the vessel to the pier.
“Wait for me!” Ruth calls out. She carries a paper bag and a pile of blankets, and her pants billow behind as she weaves down the path.
“Let’s see how far you can jump, Baby,” Ramey calls to her.
Ruth struggles to reach the dock as we drift out into the lake. With her mane of red hair flapping and limbs flailing, she looks like an exotic maimed bird. Her high-pitched cries grow fainter as we are carried away from the shore, and for a moment I fear he will actually leave his wife behind.
“Should we see how far she can leap?” he asks with a boyish grin that belies his wicked game. “You get one chance.” He gathers up a length of rope to drag the boat back with such force I think it might splinter into a thousand sticks of kindling.
Ruth makes a perilous leap into the boat and throws the ancient vessel into a wild tizzy. She plants herself astride Ramey’s lap and wraps her arms around his shoulders.
“Perfect landing,” she coos and slides her hips forward.
“Move your sweet ass, dear. You’re blocking my view.”
He takes two oars from beneath the bench. “Let’s see if you remember how to row, Ruthie. I don’t want to spend the night spinning in circles like last time. Follow my lead and move in sync. I’ll do the rest.”
“I don’t want to row,” Ruth whines as she hands me the bag and blankets and adjusts herself on the seat.
“Quiet. Do what I say or I’ll tie you to the bow and give you a good flogging.” Ramey winks at Sam to reassure him it’s all in jest, and then leans forward to thrust his oar deep into the water.
“Whatever you say, Captain Blackbeard. As long as you promise to keep me in your cabin as your love slave afterwards,” she says and joins him in rowing.
“I’ll give you what you deserve later, if you’re a good girl,” he says with a devilish smile and a private glance in my direction.
The boat skims along the glassy surface into the heart of the lake. Darkness surrounds us, the only guiding light provided from above. The sky appears unnatural, surreal, like a piece of black cloth dotted with millions of pinpoints of light that when ripped away will reveal the entirety of the universe.
“Sammy, look, there’s a falling star—make a wish, but don’t tell.”
“I know what I wish for,” Ruth says, an enigmatic look crossing her face.
“What’s that?” Ramey asks.
“I can’t tell, or I won’t receive my wish,” she says in a hushed tone.
“Well, I hope whatever it is won’t cost me a fortune,” he replies, and they both turn away to look into the lake as silence creeps in and quiets the nocturnal creatures.
“Mommy, I’m cold.”
I unfold one of the blankets, wrap it around Sammy and embrace the soft bundle.
“Over there.” Ruth points towards the shore. “Beyond the trees, where there’s a faint halo of light through a turret—that’s the summer estate of Ramey’s uncle Roger. She pauses as a dark thought seems to cross her face. “His Tudor mansion is designed in the manner of a medieval castle. When Ramey’s father died he gave all his business interests to Roger to manage until he dies, then Ramey takes control. Roger owns nearly half of Montreal in land and real estate. His family was one of the earliest settlers.”
“My dear, you can row or talk, but you can’t do both at the same time, because when you do we keep veering off to the right.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder and lowers his lips to her ear. “The faster you row, the quicker we’ll get home for what you requested,” he says in a whisper that would bring shivers of delight to the most hardened and dried out.
“Look, Sammy, a firefly.” I point to a streak of light flittering above Ramey’s shoulder. Sam perks up and appears enthralled by the wobbling ball of light.
“Did you know fireflies are actually flying beetles, Sam?” Ramey reaches over his head, captures the firefly in his hand, and holds it out for Sammy to see. The bug flitters in his palm for a moment and then flies away.
“Their lights are mating calls. The male sends out a distinctive set of light flashes to find females of the same species, who flash back the same sequence. Sometimes a female firefly will get real hungry and send out a mimic, the flash of a female from a different species, to attract one of their males. And then, when he arrives to mate with her, she eats him alive. They’re a lot like humans, the fireflies.”
He catches Ruth’s eyes while a sly smile flits recklessly across his face. “They don’t usually venture this far from the land; it must have been hiding in the boat.”
Ruth turns abruptly away from him, lowers her chin, and rolls her eyes with a haughty sniff. They become curiously quiet, rowing in silence, with gazes focused on a spot far in the distance. Their abrupt emotional distance causes me to be seized with panic as I realize we are far from shore and I see no signs of habitation along the rugged shoreline.
Ramey observes me intensely for a moment, a
s if tracking my fear, then shifts his attention to my son.
“Ever been fishin’, Sam?”
Sammy shakes his head.
“Later in the week, I’ll take you out to catch trout. The lake is loaded with them. I like to use worm bait. My sons and I get up early in the morning to dig up the night crawlers. We put them in cans with fresh dirt and take them down to the dock to catch the fish at their first feed. They love the sweet taste of the crawler, even though they’re cold blooded.”
“How much have you had to drink today?”
Ruth’s voice carries a creeping irritation and a measure of twisted distain that seems to suck the blood from her face and draw dark circles into the hollows beneath her eyes.
“Not enough, dear. Why do you ask?”
“Mommy, look. There is the house on the island,” Sammy says and points straight ahead.
Through a silvery mist the silhouette of a house looms in the distance. As we row closer an icy blast sweeps over us and delivers waves of chills deep to the bone.
“Pick up your pace, Ruth, the last quarter-mile is a tougher row.” He raises his voice over the shrill wail of a sharp wind that has kicked up in the last few yards.
The architecture becomes more distinct as we near the shore. It appears to be a dilapidated Victorian, built on an island not much larger than itself. No other buildings are visible from our vantage point, and the dock at the island’s perimeter looks deserted.
“Sammy, look at the size of the house we’re to stay in. How do you think they were they able to build such an elaborate structure on an island so many years ago?”
The false note of my exclamation fails to bring a response from Sam. He stares ahead without expression, and his skin looks unusually pale, almost translucent. His brown eyes, always deep, yet rarely forthcoming, are as oblique as the dark water beneath us. I squeeze his frigid hand, hold him tightly against my side, and try my best to ward off the creeping dread.
The House on Black Lake Page 2
