The House on Black Lake

by Blackwell, Anastasia

  A death on the island means an eternity interred!

  The cursed words raze through an electric charge and imbed themselves in my brain. Reeling against the horrific, I scamper back, burrowing my head, sucking up oxygen swirling in tiny pockets, flitting along the hollowed-out corners of the porch. At the edge, I grasp onto a column and manage to pull myself upright and stumble down the stairs. I race toward Black Lake with arms spread wide, flying across the grounds in weightless freedom, transported by a force other than my own volition. I glide through endless space, beyond the silence of the night, floating through a warp at the rim of reality. Time has stopped its incessant and torturous progression. Nothing exists beyond. My feet take me to the base of the dock near the rush of dark waters. There is a deep growl, fangs bared, coarse fur grazes my leg, the sound of a whimper, a baby’s cry, and I plummet forward and fall into a starry void.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  RUTH’S STORY

  “MOMMY, MOMMY WAKE UP,” A CHILD’S VOICE WHISPERS.

  I awaken from the unconscious, blind, paralyzed, and bound in a fetal position. Struggling to regain sensation, I find I am able to move fingertips and then a hand to grope through the twisted bindings and force my glued eyelids open. Blinding sunlight streams from above and I have no idea where I am or how I came to be here. Through blurred vision, I see a small face break into a beaming smile.

  “My darling... my beautiful boy.” I struggle to free my arms from the sheets to take my son into my arms.

  “I was worried about you, Mom.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  “You kept calling my name and talking in your sleep and wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Where were you last night, Sammy? I looked for you everywhere. Let’s talk about what happened, because I’m having trouble putting the pieces together.” I free myself from the twisted sheets and work against aching muscles to sit up.

  “We already did, don’t you remember? On the way home in the boat with Ramey. I told you what happened.”

  Sammy tugs on my arm. “Let’s go upstairs. The kids are waiting for me to go out to the clubhouse. I’ve got to hurry or they’ll leave me behind.”

  “No. You are not to leave my side for the rest of the trip. That is final.”

  “But Mom, I promised.”

  Sammy proceeds to tell me Ruth gave Amanda and Gabrielle a tongue-lashing and threatened to fire them for not keeping a close watch on him yesterday. In the midst of our discussion, the children file downstairs. They entreat and implore and make all sorts of pledges and promises until I have no choice but give in. When I acquiesce, they jump up and down and nearly make my seasick from the jostling of my bed.

  Sam’s about to follow Rand upstairs when I call him back. “Sammy, I know you and Rand have become pretty good pals. But he’s older than you; he’s almost a teenager. I want you to be careful. And I want you to promise me under no circumstance will you leave Amanda or Gabrielle and go off alone. Is that clear?” He promises, and I give him a buss on the top of his head and shoo him off to join the other children.

  I notice my charred clothes are stuffed inside the fireplace and I wear a fresh tanktop and sweatpants. And I must have showered as well, because my body is clean and my hair still damp. I untangle myself from the shroud of sheets, change into a pair of jeans, tie a sweatshirt over my tank, and walk upstairs to the kitchen.

  Ruth stands at the stove with her back turned, cooking something that fills the air with a sweet fragrance. She is dressed in a natty terry-cloth robe and her hair sticks up in matted tufts, like the wig of a second-rate circus clown.

  “Good morning, Ruth.”

  “Alexandra, I’ve made something special for you—your favorite dish.” I am even more startled at Ruth’s appearance when she turns around. Her face is ghostly pale and it looks like she still wears yesterday’s makeup.

  “Ramey told me what happened last night. Have a seat. I made you breakfast.”

  “I’m curious to know myself. I must have gone into shock.”

  “He said you passed out from smoke inhalation and knocked your head on the edge of a steel trash bin. You were lying at the foot of the bin with Jack licking your face when Ramey found you. He heard you mutter something and a whimper come from inside. The heat from the fire made the metal so hot he couldn’t lift it with his bare hands; he had to force it up with a two-by-four. But luckily Sammy was covered in wet garbage; that’s what kept him alive. He was fine when Ramey pulled him out, but he stank to high heaven. Sam told him he slept through the whole thing.”

  “How did he end up in a trash container?” I ask, and take a sip of coffee.

  “Hide-and-seek. After he jumped in and pulled down the heavy top, he couldn’t get out.”

  “I can’t tell you what a fright I had; I’ve never experienced such terror. What a crazy dream last night turned into.”

  “Last night was no dream. You both could have died. The local doctor dropped by and said you just needed a good rest.”

  She sets a plate down on the table in front of me. “Here you are, it’s your favorite, isn’t it, Eggs Benedict? You used to say a perfect Hollandaise sauce is a work of art.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “The guests from the lake have been calling all morning to inquire how you and Sammy are doing. Does it meet your standards?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’d like to take you out on the lake, to see the houses on the east side. That’s where the most lavish estates are built. Since it’s your last day, is there anything else you’d like to do?”

  “Relax on the hammock on the front porch.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Where is Eggie?”

  “He’s in his room. I grounded him for the rest of his life for causing the fire, not that I care about the old house. We can build a new structure on the island, something in a shingled craftsman style would be nice.” She dons rubber gloves and leans over the sink to scrub a copper pot.

  “I’ve been told it’s a sacred burial ground.”

  “You’re right; the Indians will probably create a big drama.”

  “Ruth, I don’t mean to pry, but do you think Eggie has a behavioral disorder of some kind?”

  “Show me someone who doesn’t. Ahhh, my head is killing me.”

  Lizzie runs though the back door, her pigtails flying in the air. “Mom, we’ve named the new filly Sunshine. She’s so beautiful, come outside and look at her.”

  “Later, darling, Alex and I are going to take a row out on the lake.”

  “Dad says she was a breech,” Lizzie says, and takes a glass to fill it with water.

  “Darling, you’re getting dirt all over the kitchen floor. Go back outside; we’ll visit the filly later.

  “After Ramey brought you and Sammy back to the house, he was up all night with his mare. She went into a long hard labor. The vet couldn’t get here until this morning.” She scrubs the counter furiously with a foamy sponge.

  “Oh, before I forget, your jackass ex-husband called this morning. He wants to know what time you’re coming in tomorrow, so he can pick up Sammy.”

  “I’ll call him when we get back,” I say, and place my empty dishes in the sink.

  “I’ll meet you at the dock,” Ruth says.

  I depart the house and meander through the grounds, breathing in the invigorating morning air. At the dock, I dangle my legs in the water and enjoy the hypnotic lull of the splashing waves. Skimming my toes along the cool surface of the lake, I watch the reflection of heavy clouds and glimmers of sunlight in the rippling water. A faint smell of smoke taints the air.

  Ruth calls out my name and I turn back to see her weaving her way down from the house, carrying a metal cooler. She has tied back her hair, washed her face, and changed into a pair of cropped pants and a sweater. “I feel a storm brewin’,” she says as she approaches. “I love it when Mother Nature kicks a little ass.”

 
She sets the cooler on the dock and slips down into the boat. “Hand it down to me, will you?” She tucks the chest inside the hull and helps me down to the unsteady craft. “It looks like the kids took the life jackets out and forgot to put them back.”

  “Can we take a drive instead?”

  “The houses aren’t visible from the road. Don’t worry, I’ll row the boat close to shore.” She takes oars from under the seat and after a few aborted attempts manages to get the boat moving on a straight course. “Would you open me a beer?

  “That’s the home of the Cramer’s, the one on your right; they own a lot of valuable real estate in Montreal. Mr. Cramer’s grandfather was the prime minister of Canada for many years. And there is the dock for Roger’s property, the one with the two paddleboats.”

  Ruth stops rowing and drinks her beer in a succession of hearty chugs. She wipes the suds from her chin and fixes her eyes intently on something in the bottom of the boat. The color drains from her skin and her face crumples. She breathes in and out of the sunken hole of her mouth and begins to sob.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She lets out a wail.

  “Talk to me, Ruth.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Tell me—”

  “It’s about Ramey,” she says in a choked voice.

  “We’re heading out into the lake.”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  “What’s wrong with Ramey?” I ask, then grasp onto the side of the boat with clenched fists.

  “Oh my God!” she cries out.

  “Let’s row back to shore.” A fierce panic is beginning to claw up from deep inside me. It’s the familiar fear of water and the terror of what Ruth is about to say.

  She rows wildly, taking us in circles while staring into the water alongside the boat. “I can’t go back.”

  “Give me the oars, do you hear me? You need to return to the house and take a nap. Hand me the oars,” I say, while trying to snatch them from her hands.

  She shoves the oars at me, nearly striking my face with a handle. “I’m drowning myself,” she proclaims, while standing to throw off her shoes and tear off her sweater.

  “Sit back down, Ruth. Do you hear me? Sit down and tell me what in the hell is going on. You will not jump in the water. Do you hear me? You know I can’t swim. I’ll die trying to save you, or watch you die, and have to row home to tell your children their mother is dead. Don’t do it to them, Ruth. And, don’t do it me. It’s not fair; it’s selfish and cruel.”

  “Ramey is in love,” she blurts out, and falls to the platform. “Oh my God, what am I going to do?” She reaches for a beer and gobbles it down until she gags and spits up the fluid, then flings the bottle into the lake.

  “Ramey is in love with Luna.”

  I am so stunned I can do little more than blink.

  “You’re not serious?”

  “A joke, is that what you call it?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Luna is Ramey’s aunt and nearly old enough to be his mother. What’s really going on?”

  Ruth takes another beer from the cooler, twists off the cap, and sucks it down like a famished baby.

  “I found them together at the house on the island last week. I was preparing the house for your arrival and walked in on them.” She sucks down the rest and stands up to fling the bottle across the lake towards Roger’s dock. “Fucking bitch,” she screams, then falls back into the boat.

  “I rowed to the island after the maid had finished cleaning. There were no boats tied at the pier; they must have docked in the bushes on the other side. It was quiet inside, but when I walked down the corridor toward the master bedroom I heard sounds coming from inside. The teens on the lake look for empty houses and use them for liaisons, so I figured I was about to break up one of their parties. I opened the door quietly and peeked inside.” Ruth takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Tears stream down her cheeks as she says, “Ramey was lying on the bed with his hands grasping the headboard and Luna was straddling him like a fucking cowgirl. Luna stopped her ride to turn and look at me standing in the doorway. Then, she smiled at me—the fucking witch! The fucking bitch had the nerve to smile at me!

  “‘What the fuck are you doing?’” I screamed. “Ramey didn’t even look at me; he didn’t have the balls. ‘Shut the door, Ruth’, he said. ‘Shut the goddamned door’.”

  “I’m feeling a little light-headed. Would you mind... could you please hand me a beer?”

  “I knew something was wrong with Ramey the last few months,” she says, and hands me a bottle. “I’ve never seen him look so distant. It was like I no longer existed. He never loved me, you know.”

  “But Ruth, he married you. He could have had anyone, but he chose you.”

  “He didn’t choose me; I chose him. I tricked him into marrying me. It was through Chantal. That’s how it began.”

  “How was Chantal Dupuis involved with you and Ramey?”

  “I never told you the truth about my relationship with Chantal,” Ruth says, and gropes inside the cooler. “Here, have another.” Her countenance softens and she wipes the tears from her face. “We grew up together in the projects; we were like sisters. Her father killed her mother; he beat her to death. My mom ran off with my dad’s best friend. Our fathers taught us how to work men, or I should say we learned the hard way. Our pasts were expendable, so we had to create new personas.” She pauses for a moment and lingers on a thought while playing with the label on her bottle. “She changed her name from Cindy Rodriguez when she was hired to do promotions for a makeup company. She thought the name sounded mysterious.” Ruth smiles in blissful nostalgia, as if the fabrication of an intriguing identity was an endearing quality.

  “Chantal hooked up with Ramey at a fundraiser she attended with some geezer who used to visit her cosmetics counter. She went after Ramey that night—gave him a blow job in the bathroom and went home with him after the gala. Chantal despised men. That’s what made her such an expert at seduction.

  “But she had a special challenge with Ramey. Girls made of bleach, plastic, and paint, were one of his hobbies. And, of course, his pedigree firmly trumped hers.”

  “I’m stunned—”

  “It shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “That Ramey would—”

  “You witnessed her power over men.”

  “I don’t recall that. I remember her fascination with the young girls who worked the soirees.”

  “And I remember Matt gazing at her like she was a goddess.”

  “Matt detested her. In fact, he warned me to keep away.”

  “Adoration gone astray isn’t something we want to see in our husbands.” She leans back and turns her face up to take in the last rays of sun before the heavy gray clouds eclipse the radiance.

  “Tell me the rest.”

  Her face transforms as she recollects the devious woman.

  “Chantal had a potent drug she used on her lovers. It was a powerful aphrodisiac; the sexual high was off the charts. But there was an added benefit; it acted like a truth serum with an amnesiac after-effect. By giving her lovers the elixir, she was able to gain knowledge of their most guarded secrets. She used this information later to manipulate and control the men.

  “Ramey’s secret was a prophecy. It probably came from one his dad’s doomsayer prophets. He was to sire six children, and the sixth child would lead the world through a powerful apocalyptic change. Apparently, Ramey believed it one hundred percent.

  “Chantal devised a plan. She would become pregnant with Ramey’s child and convince him she wanted a big family. She planned to move to Canada when he returned at the end of the year. After it was born, she’d threaten to leave and take the baby back to the States. My girl intended to make millions off selling the kid.”

  “What happened to Chantal?”

  “The last I heard she drugged a local politician who had a tolerance to the potion and remembered bits and pieces of his confessions. He had his people g
o after her, and she went into hiding. I have no idea if she’s still alive.

  “Cindy was the love of my life.” Ruth’s eyes mist and a girlish smile crosses her face.

  “I never knew the woman you recall.”

  “Survival requires a cunning and ruthless nature.”

  “I found her dangerous.”

  “That’s what I loved about her. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to lose her to some spoiled Adonis while I faced a future watching myself age in the mirrors of the cosmetics counter.”

  I take the oars and begin to row against a harsh wind that rocks the boat from side to side.

  “When Chantal was away one weekend, I made a call on Ramey. I actually crawled in the open window of his house in the marina and surprised him in bed.”

  “You didn’t...”

  “The girl he’d bedded freaked and bolted. He gets off on surprise, so the engine was ignited from the get-go. That night was the best, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been with him. Chantal and I had shared him a few times.”

  “I always felt she was more enticed by women than men.”

  “Well, she certainly was obsessed with you. She wore her hair and dressed like you and infiltrated your circle of friends. I was very jealous. But once you announced you were pregnant, everything changed.”

  “Chantal was the one who started it all, remember? She invited Matt and me to the house in the desert. She was dating one of his partners at the time. That’s how we met you and Ramey.”

  “Now it all comes together. My girl won, after all.”

  “Are you saying Chantal—”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s all water under the bridge, as they say. She was the messenger of fate, that’s all.” Ruth takes a deep breath and a far off look replaces her brooding stare.

  “When her attention turned to other women, it was a signal I’d peaked and was beginning the long descent. Men also become vulnerable after they’ve passed thirty; it’s the best time to take one down, when they see the new bucks coming up and their buddies begin to marry off.