Penny Graves, five years old, died at Lake Whisper. The red-haired girl loved the dock. The dock was a stretch of wooden panels that shot out into the lake itself. She spent every second of her day on that wooden platform, dunking her feet in the fresh water, diving off and returning mere moments later to repeat the feat. Her parents, sunbathing on the shore meters away, could keep a watchful eye on her. For them, their summer was simple and happy. For Penny, summer was an amazing experience.
One day, a speedboat was skimming across the water. Nothing unusual, normal routine for a summer on the lake. The day paid host to the scorching sun, several barbeques and hundreds upon hundreds of vacationing people. Families, friends, couples. Apparently, the accommodations on Lake Whisper sold out in three minutes that summer, an all-time record.
With this type of demand, overlooking something was inevitable. A paintjob here, a new piece of carpet there. On this fateful day, it'd been the maintenance on the boats.
The speedboat careened into a curve. No one knows what happened but the boat stalled mid-turn. The driver kept revving the boat as the boat bobbed and floated. After several revs, the boat started again.
The rotor blade shattered, on a rock or chalk or something, no one ever knew. The boat tipped onto its side, the rotor breaking the water's surface, unhindered by the depth of the lake, and two slivers pierced through the air like tiny bullets.
The first smashed a window. People turned in shock and amusement. Several people yelled "Yayyyyyy" with mock abandon and raised their beverages. A ripple of uneasiness coursed through several vacationers, those for whom a smashed window elicited fear and nervousness. Maybe they lived in a bad neighborhood.
The second smacked Penny square in the face. The metal pulverized her soft flesh, still-forming skull and the impact caused her brain to explode inside the cranium. At first, no one realized. People resumed their holiday, the window smash a distant memory. However, Penny staggered, already dead, and started to topple. Blood started to trickle from her nostrils as her young corpse spun and collapsed backwards into the lake. She couldn’t even yelp or call for help. After a second, blood rose to the surface, turning the picturesque water a shade of purple. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the color was.
Mrs. Graves screamed.
The beach silenced in unison. All heads turned from their conversations, their beverages and their games of semi-legal poker. There were screams and howls of parental anguish, and there were other sounds. This was definitely the latter, a sound that makes the weaker cry and people’s flesh pimple with gooseflesh.
Penny's parents ran into the water, which frothed and sputtered as their legs fought to make leeway into the deep, to rescue their already dead child. They didn’t care about the blood that slapped and stained their light clothing. Mr. Graves collected his dead daughter and carried her out of the water. He cradled her in his arms, crying, whispering to her mutilated head, "Everything will be all right, baby, everything will be alright."
Penny wouldn’t be alright.
More screams and concerned sounds filtered around the beach. Several ran to the local payphones to call the police. Lake Whisper security ran over with a manager in tow, concern and wellbeing masking real fear for their livelihoods and reputation.
However, none of this mattered. Penny Graves was dead.
And so was Lake Whisper. Immediately shut down due to safety concerns.
After that, parents couldn’t trust the place. Penny Graves became world-famous in her passing. She may have died in Lake Whisper but the legacy stood for years after.
Apparently, the ghost of Penny Graves still haunted Lake Whisper.
"Poor kid. Still, it’s a hell of a ghost story."
Paige sat up on the hood of the car and rubbed her smooth, tanned thighs. Climbing off the hood, she walked around to the side of the car and paused. She took in the surroundings.
The trees shivered in the darkness, rustling and whispering. The white chalk on the ground stood dull and inert in the moonlight. Beyond the chalk stood Lake Whisper, the moon reflecting off the still, cold surface. The place was eerily beautiful despite its torrid, death-plagued history.
Paige leaned into the car and flicked on the headlights. The beams, strong and white, stretched to the precipice of Lake Whisper and stopped an inch short of the water. Paige squinted, searching for something, and found what she wanted. A smile crept over her face. Her parking had been perfect. She flicked the headlights off and stepped to the rear door. She took a breath and opened it.
Moment of truth.
The body before her was breathing slowly. A sleep-induced coma. Paige forced the smile from her face and reached out. As she pulled back the black sheet, a head appeared. The tussled blond hair was a mess. Paige felt a flush of anger ripple within her, spreading a heat of regret and nausea.
She slapped the head in pure frustration.
Nothing happened.
She slapped it again, paused, then closed her hand and punched it solidly.
"Argh…what the fuck?"
Paige smiled, her eyes darkened slightly. "Get the fuck up."
She grabbed the black sheet by what she guessed was the shoulders and pulled. The person slapped her hands away, fighting, and sat up. The black sheet slipped down and revealed a chubby but moderately handsome face. The features, dogged by fatigue and substance abuse, creased in confusion. The man looked at Paige, recognition and pain on his face. He licked his lips, a subtle withdrawal symptom of prescription drugs.
Which makes this so much easier, thought Paige.
"Paige…what…where are we?"
"Get out, Michael."
"I don’t…tell me…" Michael stuttered.
"I said get out, Michael." Paige's voice, balanced and controlled, didn’t disguise the hint of malice that tinged her words. Michael looked at her for a long moment before shuffling across the back seat and swinging his legs out of the car. Warily, he placed his feet on the cold, cracked chalk and stood, checked his equilibrium and managed to stand. He looked at Paige, her black hair hiding one observant eye. He snorted, a smile cracking his lips. "Where are we?"
Paige punched Michael in the face, a strike hefted by vehemence and rage and bloodlust. Michael, his balance compromised, collapsed to the ground in a puff of chalk dust. Paige stood over him and resisted the urge to kick her husband. Michael looked up. Saw the modest cleavage, the tanned thighs, the adorable eyes he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. And that mane of rich, black hair, so sultry and shiny. She still took his breath away.
Which heightened his confusion. The eyes weren’t friendly at this moment in time.
Neither was the body language. Fear crept into his veins.
"What…why'd you hit me?" The fallen man touched his nose; his fingers pulled away and glistened with fresh blood. "Look, you cut me, why'd you hit me?"
Paige bent in low, anger in her eyes. "You know why…and I didn’t cut you, I busted your nose."
Confusion still etched on his face, Michael zoned out for a second and a flicker of guilt registered in his eyes. Michael stood up unevenly and placed a hand against the car. Paige backed off, allowing him a chance to recover, her breathing labored, controlled.
"I don’t know what you're talking about, honey." His words betrayed his deception.
"You're a liar, a cheating fucking liar. I know, Michael, I know. I know what you've been doing, for months now behind my back. You fucking, lying, cheating piece of shit."
"I don’t know –"
"– you know damn well what I'm talking about. The women, the whores, Jasmine."
Michael stepped away from the car and walked away, heading towards the lake. The darkness and the stillness worried him. He saw the reflective surface of Lake Whisper, the trees patiently waving, and the bare, chalk-cobbled ground. His feet crunched as he walked. After a few seconds, he stopped and turned. "Where are we? Where have you brought me?"
"Never you mind that. I'
m giving you one chance, this chance, to tell me the truth. Everything, I want to know everything. You got that?"
Michael wiped his nose with the back of his hand and pinched it at the brow. He leaned backwards. Paige laughed. Michael noticed. "What?"
"You have a nosebleed. You're supposed to lean forward, you dick, or the blood goes back down your throat." Michael, realizing she was right, lowered his head forward.
"Thanks."
"Don’t thank me. I want the truth."
"There is no…nothing to tell. I don’t know what you want from me?"
"The truth, the fucking truth! Don’t make me come over there and break your arm. I'm your wife; you married me for a reason. Last time I checked, that didn’t give you a reason to fuck the first woman who swooned at your cock, okay? I want to know who you've fucked and when. I want details or this sham of a marriage is over."
Michael lowered his fingers from his face and laughed. "There's no one…no one, it's all in your head, you paranoid bitch. You're right, I married you, YOU! Why would I jeopardize that?"
"I don’t know, maybe because I cut you off? Maybe because I don’t wear my money as fancy underwear or you don’t get to spend it anymore? How's that for a couple of reasons?"
Michael stood up and frowned. "I didn’t marry you for the money, how dare you insinuate such a thing?"
"It's not an insinuation if it's true, is it?"
Michael said nothing. He thought about it. Remembered when he met his wife. Her father was in the restaurant trade. His franchises were famous the world over, in seventeen different countries. They made him millions. Paige never had to work a day in her life, not once, but she did. Starting from the ground up, she established a real estate agency. No ties to her father, none of his money went into it. She tried to distance herself from the money, wanting to earn her own living, make her own dent on the world.
He'd met Paige at a video rental store, back before the internet put them out of business. They each reached for the same DVD and Michael had allowed her to take it. In return, she'd slipped him her number and invited him around to watch the movie the next day. Their relationship had blossomed from there. When he discovered Paige came from money, he ensured he got his hooks in quickly. After all, Michael was a sweet person but he wasn’t a looker. He had to take what he could get.
And he'd hit the fucking jackpot with Paige.
He'd been syphoning money from her for months. She didn’t notice as she didn’t touch the account her dad funded. Michael only took a little now and then. Replacement money soon flowed from her father's empire. Unless she did a bank account check, which she never did, it just looked like general account use.
For three years it had worked. He had quite a little nest egg. Michael swallowed dryly. Was the game up?
Play it cool, Michael. Don’t lose your golden goose. She cut you off but it's not permanent.
Paige looked at Michael and despised what she saw. Her own regret and weakness, her gullibility. She couldn’t believe the relationship, her marriage, had come to this. Everything had started out well. It was like a chick lit fairytale. They'd met in Diego's, the local video rental store and both had reached for the same movie. Goodfellas? Yes, that was it. Paige loved her gangster movies. Funnily enough, considering the meeting circumstances, she didn’t like rom-com movies. She thought they were too cheesy, gave many women false hope etc. Irony works in funny ways. She'd never watched a chick flick but here she was living one.
Or so she thought.
There's no such thing as a happy ending.
The first few years were great. A perfect marriage. Then cracks started to appear. Michael became discreetly distant. Nothing major, just the odd extra hour at work here, a few late nights alone there. Paige knew her husband needed some alone time occasionally, all men did. It was when she found the receipts that she realized something was wrong.
Restaurant dinners, hotels and the occasional piece of jewelry. Paige ran her own business, so she didn’t have time for fancy dinners or time away and certainly hadn’t received any fancy jewelry.
Something was up.
Then came the bank account debacle.
For three years, two hundred dollars a week had disappeared from her bank account, the second account in her father's name that contained her trust fund. Eight hundred dollars a month for three years meant she was down by just shy of twenty-nine thousand dollars. She probably wouldn’t have noticed because her father's money was still filtering into the account at the same time. It could have been her father taking out money for business. She queried her father and he politely informed her he never touched her trust fund.
Thank you, Daddy. That was the first time she'd called him that.
She called the bank soon after. Several withdrawals occurred at an ATM a mile from her home. After that, it became clear what was happening. She cut the account and associated cards off, enabling access only by her physical signature. No wonder Michael had been stressful and angry mere hours later.
She looked at Michael now and spat on the ground. "How could you do this to me?"
Michael, realizing his scheme was inches from being busted, stepped forward, hands in the air. "I have no idea what you're talking about, honey. Is this still about the women?"
That’s right, deflect and take the attention elsewhere, he thought.
Paige narrowed her eyes. "No, the women is just the start; you've lied to me and betrayed me. You fucked other women behind my back then came home to make love to me. Do you know how that feels?" As Paige uttered the words, a cold shiver spiked her spine. "You violated me."
Michael, taking another step forward, pleaded. "I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I swear." He stepped again. Paige stepped forward to meet him. "It's all in your head."
Paige said nothing. Liar, she thought. He was still denying it.
Michael pleaded. "I married you, and only you. True, I might be working longer hours but that’s only because I need the money…we need the money." Michael took a breath and composed himself. "I don’t like taking money from you, it makes me feel bad," he lied.
Paige was a few feet from her husband now, a growing knot of doubt in her stomach.
She had the proof, so why did she doubt herself?
Paige imagined other women doing this within their respective marriages and felt sorry for them. Many wouldn’t want to change or lose what they had, some would settle, some wouldn’t be stupid enough to get into this position in the first place.
"Liar."
Michael reeled, stepping back. "What? How can you –"
"June fifteenth, you withdrew two hundred dollars from my bank account on Radley Street. June twenty-fourth, same process. July second...well, you know where I'm going with this. You bought jewelry from Tiffany's somehow, I mean you earn a pittance at your job and certainly not enough for a diamond necklace and I didn’t receive one. You don’t have any sisters either. Fancy dinners, hotel stays and that’s just the stuff that has a paper trail. I don’t know what's wrong with you or what's going on in that greed-infested brain of yours, but STOP LYING TO ME!"
Silence filled the darkness around Lake Whisper.
For three long minutes, nothing happened.
Then Michael spoke. "Yes, you're right. You caught me."
Paige felt her heart race. Had he confessed?
She cleared her throat. "Caught you? You weren’t sticking your hand in a fucking cookie jar! This is our marriage you're talking about here. It's serious! You broke your oath of marriage to me."
"No, I know that. I didn’t…' Michael shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. "The money. You're right, it was me. I needed it for pills, okay?"
That’s it. Use the drug problem. She'd have to be sick to deny you have a problem.
"Why did you do it, Michael? We're married; you could have asked me for it."
"Ask you for it? I'm a man, a man of integrity –"
"–who stole money from his wife for three years.
To fund a drug habit," Paige finished, the anger returned to her eyes. Michael just stood there. "Great integrity, you thieving little bastard."
"I'm sorry, okay?"
Paige walked sideways, pacing, not looking at Michael. "There's more though, isn’t there?"
The guilty man said nothing.
"Isn't there, Michael?"
"I told you everything I know."
Paige glided across to Michael, almost without touching the floor, and slammed a foot into his groin, crushing his testicles beneath her size seven. Michael buckled, coughed and collapsed in a stoic heap. Paige's eyes were ablaze, her teeth bared. "DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME!"
Michael whimpered on the floor, crying now in pain, a dull but aching soreness swelling from his groin. He tried talking but no words formed. Tears streamed from his eyes.
Paige leant down and grabbed Michael by his scraggly blond hair. He yelped as she pulled his face to hers. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know. This marriage, there is no coming back from this. It's over. You have nothing. I'm in control here, you violated me and you're going to pay the ultimate price, you get that? YOU GET THAT?"
She released the man's hair and stepped away. Michael coughed and rolled onto his back. After a few minutes, filled with wheezing and coughing, he climbed to his feet. "Fine, you want the fucking truth, FINE! You're a frigid bitch."
Paige turned quickly. She was level with the BMW's driver window. "What?"
Michael laughed, wiping drool from his mouth. "You’re frigid. We never fuck anymore. Sure, we make love. Making love sounds like a phrase pedos use to excuse their actions. Making love is going through the motions. What happened to raw, emotional fucking? Screaming, spanking. You used to like that but it went away all too quickly. Therefore, I had to find solace elsewhere."
Paige remained silent. She laughed.
Michael looked at her, wiping his face. "What's so funny?"
Paige stifled the laugh. "If you showed this much emotion and passion during our marriage we might not even be here. You never paid me any attention and you wondered why I didn’t want to fuck you. It didn’t mean I would cheat on you though, marriages are supposed to be worked on."
Whispers - Volume 1: A Collection Page 7
