Shadow Lake

by B. J Daniels

  “Is that what she told you? We’re still married.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Collins said.

  Walker explained about Anna’s so-called accident. “She was lucky.”

  “Anna wrecked another car? But she’s fine. Another hit-and-run or can’t she remember?” Marc Collins asked with sarcasm. “Isn’t it just Anna’s luck.”

  Walker bristled. “She almost drowned,” he snapped, beyond irritated with the man. Surely Anna Drake hadn’t wanted to get back with this man. “Look, I just need to be sure that your son Tyler wasn’t with her.”

  Marc Collins let out a brittle laugh. “Didn’t she tell you? She killed Tyler eight months ago.”

  THE MEMORY CAME IN A RUSH. Rain, the narrow dark highway, in a hurry for some reason, then a sudden movement as something sprang out onto the pavement. A deer? It had been a deer, hadn’t it?

  Anna saw it happening in her mind’s eye. Her losing control of the car. Skidding along the highway through the deep puddles, blinded by the spray until…

  She felt the start of a panic attack as she remembered crashing down the mountain and into the water. The car had sunk so quickly. She was breathing hard now, remembering the freezing cold water rising around her and the seat belt…There was something…

  Her heart pounded harder and harder. She tried to push away the memory that seemed to crush her chest, as she tried to catch her breath.

  In a panic, she reached for the nurse’s call button, but her fingers were slick and she was shaking so hard it slipped from her fingers. My God, she was dying.

  Deep breaths. Think about anything else. Anything but last night.

  She flopped back, gasping, tears running down her face. The panic subsided slowly, her rapid pulse roared in her ears.

  She’d tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter how she’d ended up in a hospital room in Shadow Lake.

  But her mind wouldn’t let it rest. She hated driving at night, especially in the rain. What had forced her to do it?

  Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The movement sent a wave of nausea through her, forcing her to grip the bed until the wooziness passed.

  As she stood, she was half surprised to realize she’d completely forgotten about the IV in her arm. She rolled the stand along with her as she shuffled to the closet, practically leaning on the flimsy thing, shocked by how weak she felt.

  At the closet, she gripped the door frame, fearing she was going to pass out. She slid open the closet door and drew back in surprise. This was what she’d been wearing last night?

  Dread filled her as she touched the slinky black dress and lacy black undergarments draped over the hangers, her fingers brushing her good gray wool coat. Where had she been going dressed like this?

  There was a small puddle of water beneath the still sopping-wet coat. Next to the puddle on the floor was a single strappy black high-heeled sandal. What struck her was that the black dress was Marc’s favorite.

  Like a splinter under her skin, the thought of why she would have worn it worried at her.

  To make matters worse, she could think of no reason she would have driven to Shadow Lake dressed for an evening out. And driving in those shoes? What had she been thinking? No wonder she’d ended up crashing into the lake.

  Leaning against the closet door frame for support, she searched a pocket of her coat, hoping for some clue.

  Given where the doctor said her car had gone into the lake, how had she been able to get out, let alone swim in what she’d been wearing? Especially in apparently only one high-heeled sandal. Had she literally stumbled out of the lake and into the hospital?

  What kind of luck was that?

  Unbelievable luck.

  A memory tugged at her. She felt another panic attack coming on and quickly shielded herself from the memory.

  She stuck her hand in the other pocket. Her hand froze as her fingers found something soggy and hard. She pulled out the contents and frowned down at four balled-up twenty-dollar bills and a credit card with what appeared to be a wet receipt stuck to it and…

  Her frown deepened. A folded scrap of paper. It appeared to have some writing on the inside but the ink had run some and the paper was still wet and fragile. She gave up trying to unfold it while it was still wet.

  She tried to peel the receipt from the credit card. The thin paper started to tear. It was impossible to read what had been printed on it anyway.

  Why had she stuffed all of this into her coat pocket? Where was her purse? Still in the car, no doubt. Just the sight of what she’d found in her coat pocket proved she’d been upset about something. It wasn’t like her not to take the time to put her credit card back into her wallet in her purse. Or maybe she’d lost her purse even before she’d crashed into the lake.

  That thought made fear quake through her. What in God’s name could have happened that she would have lost her purse?

  Her body suddenly felt too heavy for her leg muscles to hold her any longer. Dragging the IV cart, she stumbled back to the bed, taking the items she’d found in her coat pocket with her. She dropped everything into the nightstand drawer. Her legs felt like water. It was all she could do to climb onto the bed and draw the covers over her.

  Sleep dragged her down like the lake had taken her car to the bottom. On the edge of sleep, she saw herself going into the lake again, the car sinking, panic taking hold of her as she saw herself upside down under the water, trapped in the car.

  As exhaustion finally pulled her under, she had one fleeting terrifying thought: There’s something out there in the murky water. Someone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WITH MORE THAN A little relief, Dr. Brubaker checked his only patient and found her sound asleep. Telling the nurse to beep him when Anna woke again, he left the hospital to go home, shower, shave and change clothes.

  As was his routine, he turned in the gate to the cemetery on his walk home and headed for his wife’s grave.

  Gladys had picked out the two plots, saying she wanted to be able to catch the morning sun. She’d always loved that about her kitchen window. He’d so often see her standing in front of the sink, her face tilted up to catch the morning sun, that sometimes even now when he came into the kitchen he caught glimpses of her for just an instant.

  Better to see her there, in the sunlight, rather than the hospital bed where she’d spent the last months of her life. Gladys had wanted to die in their home so he’d moved one of the hospital beds into the living room.

  She’d been so small lying there. He’d watched her grow thinner and thinner, disappearing from his life with each passing day. At the end, he’d feared that he would wake from the bed he’d made next to hers and find that she had wasted away to nothing as if she’d never existed.

  As it was, she’d been nearly child-size by the time she’d died, way too small for the casket he’d picked out for her.

  He recognized the names on the gravestones as he walked through the rain-soaked cemetery. A light drizzle fell, the clouds gray and dark over the lake. He’d known a lot of the people buried here.

  Some of them he’d brought into the world, a lot of them he’d kept alive as long as he could before they’d passed on. The thought gave him little comfort.

  Through a weathered iron fence and veil of pine boughs, he caught a glimpse of freshly turned earth. The wind must have blown off the green tarp the funeral home used until it quit raining long enough to lay the sod. Or had the tarp come off when Big Jim Fairbanks started rolling in his grave, Brubaker wondered.

  Unlike Gladys, Big Jim had fought until the very end. He’d wanted to live and had said he was too damned young to die even though he was older than most, Doc included. Big Jim hadn’t gone peacefully. Nor did Doc suspect Big Jim Fairbanks rested easy, either.

  Brubaker realized as he stared at Big Jim’s grave that he believed in retribution, if nothing else. There was a price to be paid for what w
as done on this earth. A man had to pay for his sins. And a man like Big Jim Fairbanks would be paying dearly about now.

  And soon so would Gene Brubaker, he reminded himself.

  Turning, Doc went to spend time with his wife as he had done every day since her death.

  “OH DEAR, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

  Anna woke with a start as an older gray-haired nurse rushed to her bedside. “Pulled out your IV, have you?” Her name tag read Connie. “Must have really tossed and turned in your sleep to do that.”

  Anna said nothing as the nurse reattached the IV. She’d lost the scrap of memory she’d had just before she’d been awakened. In frustration, she looked toward the window, saw the lake and closed her eyes to keep from shuddering.

  “There, that should hold this time,” the nurse said. “How are you feeling?”

  Anna could only nod.

  The nurse studied her. “You want me to call the doctor?”

  “No. I just want to sleep.” She really just wanted to be alone, not sure she wanted to call back the memory. She could feel an uneasiness and knew that if she tried to force the memory it would turn to anxiety, then panic.

  “I’m fine,” she told the nurse and closed her eyes, waiting for her to leave.

  The moment the nurse closed the door behind her, Anna sat up, feeling desperate and scared.

  Calm down. Calm down. She heard her husband Marc’s voice. Calm down. Only he was no longer her husband. The divorce was to be final yesterday. Was that true? Only yesterday?

  Her hand was shaking as she picked up the phone and dialed. Gillian Sanders had been her friend since college and was now a successful lawyer. Anna knew she wouldn’t have made it through the past two months without Gillian.

  Gillian’s cell phone rang four times and voice mail picked up. “It’s me, Anna.” Her voice sounded panicky even to her. She considered leaving the hospital number but knew that would scare Gillian. “I’ll try back later.”

  She hung up, disappointed she hadn’t reached her. Right now she needed Gillian’s logical calming influence. Gillian had a way of seeing to the heart of things. Like when Anna had come to her for advice about Marc.

  “Don’t fight the divorce, honey,” Gillian had advised. “He’s a bastard. Have you ever really been happy with him?”

  “Yes, when Tyler was born…”

  “Come on. You were happy because of Tyler—not Marc. Admit it.”

  Anna had started to cry. Admitting that her marriage had been anything but happy from the beginning was devastating.

  Gillian had pressed a business card into her hand.

  “What is this?” Anna had asked through her tears.

  “A damned good divorce attorney. But you didn’t get it from me.”

  “I want you as my lawyer.”

  “Anna, I’m not a divorce lawyer and I know both you and Marc. You want someone who is impartial and tough as nails. Believe me, Marc will get the toughest lawyer money can buy.”

  “But I want someone who will protect my interests.”

  “I am, sweetie,” Gillian had said, taking her hand. “Divorce the asshole before he can file first. You can do better.”

  But Anna had waited and let Marc serve the papers on her. The divorce lawyer Gillian had recommended had taken care of everything. All Anna had to do was sign the papers and wait for the dissolution of her marriage to be final. She’d only managed to get through it by pretending it wasn’t happening. She’d lost her son. Now her husband.

  Coward that she was, she’d also pretended that she didn’t know why Marc had wanted the divorce.

  As of yesterday, she was no longer Mrs. Marc Collins.

  She realized she was still gripping the phone. She needed to talk to someone. If not Gillian, then Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen was a mutual friend of Anna and Gillian’s, a college sorority sister. Blond, buxom, a bit scatterbrained, but a talented interior designer, Mary Ellen had gotten through life on “cute” and good taste.

  Anna dialed Mary Ellen’s number trying to get into the mood to talk to her always bubbly friend. She was tired of calling her friends crying and desperate. She was tired of being depressed and morbid and scared. And she knew they were even more sick of it than she was.

  The phone rang four times and Anna was about to hang up when Mary Ellen finally picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Oh, hello.”

  Anna was momentarily taken aback by Mary Ellen’s blasé reaction. This was not like her. “Is everything all right?”

  Silence. “Yes, I’m in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?”

  Anna sat up a little straighter in the bed at Mary Ellen’s overformal tone. “Okay, I mean, no. I…” She glanced at the phone, unsure of the hospital number. “I’ll call you back later.”

  “That would be fine.” Mary Ellen hung up, but not before Anna heard a man’s voice in the background.

  She stared at the phone as she replaced the receiver. What had that been about? The voice she’d heard definitely hadn’t been Mary Ellen’s husband, David.

  The voice had sounded like…

  Anna felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

  Marc. The voice had sounded like Marc’s, but that wasn’t possible. Marc didn’t like Mary Ellen. He’d never liked any of her friends. But while he made fun of Mary Ellen, he was much harsher when it came to Gillian. He could barely be civil to Gillian—and vice versa.

  So it couldn’t have been Marc’s voice Anna had heard in the background.

  She fought her disappointment in not being able to talk to Mary Ellen. She needed to talk to a friend. Gillian and Mary Ellen were the only ones she still saw. The rest of her so-called friends had disappeared.

  She thought about calling Marc, just to prove to herself that it hadn’t been his voice she’d heard at Mary Ellen’s. But she had nothing to say to him. Gillian was right. Tyler had been the reason Anna had stayed with Marc. She’d so desperately wanted Tyler to have a father even if Marc had been a disappointing one. She’d hoped that as Tyler got older, Marc would get better.

  Her throat closed at the thought of Tyler, her chest aching as tears again burned her eyes, blurring everything.

  You have to stop this, Anna.

  Marc’s voice again and a memory so clear it hurt. “You have to stop, Anna, before you drive us both crazy. I can’t take any more.” Possibly his last words to her before he moved out of their house. Or maybe more recently. They’d had so many fights she couldn’t remember the last one.

  She dried her eyes and dialed Gillian’s cell again. Still no answer. She hung up without leaving a message.

  Had it only been yesterday that she’d had Gillian and Mary Ellen over for lunch? Mary Ellen and Gillian had made a point of not mentioning the divorce or the fact it was to be final later that day.

  Needless to say, the lunch had been strained. Anna frowned as she recalled how distracted Gillian had been. Even Mary Ellen had been unusually quiet. At the time, Anna had thought it was just her pending divorce causing it, but now she recalled she’d picked up an undercurrent. Mary Ellen and Gillian had seemed upset with each other.

  Funny she would realize that now. She’d thought she was doing so well yesterday, but apparently she’d been numb to what had been happening around her.

  She felt a sliver of anxiety burrow under her skin. Since she’d come out of the coma she’d been picking up weird vibes from everyone, especially Marc. But often Mary Ellen and Gillian, as well. Either they were all walking on eggshells around her, or they were keeping something from her.

  When she’d mentioned this to Marc, he’d accused her of thinking everyone was plotting against her—especially him. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that from the moment she’d opened her eyes two months ago in another hospital, her husband and friends had some secret they didn’t want her to find out about.

  She knew that was crazy thinking. No secret was as horrible a
s the reality of what she’d awakened to.

  Closing her eyes, she lay back on the bed. Her head ached and she felt sick to her stomach. She pulled the sheet up to her chin. It felt cool and smelled fresh from the laundry. Her stomach did a slow sickening roll as she recalled her friend’s stilted part of the conversation. Mary Ellen hadn’t even used Anna’s name during the call.

  Because Mary Ellen didn’t want whoever was there to know it was her?

  Marc would say this was just another case of her imagining things. What did she think Mary Ellen and Marc were doing? Plotting against her? It might not even have been Marc’s voice she heard.

  She was acting irrational. She battled the urge to call Mary Ellen back and demand to know what was going on. She could feel another panic attack coming on. Marc had told her she was delusional enough times. She felt delusional.

  She tried her friend Gillian’s cell phone again. Still no answer. Gillian always had her cell phone with her. It wasn’t like her not to answer unless she was in court.

  Anna didn’t leave a message. Instead, she tried Mary Ellen again.

  Mary Ellen answered this time on the first ring. “Anna?” Apparently she’d been waiting by the phone. “Where are you? Are you all right? We’ve been worried sick about you.”

  Hearing the concern in her friend’s voice, Anna started to pour out her story about the accident, but she heard herself say “We?”

  Mary Ellen’s voice softened. “Honey, Marc is really worried about you.”

  Anna closed her eyes. It had been Marc’s voice she’d heard earlier in the background. Just as she wasn’t mistaken about the recrimination she now heard in her friend’s voice.

  “I’m sure Marc has better things to do than worry about me,” she said. “We’re divorced. I’m not his concern anymore.”

  An odd silence then, “Honey, Marc didn’t go through with the divorce. The papers were never filed.”

  “What?” Hadn’t that been her hope, her prayer? Losing Marc had made Tyler’s death more real somehow. Anna had clung to the marriage because it was all she had.