by Glen Krisch
“I guess it didn’t have to be you.” His voice became deeper, more resolute. “It could’ve easily been Heidi. After all, I came close to choosing her mother all those years ago.”
Strī-d∂nt, she thought. Loud, harsh, grating. His tone was definitely strident. She shook her head to help clear it before she automatically broke down the word’s etymology.
“Your aloneness,” he said, “that’s what sealed my decision. That form of pain is more exquisite than anything besides physical injury.” He gave her a wink and turned back to pull against the oars, his effort heaving the rowboat through a rough, white-capped swell.
“Who are you?”
Claustrophobia swept through her, as if the plastic sheeting constricted tighter with her every exhalation.
He laughed and pulled the oars once more. When he completed the stroke, he carefully brought the oars to their resting positions along the gunwales. He turned to face her, swinging his feet around until they settled with a splash in the water puddled around her. He leaned his elbows against his knees, cocked an eyebrow.
“Who am I?”
“You’re not my uncle,” Clara said.
Her hands were partially numb, but she continued to test the strength of her bonds. As she pressed out with her elbows, trying to stretch the plastic sheeting, something scratched painfully across her wrist. She wondered if a fishhook had somehow found its way into the plastic sheeting, but she didn’t think so.
“Well, there’s some truth to that, I suppose,” he replied. “It won’t matter once my masterpiece is complete.”
“Masterpiece,” she whispered, not wanting to know the answer.
Her fumbling fingers discovered what had scratched her wrist.
The charm. Of course. The heart her mom had given to Breann.
It all made sense.
“It’ll be easier on you if you don’t struggle. Struggling makes time slow, makes it so you’ll feel every ounce of water as it sears your throat and lungs. And it’ll burn twice as much when you puke it up. And you will. There’s no shame in it; everyone does it.”
The boat drifted in the rain. The man who had once been her Uncle Jack leered at her, his features twisting into a grotesque mask.
Clara managed to grasp the heart charm between the knuckle of her index and middle fingers. She coiled her wrist and a sharp edge snagged the tough plastic skin, and there it remained, buried and of little use. She wanted to cry out in frustration, but held it back.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
“If I had more time? Complete exsanguination. Do you know what that means?”
For once she felt within her element, and with a shudder she replied, “It means the total draining of blood.”
“Very good!” He seemed startled by her reply. He leaned in close, brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re the one.” He looked out at the dark water and sighed contentedly.
“So … so, you’re going to drown me?” she said, trying to prolong her remaining time. She worked the heart charm, and with some effort, pulled it free from the plastic. With her knuckle she felt a small rent in the plastic, little more than a dimple—the smallest hope, but all she had, so she clung onto it as she again attacked the plastic. “I’ve never done anything to you!”
“Just know, when you join the others, a cycle will be complete. And once it’s complete, I will regain dominion over this human form.” He tilted his face toward the sky, and the rain trailed down his cheeks like a thousand tears. “I will, again, be human.”
“What are you?”
The charm tore through the plastic as she feverishly slashed against her bindings. She tried so hard to keep her voice steady, her face as calm as possible.
His eyes hardened, subsuming the last trace of Uncle Jack. He grabbed the plastic enshrouding her and easily lifted Clara waist-high.
“Nononono! ” she begged.
“Thank you for this gift, Clara,” he said, and heaved her into the water.
Chaotic darkness descended over her. Water invaded her nostrils and seeped into her lungs. She coughed as the panic of drowning stoked her heartbeat.
The sound of the rain intensified when she broke the surface, but only briefly, before her body again sunk beneath the water.
Clara held her breath and worked the charm against the plastic. She tore enough to punch her fist all the way through the many layers. Her wrist afforded little movement to help widen the hole. Still, she tried, with all her might, she tried.
Her burning lungs began to spasm as she fought the instinctive urge to take a breath. She couldn’t see anything, neither the direction to the surface nor the depth in which she thrashed.
She wedged her arm outside, forcing the hole wider, but it was of little use.
Her heart throbbed in her ears, and a shadow of a shadow soon enveloped her. Her efforts became futile and began to ease, no matter her sense of urgency. The straining in her muscles drained away. A trickle of water breached her lungs, and though she sputtered against its invasion, it was easier to allow it to happen than to fight any longer.
The heart charm slipped from her fingers, drifting toward the bottom of the lake. The tarnished metal somehow caught the light, or maybe emitted its own light from within, and seemed to shrink as it floated down, twinkling in the darkness. The last air bubbles jetted from between her lips, and she too began to sink into the darkness at the lake bottom.
CHAPTER 35
Krista could barely see Breann through the smoke as she was guided away from Poppa’s bedroom, squinting through the heat of the fire. They hurtled through the kitchen, but when Krista dug in her heels to avoid slamming into the sliding door, Breann slipped from her grasp and floated without pause through the pane.
Breann placed her palm against the glass separating them. “Krista! ”
A wall of fire separated the kitchen from the front of the house.
“Neal!” Krista called out.
The only reply was the roaring of the fire. A section of the ceiling collapsed, sending sparks and ash swirling into the air.
Breann’s voice wavered inside Krista’s head.
“Hurry, Krista.”
She coughed against the searing smoke, fumbled for the door pull, shoved it open, and fell to her knees on the deck as she gasped for fresh air.
Tears coursed down her cheeks. Despair weakened her limbs. She couldn’t face the world. Not alone. Not without her family.
“Clara needs you, Krista.”
The dead girl kneeled next to her. When Krista lifted her gaze, she saw the trees through her friend. She was losing substance, her hold on this world.
“Why did you come back for me? Why aren’t you in there with the others?”
“Because,” Breann said, tears filling her eyes. She smiled, revealing crooked teeth. Her skin glowed from within, a pure white. “You’re my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend.”
Breann offered her hand, and Krista took it, gaining her feet.
“I never got to live, but you did. And so did your daughter. And the both of you still have so much more living to experience.”
“Where is she? Where’s my Clara?”
“Down at the lake. The spirit that took me … that took all the girls … it has her. And we need to get there, like, right now.”
With fear and adrenaline pushing her close to a panic attack, Krista followed Breann hurriedly down the deck stairs. Somewhere between the deck and rain-swept sand, though, Breann had vanished. Krista was alone.
She felt a profound sense of abandonment, but pushed it aside. She couldn’t think about losing Breann again. Not when her daughter’s life still hung in the balance.
Krista scanned the lakeshore and it was immediately apparent where she would find Clara. A white ball of light glowed
in the middle of the lake, from beneath the lake.
Whatever it was, whoever it was, it better not harm her daughter. Krista sprinted toward the light, sprays of sand kicked up with her every stride. Without a second thought, she dived into the water, and as she kicked away from shore, the cold darkness took her in its embrace.
CHAPTER 36
Alone in a dark void. Drifting …
Warmth gathered in Clara’s center spreading outward, until the heat touched her from toes to fingertips. Then she opened her eyes
(or have they been open this whole time and only now has my sight returned?)
and found herself immersed in a ball of liquid light. Free of her bounds, of that stifling plastic shroud, there was an even brighter light, this one small and shimmering, just outside the limits of the ball encircling her. She swam toward it, ever deeper, but it remained elusively beyond her reach, taunting her. The more she kicked and paddled through the warm viscous light, the more this beacon took shape and definition. And it all made sense.
The heart charm.
“Don’t go, dear. Stay with me,” a voice called out from behind her, but still somehow within her, halting her movements. “Stay with me and fight.”
Clara floated, immobile, within the light, seeking the source of the voice.
Wearing a black funeral dress fringed with delicate lace, the woman was beautiful and beaming, the great-grandmother she’d never met.
“Nan? ”
“Take this,” Nan spoke within Clara’s mind, holding the heart charm out to her, the chain looped around her wrinkled hand.
Clara looked from the charm to the object she’d been chasing; the bright beacon flared brighter before extinguishing like a blown candle, if it had ever been there in the first place.
“But … I thought …” Clara thought, returning her gaze to Nan.
“That’s not the light you want. That light leads to damnation. And you have so much more … so much more everything to do in your life.”
The ball of liquid light encircling them began to shrink, to dim.
“Take it, Clara,” Nan said. “It’s yours.”
Clara reached out slowly, as if tempting a tarantula’s caress.
Nan nodded as Clara’s fingers neared.
The heart charm glowed warmly, and a feeling of security and love seemed to emanate from it, as well as from her great-grandmother. Clara took hold of the heart. She had nothing to fear from this woman who’d so indelibly shaped the lives of those she loved. Nan hugged her close as the light continued to dim, and when Clara blinked and opened her eyes, she could no longer see her, could no longer perceive the light that had brought them together.
Something tightened in Clara’s throat and she began to choke. Cold water filled her mouth, her lungs, and she could taste the lake on her tongue as it tried to kill her.
“Stay with me,” Nan said, her voice weakened within Clara’s mind. “Fight for me, Clara. For your mom.”
Clara rose from the cold depths of the lake, the lake water streaming up her throat. She imagined her spirit continuing up to the heavens until the earth itself became a distant blue beacon of its own.
She breached the surface of the lake, vomited long and hard. Choppy waves washed across her face, again threatening to drown her, for she remained entombed in plastic sheeting.
Nan helped her remain afloat, looking down at her with a beatific smile.
CHAPTER 37
Krista had never been a great swimmer, even during her summers spent on the Little Whisper as a child, but she somehow found the strength to power through her awkward form and untested stamina. Within a handful of strokes, the rowboat, fighting the storm-wracked waves at the center of the lake, seemed not so far away.
Nothing …
better …
hurt …
her …
She repeated the mantra over and again as she cut the distance to the boat. As she came within twenty feet, she began to tire. Cramps exploded along her ribcage, and the muscles in her shoulders screamed in agony.
Nothing …
better …
Krista slowed, but barely. She saw no signs of anyone aboard the boat as she closed in, only a nebulous ball of white light coming from the water’s surface. She squinted against the glare.
Clara!
Her daughter was inside the light, looking tiny and so young.
And Nan … her very own grandmother, held Clara’s head above water.
Is she moving? Is she alive?
“Nan …?” Krista gasped.
The spirit of her grandmother turned toward her with agony written into her features. The white light was nearly gone, and so was she. The lake was visible through Nan, as if her substance were the final scrim of ice melting come springtime.
“My dear, Krista,” Nan said weakly.
As soon as she spoke Krista’s name, the last of her grandmother vanished; Clara bobbed, constrained somehow, her face dipping below the surface.
Krista reached her daughter and lifted her face clear of the lake. Her entire body, except for her head, was wrapped in plastic, as if cocooned. Krista tried to rip it free, but she was slippery and bound tightly. Freeing her was an impossible task while treading water.
What the hell?
Water drained from between Clara’s lips, but she didn’t cough or flinch or show any other signs of life.
“My baby, please … Clara.” Krista sobbed as she struggled to keep them both afloat.
Thunder ripped across the sky as the rain intensified.
“Please, Clara. I can’t lose you.”
“Krista! Need a hand?”
Jack leaned with his palms against the gunwale of the boat.
Isn’t the boat empty?
“Help us, damn it!” Krista said as water splashed into her mouth. She coughed, but kept a tight grip around Clara with one arm, while continuing to keep them afloat with the other, legs kicking tirelessly.
“Sure thing, sis,” Jack said, lifting an oar.
His face darkened as he swung it down against Krista’s shoulder.
A crack of bones breaking, her scream puncturing the night, and then Krista’s head dipped below the water, silencing her. Excruciating pain radiated from her shoulder, nearly making her forget the dangers surrounding her.
She flexed her good arm, thankfully feeling the weight of her daughter still within her grasp. When they surfaced, Jack had already raised the oar a second time.
Krista kicked away from the boat. The oar passed over head, chopping the water mere inches from her face.
“Jackson!” a clear voice called out, cutting through the storm.
Nan stood onboard the boat, a pale white light emanating from her skin.
“Nan …” Jack said, struggling to say the single syllable. His expression drained of anger—temporarily—and he looked again like the boy who used to swim these waters twenty years ago. “I’m … sorry … I thought I could save you, that you’d finally be able to rest with one final sacrifice, if I sacrificed myself, if I gave myself over to the dark spirit …”
“Oh, Jackson … you always had the most loving heart.”
Jack shook his head, as if to clear it. His eyes steadied, darkened, once again filled with anger. He raised the oar high above his head to strike at Krista.
Nan wrapped her arms around his waist. He struggled at first, as if he’d been embraced within a giant molten fist. His eyes boggled and ropey veins stood out ridged from his neck. But Nan held fast, even as her brother let out a low whine of pain. His eyes turned red with bloodshot, then darkened to cinders.
Krista watched as she struggled, sometimes from above the water, sometimes from below. She kicked, and even though it was agonizing to move her free arm, she pumped it through something close to a full stroke.
She nearly passed out from the pain, but then she attempted another stroke, broken bones grinding.
Nan’s white light enveloped Jack as Krista gained distance from the boat. The longer Nan maintained her embrace, the less he struggled. The light brightened briefly, then both Nan and Jack fell overboard.
The rain erased their splash.
Their light dimmed to nothing.
They were gone.
The summer house glowed with flames in the distance, charting a beacon’s path for Krista through the dark water. Her sole focus was to keep a firm grip on her daughter, to get through the next stroke. Each pass through the frigid water brought them inches closer to shore. Each pass was the most agonizing pain she’d ever experienced. She inhaled, swam some more, exhaled slowly. After a while, Krista’s pain became a distant thing, an echo, a memory.
As they neared the shore, Krista’s toes brushed the lake bottom.
Clara coughed in her arms—which awakened a strength in Krista she didn’t know she possessed—and started vomiting, more than she thought possible. Krista wanted to wash her daughter’s face, to clear her throat, but they were so close now.
Clara’s eyes fluttered open as Krista’s tired legs found purchase. Krista tried to carry Clara one-armed out of the water, and collapsed with her onto the shore.
“Mom … you made it,” Clara whispered. “Nan, she said you would come. And you did.”
“Oh, my God, Clara, I thought I’d lost you.”
Krista tore through the plastic sheeting blanketing her daughter. She could only use her right hand; her left arm hung at her side, practically useless. She couldn’t raise her hand above her head, so she had no idea how she managed to get Clara to shore.
Someone groaned nearby, and they both turned to the sound.
“What was that?” Clara asked.
“Can you walk?” Krista said.
“Sure … I think so.”
Krista stood, pulled the last of the plastic away, and helped Clara to her feet.
