The Lake Never Tells

by Alex Tully

  The Lake

  Never Tells

  ALEX TULLY

  Cover Art by Ana Grigoriu-Voicu

  Books-design.com

  Copyright © 2020 Alex Tully

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798632617598

  For those who yearn for bluer waters.

  JULY 5TH

  parker

  Morning couldn’t come quick enough. Parker woke up three times in the middle of the night, hoping for a peek of light through his window, only to be greeted by the blackness of a night sky.

  He cautiously glanced over at his alarm clock—5:48 glowed red in the dark. Good enough, he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He rolled out of bed, slid his bare feet into his Star Wars flip-flops, and grabbed his flashlight. Taking careful steps, he made his way out of his bedroom, through the trailer’s tiny TV room, and toward the side door. The hardest part would be the stupid floor in the screened porch—it creaked like crazy. If he woke up Grams, she wouldn’t be happy.

  Grams was pretty strict. He was almost eleven and a half and she treated him like a five-year-old. There were two things he was doing that would really make her mad—well, three actually. One, he was going outside without asking. Two, he was going down by the water. And three, he was going to look for something she hated—like, really hated.

  Luckily, he escaped unnoticed. He quickly ran down the gravel drive, past the other trailers, toward the water. Dark gray clouds filled the sky and the air felt heavy, like a summer storm was brewing. The lake was choppy which meant the walleye would be biting, but he definitely didn’t have time for fishing. He walked by the old dock and turned toward the east, where the rocky coast gradually thinned out to pebbles, and then to sand.

  Not too far down the beach was Memorial Park, and every Fourth of July they had a big fireworks show. Two summers ago Dylan Tompkins told him about July 5th, “Dude, I heard if you go walk the beach early in the morning you will find tons of awesome shit. You gotta go like at the crack of dawn though, before they start cleaning it all up.”

  So last year Parker took his advice, snuck out super early, and found lots of cool stuff, just like Dylan said he would. The biggest prize was an iPhone—and it was inside of a purse, so there was no sand or water damage. He couldn’t keep it though, because Grams thought they were too expensive, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Do you know what they charge every month for one of those things? You know better than that.”

  But he found other things too: money, sunglasses, lighters, and fireworks—spinners, sparklers, even bottle rockets. Most of them were duds, but some weren’t, and that provided a lot of entertainment for the rest of the summer. The further he made his way down the beach toward Memorial Park, the more treasure he would find.

  But this July 5th morning, he wouldn’t make it very far down the beach. Only a few steps into his search he saw something at the water line—something weird. He squinted in the early morning darkness, trying to make it out. At first, he thought it might be a log, but as he got closer, it looked more like…a person.

  And the person was laying on their back, arms and legs stretched out wide. And they weren’t really on the beach, they were more like in the water, the waves rolling right over them. And they weren’t moving.

  He took a couple of steps closer. No, they weren’t moving at all.

  A sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach, “Hey!” he yelled. No answer.

  Parker got a little closer and shined his flashlight over the figure.

  And that’s when he saw the face. It was all bloated and alien-like—but it was definitely a face.

  And, he knew whose face it was. Oh no…

  He turned quickly, his feet shuffling beneath him, his heart thudding in his chest. He pushed his legs into the sand, as hard as he could, running toward the hill, toward home. The rain started to fall, and he continued to run. He didn’t stop running, and he didn’t dare look back.

  CHAPTER 1

  Six Weeks Earlier

  ZOE

  Zoe closed the door behind her and started the trek up the gravel drive. It wasn’t a long walk, but at 7:30 in the morning walking to the bathroom took serious effort. Meredith was supposed to be picking her up for school in two minutes, but Zoe wasn’t rushing because her best friend was notoriously late. Most days they ended up running into first period without even having time to stop at their lockers.

  Meredith used to pick her up right outside her front door, but she was officially banned from driving through Sunny Shores Trailer Park until she could scrape up a hundred bucks for a new muffler. Most of the residents weren’t exactly nine-to-fiver’s.

  As Zoe walked past trailer number six, she caught a whiff of something burning. In the small plot of grass out front, the smoldering remnants of a campfire lingered. Pieces of blue and silver aluminum glimmered in the pile of gray ash, probably the last of Frankie’s Bush Light stash from the night before.

  She walked past trailer nine where she spotted Shirley sitting in her screened porch drinking her coffee. She gave a quick wave and Shirley waved back, “Morning Zoe!”

  “Did Parker take the bus?” Zoe yelled, although she already knew the answer. Parker always took the bus—no chance in hell his grandma would let him get into a car with Meredith behind the wheel.

  Zoe knew a lot about the people living inside the twenty trailers that dotted the small stretch of land on Lake Erie. Having lived there since she was five, she had gotten to know the residents well—they were like family.

  Sunny Shores, or Shitty Shores as some liked to call it, was one of the few trailer parks left on the Marblehead peninsula for permanent residents, as opposed to all of the seasonal parks that were for tourists.

  Marblehead had become a booming vacation destination that only seemed to grow in popularity each year. An hour west of Cleveland and two hours south of Detroit, it was a convenient summer getaway for those seeking a break from suburbia and city living.

  A short boat trip north was Kelley’s Island, a laid-back spot with quaint shops and amazing sunsets. A little bit further west was South Bass Island, home to Put-in-Bay and a crazy bar scene. The world-famous Cedar Point Amusement Park was only minutes away, and the hills of the tallest roller-coasters could be seen across the Sandusky Bay.

  From Memorial Day through Labor Day, the masses of vacationers swarmed in and everything got crowded—really crowded. Locals called this time the hundred days of hell, but any of them would admit that their livelihood depended on the summers. The tourists had money and they liked to spend it.

  With the money that came flowing in, the development followed. The area was growing fast—new stores, new restaurants, and new houses popping up every day.

  Case in point—Crystal Waters, one of the most exclusive communities in the area. It boasted almost a hundred feet of lakeshore built up with million-dollar villas, a gourmet restaurant, and a marina full of yachts. It looked like someone had taken a chunk of Cape Cod and dumped it right there in Marblehead—right next door, in fact.

  Zoe glanced to the west, through the thin line of trees, into the glistening, pristine wonderland that was Crystal Waters. Just six years ago the land belonged to Mrs. Dover, an elderly widow who lived alone in a small cottage on the property. Zoe used to play on her beach and collect sticks in her patch of woods. Sometimes, Mrs. Dover would make her lemonade and they would sit on her porch watching the boats go by.

  “I’ll never sell this place, Zoe. The real estate people are always coming around here, trying to bully me into selling. This cottage has been in my family for almost a hundred years,” she had said.

  But Mrs. Dover’s children had other ideas, and only a month after her funeral the first bulldozer sho
wed up. Exactly where Mrs. Dover’s beloved cottage once stood, Crystal Waters Gift Shop emerged, selling t-shirts for fifty bucks that said Life’s Better at the Lake but the BEST at Crystal Waters.

  As Zoe got closer to the road, the ground got steeper and she had to dig her heels a little deeper into the gravel. Once she made it to the top of the hill, she looked down the road in each direction and as expected, there was no Meredith in sight.

  So she turned her attention to the water. From high up on the road, she had a much better vantage point. Of course, she had to look past the run-down trailer park below that she called home, and past the small rocky ‘beach’ coated in algae and dead fish, and past the dilapidated wood dock that housed a half-deflated dinghy and Frankie’s old fishing boat.

  She kept her eyes on the water, the endless blue water, and smiled. It was an automatic response. The lake was her peace, her calm, her friend, her confidante. It always made her feel better, it didn’t judge her or ask questions—it was just there. And it listened.

  But then her eyes drifted westward, as they always did—where there was another boat dock, but a much different one. This one housed a row of yachts, their nautical flags waving in the breeze, their shiny white hulls sparkling in the morning sun.

  The water looked bluer over there. It just did. Crystal Waters next to Shitty Shores…

  “Hey, Zoe!”

  She flinched, “Crap, you scared me.” She hadn’t even heard Meredith pull up behind her.

  “What are you looking at?” Meredith asked. Thick black lines framed her blue eyes, and her black hair sported a new purple streak.

  “Just the water,” Zoe got in the car, “Like your hair by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Meredith sighed, “Ugh, are you even ready for this?”

  Zoe knew what she was referring to, and it wasn’t school, “Can’t wait.”

  Meredith drove off and it wasn’t long before Zoe noticed the cars—a Mercedes, a Range Rover, another Mercedes, a BMW convertible. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and they were already coming, a parade of wealth and privilege.

  Zoe rested her head against the seat in Meredith’s old Civic, as they rumbled down the road.

  Yep, the Memorial Day weekend had officially begun.

  CHAPTER 2

  ETHAN

  “I can’t believe we had to leave so early,” Emma tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, her curly hair blowing around wildly in the open convertible. “What was that all about?”

  Ethan shrugged. But he knew why they had to leave so early. His parents were itching to get away, as if coming to the lake house would somehow fix things.

  “I mean, was it really necessary to be here at eight in the morning? This is supposed to be vacation, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Their family had been coming out to Marblehead every summer since they were little kids. He vaguely remembered the first place they had, a small cabin with water that smelled like rotten eggs. But they always had a campfire at night and there were lots of kids around. Then, when he was ten, they got a bigger place—a four-bedroom house in a development with canals running through it, where everyone parked their boats right in their backyard. And three years ago, they really hit the big time with a villa inside Crystal Waters—the best of the best. As their parent’s practice grew, the houses grew.

  Ethan kept his eyes straight ahead. They would be coming up to the Sandusky Bridge soon—a half a mile of highway connecting the Ohio mainland to the Marblehead Peninsula—nothing but water on both sides. The bay was usually filled with speeding boats and jet skis, but at that hour, it was quiet.

  Ethan could see the puffy white clouds dotting the horizon in front of him. He could feel the cool morning air swirl around him, crisp and clean against his face. He could hear the seagulls calling out to each other in high-pitched cries. He could taste the warm salty blood, trickling down inside his mouth, pooling against his back molars.

  He did that sometimes—bit the inside of his mouth. It was something he could do without anyone noticing, without leaving any marks. When the thoughts in his head got really out of control, as they often did, as they were starting to do at that very moment, the sudden pain would sometimes jolt him away from them.

  Because they weren’t just bad thoughts, they were ‘Oh god no’ thoughts, or as Dr. Malone liked to call them, catastrophic thoughts. And they always began with what if…

  Like, what if the Sea-Doos on the truck in front of them suddenly became unhitched?

  And what if Emma swerved to avoid them, and their car jumped the guardrail, plunging into the Sandusky Bay?

  And what if the car began sinking into the cold, dark water, and Ethan was able to undo his seat belt, but Emma was not?

  And what if he tried to help her, but he couldn’t get her free, and had to watch her sink lower and lower, only the whites of her eyes staring back at him in the blackness?

  And what if he wanted to sink with her, but his body wouldn’t let him? What if his arms didn’t listen to his head, and they reached up to the surface, pushing the water out of the way until they found open air?

  What if Ethan made it? What if he survived, but Emma was gone forever?

  He took a deep breath, swallowed some bloody saliva, and glanced over at her, just to make sure she was still there. And she was—her hair all messy against her pretty face, her eyes shining brightly.

  God, he was screwed up.

  Ethan loved his twin sister and she didn’t deserve this. She tried so hard, making small-talk for the entire drive. Ethan wanted to respond, he really did, but if he did say something, it would just be encouragement for more conversation—which would be distracting. And that was the last thing he wanted while Emma was driving.

  Falling asleep would be nice. He would love to be able to just close his eyes and nod off. But sleeping inside a moving vehicle was impossible. And even pretending to sleep wasn’t an option.

  Closing his eyes made him dizzy—and not a fun dizzy like when he and Emma were little kids and used to hold hands spinning each other around until they collapsed into fits of laughter. No, it was a bad dizzy—an off-balance feeling inside his head—a terrifying dizzy.

  So most of the time he just stared straight ahead, at nothing in particular, in his own comfortable stupor. And if Emma said something that required a response, he usually just shrugged. It was the ultimate neutral gesture—not a nod “yes” or a shake “no”, just a shrug. It worked for everything.

  Mom and Dad thought spending the entire summer in Marblehead, as opposed to just the weekends, might help things with him—a change of scenery might do him good. His parents could do most of their work from the lake house, or so they said, and they would drive back to Cleveland once a week so he could continue his all-important sessions with Dr. Malone. That was the plan, and in Ethan’s opinion, it was doomed for failure.

  The bridge was finally behind them and Emma turned the car onto Route 163, the main road that circled the entire perimeter of the peninsula. They drove through the older section of Marblehead first, past the boat repair and the bait shop, past the farmer’s market and the peach orchard, and past the small cluster of antique stores.

  They followed the road along the Lake Erie coast as things gradually got newer and shinier—past wine bars and high-end clothing shops. They passed Captain’s Quarters restaurant, where a jacket was required and a tie recommended, and Nautical Interiors, where mom bought overpriced furniture and stupid things like lamps that looked like lighthouses.

  And then, just a little further down the road, like a black eye on the pretty face of Marblehead, it appeared. An old wood sign, its yellow paint chipped and faded—Sunny Shores Trailer Park. Partly hidden by the trees, it was hard to see from the road, but Ethan saw it—he looked for it. For some reason, he always found it strangely comforting.

  Emma turned the BMW into the next driveway, where large stone pillars framed a wrought iron gate. Navy blue flags donn
ing CW in gold, waved proudly from the top. She pulled up to the security box, stuck her card-key into the slot, and the gate slowly opened.

  “Well, we’re here,” she smiled at him. He could see the cautious optimism in her eyes.

  He returned the smile—a forced, pathetic smile, “Yeah, we’re here.” He quickly looked away.

  Ethan tried, he really did, but there was no fooling his sister.

  CHAPTER 3

  ZOE

  When Zoe got home from school, she tried to go straight to her bedroom but she didn’t get far.

  “Hey!” Debbie yelled from the kitchen, “Come back here!”

  “I’ve got a lot of homework!”

  “Bullshit! It was the last day of school! Get over here!”

  Really? Zoe threw her backpack on the bed and headed back to the kitchen.

  Debbie sat at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. The usual bottle of Visine sat next to the ashtray. Her frizzy red hair was matted up in the back, giving her a rooster-like resemblance, and the black make-up smeared around her eyes added a touch of raccoon.

  Zoe leaned against the wall, “You just wake up?”

  “Well,” Debbie took a long drag on her cigarette and gave her the ‘you think you know everything’ shake of the head, “Next time you have to close out a bar at three in the morning, you let me know how you feel.”

  Yeah, Debbie closed out the bar until three. And then she probably stayed up until dawn drinking and partying, and doing cringe-worthy things Zoe didn’t even want to think about.

  She watched Debbie slowly get up and drag her skinny body over to the coffee pot for another refill. From the neck down she didn’t look bad, but Debbie’s face showed its age—plus some.

  “I think I can get you a shift at the Outrigger,” she reached into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Most people topped off their coffee with cream or sugar, but Debbie preferred a splash of Kamchatka, “Probably just a couple of nights, but you’d make good money.”