He had already tripped once getting the canoe through the landing and his overalls were soaked up to his chest, but Desmond was determined. His life kept him away from the lake for the better part of two decades and he'd be damned if he didn't find some time to spend out on the water now. Once deep, the canoe cut through the murky tarn like a knife through jelly. He jumped into the boat and paddled out. Not a soul was around. The lake was still save for his lone oar tapping the water.
It wasn't until he paddled out for about a half an hour that Desmond realized he forgot his rod. He looked behind his tackle box hoping it might be somewhere in the canoe anyway. It wasn't. It was back on shore in the back of his truck.
"Goddammit."
He was forgetting things more and more. Small things at first, but then bigger things. Small things like grocery lists and telephone numbers. Bigger things like how it was wrong to hit your wife.
She left him a little over a week ago. Or maybe it was a month ago. Time took a strange turn once she left. Desmond couldn't remember what the fight was over. She took Annabel with her and moved in across town with her sister. He didn't like her sister now that he thought about it, but at the time of her storming out he really didn't care where she went. He just wanted her gone. He hated his wife when she left. He hated how their fight ended, how Annabel cried as her mother grabbed her arm, how she even took the dog and stuffed him in the car despite his protests. It wasn't until he forgot his rod out there on the lake that he remembered he loved his wife. On that green water a half hour's paddle from any shore and another forty-five minute’s drive to another living soul, Desmond realized just how alone he was. The thought hit him hard like a hailstone on the head. He slumped into the canoe and covered his face to keep from crying. Covering his face didn't help.
That was when he heard the voice. It was nothing but a whisper in the wind.
"You've come back to me."
Desmond jerked up and looked all around, wiping his eyes and nose on his flannel sleeve. A light mist was beginning to rise from the surface of the water in the cool of morning, but there was nothing else to see. Desmond thought his hearing was starting to go with his memory when he heard the voice again, clearer and louder this time.
"You've been away for so long; I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."
"Who's there?" Desmond yelled.
"It’s me, don't you remember?" A gentle wind caressed Desmond's face. The breeze cooled the skin where his tears had dried.
"Where are you? I don't see you."
"I'm here. And there. And over there. I'm all around you. I'm under you."
Desmond wheeled around trying to follow the direction of the voice. He couldn't pinpoint it but it sounded close. There was no one there. Desmond grasped the side of the canoe and looked over to see if it was a swimmer playing a joke. But there was no one there either. Just his reflection in the water.
A small ripple went through his dark image. Desmond didn't remember looking so old. His hair had turned white, his eyes more sunken and vacant, cavernous wrinkles stretched across his face like deep cuts through thin fabric. Even his lips had affixed into a permanent frown.
"You've grown, Desmond." the voice said.
Desmond took one last look around the lake, hoping to find the reason his heart was beating so fast. "Where are you? Show yourself!"
"Look into the water." The voice answered.
Desmond looked over the canoe again only this time he saw no reflection. There was only a blackness staring back. The water had become dark and opaque and it seemed to drink the light of the sunrise. Desmond could see nothing.
"Look deeper."
Desmond moved his face closer to the dark water and peered just beyond the reach of the illuminating dawn. He thought he could see a form moving in the blackness. It was too big to be a fish and it was whispy, almost like a kind of seaweed or drifting sand. The smell of the water, that green and brown smell filled Desmond's nostrils as he leaned closer and closer to see. The whispy strands floated to the flow of the current and then suddenly revealed a face; cold, lifeless, and dark except for the pale white orbs that were its eyes staring straight into Desmond's. He fell back in the canoe at the sight, clutching the side of the boat with one hand and his chest with the other. He let out a small grunt that was meant to be a scream but the sound caught somewhere just beneath his ribs.
"Do not be afraid, Desmond," the voice whispered, "It is good to see your face once more."
Desmond was panting but his heartbeat slowed. At first he thought he was going into arrest but he then realized there was something strangely comforting about that voice. Something familiar. The cool air off the lake filled his lungs as he breathed heavy. It was an odd feeling of nostalgia, the sweat on his forehead mixed with the mist around the canoe and it was as if he was remembering something from a distant, forgotten part of his soul.
"Who are you?" he asked, shaking.
"Do you not remember, Desmond? You once called this lake your home. You would play beneath the skin of my water. You would drink from me as a child from his mother's breast. You would whisper secrets to me and they would ripple to my heart. We shared our pains, our joys, and our sorrows were lighter when you were with me."
The memories came crashing into Desmond's mind like a wave. He remembered at the young age of six, skipping rocks across the lake and speaking to someone far away. He remembered at seven diving deep into the darkness of the lake trying to reach the bottom. He would reach out to touch the dirt at the basin and instead would feel a hand reach back, cold fingers grasping at his own. He remembered countless early mornings just before dusk wading through the shallows and hearing distant sighs of someone in ecstasy as his feet mingled with the mud and minnows. Then he remembered the woman.
"I do remember! I was... I was just five years old. You saved me. I was drowning. Nobody saw me fall and I couldn't find the surface. But you found me. You found me and gave me air, didn't you? You... you kissed me and gave me a chance to breathe."
"... Yes." The voice sounded full of relief. Slowly Desmond crept to the side of the canoe and again looked into the deep. The face was still there but with eyes closed. She appeared to be crying as small bubbles of air collected around the corners of her eyes and floated to the surface.
"I do remember. Thank you."
She did not respond.
"But... what are you?"
"I am the lake. The lake is me." The voice spoke but the lips of the woman did not move. Desmond looked mesmerized into the pale eyes of the face that looked back. Green stands of light darted across her features as the reflection of the morning sun brightened the waters around her skin. "I am very old, Desmond. This lake is my home and my coffin. I died here a long, long time ago. I've longed to see your face again, to hear your secrets again, to be with you once more. I saw your tears, Desmond. Tell me, what troubles your heart?"
"A woman," he said. "A woman I loved has left me."
"For someone you love to leave you... that is the hardest pain."
Desmond could feel the tears well in his own eyes, "I've never felt this terrible." He wiped his nose on his flannel sleeve again, the hardened crust of his previous wipe stinging his reddened nostrils. He sniffed hard feeling the cool lake air fill him once again, "I want her back more than anything."
"Do you still love her?"
"Yes."
"Even after she hurt you this way?"
"Yes."
For a while the voice said nothing.
Then the lake trembled. Ripples rose around the canoe and he saw the sliver of fingers break the surface of the water. After the fingers came an arm, then a raven black mass of hair, a pale dark face, thin shoulders, and a small pair of breasts that glistened as the water melted from them. The woman leaned her arms on the side of the canoe and her hair tangled over her shoulders dripping the lake into the boat. Desmond smelled the water, the fish, the seaweed, and the woman. It was the same smell that entered his nose at five when he was drowning and breathing the lake and scared to lose his life.
The woman stared at Desmond with a new set of eyes. Beautiful, dark brown eyes that Desmond could not look away from.
"I will help you, Desmond." The woman spoke from her own lips, "This lake has secrets, too, and I've learned how to use them over my many years beneath its surface."
"You're going to help me get her back?"
"That is for the lake to decide." She looked away as if to recall some distant memory. "The lake will hear your desires and make judgment. But it will help you find what you seek."
The lake had begun to fog, and before Desmond realized he was surrounded in white mist. The canoe lapped at the surface of the water and the ripples went as far as he could see but the shore was now hidden from view. All he could see was the water and the woman.
"I need her back. I need her. I've got nothing without her or my daughter. She'll take everything from me for what I've done."
"Your worries will soon be over, Desmond." The woman climbed into the canoe. Desmond stood to prevent it from tipping but he felt no rock to the boat as she entered; it was as if the woman were weightless. She floated close to him and embraced him, the wet from her arms and breasts soaking into his overalls and flannel shirt. He felt the cold chill of the lake touch his skin and he closed his eyes.
"How can I get her back?" he asked.
Suddenly, the canoe hit rock. Desmond toppled and fell to the floor of the boat. He saw that he had somehow drifted to shore. He turned back to look across the fog covered lake. The woman was gone. But he heard the voice one last time.
"Come back tomorrow at sunset and you will have your answer."
______________________________
"You must do exactly as I say, Desmond."
He was standing in the canoe in the center of the lake. A chill wind stung his eyes. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but her voice spoke with a clear conviction.
"Beside you in the water, you will find a knife made of bone."
Desmond looked and floating there was a shaft of pale white like the spine of a dead fish. Desmond lifted the knife from the water as a small stream of mud and ooze loosed from crevices and holes in the hilt. Desmond examined the blade. It was thin and brittle with one edge sharpened. He touched it lightly to his finger and felt small jagged spikes that stuck to his skin.
"Cut open a wound in your hand."
Desmond looked around him, startled.
"You must do this, Desmond. The lake must taste of your blood to tell you your secret."
Slowly, Desmond lifted the blade to his open palm and stretched his arms over the water. With a quick stroke the jagged edge of the knife bit through his skin and he could feel the dew on the blade enter his blood. It was cold.
A steady river of red poured from the wound and trickled from his wrist into the water below. Desmond watched as the deep red droplets fell, mixing with the orange of the twilight sky and then the dark green of the lake. Swirls of steam hissed as more drops touched the surface of the water, and a gentle bubbling belied some movement underneath the surface.
"Now what?" Desmond asked.
"Now you wait," the woman replied, "You will receive your answer soon."
Desmond sat in the canoe and ripped part of his flannel sleeve from his shirt. He placed the jagged bone knife down and dabbed at the blood in his hand. The wound went deeper than Desmond had intended. He wrapped the cloth around the cut and tied it with his remaining hand and teeth.
"There," came the soft voice, "Your secret."
Amidst the greens and reds mingled in the lake came a small beige scrap of paper. Desmond leaned and lifted the soaking slip and held it with both hands. He gazed at the four small words.
IN HER LOVING ARMS
"I don't understand." He said, "What does this mean?"
"That is how you will die, Desmond."
"How I will die?" he could feel his blood beginning to race, "What do you mean how I'll die?"
"This lake is a special place, Desmond. The veil between life and afterlife is thin, especially here. The lake sees things. The lake hears things... it hears the cries and desires of all who come near. This lake took my life once, but out of pity. It took my life so that it could help others who've experienced the terrible pain of losing someone you love."
"But how does telling me how I will die help me get Irene back?"
"Read the words again, Desmond. See the phrase? See the meaning behind the words? You will die in the arms of a woman who loves you."
"But it could be any woman, couldn't it?"
"That could only be true if any woman could fall in love with you."
Desmond felt his heart skip a beat. There was only one woman in his life who ever truly loved him, and he knew it. Irene.
___________________________
The rain was falling hard and the mud at Desmond's feet was giving way to the hard stone underneath. He tried to shake off some of the grime but it clung to his soles like fleas on a dog. He pounded on the door one more time.
"Irene, you're not listening to me!"
"I'm listening to you, Des, and I'm telling you you're crazy." A voice inside was muffled by wood and vinyl paneling.
"You can't fight fate, Irene! I know how this ends and you'll come back to me!" Desmond kicked at the door and a bloodhound jumped at the window on the other side. His mouth frothed with white foam from all his barking. Desmond stepped back, surprised that his own hound didn't seem to recognize him. He put his wide brim hat back on and strode slowly to his truck, wet and angry. He climbed inside and wiped the rain from his face with his handkerchief. He didn't notice Annabel in the seat next to him.
"Are the things mom saying true?" she asked quietly.
"God almighty!" Desmond startled. She sat with her legs crossed, twisting the bone knife in her hands. "Annabel, you can't creep around like this. Does your momma know you're out here?"
She shook her head. Her dress and hair were wet with rain.
Desmond sighed and reached into the back seat and pulled out an old woolen blanket. It was stiff and scratchy but warm and Annabel pulled it tight around her.
"Now, what's your mother been saying about me?"
"Bad things, daddy. She says you're a no-good devil, and that you'd run out on us first the chance you get."
"Now darlin' you know that's not true."
"She's says you've been running around with Ms. Thompson from the general store. She says she saw you being too friendly with her."
"That's a bold-faced lie." Desmond said, a little too loudly. Annabel didn't have a response.
"Your mom and I have had some hard times. I might've said some things I shouldn't have said. Might've been a bit too hard on her. Never should have struck her." He sighed. "But I love your mother. She's my wife, and I promised I'd take care of the both of you. I know I'm going to win her back someday."
"She hates you, daddy. She says she's always hated you." Annabel said sadly, "What makes you so sure she'll take you back?"
"I've seen the words, Anna. I know how I'm gonna die. It might be tomorrow and it might be in a hundred years, but I'm gonna die with that woman by my side. My secret said I'd die in her arms."
"Did it say it'd be mom?"
"It said that those arms would be loving, and I don't know of any other woman to love me other than her."
"But how do you know it won't be some other woman? Christ, how do you know it won't be in my arms?"
"You watch your mouth, Anna. I don't wanna hear any more blasphemy." She turned away and watched the rain outside. Desmond wiped the brow under his hat, "I suppose I don't know, not truly. All I know is that you and your mom are the only things I've loved in this life and you two are the only things that have ever loved me. I suppose it’s got to be one or the other that I die with. And I suppose that isn't so bad, the more I think about it." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
"I don't want you to die, daddy. I don't want you to leave either." She had tears, "I just want everything back the way it was."
"It will be, darlin'. It will be. I promise you." Desmond started the truck and shifted it into gear. "How's about we let your momma cool off a bit and we go get something to eat?"
"Not right now, daddy." Annabel opened the truck door and stepped out into the rain, still clinging to the woolen blanket. She turned to face him, "You never should have hit her." The door slammed shut with a high-pitched creak and clang. He watched her walk through the mud and wet back to the house. Desmond sat there a long time, his foot pressed to the brake. After a while, the rain stopped as if waiting for something to be said. The sun had set and the lights in the house had gone dark before Desmond turned his headlights on and began the long drive home.
_______________________
"You get out. I don't want anything to do with you." Irene was busy adjusting the table lamp and drapes. She tried not to notice when Desmond walked into the living room.
"Just hear me out, Irene." Desmond started.
"You don't have anything I want to hear. We're through. Was it Annabel that let you in?"
"Damn it, Irene, we're not through! Just listen to me."
"No, you listen to me!" she turned to face him square in the face, "For twenty years we've been married and you never once raised a hand against me in spite. But as soon as I catch you talking to that pretty little thing in town you seem to get it into your head that you want something more. Well, you go and have you're little fun, Desmond. But I'm gone. And I'm taking Annabel."
"You've gone insane, woman. I've never cheated on you and never would."
The sun came in through the windows like a stranger looking in. It hit the floor in a checked pattern that brightened the greens and reds on Irene's flowery shoes.
"I don't care if you did or didn't," she said, "I want you out of my life and out of my home. I'm not about to risk you striking Annabel."
"Irene, I would never..."
"I'm seeing someone else." She said suddenly, "I spent over twenty damn years of my life with you and all it got me was a headstrong daughter and a black eye. You're worthless and I'm not about to waste any more time with you."
The words cut Desmond like a bullet through the chest. The sunlight was on her face now and he could see the wrinkles on her brow. She seemed older than he had ever noticed at that moment. The sadness and distance in her eyes were more than he could bear. He looked away.
"Who is he?" he asked. It was all he could think to say.
"Never you mind who he is." She said, returning to the lamp and drapes, "He makes good money and he treats me kindly, that's all that matters."
Desmond was too angry to cry. His fists balled. He was tempted to hit her again. Was this how the lake worked its magic?
"Tell me his name."
"I'll do no such thing. I think it’s about time you left, Des. I don't want to see your face again."
"You'll tell me his name!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. He didn't think it was hard, but she gasped in pain. She slapped him twice but he caught her hand at the third swing. He put fingers to his lip and felt blood seeping down his chin. In anger he pulled a fist back and aimed to make another black eye. It was a voice that stopped him.
"Daddy?" Desmond heard Annabel from the stairs. She had crept in and was seated on the topmost step, looking down into the living room.
"Annabel..."
"You said you would never hit her again."
"I know, and I meant it." He let go of Irene.
"Then what were you going to do just now?"
Desmond knew he was caught. Irene smiled a wicked smile at a criminal who had just been convicted.
"See what I told you, Annabel? He'll just hurt us again if we stick around."
"You shut your mouth. You've got no business running around with another man. Dammit, I'm still your husband."
"You're no husband of mine," she laughed, "Get your things, Annabel. We're leaving."
Annabel had already disappeared from the step and she was heard crying upstairs. Once he knew she was out of sight Desmond grabbed Irene and pulled her close.
"You've poisoned her against me." He spat as he spoke.
"It wasn't hard to do. It seems she already knew what kind of man you are." She wretched free from his grip and walked upstairs. Desmond could hear her soothing coos and whispers in Annabel's ear. He sat in the easy chair with the white linen cloths spread on the armrests and stared out the window with the checkered pattern drapes. It was raining again and lightning began to flash through the windowpane.
After a few minutes Irene came stomping down the stairs with two suitcases and a bright red straw hat. Annabel followed her down more slowly and the dog took up the rear with tail wagging as if nothing was wrong.
"We're leaving, Desmond. I'm not telling you where we're going this time," Desmond thought she almost sounded cheerful, "Don't try to find us. I've told the police everything and they'll hunt you down if you try any funny business."
Desmond tried to talk but couldn't. His life was crumbling around him and all he could do was watch Irene's flowery shoes as they stepped in and out of the lightning flashes on the floor.
"Nothing to say now, hmm? Well, I suppose guilt would silence any man from time to time. Come along, Annabel. We have a long drive ahead of us."
Desmond looked to Annabel as they walked to the door. For a brief moment she looked back. "You promised." It was all she could say as tears dripped on either side of her mouth. Irene pushed her through the door into the rain and the dog ran passed them, barking.
"Des, dear, you look terrible. You have blood all over your overalls." She gave one last smirk and slammed the door. Desmond looked at his chest and saw that a few drops of blood from his mouth had reached his front pocket. He tried to wipe away the stain but it had already dried and he only smeared the red in deeper. He looked out to see Annabel and the dog jump into the backseat of the sedan. Irene threw the suitcases into the passenger side, slammed the driver's door and in three seconds she started the car and skidded off. He knew then it was over.
____________________
Desmond stood in the middle of the canoe out at the center of the lake. He stood looking out at the mist in the early morning hours wondering how everything got so bad. He still had his bloodstain on his overalls. The pain had subsided and the bleeding had stopped, but the horror was now full in his mind. He had no idea how long he stayed in that easy chair, but his wife and his daughter never came back. It felt as though he were dreaming. He couldn't tell if he was there in that easy chair for only a few minutes or for days. The weather outside the window had never seemed to change and he could only hear the last two words from Annabel's mouth, "You promised." All he remembered was that one moment he stood up from that chair and knew he had to come back to the lake. Desmond looked at his reflection in the water and he saw that he had become ancient.
"You've come back to me." the quiet voice said. Desmond looked into the lake to see the woman, pale black skin and white bulging eyes.
"You lied to me."
"The lake never lies, Desmond."
"They're gone. Irene's gone. And Annabel."
"I know how hard it is to lose a child."
"I loved her. I loved them both." Desmond's eyes were filling.
"I know you did. But they left you. They both left you."
A calm wind pushed at Desmond's back. He could feel the breeze like soft fingers stroking his hair. The woman rose partly out of the water, looking up to his face with those changed, beautiful eyes.
"I will never leave you.” She said, “I loved you, too. I promise."
Desmond looked into her eyes, now brown and deep. "You promise?" She opened her arms wide and Desmond pitched forward into them, numb. She embraced him as they sank below the surface of the lake. She kissed him for the second time in his life and water from her lips filled his mouth. It was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. Her first kiss gave him life. Her second took it from him. Desmond felt the cold water soak his overalls, flannel, skin, and lungs. As his life began to leave him, Desmond’s last thought was of Annabel and how different her arms would have felt.
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