AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you see the bonfire?” Maire asked, scanning the horizon for smoke.
“There,” Samuel said, pointing off to the west. White tendrils of smoke rose above the trees. “I think if we just follow the shoreline, we can get back to them. It’s not far.” He began moving down the rocky incline and then turned back, offering his hand to Maire. She took it and, together, they picked their way down a staircase of slippery rocks until they reached the lip of the lake.
“You think it will hold us?” Maire asked. The lake looked frozen, but just the day before the temperature had been well above thirty-two degrees. She didn’t relish the thought of her foot breaking through thin ice and into the frigid water.
“It’s like zero degrees out. I’m sure we’re fine,” Samuel assured her, and they began walking.
It was a slow journey. Chest-high frozen bulrushes and canary grass snapped as they trudged along the frozen shoreline. Maire stuck close to Samuel, and though she knew no one was coming after them, every rustle and swish made her heart jump.
Samuel, sensing her trepidation, reached for her mittened hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re close.”
Maire smiled up at him gratefully. Was it wrong to be holding Samuel’s hand? They were just trying to steady one another, keep each other from stumbling. But what would Lina say if she found out? Maire pushed away the image of Lina’s hurt expression, pushed away Figgy’s self-satisfied smirk. She liked the feel of Samuel’s hand in hers, wishing the woolen fabric of her glove wasn’t a barrier to the warmth of his skin.
Something had passed between the two of them. A connection. But maybe that was because of the dangerous prank of chicken they had played. Their senses were heightened but maybe Samuel and Lina’s relationship had run its course. Maybe Maire had a chance. She stopped walking.
“What’s the matter?” Samuel asked, stopping along with her.
Maire pulled off her mittens, shoved them in her pockets, and then reached for Samuel’s hand. His skin was cold but still a current of electricity passed between the two of them.
“Maire,” Samuel said gently. “What are you doing?”
She knew this wasn’t the time. It was morbid, wrong. But she didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think about the dead man, about Lina or Figgy or Damon and the twins. She reached up and touched his face, traced his lips with her finger, then leaned in. Their lips touched and Samuel’s hand slid beneath her coat, searching for skin.
That’s when she saw him. The silhouette of a man crouched among the reeds. Maire froze as the man slowly rose unsteadily from his hiding spot.
“You think you’re going to get away with this?” His voice was low and dangerous. He was ageless in the murky light from the stars; she couldn’t see his face. He was only shadows and words.
It was impossible. He was dead. Maire was sure of it.
“We’re sorry,” Samuel said, raising his hands, palms out.
From behind the reeds, the man’s breath came out in white swirls and was tinged with the stinging scent of whiskey. Maire eased backward, her hand still clutching Samuel’s.
Suddenly she was being pulled from the reeds and out onto the lake. “Run,” Samuel said through clenched teeth. She let him pull her along until they were running, struggling to stay upright on the ice, not daring to look over their shoulders, certain that the man with the pipe was not far behind.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE ASSISTANT
Fern watched as Maire and then Camille jumped back into the lake before sliding in after them. The water wasn’t quite as piercing cold as the first time she went in to rescue Maire, but it still sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. How long could someone stay beneath the surface before losing consciousness? Ned and Samuel had been down there for quite a while. Three minutes, maybe more.
She felt something brush against her arm. Camille. She was pointing through the murky water and that’s when Fern saw the large shadow moving toward them like a great school of fish. Three figures. Two kicking their legs furiously, one being pulled limply through the water. Samuel, Ned, and Maire. Ned appeared to be unconscious.
Camille patted her chest, as if indicating she was out of air, and pointed upward, then disappeared, churning up the water as she moved to the surface. The others’ progress was slowing and Fern swam toward them, knowing that all of them could end up dead at the bottom of the lake if they didn’t get out of there now. Fern reached for something to snag onto, an arm, a leg, anything that would help her pull one of them to safety. Her fingers found the hard muscle of Samuel’s bicep. She waved Samuel and Maire off and they released Ned into her arms, swimming upward to take a breath.
Fern reached her arms around Ned’s chest and began swimming toward the hole, using the rope that tethered the bags as a towline. Upward they went, the surface shimmering above her. Suddenly hands were on them, grabbing fabric, skin, anything possible to pull the two of them to safety. Ned was yanked first from the water, followed by Fern. She crawled from the hole, trying to gulp in air. Fern saw Camille on her knees and watched as she pinched Ned’s nose shut, covering his mouth with her own, and breathed. She started chest compressions and Fern found that she was counting out loud right along with her. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”
After what felt like an eternity, Ned coughed, turned his head and vomited lake water. He was going to be alright.
Why hadn’t she just let him drown? After what he had done to Fern all those years ago, he deserved nothing less. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and Fern glanced up to find Samuel looking down at her, disconcerted. Had he caught the look of disappointment on her face when Ned finally took a breath? Fern nodded to thank him.
“Those lifeguards would have come in handy right about now, right?” Samuel said darkly.
Fern ignored him as the medical team that was on standby moved in. She watched as they tended to Ned, who, like a roach, couldn’t be drowned. He was quick to refuse a recommended trip to the hospital to get a more thorough examination. He wanted that money. Maire, Camille, and Samuel were wrapped in blankets, shivering from the cold. Maire was nearly inconsolable. Even after it was clear that Ned was going to be alright, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
One of them could have died in the lake. Ned Bennett nearly died. Not that she would have mourned his loss—the world would be a better place without him—but the optics would be terrible. God, that sounded awful. She hated Ned Bennett and rightly so, but she didn’t wish anyone dead, did she?
Fern could hear Cat’s voice in her head. “I knew you would fuck this up, Fern. Jesus, you took a brilliant concept and ran it into the ground. Worthless.”
