DEVIL'S LAKE

PART I

epigraph

For those who dare to live when hope seems far away.

Demon (n.)

c. 1200, from Latin daemon "spirit," from Greek daimon "deity, divine power; lesser god; guiding spirit, tutelary deity" (sometimes including souls of the dead); "one's genius, lot, or fortune;" from PIE *dai-mon- "divider, provider" (of fortunes or destinies), from root *da- "to divide."

Used (with daimonion) in Christian Greek translations and Vulgate for "god of the heathen" and "unclean spirit."

- etymonline.com

Today, I might do it . . . or maybe I won't. The day is almost too beautiful for dying. It's pleasantly warm, and a gentle breeze glides over the lake, teasing at my hair.

I'm supposed to be home, greeting my grandparents, thanking them for coming. I'm supposed to feel proud. That's what Aunt Lindsay told me when I suggested not buying the cap and gown.

"Why wouldn't you attend your high school graduation?" she said back in April. "Alison, really. Just because you're not my own daughter doesn't mean I won't pay for things. I want to see you walk. I'm sure you're cousins do too."

I didn't protest. I let her buy what she wanted, tried to put on a smile, pretend for her I was happy. She seems the only person oblivious to just how broken I am. Maybe it's intentional. After all, her brother did try to kill me, and she's in denial about that.

But here I am, sitting in the grass behind the beach, my shoulders cocooned under my beach towel, my eyes fixated on the lake my dad nearly drowned me in.

Seven years . . . almost eight. That's how long I should have already been in the ground. That's how long my parents have been there.

I didn't tell Aunt Lindsay where I was going—not really. She saw me heading out, asked me what I was doing.

"Uh . . . car needs gas," I said.

"I just filled it for you yesterday."

"Your car," I said, quickly grabbing the other set of keys. "Thought I'd make it up to you."

She grinned. She always gives that grin when she thinks I'm turning over some new leaf in social behavior.

"Okay, but be back soon," she said. "I've still got—"

But I didn't stay to hear her finish. I was out the door, on the road, phone off. I don't even know why I brought it.

Devil's Lake. She'd probably have some variation of her own panic attack if she knew I was here. She hates this place, is superstitious about this place. Some dark energy lurking around, attaching itself to people, offering some convenient explanation for what her brother did.

The lake is little more than a dark oval basin between two towering wooded bluffs. Cascading down the sides of the bluffs are large, gray boulders. They look little more than tumbling stones down the side of a cliff, but in truth, most are larger than a person.

Everything about this state park makes me feel small like we've all happened upon Brobdingnag. I half expect to see a giant hand reach over the top of the west bluff, but of course, it doesn't happen.

I've been staring at the lake for over an hour, thinking about what my cousin said to me six months ago.

"Why don't you just do it already?" Mia said to me late one night in December. "Walk into that stupid lake. Go back to where you belong."

I haven't been able to get those words out of my head all semester. Mia's always been a little rude, but not that rude.

And now it feels like time's up. That's what graduation is to me. On your mark, get set, go. Time to be independent, to take care of yourself. And I can't. I don't know how. I'm—

I inhale deeply, trying not to stir tears.

Stop pondering. Just do it.

But her words lowered my GPA, sent me to the principal's office, the guidance counselor's office. They know I'm more broken than ever. They know if I don't change, I'll fail at life.

So do it!

I lower my face onto my knees and shiver.

"Don't cry. Don't cry. Not in public," I whisper to myself.

The north shore beach buzzes with activity—people grilling lunches, children frolicking around the beach and splashing in the water. I try to drown out their screams and concentrate on my breathing. It doesn't help.

A heaviness weighs down on my emotions, stronger and with more force. I could puke I feel so terrible.

You drove all this way. What's the point if you don't do it?

Before the tears can fully form, I drop my beach towel and force myself to walk over to the lake's edge. Though no one around me hesitates on running straight in, it looks cold. It seems to warn me to flee. I almost do, but somehow there's a sense of relief.

That's right. It'll be over soon now.

Tracing the perimeter of the lake, I'm forced to maneuver around several groups of people. I nearly bump shoulders with a thin-faced man, then pass a group of college students. A red haired girl sits with her arms around her knees as a guy rubs sunscreen over her back. A blond-haired guy sits beside them, partially on the grass, slapping a football repetitively in his hands.

"So after lunch," I overhear the blond guy say. "Should we go hiking or . . ."

But then his eyes land on me. He stops smacking the ball and gives me a look – a look that causes me to avert my eyes and comb my fingers through my hair.

"Braydon, why would I put on a bikini to go hiking?" the redhead beside him says. "I'm tanning, and then I'm going swimming."

A few paces away, I stop along the empty western end of the beach, past the buoys that mark the end of the swimming area. There's more seaweed here, but this is the best spot I can find. Still, I linger at the lake's edge, letting the water lick my toes. It terrifies me. Why have I chosen to die in the manner that frightens me to death?

"Maybe I haven't," the words escape from my mouth in a whisper. "Maybe I'm just looking for a cure. If I walk in, I won't be afraid of the water anymore."

I cling to that as I close my eyes and enter the lake. It's a slow journey. My body trembles. My legs feel like rubber. Seaweed tickles at my feet and ankles. With each step, my heels sink into warm sand, giving me the illusion that I'm edging toward quicksand, and the liquid keeps rising around me—my knees, my thighs, the bottom of my bathing suit.

You can do this.

But it feels like cold, dead hands washing over me, trying to pull me in. They welcome me home, to the grave I never should have escaped.

I can no longer move. I'm frozen with terror, and the water weighs heavily upon my torso. Still, I bend my knees, covering my shoulders and wetting the ends of my strawberry-blond hair.

My breath quickens. Tears stream down my face, and I open my eyes. My eyes dart around—a few distant heads bobbing in the water. The shore is so far away.

"What am I doing?" I cry out, and then the memories of what my father did flood my mind.

I am submerged under dark waters with two hazy light sources rippling from above. The top of my head aches from the constant pulling at my hair. My lungs feel tightly clenched within my chest, squeezing out the last bits of air, desperate for me to take another breath. But, I can't.

His hand grips me by the hair and holds my entire body under water. My legs kick. There is no surface for my feet to make contact with. Below me seems an empty abyss. I struggle to untangle his hand from my hair as my lungs and throat scream at me. Involuntarily, my mouth opens, and I gulp a large breath. Water floods my mouth, and my lungs burn. My fingers brush the smooth side of something hard.

Everything shifts. I am simply floating underwater. There is no hand above me. There is nothing around me for my hands to touch, nothing for my feet to touch. I am surrounded in a vacuum of dark water.

Though short, my mind seems to make the memory last forever. I stand straight up as waves of dizziness pass over me, and a wind blows through my hair and gives me goosebumps.

I'm going to faint. I'm going to faint, and I'm going to drown. I might as well just—

"Alison."

I startle at the sound of my name, but I don't know if I heard it or imagined it. Turning my head frantically, I search for the owner, my rescuer, but my eyes land on the west bluff looming over the lake. That's when I see the figure looking at me from the edge of the bluff.

He stands among the trees and large gray boulders, his dark hair wavering in the wind as his loose clothing pulls against his thin frame. Something about him is out of place, but—

My vision fades to black. There's a splash. Water is engulfing my face, bubbling up and flooding my nostrils and mouth. I am fainting. I am fainting in the water.