Paradox Lake Read online

  Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr …

  “Mama,” Anna suddenly calls out through her open window.

  “Yes, dolly?”

  “What’s that noise?”

  I try and paint a smile on my face since she can no doubt see it in the moonglow along with the flashlight.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I say. “Probably just a bird. Maybe an owl, if I had to guess.”

  I’m making this shit up, but it’s not exactly a bad guess.

  “It’s spooky, Mama,” she says, crossing her arms tightly around her chest. “Are you coming up soon?”

  “Yes, honey,” I say. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. I’m going to lock up now.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Don’t take too long.”

  I head into the house to the sound of Anna closing her window and locking it.

  First things first. Turn off the flashlight, store it on the counter beside the sink, and pour a fresh mug of wine. Second thing. Pull out Tim’s business card. I can’t get the image out of my mind of that shadowy thing moving through the woods behind the woodpile and then entering onto the trail only to disappear in the thick foliage. A huge part of me wants to call or text him, explain what I saw. But then another part of me knows he’ll just think I’m being a scaredy cat. A frightened grown woman who’s afraid not of her own shadow necessarily but the shadow of some tree branch or something silly like that.

  In the end, I decide to shove the card back into my pocket. I’m about ready to turn out the lights, but there is one thing I want to do first. My laptop is set out on the kitchen table. I sit down in front of it, open the lid, and boot it up. I sip my wine until the Google search engine appears. That’s when I type in “Paradox Lake Trail.”

  The first few hits I get are sponsored by the Paradox Lake Association. I peruse the site but don’t see anything in particular about the Paradox Lake Trail. I decide to switch to images. In one of the first photos that comes up, I spot what looks to be the very trailhead that’s located behind the woodpile. It’s a black-and-white picture that looks like it was taken many years ago.

  I click on the photo. It belongs to an old newspaper story that came out in 1986. My eyes are perusing the headline when Anna shouts out for me once more.

  “Mama, you promised you were coming up!” she barks.

  “Crap,” I whisper to myself.

  No choice but to leave my detecting until morning. But that doesn’t mean I don’t catch the headline to the story first. “Local Girl Goes Missing on Paradox Lake Trail.” The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. In a big way, I don’t want to read anymore. Not tonight. Not when I’ve just seen a shadowy figure enter onto the trailhead behind the woodpile. Not when some animal is howling in the night, its high-pitched voice reverberating desperately across the lake. Not when I’m already spooked beyond words.

  Getting up, I lock the kitchen door and apply the dead bolt. I also head into the living room and lock the front door and also apply the dead bolt. The windows are already closed and locked since I never bothered to open them in the first place. As for the light that’s still on in the kitchen, I’ll feel better if it stays that way, damn the wasted energy. The Big Bad Wolf might think twice about entering into a house that’s well lit.

  Heading up the wood stairs, I go into Anna’s bedroom. Just as I expected, she’s sitting in bed, the covers tucked up under her chin, both her hands gripping her phone.

  “It’s about time, Rosie,” she says.

  What happened to mama?

  “I trust you’re reading your Kindle app,” I say. “Something good like Wuthering Heights or To Kill a Mockingbird?”

  “Yuck,” she says. “I’m playing Minesweeper.”

  “At least you’re not texting,” I say, going to the window and opening it just enough to provide some fresh air.

  I come around the bed, kiss her on top of her head. I recall a time when I would have held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep. The memory of my Charlie and Allison would have been fresh and it was all I could do to never let go of Anna. But of course, you have to let go eventually. What’s the old saying? If you love someone, set them free. But, boy oh boy, is it a hard thing to do or what?

  “Goodnight, my love,” I say.

  Coming from outside the window, Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr … Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr …

  “What the heck is that, Mom?” Anna begs. “It’s soooo spooky.”

  “If I had to guess,” I say, feeling a chill run up my spine, “it’s an owl. Or maybe another kind of bird.” I finger-comb her thick dark hair. “We’re not in the Albany suburbs anymore.”

  “Yeah,” she says, in her deadpan voice. “The jungle.”

  I guess I stepped into that one.

  “Like I said, don’t worry about it. Only friendly animals in this particular jungle.”

  “Good to know,” she says.

  “Get some sleep,” I say. “Tomorrow we’ll do a little trail clearing, have a picnic on our little private oasis, and do some swimming. But come day after Labor Day, we’re gonna dig into your studies.”

  “You’re just chuck full of good news these days, Rosie.”

  Turning, I head for the open door.

  Saaaaarrrrr … Saaaaarrrrr …

  “Mama,” Anna says, as I reach the doorway.

  She doesn’t have to say a word for me to know what she’s about to ask. Slowly I turn. My daughter is gazing at me with the biggest wide puppy dog eyes you ever did see. I can’t help but gaze at the room, the mostly bare pine wood walls, the bare wood floor, and a bed that must be older than me. It probably won’t be the most comfortable accommodations, but like the great Warren Zevon once said, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

  What do you think, Allison? She’s twelve years old.

  Am I spoiling her?

  She’s only twelve once, Rosie.

  “Okay, kiddo,” I say, “but just this one time. You’re getting too old to have your old ma sleeping in the same bed.”

  She paints a bright smile on her pretty face. A face that screams of Charlie and Allison. Undressing down to my undies, I slip under the covers and fight my daughter for at least a small piece of pillow.

  “Goodnight, Anna,” I say, hugging her slim arm.

  “Night, Mama,” she says.

  Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr …

  “Night, Mr. Owl,” Anna adds. “I hope you go to sleep soon too.”

  I’m standing at the trailhead, my eyes focused on the battered old tin trail marker. Paradox Lake Trail. Although the trailhead is overgrown with brush and tree limbs, there is a bright light coming from deep inside the trail. I’m attracted to the light. Pushing aside the brush, I step onto the trail and follow the light. Soon, I see two ghostly figures reflected inside the brightness. A tall figure and a shorter figure. They are coming for me. It doesn’t take me long to make out their faces.

  It’s Charlie and Allison.

  “Rosie, baby,” Charlie says, a happy ear-to-ear smile on his handsome, scruffy face, “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Took you long enough, Rosie mama,” Allison says, fingering her lush, sandy-blond hair. My first daughter has grown into a beautiful young woman. She gives me a kiss on the cheek while Charlie takes me into his arms.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  They both look at me with wide eyes and scrunched brows, like it should be obvious where I am.

  “You’re home,” they say.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE BIG BAD Wolf stands below the open bedroom window, listening to the women sleeping in the bed. He doesn’t have to see them to know what they look like. He sees the girl in her long Lady Gaga t-shirt and pink underpants, sleeping on her side in a curled-up, fetal position. He sees her mother, sleeping on her side, facing her daughter, dressed only in her red bra and matching silky panties. The two are snoring gently. So gently, they barely make a sound.

  Closing his eyes, he breathes in through his nose.

  What a big nose you hav
e.

  The better to smell your bodies with.

  He chomps down repeatedly with his upper and lower jaw.

  What big teeth you have.

  The better to eat you both.

  He slips his tongue in and out of his mouth, like a snake.

  What a big tongue you have.

  The better to lap up your blood.

  About-facing, the Big Bad Wolf gallops across the backyard, past the woodpile and onto the dark Paradox Lake trailhead.

  Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr, he howls into the moonlit sky.

  CHAPTER 12

  WAKING UP WITH the sun, I head down to the sunroom studio and over a freshly brewed cup of coffee, start in on a brand-spankin’-new project. I’m not one to plan what I’m about to create. Like a mystery writer who writes his novels by the seat of his pants—Tony works this way when he’s writing fiction—I just go with my gut. This morning, I find myself starting on a bust. I’m not even sure if what I’m creating is a man or a woman yet, or a boy or a girl. All I know is I’m shaping the heavy block of clay so that it resembles the ovular structure of a human head. This process alone eats up the time it takes to drink a full cup of coffee.

  Getting up from my stool, I head back into the kitchen and make another cup. That’s when I spot my computer. My coffee in hand, I sit down in front of it, and once more peruse the article that I brought up prior to heading to bed last night.

  “Local Girl Goes Missing on Paradox Lake Trail.”

  Setting my coffee mug beside the computer, I feel a pit form in my gut. The Paradox Lake Trail begins in my backyard. Could the little girl mentioned in the article have begun her hike just a few feet away from where I’m sitting? As much as I don’t want to read the article, I can’t help but get started on it. It’s the same sensation I get when I pass by a bad car wreck. You don’t want to look at it, but you can’t help but look at it. It’s human nature.

  The article is about a twelve-year-old girl named Sarah Anne Moore who was said to have told her mother she was heading out for a hike on a Friday afternoon in the summer of 1986. According to the report, the tall-for-her-age, long-brunette-haired, brown-eyed girl packed a sandwich and a Diet Coke into a knapsack and began her hike on the trail at its trailhead, which was located behind her family home.

  Her family home …

  That’s when I stop reading.

  The kitchen I’m sitting in right this very second belonged to the Moore family. The reality of this is enough to make me break out in goose bumps. Right now, I’m sitting in Sarah Anne’s kitchen. I continue reading. Sarah was gone four hours when her mother got worried enough to call the sheriff. While Sarah had been known to hike the trail at least once a week during the summer months, she always returned within a couple of hours. What her mother feared the most is that she might have decided to take a swim and, in fact, drowned. But when local sheriff’s deputies examined the trail, there was no sign of Sarah. There was also no sign of her clothing or backpack. It was like she just disappeared into thin air. The article then goes on to say that authorities teamed up with state police to scour not only the trail but all of Paradox Lake.

  I go back to the Google page and scroll down to the next story. I click on it. It’s from the same paper and the date is a couple of days after that of the first article. The headline that goes with it is enough to break my heart, even more than thirty years after the fact.

  “Moore Girl’s Remains Discovered Off Hiking Trail.”

  Here’s how I react: tears immediately fill my eyes and my breathing grows shallow. My hands begin to tremble while I continue to read about how she was apparently abducted and raped while walking the heavily forested trail. Her assailant, a local Paradox Lake young man by the name of Theodore Peasley, was arrested not long after her body was discovered once it had been established that the bite marks on her body matched those of his dental records. Even more amazingly, his own parents warned the police over and over again that one day he would do something bad to some innocent child. It wasn’t a matter of if it ever happened, it was a matter of when and how. The when occurred in the summer of 1986 and the how was rape, strangulation, and mutilation of the flesh by over one hundred severe bite marks.

  I sit back and try to breathe.

  “That poor, poor girl,” I whisper to myself. “I hope the bastard Theodore rots in prison for all his days.”

  It feels good to say it. It dawns on me that I have no idea how long the Paradox Lake trail runs. Clicking on the trail’s Google Map, I see that it runs almost the entire perimeter of the big lake. If Sarah was gone for four hours, she might have been murdered miles into her hike. This might sound crazy, but a big part of me suddenly feels the need to see where it happened. Maybe it has something to do with sitting inside what used to be her kitchen, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve become a part of her life now. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic. How many families have rented this house in the thirty-three years since Sarah died? Hundreds I’m guessing. Anna and I are just another pair of guests who will come and go.

  The knock at the door startles me so much that I spill my coffee. I bound up.

  “Shit, shit,” I say, going for the roll of paper towels set out on the counter. Ripping off four or five of them, I place a couple on the spill that’s formed on the table not far from my computer. The rest I place over the puddle on the floor. I then make my way across the living room to the front door.

  “Mom, who’s there?” Anna calls down from the top of the stairs.

  “Hang on, Anna,” I say. “I have no idea.”

  “It’s a little early for visitors,” she says. “I hope it’s not Tony.”

  She’s got a point. If it is, in fact, Tony, I’m going to be more than a little pissed off. But then, if it is him, I’m sure he has nothing but good intentions. Gazing out the small rectangular pane of glass embedded in the door, I don’t see anything but an empty porch and semi-overgrown front lawn. If someone is standing on the other side of the door, they’re doing so out of sight.

  “You’re not gonna just open the door, are you?” Anna asks.

  “Relax,” I say. “We’re up in the woods, not the hood.”

  But then I think about the murder that happened here all those years ago and I realize even a place as beautiful and seemingly serene as Paradox Lake can be dangerous. Mortally dangerous.

  “Hello,” I say into the small pane of glass. “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  “Try again,” Anna says nervously.

  “Go into the master bedroom, Anna,” I say. “Look out the window and tell me if you see anything.”

  “Roger that,” she says, heading into the master bedroom, which is located at the front of the small bungalow. I wait for a beat. Then, “Nothing, Mom. Not a thing.”

  No choice but to open the door. Heart beating against my ribs, I unlock the dead bolt, then unlock the big wood door. Stepping out onto the porch, I see immediately that no one other than myself occupies it. I shift my focus to the gravel drive. Just my Mini Cooper parked by the unattached garage.

  “Well, that’s bizarre,” I whisper aloud.

  “Anyone there?” Anna asks, poking her head out the open door.

  I turn quick.

  “No one,” I say. “Not a soul. Maybe I imagined the knocking.”

  “That means we both did, Rosie,” Anna says, not without attitude.

  “Good point,” I say.

  For another few seconds, I just gaze out onto the empty lawn and the trees that flank the front property.

  “Hey, look,” Anna says, after a time. “Somebody left us a package.”

  I shift my focus to her as she pulls a plastic grocery bag off the doorknob. The bag has the Ferguson General Store green pickup truck logo printed on it. Before I can protest, Anna opens the bag.

  “Oh my God,” she says, her face lighting up like a bulb.

  She pulls something out of the bag. It’s a book. A book that’s protected in a plastic fr
eezer bag. More goose bumps.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I ask.

  “Little Red Riding Hood,” Anna says, her face filled more with wonder than actual joy. “The rare edition we saw yesterday in Tim’s store.”

  “That would be the one,” I say.

  Once again, I gaze out onto the front lawn. Tim must have pulled up, dropped the book off as a surprise, knocked on the door, and took off before we could thank him. Could he be any more thoughtful? I feel my insides warm up, like I’m stepping into a soothing hot bath. Could it be that I’m falling for the general store owner before I even get to know him?

  Poor Tony … I never intended to come up here and fall for anyone …

  “Do you think Tim dropped this off, Mom?” Anna asks.

  “No other explanation for it, sweetheart,” I say. “I’d ask you to call him and thank him, but he’ll be over later tonight for dinner. You can thank him then.”

  She nods and clutches the book to her chest.

  “My first rare edition,” she says. “You think it’s worth some cash?”

  “You’re not planning on selling it, are you?”

  She smiles slyly.

  “EBay never crossed my mind,” she says.

  “Go get some breakfast, lady,” I say. “We have some trail clearing to do.”

  CHAPTER 13

  BY MIDMORNING WE’RE both standing at the trailhead, a pair of manual hedge trimmers gripped in my hands, while Anna insists on using a hatchet. We found the tools in the small unattached garage located beside the house at the top of the driveway.

  “Be careful with that thing,” I say. “You bury it in your leg, we’re a dozen miles away from the nearest hospital.”

  She’s awkwardly chopping away at an overgrown branch, working up a sweat. If I get a half hour of manual labor out of her, I’ll be lucky. But the truth of the matter is that it’s just plain fun to work on a project together that doesn’t involve the use of a computer or some other digital twenty-first-century tool. I busy myself with chopping away at the overgrown scrub and twigs, clearing the trailhead opening so that it looks like a trailhead.