The Broken Lake

The Broken Lake

Published through Lands Atlantic Publishing

www.landsatlantic.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2010 by Shelena Shorts

Cover Photo by Suzanne Mazer and C. Paul

ISBN: 978-0982500514

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author or publisher.

H
aving already died twice, one would think I’d know what it feels like. But apparently not. That wonderful weightless feeling of floating was me being cradled in the arms of perfection, a perfection I absolutely confirmed on the day he carried me away from death.

For eighteen hours, I had been missing. Abducted. Holed up in a dark basement, waiting for Andy to kill me. Every second, I prayed that Wes would find me, hoping he’d picked up on the one clue my captor so arrogantly and inadvertently left. And somehow, even through the darkest hour, I knew everything would be okay.

It’s easy for me to say that with such confidence now, but the truth is, I was terrified. I had just convinced Wes to relax and not be so worried that our history would repeat itself. Just because I’d prematurely died on him in two previous lives didn’t mean it was going to happen again. I believed that with assurance. And he was starting to as well, until I ended up on death’s doorstep. Lifeless.

But the good news is that I’m here. The bad news is, I was sure Wes was freaking out about my future. I just didn’t know how much. My mom made it impossible for me to talk to him while I was in the hospital.

From the way she was acting when I first woke up, I thought she knew about Wes’ secret or my previous lives, but she didn’t. She only knew what Wes told the police, which was how he had overheard Andy demanding some information when he took me. The connection was enough to turn my mother into a lioness protecting her cub.

Up until then, she’d only known Wes’ uncle had founded medical research labs. Not that Wes is running them now, or that they’re working on an experimental medical breakthrough using serums derived from gator blood. And she certainly didn’t expect some crazy man to cause me to spend two days in the hospital for blood loss and a mangled hand.

And then, when I was finally heading home, all I wanted was to see Wes, and all she wanted was to hover. She talked to me the entire way, but I was somewhere in Westonland. I tried to hang in there while she talked about my upcoming finals, but zoned out once she started talking beyond graduation.

I was eighteen now and she had no idea that if the past repeated itself, I wouldn’t even have a future beyond nineteen. I briefly thought about whether or not I should warn her in case something did happen, but then I became distracted with plotting on how I could see Wes
alone
.

As soon as we pulled up to our house, she ran around to my side of the car to help me out.

“Mom, I’m fine. My legs aren’t broken.”

“You need to be careful, Sophie, if you ever want to write again.”

I’m not sure it was that serious. Andy did break my hand in seven places, but I was pretty sure I’d be okay. “I’m fine.”

“Just let me help you.”

I let her guide me out of the car and lead me into the house. Once inside the foyer, I reached for my bag with my left hand and she scowled at me. This was not going to be easy. I was about to protest when the phone rang. Still clutching my bag, she went to answer it.

“Hello? I told you, she isn’t up for any questioning. Well, I think it can wait. Fine.” She rolled her eyes and hung up the phone.

“Who was that?”

She started up the steps with my bags. “The police.”

Practically on her heels now, I prodded for answers. “What do they want?”

“They want to talk to you about Andy’s death.”

There wasn’t much to talk about in my opinion. He was sick, injected himself with serum stolen from Wes’ lab, and it killed him. Not sure what there was to discuss.

“Why?” We were in my room by then, and she was avoiding eye contact with me. “Why, Mom?”

“They just want to make sure he wasn’t murdered.”

I almost laughed at the ridiculous insinuation. “They already know that. He had a heart attack from the injection he gave himself.”

She turned around and let out a stressful sigh. “Yes, Sophie. He died from the injection. Except he couldn’t have given it to himself with his hand broken in a zillion places.”

My eyes narrowed as I watched her busily straightening up my already clean room. “But he did. I know he did, and his hand was fine.”

“Well, it wasn’t fine when the police arrived.”

The information registered. “Wes broke his hand?” I sat on the bed, half pleased and half worried.

She looked at me. “And he was alive when it happened.”

I pieced together the rest. “And they think Wes injected him afterward.” She nodded. “Well, that’s simply not true,” I said, shaking off the accusation.

“Well, you can tell them that when they arrive. They’re on their way.”

“What’s the big deal anyway? He almost killed me.” I had a hard time sympathizing with the dead man.

“I know. But in the grand scheme of things, even the victims can’t just take the law into their own hands and kill someone.”

“So…What? Do they want to arrest him or something? That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know. They just want your account of what happened.”

My head was starting to spin and it wasn’t from blood loss this time. I pushed her out of my room with the excuse that I needed to prep for a shower. In two seconds, I was dialing Wes’ number. Each ring dragged out in slow motion.

Finally, smooth and gentle, with an edge of eagerness, he answered. “Hello?”

“Wes!” A feeling of warmth radiated right out of my chest.

“Sophie.”

“Oh, my gosh, I’m dying here, Wes.” I sometimes have a wrong way with words, and as soon as they were out, I realized those were
not
the best choice. “I mean, I miss you. Please, please come and get me.”

He chuckled. “I’m on my way.”

“Wait. My mom says the cops are coming over here to ask me questions about what happened.”

I wasn’t too worried about the idea of them coming. In a way, I couldn’t wait to tell them that Andy got what he deserved, but somewhere deep inside I was worried about what sort of other questions they might ask. Like about Wes’ past, or my past, for that matter? How long could Wes go without anyone else picking up on his true identity? We couldn’t very well explain away the fact that he was given a cold-blood transfusion in 1915, and now he’s nearly immortal.

Now I started to get nervous about the police dipping into his background. I needed Wes to tell me what to say and what not to say. “What should I tell them?” I asked.

Without even a pause, he answered, “Tell them the truth.”

“Huh? I can’t tell them that. Then they’d know about you. You don’t mean…”

Certainly he didn’t want me to explain the real reason Andy took me—so he could obtain the secret to Wes’ near immortality. There was no way Dr. Thomas and Wes had spent almost a century keeping secret the fact that Wes was a one-of-a-kind medical prodigy, only to have it revealed like this. All of their work would be for nothing. And what would people do with him if they found out? I envisioned horrible scientific experiments and needle pricking. I cringed but he snapped me out of my approaching panic.

“No, Sophie. Not
that
truth. Just the truth about what Andy did. You don’t have anything to hide.”

“But what about Andy’s hand? They think
you
injected the serum.”

Soothing me with his calmness, he answered, “They can think what they want. I didn’t kill him.”

I sighed with a sense of trust and assurance that this whole nightmare would be over soon. After we hung up, I took a shower to get the hospital smell off of me. Aside from having to keep my hand dry, and the soreness from the needle marks in my arm, I felt good. I got out of the shower and took a good look in the mirror. I hardly had any swelling left in my cheeks. There were a couple of small bruises that could be covered up with a little makeup. The only other noticeable damage was a little cut mark in the corner of my mouth. Considering what I had been through, I didn’t look so bad.

I applied a little foundation to cover the bruises, and then blow-dried my hair. It was difficult to do basic things, but I was so ecstatic to be alive I practically bounced around my room getting ready.

The doorbell rang around 4:00. I went downstairs, and my mom had already opened the door. Two uniformed officers stood broad-chested in our hall, with their feet shoulder-width apart. She escorted them into the living room where I entered into an interrogation about the events surrounding my miserable and cruel captor’s death. Only now, it wasn’t about Andy trying to kill me, but about someone perhaps murdering him, a false victim. I tried not to glare as the first officer broke out his notepad.

“We’re sorry about what happened to you, Ms. Slone, but we have to ask you some questions. Standard ones, of course.”

I gave him no indication as to my willingness, or unwillingness, to answer his “questions,” and my mother, still standing with her arms crossed, and watching, shifted her weight to one side.

The second officer chimed in. He was a little more rounded than the younger officer and his oval face and balding head somehow made him appear more sympathetic.

“Ms. Slone, we understand that you’ve been through a lot and have suffered a great deal. We don’t mean to disrupt your recovery, but this is our job.”

I raised my eyebrows, hoping he’d get to the point.

He continued. “We know Mr. Walters tried to harm you.”

That was the first time I had heard Andy’s last name spoken out loud, and hearing it mentioned so formally seemed to give him a level of undeserving respect.