Lakeside Legacy

It was quiet by the lake that summer. His family had returned, as ritual, but it seemed that theirs would be the only lakeside legacy coming back to hide away during these warmer months. The Nyugen’s were trapped in London, at least that is what he’d gathered from Connie’s social media. Mr Richards had gone bankrupt and had been forced to sell their lake house, quite the scandal to their entire family as it had been in the Richards’ name nearly two hundred years. And the Coleman’s… Well, nobody expected them to ever come back.

Sam lay on the dock, the boards bobbing gently with the lake’s breathing. Shorts still damp from the dip he’d taken earlier. His chest, bare. At last. Two thin pink scars ran across the line of his pectoral muscles, an oddly distant reminder of a body he once loathed. As the breeze caressed his skin, he smiled. It all felt correct. For the first summer of his life, he was able to enjoy the sun, the water. Actually enjoy the gift that was the lakeside cottage.

He closed his eyes. Music from his little red speaker drummed on in rhythm to bird song. He heard a car pull up and assumed that his parents had returned from town. There was still a few hours of sunlight left, and with nothing to do here but relax, he allowed himself to drift off into peaceful, water logged sleep.

He was cold, that was what stirred him. Some time had passed, as the sun now hung low, casting a deep red glow over the hills, reflecting onto the choppy lake. The wind had picked up during his nap, the hair on his arms now standing on end. The red speaker seemed to have died at some point, though he could still hear music. Drifting on the breeze, he heard a soft somber melody, along with reverent murmurs, and the sickly sweet smell of jasmine. Lazily rolling to his side, he yawned, only to feel his jaw fall open wider. Down the shoreline, a procession had appeared. Candlelit and mournful. The Coleman’s walking down to their dock.

Deep in his gut, he felt the guilt boiling. The fear. The shame. The secret of last summer was there leering over him, threatening to drop a thick thread of spit right in his eye, like some schoolyard bully. He was certain that they would not come back here. How could they? Sam could barely return himself.

Exactly one year ago today. Of course, it was. He kicked himself for his negligent memory, then thanked it for its ability to so stubbornly forget. The memories then flooded back to him, striking like whiplash. The dark dock, dark figures, a darker intent. Last summer dug her talons deep into his shoulder, forcing him to remember.

Nina Coleman was a cherub of a girl. Rosy cheeks, thick strawberry blonde curls falling down her back, and a devilish cackle that screamed the terrible two’s. He’d often watch from his dock as her mother and father paddled around with her in the water, her bright pink life jacket swallowing her ever so slightly. Their Collie dog relentlessly running and lunging into the water, much to the little girl’s delight. Her parents, always smiling, always beautiful and joyous. They were a picture.

Sam had known the Coleman’s since he was Nina’s age. Their family had been coming to the lake for generations, much like his had been. They were all part of this strange, isolated flock that migrated back to the shorefront each summer, leaving their own stories and worries behind, to create new, temporary and carefree lives amongst the trees and water. He really didn’t know anything about them. Just that they came here like he did each year. That he could trust them, and them him. He’d watch Nina some nights while they made the trip into town, to see a film or just get away from the toddler for a few hours. And he’d enjoyed playing and caring for the girl. Though he had never really enjoyed being around children, Nina held some innocent power over him. And he loved that little girl as if she were a sister.

Exactly one year ago, Mr and Mrs Coleman had asked him to watch Nina, as they had plans in town. Dinner, a movie, nothing too extravagant. A few hours of childcare for a hundred dollars, loose change to people like the Coleman’s. That evening had been like any other. Nina, at first defiant, eventually wore herself out enough to request bedtime, and all he had to do was read a story, tuck her in, and leave the door open a crack so that their Collie dog could come and go from her room as he wished. Most of the evening was him watching TV, trying to find a spot with phone service, and snacking from the lavish Coleman pantry.

It was almost midnight when he heard their car pull up on the gravel driveway. Later than they usually arrived, but nothing to be concerned about. He began to collect his things as he heard the door swing open. Looking up, he saw Mr Coleman carrying a limp Mrs Coleman in his arms.

“Hey, is she alright?” Sam moved towards them, concerned. Mr Coleman, headed straight up the stairs, turned to look at him. A moment of surprise crossed his face, as if he’d forgotten about Sam. As quick as the surprise had come, it turned to reassurance.

“Oh, Sam, I completely forgot you would be here. Uh, yes, she’s fine. Just a few too many drinks out. Fell asleep on the ride back, didn’t have the heart to wake her.”

Sam nodded, taking in Mr Coleman’s face. A light sheen of sweat building on his brow. He shifted, the weight in his arms likely causing him discomfort.

“Sam, I’ve got to get her to bed. Do you mind if I drop your pay over tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah. That should be fine.”

“Great. Well, thank you again. Best be off now, buddy.” Mr Coleman stood firmly on the stair, waiting for Sam to leave. With a small wave, he left and headed back to his family’s cottage.

He should have trusted that feeling in his gut bubbling away as he made the short walk home. He couldn’t quite name it, but it just didn’t feel right. Usually, they would chat for a bit once they returned – ask how Nina had been, what they had made for dinner, what story she had requested. This was odd, but hey, he was just their babysitter at the end of the day.

He opened the front door of the cottage and switched off the porch light. No one locked their doors out there, so he had no key. He was the only one there that evening, his parents were away for a friend’s wedding, and he’d finally been deemed old enough to stay at the lake alone. He made his way up to his room and started getting ready for sleep himself. Undressing, he winced as he peeled off his chest binder, sticky from sweat. He took a few deep breaths, enjoying a moment of release before it would be too soon replaced with the distress his own body caused him.

Freshly showered, teeth brushed, he made his way to the window, ready to draw the curtains. The view took in the greatness of the lake, black and still in the warm air. He cracked the window open, hoping that a breeze would pick up to cool him down whilst he slept. As he fought with the old frame, he saw a light come on over at the Coleman’s. Their back porch lit up, just for a second, then turned off again. Again it lit up, and then back to darkness.

The same uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Once again, he ignored it.

Lights off, he climbed into bed. The night was quiet. A distant lapping of the shoreline and the odd night bird, but altogether, it was silent. Just as he was drifting off, he heard the deep bark of the Collie dog. Sam had never heard the dog bark this late, he barely heard it during the day. It sounded alarmed, afraid. He heard a growl, a loud bang, a pained yelp – the night then falling back to silence.

He sat straight up in bed, eyes adjusting to the black room. He had really heard that. That was unmistakably a gunshot.

He reached out for his phone, the bright screen hurting his eyes. No service, no surprise there. He waited a moment. Maybe it was his imagination, some beginning of a dream inspired by Mr Coleman’s odd behaviour. For a minute he listened. Until he heard Nina scream.

He raced to the window, peaking carefully through the drawn curtain to see the toddler being flung over her father’s shoulder as he headed away from their house, down towards the water. Before Sam could think about it, he was running. Running out the door, and down after them.

He didn’t think to put on shoes, so every stone along the gravelled path seemed to claw at his feet. He felt something sharp wedge itself into the arch of his left foot, causing him to let out a cry. He heard his own voice echo out in the night and stopped for a moment. His brain caught up with his body, and told him he had to be careful. He needed to remain unseen if he was going to be of any help.

Moving quickly and quietly now, he tried to keep his weight off his screaming foot. In the distance he could hear the roar of a motor, coming closer, and fast. He picked up his pace, when suddenly, he found he was lying face down on the dirt. He could feel something solid, hot and wet, and strangely soft. He scrambled to his feet, realising he was covered in blood that was not his own, the lifeless shape of the Collie before him. He felt sick. He wanted to get out of there, go back home, back to the safety of his bedsheets, put in his headphones and drown out the eeriness of this night. But the sound of the motor was getting louder. He kept on.

He made his way down the steps of the Coleman’s dock. Creeping like a child down the stairs on Christmas Eve as they tried to catch a peek of Santa Claus. Somehow, he had not been noticed, despite the creak of the aging wood, and the ragged breathing he’d realised was his own. Sam found a spot where he was masked in shadow, but still close enough to clearly see what was happening. Mr Coleman, sobbing quietly, soothing his daughter with hushed words, as an unmarked speedboat began to pull up. Nina was grizzling into her father’s chest, unaware of the reality of this nightmare she was in. As the boat moored, three figures dressed in black hoods and balaclavas stepped up onto the dock.

“You were meant to drug her.” A husky man’s voice.

“I had to use it on my wife. And she was already asleep, I thought she would have stayed so, but…” Mr Coleman’s voice cracked as he spoke, terrified and powerless.

The figure who had spoken nodded, and the smallest of the three came forward, brandishing a thick syringe. Nina made a small squeak, as the needle broke her skin. Her tears began to sound groggy, and quickly she was silent. Mr Coleman clutched her tiny body. From his hiding spot, Sam realised his phone was in the pocket of his sleep shorts. Quietly, he pulled it out, and began to record whatever video he could in the darkness.

The third figure sat a briefcase at Mr Coleman’s feet. “It’s all there.”

The small one went to take Nina from Mr Coleman, but he cried out in protest. In a flurry, the leader, as it seemed, had the other two rip the unconscious girl from Mr Coleman’s arms, before drawing a gun, aimed directly at his temple. Mr Coleman fell to his knees, his hands raising up in surrender.

“Someone came into the house you carelessly left unlocked while you slept. They took her. Killed your mutt. You will try and look for her. You will mourn her. Then, you will learn to forget her. Life goes on.”

“Please, please look after her,” Mr Coleman begged.

The leader pulled the gun away from his forehead with a cold chuckle. “Look after her? Of course! Every investment should be looked after. But every prize pig does eventually go out to slaughter.”

The other two, already back on the boat with Nina, untied it from the dock and began to start the engine. The leader kicked the briefcase lazily towards Mr Coleman’s defeated frame, before stepping back up onto the boat’s deck. “Enjoy your money.”

Sam watched as they began to speed away. Looking down at the video, it was too dark, barely decipherable. He switched to the camera, and zoomed in to the boat, hoping to catch a picture of anything before it was out of sight.

The camera’s flash illuminated the night.

Mr Coleman snapped around, his eyes meeting Sam’s in the dark. All the rage, the guilt, the grief seemed to strike at once and suddenly he was up, and headed straight towards where Sam was hiding. Sam jumped up, and began to sprint up the stairs, away from the water. His foot felt like it was on fire, yet he powered on. In mere moments Mr Coleman had caught up to him. Sam felt his t-shirt being snatched, felt the fabric tear as he tried to struggle free, and suddenly he was being thrown onto his back. The breath was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the wooden stairs, writhing as hot pain shot down his spine from the sharp, uneven impact. Mr Coleman was over him, growling like an animal, one hand coming to Sam’s throat, the other reaching for the pistol that had taken down the Collie.

“What did you see, you little freak,” Mr Coleman spat down at Sam. Sam was frozen with fear, or shock, or pain. Or by all of it. Mr Coleman gripped him by the throat, slamming him back against the wood. “Tell me, Samantha!”

Sam clutched his phone, eyes bulging. He could barely breathe, let alone talk. Mr Coleman’s eyes flashed down at the phone, and he yanked it out of Sam’s hands. “Unlock it.”

Sam complied, and he watched as Mr Coleman deleted the evidence. He made sure the video, and that stupid photo were gone, before setting the phone down next to them, and shooting it, point blank.

Sam’s ears rang out, his senses completely overwhelmed. He blinked rapidly to see Mr Coleman stand up, taking his hand off of his throat, before yanking Sam up by his t-shirt. He shoved Sam in front of him, shepherding him back down to the dock, the gun still drawn.

Sam stood, shaking, sobbing, as Mr Coleman blocked the path between him and the stairs, pointing the gun he clearly wasn’t afraid to use right at him.

“Sam, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry that I’ve scared you. I’m sorry that I called you by your… I’m sorry you had to see what happened. But I can’t have you tell anyone about this, okay? So I’m going to offer you a deal.” Mr Coleman stepped forward. Out of instinct, Sam jumped back, and Mr Coleman just flashed his palms like a politician seeking trust. He slowly reached toward to briefcase, picking it up.

“There is a lot of money in here. More than most will ever see in their lifetime. I am more than happy to give you some, if you swear to never tell a soul. Let’s say, a hundred thousand dollars? That’s enough for you set you up for university, travel wherever you want for however long you want. You can get that surgery you need, right? I know your parents can’t afford it. That cottage is all they have left these days, and they might end up having to sell that too. With this, you wouldn’t be a burden on them ever again. They’ve told me all about it, Sam. Your transition hasn’t been cheap. Therapists, hormones. Who would have thought dropping five letters from a name could be so expensive? So many problems solved, Sam. If you just stay quiet, just keep this one secret. Or else, I’ll have to put a bullet in you. Throw you in the lake. And then you’d be quiet anyway. So you might as well get something out of it. What do you say, Sam? Let Samantha be the only dead one, and let Sam live the life he’s always wanted.”

The wind brought him back to his body, as he stared at the memorial procession that had finally landed on the dock. They carried candles, flowers, photos of the little girl who had not been stolen, but sold. Goosebumps covered his body, including the chest that was finally bare, born from blood money. As he looked on, his eyes met with Mr Coleman, arm around his tearful wife. Sam watched as Mr Coleman raised a finger to his lips, a gentle reminder that for that summer, and each summer, autumn, winter, and spring, here until forever, he must stay silent. That their secret had to die with them, and the waters of this lake.