Page 94 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I hope that we finally find out what happened to Jess—to all of them.” Daisy gave me one more hug before leaving. I watched her go, my mind running a million miles an hour.

I walked slowly back to my own car, not sure what to do now. I had no one that I could talk to about any of this. No one I could trust.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly alone.

Back in my car, I sat with the engine running. My mind felt too full to properly process anything. I had discovered so much—too much—and yet none of it made any sense.

But one thing was painfully clear—my dad was the worst kind of man. A person who could betray his wife and lie to his family. A man who preyed on young women.

When I thought back over the years, I could remember times when he had perhaps looked a little too long at some of my friends. Maybe flirted with a waitress or two. At the time, I hadn’t thought it was anything sinister. It was only my charismatic dad being his friendly self. Mom said he’d always been a flirt, but that didn’t necessarily make him a cheater.

Yet it seemed my father hadn’t stopped at a wink and a comment. He had taken it to a place he shouldn’t have.

My thoughts swirled in my head like sewage. The more I tried to push them away, the more they forced their way to the surface.

Then there was Ryan. He had no alibi for the night of Jess’s disappearance. And neither did Dr. Daniels.

They were both connected to each of the missing women. One seemed as guilty as the other.

And, of course, there was my dad.

There were so many unanswered questions about these men, and I felt no closer to discovering any answers.

I pulled my car out of the parking lot and headed back down the hill towards town. Horror swirled inside me as I drove closer to home and the lies I had been raised on. I wondered what secrets Jess had held on to.

And what dark truths she had likely taken to her grave.

I woke early the next day with a terrible headache.

When I’d gotten home, I had taken a bottle of wine to my room and spent the night reading, and rereading, the case file.

Mom had already been in bed and Dad was presumably still at work.

I woke up around 3AMto my parents arguing.

It wasn’t a sound I was used to hearing. Except for that one time over Jess’s room, I realized they never fought at all, which was strange. Because all married couples fought at one time or another. But not my mom and dad.

They seemed to exist in a delicate balance of real and pretend. I knew now they worked hard to keep up the image of a perfect couple. But it seemed the cracks were finally starting to show.

It was now early. The sun had barely risen when I dragged myself out of bed. I looked out the window and saw that Mom’s car was gone. I remembered she had an early morning doctor’s appointment followed by a few hours at the gym. She most likely wouldn’t be home until sometime this afternoon. But my father was home. So, I opened the door slowly, listening for any sign of him before deciding it was safe to leave my room in search of food and painkillers.

I had barely eaten anything yesterday, and after drinking the entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach, I was feeling worse for the wear.

Downstairs, I put on a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table waiting for it to brew. I looked around the familiar room. A space once filled with, what I thought was, unconditional love. We had shared so much, but now I wondered if we had really shared anything at all. The pieces of my life, the parts I had trusted and counted on, now felt like a work of fiction.

Had I been purposefully blind to the reality of the people around me? When I thought about it, really thought about it, that picture perfect childhood I was so sure about, was anything but. My life had been constricted and restrained. I grew up feeling both smothered and an afterthought.

I had manipulated my own memories to make them palpable. To make them seem healthy and genuine.

Not only had my parents lied to me, but I had done a damn good job of lying to myself.

Dad hadn’t wanted me at all, he had been content with his one, perfect daughter. And Mom had wanted someone to make her feel loved. The hurt and betrayal was overwhelming.

My hands were shaking and I balled them into fists to stop them.

A loud bang came from the garage, as if something had fallen over.

I walked toward the door at the back of the kitchen that led directly to the garage. It was painted the same color as the kitchen cabinets. Because of that, it blended in, making it hardly noticeable. Sometimes I forgot it was there altogether. No one, other than my dad, ever went out there anyway.

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