Page 5 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Don’t come home, now, hear?” Widower Frisk’s voice broke over the din, and it was the only one Ava heard. Squashing her intent to take refuge in the small lean-to at Frisk’s property that had been her alone spot since she first emerged from the forest, Ava ignored the tears that burned her eyes.
So quickly. So quickly a group of people, roused into chaos by lies and untruths, by fearmongering and assumptions, could turn on their own.
The cool night air slammed into Ava as she burst from the town hall. She drew in long gasps, willing away the tears of betrayal and summoning every stubborn ounce she had left in her willpower. Even in May, the chill of the Northwoods was enhanced by the sound of crickets, chirruping their own mockery. Mockery of her. Mockery of the mystery girl who had emerged from the woods, dragging a bloodied ax, bearing tales of ignorance and memory loss with a desperate need to belong. To anyone. Anywhere. Only Widower Frisk and Jipsy had stepped up then, until now. Now, Ava was alone. Once again, very much alone, in the shadow of a brutal slaying like the one her own past implied. A past bereft of facts, of crime, and of corpses.
3
Wren
“Hey. Hey. Wren, wake up.”
Wren flung her arm out to push away the offending voice that carried into her dream like a wraith. She didn’t trust it any more than she trusted the vision in her fitful sleep.
“Wren!”
Hands held her against her pillow, the grip on her shoulders gentle but firm. She managed to open her eyes. The room was dark, save the light casting from the hallway, stretching across the floor in a band of hope.
“You’re having another dream.”
The voice was husky. Warm. Familiar.
She blinked, clearing sleep from her eyes, willing away the fog, and the image of the child’s body stretched on the bank of the lake like a discarded doll.
A hand chucked the bottom of her chin in a soft tap laced with camaraderie.
Eddie.
His ruffled honey-blond hair stood in random strands off his head. His face was shadowed, but Wren could still make out the outline of his broken nose, healed but never straightened, from an old hockey game scuffle. His T-shirt hung from his frame, and he wore basketball shorts. The bed dipped on the edge where he sat.
Wren pushed herself into a sitting position and glanced at the old radio clock with its red digital letters—2:00 a.m. She looked back at her friend.“I had a nightmare.”
“You okay?” Eddie never really minced words. He was straight to the point and a realist. She both liked and hated that about him. Her childhood friend who had collected her as his pet project when she’d arrived at Deer Lake Bible Camp, when she was eleven and her dad had taken on the role of head of ministry education. It wasn’t a small Bible camp. Deer Lake was year-round with groups that came and went, so there was a need for full-time mission staff.
Wren pushed her hair back from her face. Her coppery straight hair looked more burnished red in the darkness. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Sorry to wake you up.”
Eddie shrugged. “Not the first time.”
No. It wasn’t. Nightmares were a regular occurrence for Wren, ever since her mom had passed away not long after they came to camp. Mom had left her with her father and her older brother, Pippin, who topped her by twelve years. For all sakes and purposes, Mom had left her alone, and somehow left behind images that tumbled into her dreams those times Wren was the most anxious. Images of abandoned dead children. It didn’t take much during the day to trigger the dreams at night. They were always associated with the lost. The missing. It was unsettling at best.
“I’ll get you some water.” Eddie eased off the bed. “Then I’m going to head back to bed.”
Wren gave him a wordless nod.
These were the things Eddie Markham was made of. Sensible logic, consistent loyalty, respecter of personal privacy. He’d never inquire what her dream was about. He didn’t dig. He was a lot like his mom, Patty Markham, who slept in the next room, under palliative care. End of life. Cancer. The C-word was as ominous as Wren’s nightmares. It was little wonder her fitful sleeping habits had only increased in recent weeks.
Wren fell back into her pillows, waiting for Eddie to returnwith the water. Life sucked. Pure and simple. It was no wonder she dreamed of missing children—it was what she felt like inside. Wandering and lost. Aimless. It wasn’t until Wren bonded with Patty, Eddie’s mom, that she’d felt like she could hope again. That someone would understand her. It was Patty who had taught her how to take care of her first time of the month, how to maneuver her first boyfriend, how to handle annoying girls in high school, and how to function under her father’s criticism of her decision not to attend the university.
The Markhams had filled an enormous gap in Wren’s life. It was why she slept here more than she did at her dad’s house. They were all a close community. Camp staff was like that. Their homes were within a mile or two of each other’s. Staff kids growing up, drifting from house to house, but they typically wound up at their own by nighttime. Not Wren. She had become buddies with Eddie, and then her reliance on Patty had become so pivotal that Patty had even turned her sewing room into an extra bedroom—just for Wren.
Now Patty was dying. Wren’s world was going to fall apart again. She would become that aimless child, lost and waiting to be found.
The hallway floor creaked as Eddie returned. He handed her the glass of lukewarm tap water.
“Thanks.” Wren took a sip. This was the millionth time Eddie had rescued her from a nightmare. Her first had been when she was twelve and spending the night with the camp’s middle school staff slumber party. Boys in one room, girls in the other. The girls had giggled until they’d fallen asleep, but when Wren woke up screaming, it was Eddie who had barreled into the girls’ room without permission, and it was Eddie who had helped set Wren to rights. He set a lot of things to rights over the years, and he’d also followed in his father’s steps and devoted himself to camp ministry.
“You going to be all right?” Eddie hadn’t sat back down on the bed. Instead, he stood over her, staring down, assessing her.
Wren nodded and reached to set the glass of water on the nightstand. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
