I understood why Amnesia wanted to go to Rumor Island. Hell, even I was curious about the place. Staring at it from shore my entire life, and more specifically the past eleven years, only built it up in my mind.
But fuck. This was stupid.
I was doing it, though. We were doing it.
Closure. To me, that’s what this was about. For her. Not for me. Seemed the closure I sought all these years wasn’t really needed anymore.
That made me feel guilty. But also, it made me feel relieved.
I didn’t know what that light we saw out there was, but honestly, it seemed like a long shot it was the man who kidnapped her. Who would be stupid enough to hang around? It was like asking for a prison sentence.
Or a grave.
I was a fan of the second option. Rotting away with the worms almost seemed too good for that motherfucker, but hey, I’d take it.
The water was calm today, moving gently with the current, no sign of a storm or even a disturbance in the near future. It was the kind of day fishermen loved, and there were quite a few out on the water.
Chris’s boat was docked at a local boat slip, where a lot of people here at Lake Loch kept their boats. There were also rentals available for those here on vacation. Maggie’s late husband had a nice slip. It was covered, a luxury very few here had. The “boat garage” looked like a little wooden shack on the end of a dock. The wooden shingles on the sides went down until they nearly skimmed the surface of the lake.
When Maggie said she had the boat maintained with tune-ups, I figured I would find it in usable shape.
Maggie lied.
It wasn’t just maintained. It was perfection. Far beyond just “usable” shape.
It was clear how much she loved her husband, because his boat still looked brand new. Knowing Maggie, it was one last thing she could do for him even in death.
“I don’t know much about boats,” Amnesia mused, “but I’m pretty sure this is a nice one.”
She was right. It looked good as new, and it started right up like it, too.
As the craft cut through the water, I hoped it didn’t look “too nice,” as in drew attention to our approach. That was the thing about boating to an island. Not much surprise or secrecy.
The way the house perched on the top, if anyone was inside, all they’d have to do was look out a window to see us coming.
I kept my eyes peeled, staying hyperaware of my surroundings for anything out of the ordinary… or anything at all.
I had no idea what to expect, and that meant I couldn’t trust anything.
I wanted Amnesia to get the answers she wanted, but deep down, I hoped nothing was over there, that the island appeared abandoned and we found nothing at all. Waiting for the dental records seemed like a hell of a lot better of a bet than what we were doing. Am couldn’t wait, though, and I couldn’t stand watching her suffer while she did.
Pulling my eyes away from our surroundings, I glanced at Am sitting behind me. She wanted to sit out front, but I wasn’t about to have her in front of me. If something happened and I needed to shield her, this would make it a lot easier.
She was staring straight ahead, eyes fixated on the looming island. It seemed a lot less intimidating from shore. Out here, as we drew closer, the size, shape, and almost wild appearance grew tenfold.
Tall trees jutted up from the rocky earth, towering into the blue sky like dark swords. The house took on a ragged appearance, as if over the years, the elements had not been kind and the owner even less so. There didn’t appear to be much maintenance to the residence; instead, it was almost falling into disrepair, in need of a serious paint job, some patching, and a brand-new roof.
I knew from talk there was a dock on the other side of the island, so I made a wide arch around it, taking care to study as much of it as I could.
So far, nothing seemed wrong.
But Rumor Island always appeared that way.
It was a deceitful place.
Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, I reached out behind me with the other, wiggling my fingers in the air. Seconds later, Amnesia slid hers against it, and I grasped, noting the cold feel of her skin and the way her fingers shook.
She was brave, far braver than she had to be.
Pulling her into my side, I leaned close to her ear so I didn’t have to yell. “You sure you want to do this?”
She nodded.
“I’m gonna pull up to the dock,” I told her, preparing to cut the engine and coast in. There were no boats here. I didn’t know what that meant, though. Maybe Widow West only had one, or maybe there were more and whoever else was here was already gone.
With the motor silenced, I listened intently as I secured the boat to the dock (which had seen better days). The only sounds I heard came from nature, which oddly made this eerier.
“It’s quiet here,” Amnesia whispered, as if she too felt the weird vibes in the air. “And is it just me, or does it feel colder?”
“Stay with me at all times. Don’t ever wander off. No matter what.” I was also whispering. As I laid down the rules, I tugged the ends of the green Loch Gen hoodie closer around her and zipped it all the way up.
God, I fucking loved her. Please, let me keep her safe today.
“What if we find him?” Her eyes rounded, and genuine fear flooded in.
Her terror made me feel fiercer, more prepared to fight. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through me.
“We’ll call the cops,” I said, patting the right front pocket of my Loch Gen hoodie where I put my phone.
They can come and collect his dead body. I didn’t bother saying that out loud. She was already frightened enough.
“I’m going to make him answer my questions.” Determination filled her voice.
“I promise.”
There was no more stalling. No more waiting and listening. I was first off the boat, reaching down to help her up onto the wooden planks that I didn’t trust at all. Instead of holding her hand, I wrapped an arm around her torso as we walked, just in case one of the boards fell out from beneath her and I needed to move fast.
The dock wasn’t very long. It went right up to the shoreline, which was rocky with no beach whatsoever. This side of the land was denser with trees and nature, not utilized at all. From the dock, there was a path that cut right between two tall trees, an entrance to what felt like a dark forest. Yes, that sounded a little dramatic. It wasn’t.
“This place is creepy,” Am murmured as we walked over the path toward the trees.
“Definitely not on my bucket list of places to visit again,” I quipped.
There weren’t many sounds of birds as we walked on the path. Or of small animals scurrying through the leaves and grass. Everything was still here, almost dead.
Or scared.
Up ahead, I saw the tree line thin out; just beyond it, everything seemed a little brighter.
“The house must be through there,” I told her, even though she probably already figured it out on her own.
Sure enough, the second we made it to the line of trees, the house came into view.
“How old do you think that place is?” she asked, voice still hushed as we teetered at the tree line.
“Older than me at least. It was here before I was born,” I replied. And by the looks of the white clapboard building, it definitely didn’t get any updates over the past twenty-five years.
“C’mon,” Am said, tugging my hand. She started walking, but I moved ahead, angling myself in front of her as we went.
Wind carried through the trees, pulling at my hair and clothes. It did feel colder here; my cheeks stung a little from the bite of the air.
There was no way… no way she’d spent the last eleven years here on this island, so close yet so far away. This was a hideous place. I’d only been here a few minutes and already I couldn’t imagine staying for any length of time.
“Anytime you want to leave,” I told her, “just say the word.”
The ground was uneven, the grass grew in patches, and in between, the ground was rocky. I would judge the island to be maybe one and a half to two miles wide. The only building I knew of was the house, where we were heading first.
“The front must be on the other side,” she said, tugging me off to the side where a worn dirt path led us around.
There was an old-school laundry line not far from the house. Tall grass grew around the poles that held it up. Two thin lines stretched between them, bobbing in the wind. On one end, forgotten laundry blew around. The ends of the white sheet were tattered as if it had been left in the weather for a while. There was also a towel and a long white nightgown.
“There’s a garden,” Am said, pointing to a fairly large plot of land boxed in with wood and protected by a short row of metal fencing. “She must grow her own food.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “She didn’t come to town very often.”
“Are there any other towns nearby? Accessible to the lake?”
I thought about it and nodded. “Yeah, but it’s farther away. A longer boat ride.”
“There’s the door,” she said.
We stopped around the “front” of the house. It was only distinguishable as the front because of the faded red door in the center. Otherwise, it looked exactly the same as the other sides we walked around.
It was ominous the way it just sat there, towering above us as if it owned the land.
Amnesia’s fingers shook in mine, but her feet started forward. We walked up some crude stone steps that led to the front door.
“Should we knock?” She wondered.
This wasn’t a polite social call. I wasn’t about to announce my presence with a neighborly knock. Instead, I reached out and turned the handle. The door gave way, a loud creaking sound filling the air as it swung in.
We stood there for long seconds, both of us kind of surprised the place was just unlocked. Of course, when you lived on a private, creepy island, there probably wasn’t much reason to lock up.
We stood there long enough that a great gust of wind pushed behind us and a few brown, crumpled leaves blew inside, scattering across the wooden floor.
I went first, using my arm to shield Am, keeping her behind me. My free hand hovered over my lowered back.
No one knew it, but I’d brought some heat. The cool metal of the gun was actually reassuring against the small of my back, tucked into my jeans as a promise of safety.
I’d use it. I wouldn’t regret it either.
The floorboards creaked under foot. The house smelled slightly stale but also of a hint of lemon. The chemical kind, the kind in cleaning supplies.
The house wasn’t very large, but it wasn’t cramped either.
The living room was off to our left. The hallway extended past, heading toward the back of the house, where I could see a partial view of a white refrigerator and the metal legs of a chair pushed up to a kitchen table.
“Hello?” Amnesia called out. Her voice made my shoulders stiffen. “Is anyone here?”
The sound of silence echoed back, that and the blowing wind that made the house groan.
“This place needs a serious makeover,” Amnesia said, gazing around at the old furnishings. Everything was wooden, the couch had flowers on it, and the TV actually had an antenna. I wondered if it even worked.
“This place would make a good set for a horror movie.” I noted.
“It’s clean, though,” Amnesia said, moving through the living room and passing beneath the archway that led into the kitchen. “Like the widow cared about keeping it tidy.”
“Maybe she was bored in between kidnapping,” I deadpanned.
“That would be funny if it wasn’t likely true.”
The kitchen had a white farmhouse sink, old wooden cabinetry, and ugly green countertops.
“Look at this,” Amnesia said, letting go of my hand and going to the old-school fridge. “There are pictures.”
The front of the appliance looked a lot like everyone else’s. Littered with photographs and magnets displaying vacation spots. There was one for Boston, one for Lake Loch, and even one for California.
There was also a bottle opener magnet and a memo notepad with one single word scrawled across it.
“Looks like she’s out of milk.” I noted, pointing to the paper.
Amnesia didn’t care about the magnets or even the grocery list. She stared intently at the old, almost yellowing photographs taped to the front.
“Do you think this was her husband?” she asked, fingering the edge of one of the Polaroids.
My chest grazed her shoulders and back when I peered over her at the picture. It was of a man and woman. They were posing for the camera, large smiles on their faces. The man was about a head taller than the woman, dressed in a red flannel shirt and khaki pants with boots. He was holding up a huge fish on a line, clearly proud of his catch.
He had dark, short hair, was clean shaven, and was wide with broad shoulders.
“I heard he spent some time in the army before they moved here,” I said.
“She was pretty,” Amnesia noted, pointing at a young Widow West.
I made a sound. Maybe she was. I couldn’t see past the shitty things she’d done, though. Her hair was long just like it was now, but instead of gray, it was a light-brown shade. She was thin, but not as thin as she was now. Her eyes were the most different. In this picture, she had the eyes of a woman in love. A happy woman, a woman that still had her sanity.
Her eyes didn’t look like that today.
There was another image of the couple standing in front of a Christmas tree, the man wearing a Santa hat and red pants. And another of them dressed up, her in a white lace dress and him in a suit.
“This must be their wedding day,” Amnesia murmured.
“Look at this one,” I said, leaning down to the photograph that was stuck toward the bottom of the fridge, almost as if it had slid down, but no one bothered to fix it.
I pulled it off the fridge completely, straightened, and held it out in front of Am, leaning over her shoulder to look at it with her.
“They had a baby?” Amnesia asked, surprise making her voice rise.
“I never heard that,” I said, puzzled.
It was the widow and her husband standing in front of this house (which looked a hell of a lot nicer). Flowers bloomed around their feet, and both were beaming with pride. In her arms was a bundle, unmistakably a baby, wrapped up in a white blanket.
The very top of the baby’s head was the only thing visible, and it had very little hair.
I flipped the photo over, but there was nothing written on it. No name. No date. Nothing.
“If they had a baby, where is it?” Amnesia asked.
“Could be a niece or nephew. The child of whoever took this picture.”
“Maybe,” Amnesia amended. “It’s odd…”
“Everything here is odd, sweetheart.”
She stuck the picture back on the fridge, and we explored the rest of the house.
It was empty. Each room looked the same as the last, tidy, outdated, and tinged with the scent of eccentricity.
I didn’t bother locking up on the way out. Clearly, they weren’t concerned about that kind of thing.
“No one is here,” I told Am. “We should just go back home.”
She wasn’t listening, though. She’d moved to the top step and was staring out over the island.
“Amnesia?”
“This way,” she said, the sound of her voice slightly hollow. She took off, and I scurried to keep up. At the bottom of the stairs, I caught her hand and gave it a squeeze.
She barely glanced back before forging on, away from the house, across the yard. The ground sloped down slightly before leveling off. The sound of the waves hitting against the rocks carried on the wind, the sun shining brightly.
We walked under trees, through tall grass, and even across bare rocks.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied and kept walking.
From this side, I didn’t see many boaters, maybe one in the distance. This place felt truly isolated, more than I thought it could. It was like stepping back in time, like this island was a portal to thirty years ago, old and backward even compared to the slow-evolving town of Lake Loch.
“Look.” Amnesia practically wheezed the word, halting so fast I collided into her, grasping her shoulders to keep us both steady.
My eyes followed hers. “Is that a grave?” I asked.
What the hell? This place was fucking weird.
“I think so,” she whispered and started forward.
I sighed insufferably. My girl, ladies and gentlemen. Heading toward a grave instead of running away. We walked up a slight hill. It was covered in trimmed grass and patches of dry dirt.
In the center of a pounded-down mound was a crudely made wooden cross. It had been there a long time; the wood was faded and weathered. It was anchored very well, though, placed there with care.
Just below the cross was a small rectangular concrete slab. It was polished a dark gray and there were a name and dates carved in the top.
John West III
Husband and Best Friend
1959 – 1990
“It must be her husband.” Amnesia noted.
“Yeah.” I agreed. I remembered hearing his name whispered through town.
“Look,” she said, reaching around, grabbing the front of my hoodie and pointing. “There’s another grave marker.”
There was. This one much sadder than the one above it.
Beloved Child
Amnesia covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook. “She lost her husband and her baby.”
“No wonder she’s insane,” I murmured. I actually felt sorry for the old bat.
“I can’t imagine losing my husband and my child.” Amnesia’s voice was overcome with emotion. Instantly, she turned and buried her face in my chest.
I held her close, rubbing my palm over her back as I stared down at the graves. It made sense why she never left this island. If her husband and child were buried here, if this was the place that held all the memories of the life she lived with them…
I wouldn’t have left either.
“It feels like an invasion to be here right now,” Amnesia confided, looking up at me with sorrowful eyes.
“Come on. Let’s go home.” I urged, tucking her beneath my arm and leading her away from the headstones.
“I was so sure we’d find him. Find something.”
“We still have the dental records.” I reminded her.
“I wanted more,” she whispered.
I knew she was let down, but I couldn’t help thinking maybe this was for the best.
Reaching the crude path, my feet turned toward the house and beyond it where the boat was docked. But Amnesia faltered, her steps hesitant.
“Am?” I asked, turning back.
The look on her face was faraway, haunted.
Stepping close, I hunched around her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She blinked, clarity coming into her eyes. “This way,” she said, tugging me in the opposite direction.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” I argued.
She let go of my hand and went anyway, as though she were spurred on by something only she could see. Nervous energy crackled along my nerve endings as I followed along.
She said nothing, and neither did I.
She walked for what felt like forever, winding around the edge of the island, where the land nearly dropped off into the lake.
The trees grew thicker, the sunlight dimmed by the cover overhead. I watched Am let the hoodie fall down over her hands, tucking her fingers in the fabric to shield them from the cold.
My eyes stayed peeled, my body on high alert. Everything inside me was coiled, anticipating something… I just didn’t know what.
“They searched the entire island?” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.
“Yes, they searched this place more than once. Nothing was ever found.”
A few steps later, she stopped abruptly, looking up. “There it is,” she told me, terrifyingly void of emotion.
I followed her eyes, looking up into the trees.
There was a deer stand over us, up in the branches. Leaves fell over it, covering the old, unreliable wood with foliage.
“That’s what I jumped from that night, the night you found me.”
My stomach twisted. Stepping closer to the line of trees, I peered over the edge, glancing down at the water. It was rocky down there. A few feet out, the water was clearer, less dangerous. She must have jumped outward, away from the rocks.
“I guess that proves the memory I have of jumping off it. Of running from him here, on this island.”
I lunged forward, grabbing her, roughly pulling her against me. I wasn’t sure if I was holding her so tight for her or for me. Maybe it was both.
“He’s not here,” I told her. “He can’t hurt you today.”
“The memories will always hurt me. They threaten to appear any moment.”
My heart squeezed. She was right, and I hated it.
Amnesia pulled away and continued on.
“Where are you going?” I said, rushing to catch up.
She didn’t answer, just kept moving, weaving through the trees. Abruptly, she stopped again, staring off in the distance. I could see the way her breathing increased, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Her body began to shake. She chewed her lip nervously.
“Amnesia.” I grabbed her arm, trying to pull her close.
“Here,” she said, resisting me. “He’s here.”
Concern darkened my face. “There’s nothing here, baby,” I said gently. “It’s just trees and dirt.
Her eyes flashed up to mine. “He’s here.” She insisted. “I can feel it.”
She was creeping me out. “Okay,” I answered patiently. “Where?”
She turned in a circle, so I did, too. “We’re missing something,” she murmured. “Think, Amnesia. Think.”
We stood there for a long time. I watched her pace a small area over and over again. She became increasingly agitated, which was very difficult to stand by and observe.
Veering from her pacing, she wandered over toward the edge of the island. The drop-off toward the water wasn’t as sharp. She stood with her back to me, hair blowing wildly around her face, and the giant Loch Ness on the back of the hoodie stared at me, almost mocking.
“Why can’t I remember?” she screamed toward the water. “Why?”
I was done with this. Done with watching her suffer.
Rushing forward, I wrapped my arms around her from behind and pulled her tight against me. “That’s enough, Am. No more. You’re killing me.”
She started to cry. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that wound me up so tight it hurt to even take a breath. “I just want to know,” she wailed, her knees buckling.
I supported her weight, keeping her upright as she sobbed. I pressed my face into her neck, wishing I knew how to take this away.
With a hiccup, she turned, wrapped her arms around my waist, and squeezed close. I pressed my hand against the back of her head.
She cried more, then ripped away, stumbling a few feet behind me.
I went after her. Before I caught up, she melted to the ground, sitting cross-legged and bowing her head.
Sniffles floated around her, and my heart broke. I sank down to the ground with her, spread my legs so she was between them, and tugged her close.
Her crying quieted until the only sounds were her heavy breathing. She wiped her face over my sleeve again and again, but I only held her tighter.
I knew I should drag her off this hellhole island, but at the same time, I felt like she needed to sit here and cry.
Her sudden gasp was so violent and unexpected I jerked back, looking down at her, alarmed.
“Amnesia?”
Blindly, she reached out, squeezing my wrist with strength I really didn’t know she possessed.
“They searched everything here?” she asked again.
I wanted to groan. “Yes, baby. Everywhere.”
“Down there?” she whispered and pointed at the ground.
I frowned. “The ground?”
She shook her head impatiently. “Beneath it.”
“What do you mean?” My heart started pounding.
“He’s here,” she intoned. Her fingers scratched at the dirt we sat on. “Underground. Beneath us.”