Chapter 3
The drive to the old lake property took less than twenty minutes, but for Julian and Evelyn, the journey felt like an eternity suspended in purgatory. Julian drove his vintage sedan with white ribbons still fluttering from the door handles—a heartbreaking reminder of the celebration they had abruptly abandoned. Evelyn sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the winding asphalt road, her white lace veil folded neatly in her lap to avoid catching on the door handle. Neither of them spoke. The radio was off, leaving only the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the dusty glass as a sudden drizzle began to fall over the dense pine trees.
Julian pulled the car off the main highway onto the overgrown gravel lane that led down to the water. The trees grew thick and low here, their heavy branches brushing against the sides of the car with a low scraping sound. The old boathouse loomed ahead through the gray mist—a weather-beaten wooden structure built on weathered stilts over the murky, dark water of the lake. It was the place where Rebecca and Julian had spent their summers years ago, long before the bitterness, long before the fire, and long before Evelyn had ever entered Julian’s world.
Julian shifted the car into park and cut the engine. The sudden silence was absolute. He turned to Evelyn, who was staring fixedly at the rotting wood of the boathouse. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap, her knuckles white.
“Stay in the car, Evelyn,” Julian said quietly, reaching for the door handle.
“No,” Evelyn replied, her voice firm despite the tremor in her lower lip. She turned her green eyes toward him, filled with a sudden, resolute defiance. “Whatever is in there, whatever Rebecca has to say, it concerns me just as much as it concerns you. We face this together. We always have.”
Julian hesitated, reading the fierce determination in her gaze. He nodded slowly, pushing his door open and stepping out into the damp chill of the afternoon. The air smelled of wet pine, decaying leaves, and the metallic tang of approaching rain. Together, they walked across the soggy ground toward the wooden ramp that led down to the boathouse door. The planks groaned beneath their feet, a mournful sound echoing across the still surface of the lake.
May you like
Julian reached the heavy wooden door, which stood slightly ajar, creaking rhythmically in the wind. A faint beam of light cut through the gloom from a window overlooking the water. He pushed the door open wider, stepping across the threshold into the dusty, cavernous interior. The space smelled of old canvas, rust, and ash. Standing near the back window, silhouetted against the gray light of the lake, was a woman in a dark trench coat, her blonde hair blowing across her face in the draft.
Rebecca turned slowly to face them. Her expression was devoid of malice; instead, it carried a chilling, melancholic calm that unnerved Julian more than any scream or threat could have.
