Page 106 of It Happened on the Lake

Oh God. Levi imagined Chase ready to pounce—maybe with a weapon, and Dad with all his police training, standing across the room, bloodied and battered and waving his fingers in a “come-on” motion, waiting for Chase to charge blindly, like an enraged bull.

It happened.

As Levi squeezed his eyes shut, he heard Chase say, “I hate you!”

Then, running footsteps.

Another thunderous crash.

A wail from his mother’s bedroom.

Then, the most damning words from his father. “You’re not my son any longer, Chase. From this day forward, you’re dead to me.”

Levi closed his eyes, took another sip. For once, Chase was in trouble, when Levi was usually the one who didn’t measure up. An evil little part of him liked the thought of shining, perfect Chase getting what was due him because Levi, more than anyone, knew what his brother was really like—at his center. But he felt guilty immediately and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head.

No good.

Levi still heard the soul-jarring cursing. Groaning. Fists smashing. Furniture crashing. Wood splintering. Walls shaking. His head felt as if it might explode. He couldn’t stand listening to the fight, feeling the rage simmering through the house. Not one second longer.

He had to get out.

Leave.

Now!

He flung himself off his bed. In the dark he found his clothes on the floor, threw them on, and grabbed his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Mom was still upstairs weeping, Dad and Chase going at it in the basement, so he slipped out the front door and across the wide porch.

As he started jogging, faster and faster, getting away, he heard Sievers’s dog bark. A cold breeze slapped his face, and it felt good. Running forced his thoughts away from his brother and father.

He kept up his pace.

Toward town.

Past the deserted swim park.

Around the lake.

He hugged the side of the road, dodging the few headlights that passed. He didn’t have a plan, but he just kept moving around the lakeshore, observing the dark water, looking up at the stars when the clouds thinned.

As he approached Almsville, he skirted the main streets, avoiding storefronts with their security lights and circumventing the blue pools of illumination cast by street lamps. He took back alleys and quiet, familiar lanes, spying a scraggly cat traipsing along a fence line and later a possum scuttling through the hedge of a manicured lawn. As it was still an hour or so before midnight, windows glowed in the dark, casting patches of light on the lawns, playing upon fountains, trees, and even a bicycle left on a front porch. The houses appeared serene, as if each and every one was home to a perfect, happy family.

But who knew what went on behind closed doors?

He wondered if anyone suspected that his own house was often one of chaos, that even when Mom decorated it with Christmas lights or Easter baskets, there was darkness behind the door with its welcome mat.

Everyone has their troubles.

He’d heard that somewhere, and the thought certainly came home to roost tonight.

He kept moving. Step after step, dashing around the lake.

Though he hadn’t had a destination in mind, he ended up at the road leading to Dixon Island. Probably his subconscious leading him here, he thought as he made his way down the lane to stand at the closed gate flanked by its cool gargoyles. He stared through the bars and across the bridge toward the old mansion where, these days, Harper was living, he knew, most of the time.

He’d like to talk to her.

That was the problem.

Always.

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