Page 6 of A Curse On Black Lake
I don’t want her to worry about me or my dream. She doesn’t need the additional stress on her frail body, but I know whoever is coming will be here soon, if they aren’t in Black Lake already.
My dream was a warning.
Chapter two
Killian
DollyParton’sJoleneplaystoo loudly, vibrating the whiskey in my glass.
A year ago today, I had to bury my father. Both of my parents are gone now, leaving me behind. I come to the bar for hard liquor because I don’t trust myself with it at home, too afraid I’ll drink myself to death.
Sully’s is the only bar in town. Therefore, my only option. It has a distinct old beer smell, and I’m not sure the floor has ever been cleaned. There’s a broken mirror behind the shelves of liquor from a bar fight about five years ago. The stools feel like they’re about to give the moment you sit on them, and I’m pretty sure the bar top is rotting from the inside out, like everything else in this town.
Weird things happen here. It feels like there’s always someone watching, but when I turn around to look, no one is there. Strange things like that grate on you, make it feel like something is coming for you, and it’ll drag you to the depths of hell with it.
I catch Lisa, Betty, and Charlotte staring at me and go back to my glass. The dim lights above my head at the bar reflect off myglass as I turn it back and forth. People don’t talk to me, and I don’t talk to them. The reasons are my own damn fault. I used to be a Captain for the Black Lake Sheriff’s Department, but my father was so sick I quit my job to take care of him and the ranch. At the time, I was juggling too much when I made a huge mistake, and I decided that was enough. It’s just as well, though. I was on my way out. I’ve seen one too many gruesome deaths, and my father’s will be my last. Death and paranoia wear a man down.
Overall, there’s not a lot of crime in Black Lake. Most of it is petty vandalism and errant thieving vagabonds rolling through here. But we have always had a problem with murderers. They seem to think that Black Lake is a dumping ground, the place where cases go cold and keep getting colder.
Rose Stackhouse laughs, drawing my attention away from my glass. She smiles as Grady spins her around. People circle on the dance floor, moving in step, and it makes something inside me burn. I go back to staring at the brown liquid, taking short pulls, savoring it.
I didn’t know how I would feel on this day. Part of me hoped that maybe it wouldn’t burn as much, maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone. The loneliness is partially my fault because I don’t interact with people. I catch Tinsley and June-Anne staring at me from across the dance floor, huddled up in a booth, whispering to each other. Dipping my head lower, I concentrate on my drink. People talk in this town, and they can’t help but talk about me.
Our family has owned Eden Ranch for multiple generations, and I’m the last Lennox. My father was also the pastor of the only church in Black Lake. His predecessor has since taken over, but people heard about the way he died, and it wasn’t old age or cancer. It’s a small town, and word gets around.
His words have rolled around in my head for a whole year, from the moment I wake up to the minute I go to sleep. I thoughthe was delirious from pain. But I don’t think it was the pain. What he told me wasreal,and not much scares me, but what he said did. It still does. It still makes me look over my shoulder to see if it’s true.
Tipping the glass into my mouth, I take my last sip of whiskey, set a bill on the table and leave as quietly as I came.
As I walk to my truck, I hear the whispers. The ‘look it’s Killian Lennox. I haven’t seen him in town for a month. Can you believe he did that? Did the Sheriff push him out because of what he did? And did you hear how his dad died? His mother passed so young, so unexplainably. Something is wrong with them. I think that whole family could be cursed. I’m sure he’s losing his mind out on that ranch all by himself.’
Maybe I am.
I look at them over my shoulder, and Emma-Lou DuBois snaps her mouth shut, and her man steps in front of her. Pulling my keys from my pocket, I unlock my truck and hop in.
What I did before Dad died is in the past. It worked out. They caught the real guy. But maybe it’s not only that, but I suppose it could be because of who my father was. He was a good man, ready to help anyone in need. If you needed a job, he’d hire you even if he had to pull money out of his savings to pay you. If you needed a shirt, he’d give you the one off his back. I’m not like him.
When Dad died, so many people came, said they were sorry, left food, offered to help with the ranch, but that all dried up in a couple months. I blinked, and I was on my own. No one was there to help anymore. I think they waited long enough until it was socially acceptable to cut and run because they didn’t really want to be there to begin with.
When I quit my job and took on the ranch and caring for my dad, it made me angry. Not resentful, well … maybe a little resentful. He never knew that, and I hated myself for feeling it.But everything I wanted in life had to be pushed aside. I did it because I love my father. He would have done the same.
But I don’t have friends in this town other than my cousin Wyatt, and I have to admit, I’m an ass. Even I know that. But I can’t shake myself from the wool of my grief. It smothers your bones, it wraps barbed wire around your heart, and squeezes the life out of it.
My father raised me to be a man who can handle his own, but some days it’s all I can do to handle the cattle and upkeep. I sold three-quarters of our herd because I couldn’t run them.
Now, I run only about four hundred head of cattle. Which is still too much, but it covers everything. Maybe Emma-Lou was right. I’m going crazy out here on my own. It definitely doesn’t help my attitude. But why should I care anymore?
I figure I’m better off alone than loving someone who will leave me again. Who am I to tempt fate? It’s not my parents’ fault. I don’t blame them. Death comes for us all, but now it would seem I keep to myself so much, grief and anger are my only friends dragging me down a well with no bottom. At least they have nothing to do with love.
Unknown
She’s not quite perfect, but the next one will be. I have to make it all obvious. Details are everything.
I rest her hand across her abdomen and place the flower in her other open hand. Taking a step back, I observe my handiwork. Her dark brown hair looks beautifully windblown. The locks rest across the mossy ground in an artful way. I’ve always liked this part. It’s when I know the piece is truly finished. It’s an obsession I’ve never been able to shake. I tried to redirect the urges, but it never stuck.
I’ve accepted who am now.
Popping a peppermint in my mouth, I circle around the body once more, going through the checklist in my mind, ensuring all the details are in place. I leave the watery site next to Black Lake and wipe off my boots carefully. I’ve never been caught, and never will be, at least not until I’m ready. It helps to live in plain sight.
