Page 8 of Secrets Along the Shore

I shoved past both of them then, because Stillwater Lake was calling. I could feel it. In my soul, I knew—and I wished I didn’t. I wished I wasn’t attuned to others who had experienced what I’d experienced. I wish I could look at Livia and reassure her, like I had earlier this morning, that it hadn’t been that long yet. That Sophia Bergstrom would be found alive.

But I knew.

I knew what no one else did because I couldfeelit. That connection was raw and deep. I could hear the echoes of Sophia’s screams. I could feel the mind-numbing terror of being powerless to fight. I could taste the fear.

It tasted like blood.

Reuben shouted at me to wait up. Livia was jogging beside me trying to keep up.

I was going to the lake. I was going to find Sophia’s body. Because that’s all that was left to be found.

I knew that. Even though no one else did.

I broke away from Reuben and Sophia. I was going to search on my own, from a distance. Just me—and the voice that was calling to me.

I’d seen death before.When I was twelve, I’d walked in on my foster dad laying in his bed. He’d had a heart attack. I’m guessingthe empty 1.5 liter of vodka next to the bed had somehow contributed also. I stared into his lifeless blue eyes and wondered if the last thing he’d seen before he died was burned into his retinas. When emergency services had arrived, they hurried me from the room, afraid I’d be traumatized. I was more curious than anything. I had no affection for him, no attachment. So he was just a cadaver and in retrospect, I’d wished I touched him to see if he’d been cold, or stiff, or still warm and spongy.

It was different this time.

I saw her foot before I saw anything else. Sophia Bergstrom’s foot was bare, the padding of her foot creased with dirt. Reuben must have noticed I’d stopped at the water’s edge, in the swampy part, where the cattails grew thick and it was hard to see anything because of their root system.

I waved him off as though I’d not found Sophia. I don’t know why I did that. I think—I just wanted her to know I saw her, before the frenetic chaos of what would come next ensued. Forensics teams, grieving family, stunned search party members . . .

I didn’t touch anything. I knew better. I didn’t even take a step, and my own tennis-shoe-clad feet began to sink into the mud. My vision traveled up Sophia’s leg, toned and bare, to the hemline of her jean shorts. From there, all I could see was half of her torso, her arm submerged in the lake water, and her head face down in the muck, with strands of long blonde hair matted with dirt and algae.

Eighteen years. That was all the life she’d been given on this earth. Then it had been stolen from her. Swift and sure.

I angled my head in an attempt to see her neck. I had to. I had to look and see if the Serpent Killer had risen from his slumber and taken credit for this kill. I saw no evidence of a carving of what appeared to be a snake in a basket. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

“Sophia!” Livia’s call for the missing woman echoed across the lake and met other echoes that had been issued from the opposite shore by others in the search party.

It was time.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Sophia. My breath hitched and I bit theinside of my bottom lip. I bit it hard, until I could taste the blood. Somehow, I had to share in her pain.

“Tell me what happened to you.” I stood there a moment longer, studying and observing. Maybe I noticed things that the police would, so it didn’t really matter. But for a while, my mind catalogued everything. From the fact a cattail stalk was wedged between Sophia’s right-hand pinky and third finger, to the fact that a notch of shirt was torn from the hem of her purple crop top. A dragonfly fluttered over her hair, danced along the lake’s edge, and then whizzed its way to her inner thigh. A bruise was there—at least I think it was a bruise. There was a smudge of something below it too—it looked like dried blood maybe. It was probably sixty-eight degrees this evening, but I noticed in spite of the cold water she laid in, her body didn’t react to it. There were no goosebumps. No bluing of the skin.

I noticed also that, in the water and tangled around the base of some cattails, was a thin strand—like sewing thread. It was black and why I noticed it, I didn’t know. I’m sure it wasn’t even important.

“I’m sorry, Sophia,” I said again, and then I raised my head and called for Reuben.

“What were you thinking?”The hiss from the female sergeant alerted me to the fact that Detective Walker—Reuben—had messed up. I averted my gaze but my peripheral vision made note of the way the sergeant jerked her thumb in my direction.

“You don’t abuse a victim by bringing them to a crime scene!”

Thank you. I appreciated her sensitivity to my situation.

“Yeah.” Reuben’s hands were at his hips, elbows sticking out, but his response didn’t sound particularly remorseful. He was as consumed by the Serpent Killer case as I was by avoiding it. I wondered what protocol he’d overstepped—if any—by coercing me to help in the search for Sophia. And if he hadn’t violated protocol, he’d apparently crossed the lines of ethical responsibility.

“Can I take Noa home?” Livia asked the sergeant, turning a cold shoulder to Reuben. “She’s a wreck,” Livia added.

I wasn’t a wreck. That wasn’t true. The strange thing was, I felt more awake than I had in years. Even now, I watched as the forensics unit joined with the coroner, congregated in the area of Sophia’s body.

Cameras flashed.

Voices muttered.

There was careful deliberation over the scene, their low voices and I imagined they were discussing potential evidence.