“The pictures really did not do this place justice,” I mumble aloud as I spin in a slow circle. Sadly, that isn’t a positive thing.
When the flickers of this location became more persistent, I knew I had to find out where it was. I started my search by scouring the internet, probing for any small scrap of evidence to confirm this place as being real.
Night after night, I dreamed of the tall oak, my attention always fixated on the red ribbon. What was its significance? As time progressed, the dreams turned into visions and cultivated into something more.
The lake was always the star attraction, the focal hub of what all of this meant. It started with a flickering mirage of me peering out over the still water, engrossed by the towering tree with the red ribbon flapping lightly in the cool breeze. But then darkness shrouded that stillness, and I was no longer looking—I was submerged.
I know I’m drowning, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it because when I gaze at the surface as the ripples of water siphon off my life source, I’m staring back down at me from the dock. I call out for help, my arms desperately seeking something solid to hold, but it’s useless; the other me turns her back and leaves.
I needed to find out what that meant, and I knew that the red ribbon and this lake were the keys.
After a fruitless search, I was ready to give up, but life worked in mysterious ways indeed. Stella, as usual, was intent on having me remember a past I had no recollection of, but I humored her anyway and sat through the endless parade of photographs.
After a while, everything starts to look the same—it’s all foreign. Places, people, occurrences, they meant nothing to me; however, when Stella flashed a photo of the unmistakable lake with the tall oak and weathered swing, something struck a chord.
I all but leaped from my seat and grilled her for any information she might have. She revealed our family vacationed here when I was a kid, as our vacation house was by the lake, but she seemed reluctant to tell me more. My brothers and sisters confirmed her story, but something was askew, and that’s why I’m here.
If no one will tell me, then I will uncover the truth myself.
My older brother, Lachlan, is a successful businessman in New York. Next in line is Ursula, who lives in Savannah, living the true Southern beauty life with her wealthy husband and three bratty children. I’ve seen my eldest siblings a handful of times. The two youngest, Blake and Isla, are twins. They seem to be more on my level . . . well, I think they are.
Blake and his fiancée, Sara, live about an hour away, but Isla, she still lives with Stella and Augusto, and apparently, before my accident, I did too. Isla is a nurse, much to the horror and disgust of her mom, our mom. She’s the only one I have anything remotely in common with, but every time I try to talk to her and ask questions, she seems to have somewhere else to be.
I have a feeling she’s frightened of Stella’s wrath if she was to divulge something Stella wishes to keep under lock and key.
With that said, that only left me to fend for myself.
So with what little information I had, I checked the listings and found this house that had been on the market for quite some time. I breezed over the pictures, not at all worried about what was inside, because the moment the photo of the outside decking with the picture-perfect view of the lake flicked onto my screen, I knew this house was the key to unearthing everything.
Vehemently opposing the idea, Stella argued with me every chance she got, but nothing and no one would change my mind. I bought the house for a steal, and when a droplet of water backflips and lands dead center onto my forehead from the leak in the ceiling, I know why.
And that’s my story. At least it’s one I can remember.
Peering at my surroundings, I take in the small living room that needs so much more than a coat of paint. Burnt orange leaves litter the hardwood flooring, making me wonder if I have a hole in my ceiling or maybe a broken window. As I turn to face the brick wall, I find cobwebs decorating the corners and looping along the wooden mantel above the fireplace like tinsel at Christmastime.
The once pristine white panel walls are now more of an eggshell color, faded over time from exposure to the harsh elements. My bare feet leave footprints in the dust as I move from room to room, familiarizing myself with my new surroundings. I’m hoping each step will disclose a memory, offering a small piece of the puzzle, but that only seems to grow more ambiguous by the minute. So far, everything looks the same.
I’m almost done with the tour—not that there’s much to see, considering each room needs more work than the one before. I exit the bathroom and amble down the narrow hallway and into the last door on the left.
I don’t have high hopes that it’ll look any different from any of the other rooms, but the moment I step inside, the beaming sunshine bouncing off the swelling water fills the modest space with a warmth that thaws out the constant chill in my bones. Stiffening, I turn my head ever so slowly from left to right as a spark of recognition barrels into me.
Taking a small step backward, I steady my breathing and clear my mind. I focus on the faded wallpaper, determined to hear these walls talk. I wait, desperate for something, anything, but all I get is a fistful of nothing. I blow out an exasperated breath.
My gaze swings to the lake, which is just outside my room. The double doors lead out onto a small balcony, so without further ado, I wrench down the stiff brass handles, both whining in protest as I push open the doors.
The first thing that hits me is how easy it is to breathe out here. I lightly test the bowed wood of the deck with my big toe, ensuring it can handle my full weight. The recent downpour has soaked the surface, but once I’m satisfied it won’t collapse, I step out onto the balcony and take two deep breaths.
The white paint has chipped away from the railing, leaving behind a rough wooden texture, but it somehow adds rustic charm, complementing the simple paradise before me. The lake is endless, extending as far as the eye can see, and I wonder what is on the other side.
The soaring oak is a few hundred yards away from where I stand. Leaning my forearms against the top of the jagged railing, I sink low and turn to the right, surrendering to the racket inside my head.
I don’t know why, but I correlate happiness with this tree and all that it represents. I can hear the joyous laughter of children as they beg their friends to push them higher, feeling invincible as the swing veers far above the ground and extends over the water’s edge. One can wiggle their toes in the air and look into the heavens before screaming in excitement as they come back down, only mere feet from the rippling water. If one were brave enough, they could let go and dive into the depths, but there’s only a small window before you’re back on land.
I can almost feel the wind in my hair and taste the rich water as I take my leap of faith. The red ribbon flutters gently in the calm breeze, but it may as well be waving a red flag in front of an angry bull.
My attention drifts to the dock extending from my property line. It’s hardly sizeable, but at the prospect of walking on it, I suddenly feel like my feet are caught in quicksand. The farther I’d advance, the harder it would be to breathe. I suddenly have the urge to demolish it from my acreage and send its remains to the bottom of the lake.
From the corner of my eye, a flash of red strikes, erasing these irrational fears which simply make no sense. “I’m losing my mind.”
Running a hand through my hair, I begin to wonder if it’ll ever be found.
Lost in blurred insights, I don’t hear the floor creak behind me, which is a complete rookie mistake.
“Hi.”