Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

“Marcus, it’s John Zur.” The detective went on to tell him Jane and Ryan had been involved in a serious car accident.

Marcus ripped the needle from his arm and jumped to his feet. “Where?”

“Not far from Cadomin.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Marcus, you should—”

Marcus shifted into autopilot. He hung up the phone before Zur could finish what he was saying, grabbed his coat and ran from the cabin to his car. It was raining, freezing rain, but he barely noticed. All he could think of was his wife and son, hurt and dazed. They needed him.

He sped down the highway until he saw the police cars and fire truck. He pulled up behind an ambulance, parked, then leapt from his car.

Zur strode toward him. “Marcus, I don’t think you should—”

Ignoring the detective, Marcus skidded down the muddy embankment toward the water-filled ditch.

Then he saw it. Jane’s car. It had flipped over and was half submerged in deep, murky water.

“Jaaaane!” he screamed. “Ryan!”

Two rescuers using the Jaws of Life ripped open the side door, the metal grinding and squealing in rebellion, water pouring to the ground. In the driver’s seat a body hung upside-down, water up to the waist.

Marcus recognized Jane’s jacket immediately. “ Nooo!”

The remainder of that night was a blur of flashing lights and sirens.

And death.

He had a lot to make up for. Penance was his middle name.

The phone rang, tearing him from his dark thoughts. Over the next few hours he filed paperwork, forwarded a suspicious arson call to Fire and Police and sent an ambulance to a possible home invasion, while doing his best not to think of the meeting he’d promised Leo he’d attend.

There was a brief second when he stared at the computer monitor and thought of why he went to the meetings in the first place. To make amends. To help assuage the guilt.

To be forgiven?

Was that even possible?

When Rebecca pulled up to the house, the first thing she noticed was the garage door. It was open. She parked the car on the driveway and muttered a curse beneath her breath.

“You forgot to push the button, Mom,” Colton said.

“Maybe it hit something and bounced back up.”

She jabbed the remote button and watched the door close. It stayed closed. She pressed the button again and watched the garage door open.

“Nope, Mommy was a twit,” she said in a cheery voice as she pulled the car inside and lowered the garage door once more.

“What’s a twit?” Ella asked.

Colton snorted. “It’s what you are, twit.”

“Mommy, am I a twit?”

“No, honey.” Rebecca turned in the seat and pointed a finger at Colton. “Stop teasing your sister.”

She eyed the garage and the door into the house. She never locked that door, except at night. It made her nervous, knowing the house had been left unsecured. There had been a couple of break-ins in the neighborhood lately—mostly the larger, newer homes. But even though her open garage was an invitation to every thief and vandal in the area, she doubted anyone had bothered. The outside of the house was plain and unassuming, and with few luxuries, the inside screamed “hockey mom.” Not exactly the best place for delinquents to shop for electronics, drugs or money.

She opened the car door. “Wait here. I’m going to check the house. Then I’ll come get you.”

“Aw, Mom,” Colton said with a groan.

“Colton, watch your sister. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay, but I’m timing you.” He grinned. “Starting now.”

Rebecca went inside the small bungalow that Wesley had convinced her to buy. “A great fixer-upper,” he’d called it. She’d grown accustomed to calling it “the money pit,” even though her husband had promised he’d handle all the repairs and finish everything the previous owners had neglected. Like baseboards. There wasn’t one to be found anywhere in the house. Who lived in a house with no baseboards?

On the main level, the master en suite toilet was a constant annoyance, plugging the instant anyone flushed more than three sheets of toilet paper. And the fireplace in the living room leaked into the window casing, causing tiny puffs of smoke to enter their home. This was of great concern to Rebecca since Ella had been recently diagnosed with asthma.

“Note to self,” she mumbled. “Get fireplace leak fixed next week.”

Then there was the family room in the basement, which had no ceiling. Wesley had insisted that the raw wood beams and pipes made it feel rustic, like a “man cave.” She’d told him he was welcome to it.

As Rebecca walked through the rooms, she looked about for anything missing. She hesitated near the table by the living room window. The family photos appeared disturbed. She frowned, examining the dust trail on the table. Was she imagining it, or had the photo of her and the kids been moved?

She repositioned the picture, stared at it a moment, then gave a nervous laugh. One of the kids probably knocked it over.

Shrugging off her paranoia, she hurried back to the garage and waved at the kids. Colton climbed out on the side with the good door, while Rebecca fought with the damaged door and helped Ella with her seat belt.

“Why’d we have to wait in the car?” Ella asked, scowling.

“Case there were burglars,” her brother answered.

Ella’s eyes grew wide and fearful. “Burglars?”

“You know, bad guys. Like The Fog.”

“Colton,” Rebecca warned. She turned to Ella. “There are no burglars in our house, honey.”

“What about bad guys?”

“Nope. None of those either.”

“You sure?”

Rebecca nodded and took her daughter’s hand. “I checked everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes, honey. Even in the fridge.”

Ella laughed. “He’d be pretty cold.”

“And stupid,” Colton said. “Maybe he’s hiding under Ella’s bed.”

“Nope,” Rebecca said. “I checked there too.” Over her shoulder, she threw her son a scolding look. I’ll deal with you later, mister.

“It’s just us chickens,” she said. “Cluck, cluck.”

This set Ella off into a round of clucking and flapping her arms.

Rebecca grinned. “Homework before pizza. Go! Both of you.”

The “chicken” raced down the hall, her scowling brother plodding behind.

Rebecca ordered a pizza for the kids.

Not in the mood for such high carbs, she pulled a container from the refrigerator, lifted the lid and sniffed. “Good God, what was this?”

Whatever it had been, it wasn’t identifiable anymore, and she scooped it out into the garbage can under the sink. On the bottom shelf of the fridge, she found the leftover Greek salad from last night. That’ll do.

She settled into the armchair in the corner of the living room and polished off the salad while taking in the chaos of the living room. Wesley had always loathed coming home to a messy house, so she’d spend hours tidying up before he came home. Since he’d moved out, she’d become lax in her housekeeping. It was kind of liberating.

“We gotta clean sometime,” she muttered, strolling into the kitchen and setting the empty salad container in the dishwasher.

Back in the living room, she gathered up Ella’s sweater and Colton’s hockey uniform and threw on a load of laundry. She put away Colton’s Xbox and gathered up Ella’s half-naked Barbies that were scattered over the sofa. She also wiped what looked like dried peanut butter off the coffee table.

Then she turned on the laptop that sat on the desk in the corner of the living room. Planning to pay the electricity bill, she logged into the joint checking account. “What the―”