Anne Brown - Lies Beneath

“Coming, Mom.” Lily Hancock divided her ponytail and pulled it tight. She buttoned a black brocade vest that accentuated her hourglass figure, then slung the velvet bag across her chest and shoulder. Taking one last look around her room, she headed for the door. A car horn beeped just as her feet crossed the threshold.

“I said I’m coming, you guys. Geez.”

When Lily’s combat boots hit the stairs, I made my move from the closet. But I had to dodge back into my hiding spot when she unexpectedly returned to grab the Lily sign off the nail on her door. She stared at the closet handle for too many seconds before clomping down the stairs. After that, I don’t know what was louder: the front door slamming or my heart pounding through my chest.

I went to the window and leaned my forehead against the glass. Below me, the Hancocks threw their last small items into the family SUV. The father assisted the mother into the passenger seat, making sure she was comfortable, and he handed her a wooden cane.

They weren’t exactly happy about the move. I could tell that much. Their auras were all wrong. Anxious, maybe? That was my best guess, judging by the muddy green light that hovered around the car. I wondered if they knew what their family was going toward. Did they know their Hancock family history? If Maris was right, did these girls know their dad was in danger?

I slunk down the stairs and slipped out the back door. A neighbor’s dog followed me, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. I met his eyes and thought, Beat it . The dog yelped and ran away, leaving me to find a place to spy.

“And we’re off,” said the man behind the wheel, but he didn’t put the car in gear. “I can’t believe it. I’m finally going.” I flinched at the sound of his voice, muffled because the car windows were closed but still clear enough for me to hear.

From behind a tree, I listened to their conversation. How many times had I imagined Jason Hancock—his image changing with each passing year as he turned from baby to boy to man? His face, his hair … his voice. Never had I imagined the sound to be gentle.

“This is going to be good for all of us,” he said. I wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince. “Nothing but blue sky, fresh air, clean water …” He paused then, and the family waited silently for something more. When he didn’t say anything, Lily Hancock leaned forward and put her chin on his seat back.

“We have water here, too, Dad. Minneapolis, City of Lakes, ever heard of it?”

“Don’t get smart,” said her mother.

“But it’s not the same,” Jason Hancock said, shaking his head. “Lake Superior is more like an ocean. You’ll see.”

“I know,” Lily said, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on her father’s seat. “It’s going to be great, you guys.”

Mrs. Hancock tapped the girl’s hand reassuringly.

Lily turned toward her window, and her gray eyes aligned with mine. For a second, I thought she saw me.

I retreated behind the tree and counted to five before leaning around the trunk again. When I did, she wasn’t looking in my direction; she was flipping through the songs on an MP3 player and pushing earbuds into her ears, a look of patient surrender on her face.

Jason Hancock backed the SUV into the street. When he looked forward, I scrutinized his features, narrowing my eyes to focus. There was definitely something about him that looked familiar. I had never met the older Hancock, but I’d seen his face in my mother’s dying thoughts: Tom Hancock running away with his family, depriving her of the young life he’d promised; she, racing along the shore, following his car as the road traced the lake .

All the pieces fit. This man, unlike the others my sisters had brought me to see, was in fact Tom Hancock’s son. I was sure of it. My fingers flexed, then curled into fists.

The SUV pulled past the mailbox and headed up the street. Hancock flipped on his blinker at the stop sign, then turned right.

Maris honked twice. I gave her a two-fingered salute and jogged back to the car. Tallulah threw open the door for me, and I slid in beside her.

“Well?” asked Pavati. She twisted a lock of dark hair around her index finger, her lavender eyes keen and nervous in the visor mirror.

“Well?” repeated Tallulah.

I watched Maris’s lips press into a long straight line. Her eyes were silver, soulless things. As eager as I was to end this Hancock obsession for myself, she was the most fanatical of all of us. I considered dragging out her anxiety, toying with her nerves, but had an unexpected flicker of mercy. “Okay, I’m convinced.”

The girls erupted into peals of laughter that made me wince. I was on board when it came to the end result we all desired, but I still couldn’t embrace their methods. Sure, I fantasized about killing Hancock, but it wasn’t in me to prolong the torture. Particularly if he knew nothing of his father’s promise. Of course, even if he was ignorant, we’d still have to kill him. But he didn’t have to suffer. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Hancock knew nothing. Why else would he move his whole family back to the lake?

“He’s oblivious,” Maris sneered. I nodded. His ignorance would make things easier. In fact, it all seemed a little too easy. Maybe that was what had me nervous. If we got too relaxed, if we assumed too much, we’d make stupid mistakes.

Maris shifted the car into drive and revved the engine; the tires squealed, leaving long black marks on the otherwise quiet street.

Light and shadow flashed like fire through my eyelids as I dozed in the backseat of the Impala. I wasn’t curious where Maris was driving us. We were creatures of habit. We’d be at the Mississippi River Gorge below the old Pillsbury Mill in a matter of minutes. We’d ditch the car and follow the Mississippi south to the St. Croix River hookup, then north up the St. Croix as far as we could go. We’d make the last twenty miles to Lake Superior on foot.

I breathed sleepily and let Tallulah sink into my side, but minutes later Maris interrupted the moment of satisfaction by throwing the car into park. I crashed into the back of her headrest.

Tallulah sat up, and for a second, we all just stared out the window. Across the river, the city of Minneapolis shone with cold steel and glass, its buildings seemingly huddled together for warmth.

I pulled myself out of the car and followed my sisters down the winding path and over the wobbly footbridges. Maris carried our bag and led our line. When we got to the bottom, my feet sank into the sated ground. A blue heron was wading tentatively in the shallows at the base of the Stone Arch Bridge. The river was so high from the winter runoff that it climbed the tree trunks along the bank. Other than the birds, there was no one around. That was good. It was impossible to strip down with an audience—not to mention let the metamorphosis take over.

Maris pulled our bag over her head and set it on the ground beside her. She waded in. The water lapped at her ankles. She pushed her shoulders back and arched. Pavati’s long skirt dragged in the water. In the middle of the river, a duck stretched its neck and shook off the cold. That caught my attention. If ducks were complaining …

“You know what? Forget it,” I said. “I’m not doing it. Not this early. No way.” Tallulah startled, and Maris and Pavati turned around slowly to stare at me. “If you’d only waited. Would a few more weeks kill you?” I hated sounding like a baby about this, but I hated the cold. I mean, I really hated the cold. Maris raised her eyebrows to suggest that big boys didn’t act like this.