Wendy Dalrymple

  They Come From the Water

  Copyright © 2022 by Wendy Dalrymple

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  *Content warnings: Addiction, adultery, murder, suicide, self-harm, animal death and gore.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Dalrymple

  Chapter One

  I never wanted to go back to the house on Palmetto Lake, even before the event happened. It was Joy’s idea to clean out the property by ourselves, not mine. I would have been just as happy to take care of this all from the comfort of my home and hire a company to do our dirty work for us. I had no happy memories at the lake house, no reason to want to return there and wade in nostalgia and certain misery. I doubt my sister did either.

  The last rays of sunlight dappled through the oak canopy as I steered our RV along the bumpy, unpaved path leading toward my late grandparents home. The lake house at 14 Palmetto Lane came into view that hot and muggy June afternoon looking much as I remembered it, only weathered with time. The giant metal trash bin I rented had been delivered that morning and cast a long shadow along the lawn. The bin stood just to the left of the house, waiting for us to fill it with destroyed carpet and drywall and anything else that couldn’t be donated. My husband, Jeremy, had helped hitch a rented trailer to the back of the RV for items that could be salvaged from the house and donated, though I doubted I would be bringing a single thing back home for myself.

  The quaint bungalow my grandfather had built in the late 1960s sat at the edge of expansive Palmetto Lake on an acre of wild pine scrub property. The modest single story house seemed almost to blend in with the landscape, as though it rose up from the edge of the lake; as though it was always meant to be there. A thick layer of speckled, peeling paint on the lake facing side hinted that mildew and rot were likely going to be an issue for our contractor to deal with. The roof probably needed some work, and other minor and major updates would have to be done as well before the property was ready to sell. For now, we had to take it one day at a time. It was overwhelming, if I stopped to think of it; everything that had happened, and now, the mess we were left with. I would be happy when I could leave this house and all of the memories it held behind for good. But before Joy and I could even dream of listing the lake house with a realtor, we had to clear out the damned place first.

  I grabbed my tote bag, stepped out of the air conditioned interior of the RV and was instantly blanketed by the oppressive atmosphere. Even down so near to the water it was impossible to escape the heat and the onslaught of insects in Central Florida. The drone of the cicadas in the tree canopy overhead could almost lull a person to sleep if it weren’t for the dime-sized mosquitoes; little vampires that buzzed in your ear and nipped at sections of soft, exposed skin if you didn’t bathe yourself in repellent. This was how I remembered my one and only summer spent at my grandparents lake house all those years ago; hot and miserable.

  “You’re late.” A plume of vapor lazily drifted from Joy’s lips as she reclined on the front porch swing. She clutched her vape pen and took another long draw from the tip as she stared at me through a crop of too-long bangs. My lower lip fell open at the sight of her, all skin and bones. I hadn’t seen my little sister in years, not since well before her stint in rehab. We used to pass for twins back in high school. Now, her once shiny auburn locks were lank, the skin around her lips dry and lined. I barely recognized her at all.

  “Got caught up on I-4.” I cleared my throat and scratched the back of my neck. “You’re looking… well.”

  “Liar. I look like hot garbage.”

  “Yeah, well I feel like hot garbage.” I stared down at the ground and kicked at the second porch step. It looked like it was sagging.

  “It’s good to see you, Summer.”

  “It’s good to see you, too.” I glance back up at my sister and force a smile. “How is it in there?”

  “It’s bad.” Joy sighed.

  I ran my fingers along a strip of leftover yellow caution tape as it dangled off the front porch railing. People tend to think that police will take care of the scene of a crime when everything is said and done for some reason, but that’s not the case. It’s up to the family to clean up whatever horrors they’re left with.

  I pulled the caution tape off and winced. “I still think we should hire a professional to help us. It’s not too late.”

  “You could certainly afford it.” Joy snorted and took another draw from her vape pen. “Nice RV, by the way.”

  “We don’t even know what we’re doing. We might cross-contaminate something.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Seriously, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll pay for it.”

  Joy snorted, her lips turned down. “You can really just cough up the ten grand to hire professional cleaners? You and Jeremy must be more loaded than I thought.”

  “Please don’t turn this into a money issue.”

  She gave me a cold, hard stare and exhaled another plume. “It’s not a matter of money. This is our personal business. We need to take care of it ourselves.”

  “Fine.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Not a good start to the weekend. “Let’s go take a look while we still have some daylight then.”

  “Did you bring a mask?”

  “Yeah. I brought some gloves and an industrial strength boat cleaner too. Jeremy uses it to clean off fish blood.”

  “Good. We’re going to need it.” Joy hoisted herself from the porch swing, stuck her vape pen in her back pocket and strode toward the screen door.

  I dug into my tote and pulled out a respirator face mask, a pair of protective goggles and nitrile gloves. Joy adjusted her own mask and gloves and avoided eye contact with me as we suited up in silence. Part of me wished I had thought to get full-body coveralls instead. A hazmat suit. A plastic bubble.

  When we were both ready, Joy opened the door and stepped inside. As I followed her, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention and the floorboards creaked beneath our combined weight. I didn’t think that coming back to this old house would have any sort of emotional effect on me whatsoever, but as the death-tinged scent of my grandparents’ home hit my nostrils, an unsettling sensation wormed its way into my gut. Even through the masks, the smell inside the house was overwhelming.

  “Oh, God.” I gagged and held my hands to my face. “We need to open some windows.”

  “Yeah. Good idea.” Joy moved to the window over the kitchen sink, flipped the latch and lifted it.

  It had been a lifetime ago since I walked through that front door; the summer I was sixteen and Joy was fourteen, in fact. It was the one and only time we had stayed with our grandparents while our mother and stepfather went out of town on a couples counseling retreat. For those three days, my grandparents were cold and distant, interacting with us only at meal times, and even then, barely saying much at all. It was no mystery to me why our mother kept us away from them while we were growing up. By all accounts, my grandparents didn’t seem to have a warm drop of blood in their bodies, and certainly had no interest in my sister or I. Why our mother thought it was a good idea to leave us with them back then still baffled me.

  “Watch your step. There are some sharp edges on the frame from where they had to pry the door open.”

  I steeled myself and stepped over the threshold and into my grandparents’ kitchen. Time folded in on itself as I saw my grandfather at the stove cooking eggs and my grandmother at the kitchen table reading a paper, a cup of black coffee at hand. It was almost exactly as I had remembered it, aside from the sickening smell.

  The home of the late Claude and Antonia Burke had a décor style that was decidedly stuck in the early 1970’s from the yellow linoleum floor to the tile kitchen countertops. Even the refrigerator was a sickening avocado green. Nothing in the home had been updated or replaced in decades.

  “I already swept a little.” Joy said, moving a broom out of the way. “You should have seen all the dirt that the cops and the CSI’s drug in.”

  “Jerks.” I run my hand along a loose seam of the textured kitchen wallpaper. “Hopefully we can sell this place to a flipper.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t seem too bad at first, but the closer you look, the more obvious it is that this place is rotten.”

  I gagged again. “I don’t know if I
can take much of this.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Joy rolled her eyes.

  I purse my lips and sighed. “Is there anything I should be aware of in the hallway or the living room?”

  Joy shook her head. “No. The mess is only in the master bedroom.”

  “That’s what the report said. I just wanted to make sure.” I held my breath. “Did you bring all of the extra cleaning supplies?”

  “Yep. I think we can bleach and paint the walls if that boat cleaner doesn’t work. Iif not, we’ll have to get someone to put in new drywall. The carpet is going to have to go in the dumpster, obviously.”

  I crossed my arms at my chest and shuddered. “This place gives me the creeps. I don’t think I could stay here even if it wasn’t hazardous.”

  I followed Joy out of the kitchen and into the living room, my feet shuffling along the orange shag carpet. A set of vintage sofas flanked either side of the room, paired with rattan side tables and an elongated oval coffee table. The living room was also just as I remembered, the couches upholstered in a velour fabric of deep green palm fronds. The old console-style television sat across the room on the floor encased in its wooden box with framed pictures of our mother displayed on top. Serena Burke was their only child. Who could ever have known she would have also been the means to their grisly end?

  “You should probably just go look at the room. Rip the bandage off.” Joy said. “We can take care of that one first and get it out of the way.”

  “Sure.” I nodded, my heart rate ratcheting up a bit. I had been numb to the reality of our situation up to that point. The relationship with our grandparents had been practically nonexistent, so while their death was a surprise and a shock, it wasn’t exactly a loss. But my mother… I don’t think I’ll ever understand how or why she did what she did. Joy had caused a rift between my mother and I, but that never stopped me from loving her from afar. Now, as I steadied myself to face the reality of what our mother had done head-on, it became all too clear that I wasn’t being stoic. I was in denial.

  My head spun and I steadied myself on the walls of the narrow hallway. To the left was the bathroom, the ceramic tub and toilet, all cast in a matching shade of soft baby blue. To the right was my mother’s childhood bedroom, also still stuck in time, the walls plastered with posters, a high school pennant, and photos of her and her friends. Forever the space of a teenager.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “It’s too much.”

  Joy turned toward me, reached out a hand and drew it back. She leaned against the wall and sighed. “I can take care of the room by myself if you want me to. I just don’t want to get anyone else involved in this, you know?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I know. Just give me a minute.”

  I breathed in slowly through my nose and out my mouth, the words from the police report flashing before my eyes. Murder suicide. Hatchet. A single shot to the head. My hands trembled but I forced myself to straighten up. The sooner we finished the job, the better.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Joy opened the door to my grandparents room and stood back. The smell was stronger toward the back of the house, but that was no surprise. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any of the crime scene photos when it first happened, but I don’t imagine that they could have been much worse than seeing everything in real time. The linens had been stripped of the bed, likely for evidence, but the mattress showed a grisly reminder of what had happened there well enough. Splatters of rusty blood arced across the wall, and even more dried blood had pooled on the carpet. A quick assessment told me that nothing from the room could be salvaged.

  “Maybe we should just light a match to this place and be done with it.” I quipped.

  Joy wrapped an arm around my back and laid her head on my shoulder, just like she used to do when we were kids. I flinched a little but didn’t pull away.

  “You know,” Joy said. “That’s not a half bad idea.”

  Chapter Two

  With the windows open and the door to the master bedroom closed, the lingering death scent that permeated the entire house seemed to subside a little. Maybe the house benefitted from a much-needed airing out. Maybe we were just getting used to the smell. Either way, just being in the house seemed to affect us both more than Joy or I anticipated. We decided to get a good night’s sleep and begin work first thing in the morning instead.

  Joy brought her duffle and groceries over to the RV and helped me to set up the beds for the night. I had considered packing some wine on the trip to help steel my nerves, but thought better of it for Joy’s sake. Even though we weren’t close any more and hadn’t been for a long time, I dared not put anything in her line of vision that might encourage her to fall off the wagon. Maybe I didn’t like my sister very much, but I still loved her.

  “Did you eat anything?”

  “I’m not hungry.” Joy flopped on one of the twin beds and pulled out her phone.

  “Okay. I’m just going to put together a salad.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you need a pillow or anything?”

  “No. I brought everything I need from home.”

  Home. I pursed my lips and poured the pre-washed salad into a bowl. Up until last week, I didn’t even know where Joy had been living. The estate lawyers were able to find her though, living in a tiny studio apartment just outside of Jacksonville. Normal circumstances and social graces might determine that I would have inquired about my sister’s life. Where she worked. Who she’s dating. What she’s doing with herself these days. The truth was, I didn’t know if I even cared.

  “I’m going to take this on the front porch and call Jeremy and the girls.”

  “How old are they now?” Joy looked up from her phone.

  “Ten and seven.”

  “Wow. Savannah was a baby last time I saw her. I don’t think I’ve met the other one…”

  “Isabella.” I cut her off. “Yeah. Time really flies.”

  Heat crept up my neck and face as the RV door slammed behind me. The mention of my daughters brought a sharp, hard lump to my throat. I walked over to the dock that was built into the edge of the lake with my bowl of mixed greens in one hand and my cell phone in the other. My grandfather’s old fishing boat was still tied up to the dock and bobbed gently against the waves. I made a mental note that I would have to list the boat for sale online too as I dialed home. Hopefully hearing my daughters’ sweet little voices would help to calm me down.

  “Momma!” Savannah’s husky voice squealed in my ear. She wasn’t such a little girl anymore.

  “Hey, Vanny baby. What are y’all doing?”

  “We’re watching a movie. Izzy wanted to watch some dumb baby show and dad is making me watch it too.”

  “Be nice. You can have a turn next.” I wiped at my eyes as the sound of an obnoxious cartoon blared in the background. “Can I talk to your dad?”

  “Daddy!” Savanna’s hand muffled the phone as she handed it off.

  “Hullo.” Jeremy’s voice sounded dull and sleepy in my ear.

  “Hey. They bein’ good?”

  “Yeah.” He yawned. “Izzy’s almost asleep in my lap.”

  “Tell her I called.”

  “I will.” He said. “How was the drive down?”

  “It was fine.” I forked at my salad. “I’m glad I brought the RV. There’s no way we could have slept in the house.”

  “How is it?”

  I paused. “It’s… well, it’s awful. There’s so much to do. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “Still couldn’t talk Joy into getting a cleaning company to do it, huh?”

  “No. The smell is just awful too.”

  “I can’t even imagine why she would want to do that. You Burke women are all crazy.”

  “Don’t say that!” I hissed, fury rising in my chest. “How could you say that to me?”

  “Oh god, Summer. I’m sorry.” Jeremy sighed. “I didn’t really… shit, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

  “Sounds about right.” I sniffed. “Tell the girls I love them. I gotta go.”

  “Summ—”

  I ended the call and stared down at my salad. I was no longer hungry.

  Crazy.

  Truth be told, I was happy to have a weekend away from home, though the location and company was far from ideal. After this was all said and done, maybe I would get us packed up for a long weekend at the beach house in St. Augustine. Any distraction from the reality of my life was welcome at that point.