Sunk

After a messy split with my live-in girlfriend of five years, I decided to treat myself to a solo camping trip. I loaded up my 2002 Mitsubishi Gallant with some clothes, my kayak, a tent, and my cooler and made the 30 minute drive to the state park. Temperatures in Northeastern Pennsylvania sometimes drop to below 30 degrees Fahrenheit in October, which is hardly ideal camping weather for most people, but perfect for me. The fewer people to suffer through contact with the better.

A few minutes after pulling onto the highway, I found myself slipping into a memory I had been desperately trying to avoid re-living. Three days prior, Stephanie and I were lying on opposite sides of our king bed reading, an integral part of our nightly routine. The preceding weeks had been rife with petty arguments; most started with her nitpicking about me not taking out the garbage or leaving dishes in the sink. Some of those little disagreements had ballooned into full blown screaming matches, our faces red with anger and tears in our eyes. So that night when she had her eyes trained on her phone instead of the book in her lap, I knew I had cause for suspicion. When she took her phone to the bathroom with her while she brushed her teeth, my suspicion grew. That night when it was time for bed, I curled up on my left side and pretended to sleep. Sometime around midnight when she had already been snoring for a good five minutes, I unlocked her phone with the passcode she didn’t know I had memorized. I scrolled cautiously through pages upon pages of flirtatious texts with her ex, using stupid pet names that should have been reserved for me. It wasn’t until I saw, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!” that I felt vomit rise up in my throat. I left the room quietly, sat on our couch and stared at the ugly floral wallpaper for hours. My mind raced with the typical questions, “how the hell did I allow this to happen?” being the most prevalent. I asked myself so many times that the question spelled itself out and danced around in my head. The next morning, I looked at Stephanie with bloodshot eyes and almost lost the desire to confront her altogether when she greeted me with a hug. With her olive skin, black hair and vibrant smile, Stephanie is what many people consider classically beautiful. It was easy to get lost in. Even though I felt betrayed, she was still my person. She got ready to go out for coffee with her friend Kayla, so she told me. She didn’t even seem to notice that I wasn’t in bed with her the previous night. We were already so disconnected. When she arrived at home four hours later and I’d had ample time to stew in my jealousy and anger, I finally confronted her. Things got out of control and there was nothing left of our relationship to salvage. Looking back on it now, I realize I didn’t even care to ask what book she was reading.

It was about 3 PM when I arrived at the campsite, the smell of burning wood permeating the air. I secured a spot within a quarter mile of the lake not the most ideal, but it would have to do. I parked at the campsite, grabbed my cooler, and headed down the hill to the shore. Eager to set my heavy cooler down, I settled for the first wooden picnic table I saw. The lake itself is about 2.5 miles long, its shoreline surrounded almost entirely by trees. The evergreens held together eagerly while the maples sent their red and yellow leaves catapulting to the ground with each gust of wind. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in to calm my nerves and listened to the crows. I opened my eyes and continued to scan my surroundings. I saw what appeared to be a kayaker about a half a mile away on the lake. A few feet away to my left, I saw an older couple walk toward the lake with fishing poles in hand. The woman had short sandy brown hair and looked to be about five feet tall; a bright red scarf and a baggy black sweatshirt hung on her petite frame. The man, frail and gray, limped a few steps behind, a cane in his left hand. They waved to me and smiled warmly as they set down their gear on the shoreline. I conjured a smile and hoped they wouldn’t try to come over and talk to me. Once I saw them settle in, I opened my cooler and took out the Jack Daniels I had disguised in an iced tea bottle. I started thinking about my last interaction with Stephanie and I gulped down more to chase away the intrusive thoughts. The war with my own brain never ended. Once I won a battle, a new one sprung up just as fast, and this was by far the most difficult to win. I grabbed my cooler and took a walk around the lake. Before long, my feet refused to line up with the steps I wanted to take, and my feet kept sliding around on the rotting leaves. I admitted defeat and sat down, content to quietly listen to the wind shake the leaves off the trees. After an hour or two, it was time to settle into my campsite. I stumbled up the hill and pulled a white plastic chair and two starter logs from my trunk. I lit a Marlboro Red and felt a spiteful smirk spread across my face. Stephanie hated when I smoked. I pulled her favorite floral headband out of my pocket and threw it into the fire, watching intently as the pink fabric turned to ash. I closed my eyes, took a few more swigs of whiskey and let it warm me from the inside. I heard the buzz of a wasp zooming past my head and I remembered that a friend once told me that in the fall, they sting whoever they want without fear of consequence because they know they’re going to die. Instead of sending them into hiding, their impending doom makes them even more fearless. I imagine our roles reversed, and that’s the last thought I remember having before I blacked out.

I woke up in the fetal position in the back seat of my car with a splitting headache and cotton mouth. According to my phone it was already 2:50 AM, so I surmised that I was too drunk to put my tent together and passed out in the backseat instead. I rubbed my temples to alleviate my headache and waited impatiently for the night to piece itself together. I remembered talking to the couple from the lake. The man’s name was Bob, or Ben maybe? No, Bill. His wife was quiet, and I had no recollection of her name. I remembered stumbling up the hill to the campsite and starting the fire. Why was I missing so much in between? One of the two Ativans I brought in my pocket was gone, so that could explain the blackout. I decided to go outside and survey the damage to see if it would jog my memory. As soon as I stood up, the pain in my head was so intense that my vision blurred, and I was forced to sit back down. I felt around on the back of my head to see if I bumped it on anything when I was blacked out and felt something sticky which I immediately knew was blood. I took a picture of the back of my head with my phone and saw a small gash, about two inches in diameter. A reddish-brown stain had formed where my head rested.

I shot up from the backseat, dizzy with pain and went outside. I noticed two red nylon camping chairs next to my plastic one around the fire. It was then that I realized that my drunk alter ego invited Bill and his wife over for drinks, and for some reason, they accepted. It had to be them, they were the only people at the lake besides that kayaker. I crouched down, closed my eyes, and rested my head in my hands, baffled that I lost so much of the night. When I finally got up, I saw what looked like a black boot sticking out from the other side of the car. I walked over and saw Bill on the ground in a pool of blood. He was on his stomach, his face turned slightly to the left and arms outstretched in front of him, one in front of the other. It looked as if he may have been trying to crawl. There was such an obscene amount of blood. I crouched down to see how he’d been injured and saw that the back of his head was so badly beaten that it was partially caved in. I was frozen in place. I slapped myself a few times on the knee to see if I was dreaming. I wasn’t. This was not an animal attack. How did I sleep through this? And where’s his wife? I walked around the campsite frantically, desperate to find her and to get a signal to call 911. I dialed at least 20 times, but the call kept failing. Who could have done this? That’s when I saw his wife. She was lying about 20 feet ahead of Bill, toward the direction of the lake. She was on her stomach with her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and a muddy footprint on her back. In her left hand was a branch that was caked in blood. I turned her over and put my ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing, but she was like ice against my cheek. I looked at her face and saw that her lips were blue, and her skin was so pale It was almost translucent. A guttural scream escaped my throat, and I ran as fast as my legs would take me around the other campsites. No one, not even a park ranger was in sight. I continued running up and down the park as fast as I could, screaming as loud as my lungs would allow. Finally, I see a tent and a black SUV parked at a campsite on the other side of the lake. I ripped open the tent but there was no one there. I surmise that the campsite was Bill and his wife’s. The only other people at the park are dead. I thought about driving to the police station, but I was still drunk, and I could barely see. I had no idea how much blood I’d lost. I decided my only option was to hide in my car until the park rangers started their patrol. I got in the car, covered myself with a blanket and shook with terror for what felt like hours. I glanced at my phone again and it was only 4:00 AM. I took another Ativan to calm myself down and think a little more clearly. That’s when the night started coming back together in bits and pieces. I remembered the wife’s screams. I remember coming back from the bathroom to see Bill looking in my cooler. They saw. I did this.

I realized then that the sun would be up in less than two hours, and I needed to do what I came there for. I struggled to get the kayak from the top of my car and dragged it down the hill to the lake. When I got it to the shore, I ran back to my campsite and grabbed the cooler. I managed to get myself out on the water with my cooler on my lap and paddled out to the middle of the lake. I found a spot where the seaweed was dense and threw the bag with Stephanie’s teeth and a rock I found into the lake, seaweed dancing around it as it sank. I paddled out farther and took out her favorite black purse, with her hands inside. I watched as the soft, beautiful hands I held for five years sank to the bottom of the lake. A piece of her will remain here because of me, her flesh wearing away with time until there’s nothing left but bone. I flashed back to the night I strangled her as I stared into her brown almond shaped eyes. All I wanted was her love and loyalty.

I paddled to the shore and ran back up to my car. I brought my cooler with me but left everything else. Since I used a fake name to rent the campsite, the police couldn’t track where I was right away, which bought me some time. I drove for 6 days and stopped only to get gas and to sleep for an hour or two a night. The cash I brought with me supplemented by the cash I got from Bill and his wife’s wallets was enough to get me to Northern California. Impulsivity is my fatal flaw. I know that Stephanie’s friends and family will stop at nothing to find out what happened. I also know that she can’t be identified through dental records or fingerprints if they ever find the rest of her. Someday I know they’ll find me. Until then, I plan to float around Northern California and try to enjoy whatever time I have left. I don’t mind sleeping in my car, and I do really enjoy camping.