The Drawings of Purgatory

“What cha doin’?” a squeaky voice called from the forest.

I clutched the delicately stained papers against my chest, mildly startled, and turned to face my new visitor.

"Well hello there little one.” I called out to the tiny figure, barely poking his head out from the trees, seemingly nervous to step out into the sun. “What is your name?”

“Dad says not to talk to strangers” he affirms.

“My goodness! That is sound advice!” I began to tease, still clutching the papers from my drawing book against my body. “I cannot talk to you because you are a stranger to me!”

I turn my back to him, returning to the morning meditation of the sun reflecting off the calmness of the lake. Fish peacefully swim under the back and forth sway of my toes in the water, and I pretend to sink back into my day of zero disturbances, people included.

Though my day of silent tranquility seemed to be dissolved, I found the curiosity of this young child slightly amusing. Without control, I let out a small chuckle as I hear his feet slowly dragging across the dock. The pace he seemed to be moving at led me to believe he was unaware that the creaking of decaying wood gave away every footstep.

“Excuse me stranger, but you are getting a little too close,” I call out, still facing towards the lake.

“How did you know I was behind you?” The high pitch tone of voice called out from what sounded like only a couple feet away.

“I have eyes in the back of my head.” I laugh out.

“What!? No way! My dad said he has the same thing!”

“Speaking of your father.” I say with a raised eyebrow and my head half turned to see him from my peripherals, “He said not to speak to strangers, and you are still a stranger to me. SO! I am not speaking to you anymore-”

“Hey, I’m not a stranger!” the boy argues in slight frustration.

“Well, I don’t know your name, so therefore that makes you a stranger.”

“I’m not a stranger! You’re a stranger.”

My mind laughs internally from the child like insults.

“My name is Violet.” I turn to face a dirt-covered boy. His pants are torn and covered with leaves and his hair is as wild and tossed around as tumbleweeds in a drought.

“Now I’m not a stranger, but you still are-”

“Victor!” he boldly pronounces with his chest slightly puffed out, “I am victor!”

“Well, Victor.” I place my sketch book to the side of me, and extend my hand out for a proper greeting. “It is a pleasure to not be strangers anymore.”

Victor closes the gap between us to kneel down and shake his hand in mine. Dirt and something of a sticky sensation quickly coats my skin, but I make no fuss of it once I see the smile it brought to his face.

“Victor, would you like to come sit with me?” I invite.

“Sure,” He eagerly replies, and with no hesitation he plops right on the side of me with his toes barely skimming the water.

“A tiny little thing he is.” I thought to myself, but packed a colossal sized personality.

“So what are you doing?” Victor asked leaning outward to gaze upon the aged sketchbook resting to the other side of me.

“Well,” with care, I pick up the book as the pages dramatically flop around before settling into my lap, “I was drawing a portrait.”

“May I see?” he politely asked.

The question catches me off guard. I freeze for a moment under the realization that for many years only the stillness of the lake had been allowed to see my drawings. This body of water held the secrets of my portraits, as it never disturbed my focus of chiseling a nose, or outlining a tree. It became an intimate bond that we always kept between us, yet for some eerie reason it felt almost dangerous to share that with anyone else.

“Sure.” I agree against my better judgment, and open the book for him.

Victor tilts his head in amazement, and releases a tiny ‘wow’ from under his breath, while I scurry through my illustrations. I could feel my face softening under the emotion of being complimented from the child’s reaction. Uncontrollably, my fingers pace themselves as to attempt to not rush through the pages for his sake, as relief sweeps over me, seeing that nothing terrible happened.

“They’re beautiful.” Victor’s eyes are almost stuck to every page.

“Thank you.” I reply still feeling a small sting of nervousness.

“What’s this one?” Victor ceases my page flipping and sticks his finger onto the corner of a page he notices, marking it with dirt.

We both study the drawing together.

“I actually can’t remember drawing this one.” I admit in hidden confusion.

“It kind of looks like you.” Victors says.

The frail portrait of a woman sinking down into the lake, hopelessly, as her arms are outstretched for someone to grab hold of her hand. Detailed linings around her eyes allow it to be seen that she cried her salted tears under the cold still of the water. With creases of red illustrated from her belly, the drawing depicts her innards violently torn through. The injuries of the woman wrote a story of sorrow that disturbingly resonated with me.

I felt my eyes water, as if I could feel her struggle and desire to live. I wanted to believe that someone would be able to rescue her, but the reality of knowing that no one knew she was there sunk my heart into my stomach. The thought of knowing that the lake in the picture would become her casket, could not settle the ease within me.

“I don’t think you should look at this one.” I suggest, turning the page.

Victor and I locked eyes, and the child froze with a visible panic throughout his body.

“Oh I’m sorry,” I say wiping my tears away, “I didn’t realize how emotional my work gets me.”

“I have to go,” Victor mumbled nervously and he slowly stifled to his feet.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” I reply in confusion.

“It’s ok.” Victor gets to his feet and runs off without a proper goodbye.

My chest sinks as I sigh in disappointment.

“Tears really do scare boys off.” I pick up my pencils and continue on with my drawing.

“Hey Violet!” I hear a deeper tone of voice call out.

My body instinctively turns around as a young man approaches me. The sense of caution does not cross his mind as he carelessly plops down right next to me, continually staring at the fish underneath our feet. Dirt and leaves seem to be just as attached to him as they were to Victor. He pays no mind to my curiosity of his identity and proceeds to turn his gaze onto my book.

“So, what’d you draw this year?” He asks.

Suddenly, he stops and examines the confused look on my face and shares a similar expression shortly afterwards.

“What?” he says placing his finger in his nose, “Do I have something in my nose?”

“What?” I chuckle, “No, who are you?”

“Oh,” he looks back at the water, “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“It’s me, Victor,” he answers.

“Excuse me? You’re not Victor, he left in a hurry just now, is that who you’re looking for?”

“No, Violet,” he debates, “It’s me, Victor-”

“What is this? Some kind of prank?” I respond in an annoyed tone. “What? Is Victor your little brother and you guys just decided to come mess with me?”

“No Violet! It’s really me! See look,” without consent, he grabs the book, viciously scours through the pages.

“HEY!” I yell, snatching my possession back, “Who the hell do you think you are just stealing people’s stuff-”

“Look,” he cuts me off and points to the corner of the page.

There, Victor’s mud fingerprint on the same corner of the page he wanted to look upon.

“How did you-” I question with a calmer tone.

“You drew a different picture this time,” Victor points out, “How did you draw over the lady in the lake?”

I look up at the picture, and this new stranger appears to be right. The woman in the lake is gone, as a couple’s portrait appears to have taken her place.

“I don’t remember-”

“You don’t remember drawing this,” Victor interrupts again, without breaking eye contact from the drawing, “You never do.”

“What?” I question in timid voice, slightly disturbed.

My eyes wandered across the picture, as the handy work of the lines and shadowing appear to be by my fingers. The work I mysteriously crafted this time was of a man smiling, while holding the impregnated belly of his beloved. The woman smiled back as she clasped his face in the gentleness of her palms while the subtlety of their wedding bands overtakes the entirety of the picture.

I could feel the warmth of their love as if it vibrated off of the page.

“The husband’s name,” Victor started, “That’s Henry, and he’s my dad.”

“I drew… your dad?” I questioned.

Suddenly, Victor appeared panicked once more, and just as he did the first time, he ran back into the trees without a word of goodbye.

“What?! HEY!” I yell out.

Just as I thought I was alone again, another male figured appeared from the trees once more. He was taller than the other two, and this time more cleaned up, not as fragile in his looks either. Almost like the wave of puberty and masculinity combined and created your perfect high school quarterback.

“Hey Violet-”

“Let me guess, Victor?” I questioned as he sat down next to me.

“You finally remembered?” He chuckled with a deeper tone of voice.

Before I could let one question rip off, my attention focused on the bloody cloth wrapped hurriedly around his arm.

“Whoa, what happened-”

“It’s nothing!” he defends, wiping up the small drops that seeped through the cotton bandages.

“Ok, no!” I furiously slam my sketchbook down beside me, “You need to tell me what’s going on NOW!”

“With my arm?” the young adult brushed off, “I ran into a tree-”

“I know what it looks like to run into something much denser than the human body! That is not a ‘ran into a tree’ wound! WHO are you and where is Victor?!” I demanded.

“Violet,” his face softened, “please calm down.”

“No! I am here minding my own business and people keep running out of the forest calling themselves Victor! You think this is funny?!”

I rise to my feet screaming in Victor’s face.

“Now you show up with your arm covered in blood, dirt and leaves! Who is Victor-?”

“Violet if you can’t calm down I’ll have to leave!”

“YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

I wanted to calm down, honestly, but the confusion of these pranks made me feel so enraged. How did he know more about my pictures than I did? How does he remember that I drew these? Why was I drawing people he knew? Why did he refuse to answer any of my questions? Why me? Why me? Why me?

“WHY ME?!” I screamed angrily.

The peace of my quiet mornings slipped away from me and before I knew it I was alone on the pier in the dead of night. The moon was unfriendly to me, the stars cowered behind the clouds, and the water invited me to hide until the sun returned again, but I refused to be subdued once more.

The lake always kept me close, whether it was to quietly draw, or to angrily stare into it. But there would be no rest tonight, as my anger fueled me to want answers! I wanted to know, why me?! This time the lake would not keep me still from roaming.

Just as I broke my gaze from the body of water, a small group of what seemed like teenagers appeared from the trees. They had not noticed me standing at the edge of the pier from first glance, but I was no longer in a patient mood to let them notice. Moving from the water, and down the pier, it was the rotten wood that creaked and gave my footsteps away.

“Ho…ly… shit,” one male figure called out, “she’s real!” he laughed.

“Do you know Victor?” I asked.

“Dude, this is just some psycho playing a trick on us. There is no such thing as Murder Lake,” another would say.

“Where is Victor?” I impatiently walk towards them.

“Guys, she’s getting kind of close.” a concerned female voice spoke.

“I got this,” The first male walks up to me, “Listen lady, get out off of here before we kick your-”

Before he could finish his threat I found my hand clenched around his throat. I wanted to calm down, but I was so angry at my unanswered questions. Even the screaming of his friends from behind the boy, and the dangling of his feet in the air, failed to soothe my fury, as I now just saw them all as getting in my way.

“Why me?” I asked him.

Strained breathing filled the air.

“You don’t know do you?”

Strained breathing.

“No,” I let him go, but not before the sound of a snap fills the air and his body collapses to the ground.

The others take off running, but I want my answers. My legs proceed to pursue them.

Suddenly, I halt, and I felt anchored to the pier as if something has tied itself around my feet. Mobility becomes impossible for me as more confusion encumbers my mental state of thinking. Emotion overwhelms me, as the burst of the morning sun beats down my back. I turned back to the pier and see cranes in the water, police cars parked close by, news reporters filming, and chaos brewing. I look around and can only notice that no one seemed to care that I was still standing on the pier even though it had appeared to be taped off.

“Violet!” I hear a voice call out. “Violet, over here!”

I turn to see a male adult standing in the far off trees of the lake that other people figured to be too muddy and disgusting to trek through. Only one person came to mind when I asked myself who would be so bold to venture into a place like that.

“Victor?” I questioned walking up.

This version of Victor is a handsome young man, whose persona finally matches his look.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He greets me with a soft smile and points in the direction of the cranes pulling someone out of the water.

“They finally found you.” he replies.

“What?” I let out and turn back to him, “They found me?”

"For years, ever since I was a little boy, you’ve been crying out to me to come help you.”

“What-”

“Violet, Violet Adreg is your name.”

Wait, Violet Adreg was my name, why couldn’t I remember my name?

“Aspiring artist,” Victor continued, “happily married to Henry Adreg, and eight months pregnant with your first born, a son.”

It all came rushing back to me, more and more, as he spoke.

“Twenty years ago,” Victor continued, “You were kidnapped and murdered. The child was cut out of your stomach, but safely recovered for Henry to raise alone. He named your son-”

“Victor,” I whimpered through my tears as I looked upon my precious baby boy.

I clasp my hands over the gaping hole in my belly where Victor had been stolen from. The blood rushing from me as quickly as it did the first night it happened.

“They caught the culprit, but since they couldn’t find your body or hard evidence of your murder, he was only charged with kidnapping of a minor. They did say he would receive lethal injection should your body ever be found. So, every year, Henry would choose this place among many to search for you. He never stopped looking for you… mom.”

I fell to the knees as the weight of this truth became overwhelming. Dead? Mother? Me?

“Every year I would come to visit you, and you would draw a different picture to guide me closer to where you were.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried out.

Victor kneeled down to my level, “I did, multiple times, but your spirit would become so enraged and unaccepting that every night you would find an innocent life to take, in hopes that they would take your place here in your purgatory. Even got it’s nickname ‘murder lake’, and caused it be closed off to the public. Never stopped dad and me though.”

Victor lifted his shirt to reveal a scar across his arm in the shape of a handprint.

“Even if you almost got me,” He chuckled, “I knew I wouldn’t able to tell you the truth until I could find a way to put your spirit at ease, but we found you mom. This lake is not your casket anymore. Dad and I, we’re going to lay you to rest, and you’re finally going to get justice.”

Emotions of relief sweep over me, as I felt the violence of my wound closing itself up, and the anger of unanswered questions being pushed away. That unbearable weight of the lake’s anchor… vanquished. My body released to roam freely now.

“Mom,” Victor called out as he pulled my face up from the ground, “You can rest now.”

Taking his hands in mine, we stood up together.

“Take care of this for me?” I handed him my sketchbook.

Victor immediately flips to his dirt covered, finger print page. There, his eyes watered from the final drawing of a young boy sitting beside a woman at the pier. The two smiling, and at peace.