Shred of Evidence

Bethany pulled her car into the gas station parking lot and parked it as far as she could from the growing snow drifts. That had been her mistake the last time she had tried this. The tires of her rusting Corsica had caught in a snow bank and she had spun her wheels for several minutes until the cops came for her. It had been an amateur’s mistake, one that she had dreaded relaying to her fellow inmates at Taycheedah, and she had no intention of doing it again. As it was her mother was probably already angry with her for the years of missed visits, and another conviction for Bethany would only change that anger into righteous wrath.

Prior to Taycheedah Bethany had never had to think about what she was about to do, but now she found herself hesitating and going over all the details in her head. She had made sure she had chosen a gas station she had never hit before just like always, but in the future she might have to go back to older ones. As far as she knew this was the last gas station in Fond du Lac that she had never robbed, unless some new ones had been built while she had been locked away. Considering how long she had been in, that was a very real possibility.

Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating to herself. The police had only been able to pin the one robbery on her, and thanks to her previous lack of a criminal record she had only been forced to do a short stint. The time had felt like longer, though, and she had been afraid that the little bit of beauty she had had when she went in would be replaced by a reflection of wrinkles and gray hairs. Now that she was out she found that she was still able to attract the occasional man into her bed, but they were not the same quality as the men she had once taken.

She hoped her mother would appreciate the sacrifice Bethany had made for her, but something in the howl of the wind outside her car told her that her mother would be cranky today.

Bethany double-checked to make sure her gun was loaded, then took her ski mask from her coat pocket. She tried to do her robbery on the same day every year, or at least she had before Taycheedah, but she also had to do it when the weather was sufficiently frigid. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to get far enough out on Lake Winnebago to meet her mother. The freezing cold and occasional snow storm made her entire task a bitch and a half, but the benefit was she could actually wear the ski mask without too much suspicion. Anyone who had any business being outside in the depths of a Wisconsin January like this knew to bundle up. She had had to wear ski masks and scarves and various other frost bite protection ever since she was a child. It was just another part of standard winter attire and few people who saw her would be the wiser.

She tucked the gun into her pocket then opened the door and braced herself against the wind. Even with the ski mask on she could still feel the sub-zero windchill trying to get through and gnaw off her ears and nose. Deeper into the city she might have found limited protection thanks to buildings and trees, but this gas station was all the way out on the southern outskirts of town. The few buildings that she could see were far enough off that they became gray ghosts in the snowstorm, half-formed visions that could have been the Wisconsin version of mirages if she were not so sure they were actually there. Just yesterday the weather had been beautiful for this time of year and the little bit of snow that had been on the ground from earlier in the season had been almost melted. The sudden change was nothing surprising, though. There was an old saying here, after all: if you don’t like the weather in Wisconsin, then wait ten minutes and it will change.

Bethany paused just outside the gas station door. On the journey from car to door the cloth over her mouth had already begun to form ice crystals from the condensation in her breath. It had been a long time since Fond du Lac had experienced a winter storm like this. The winters recently had been much milder than those she remembered as a kid. In fact, now that she thought about it, they had really started to lose their frosty edge as soon as she had gone to jail. Maybe the season’s renewed fury was a sign, she thought. Maybe God was telling her not to go see her mother. Or maybe her mother had gained control of the elements and was expressing her rage at Bethany’s absence over the last years. In Bethany’s mind both options were equally plausible.

Bethany stood outside the door, just out of view of the cashier inside, and stamped her feet to keep the blood flowing. She was going to need to do this quick if she was going to do this at all. She had left her car running and her heater going at full blast to make for a quicker getaway, but if she waited too long the snow would start to pile on her windshield despite her wipers and she would either have to drive blind or stop to scrape it off. The other women at Taycheedah had laughed at her tendency to pull jobs during the nastiest weather, but that was the way her mother had always done it. She had said that the extreme weather would keep the cops away for longer, and as long as Bethany had kept a cool and level head she had been able to use her mother’s methods to her advantage. It was only when she had let her thoughts wander like today that she had made a stupid mistake.

Even with time of the essence, however, Bethany still hesitated. Her mother expected Bethany to bring money every year, and for a while Bethany had actually enjoyed it all. The first time she had followed in her mother’s footsteps and robbed a store she had felt some guilt and anger at herself, but in the following years the guilt had given way to exhilaration. It had become an intense rush like she had never experienced otherwise, and she had come to understand why some idiots tied themselves with a rope to a bridge and then jumped off. The rush had only lasted a few years, though. She had gone on to other various cons and scams to earn her money, even the occasional selling of her own body, but none of them left her with the same feeling of shame she had from petty robbery. That had been her mother’s game, and her mother was the absolute last person she wanted to become.

But her mother demanded it, every year on or at least near the same day, and Bethany did not feel right shirking the duty. After what she had done to the woman, Bethany owed her mother at least this one yearly tribute.

Bethany gave her car one more look—the finer snow crystals were starting to clump together just out of reach of her shitty wipers—then she opened the door and went inside. She’d been visiting this station on and off over the last couple of months to make sure she knew the layout and security camera placement, and as she entered she immediately stood near the right side of the counter and cash register. The security camera was aimed more to keep employees from dipping into the till than to catch robbers, and she figured that if she stood right here the camera would only catch a minimum of details. The store was warm and toasty compared to outside, and she took a moment to flap her fingers and get the cold out. A girl in a blue smock and a name tag was on the other end of the store wiping down a counter full of coffee pots and doughnut racks with a rag. Her eyes looked sleepy, maybe even stoned, and she looked up at Bethany entering with a smile.

“Oh thank God,” the girl said. “I was starting to get bored. Help you?”

Bethany flexed her fingers again, then stuck her hand in her pocket and wrapped it around the gun’s handle. “Cigarettes, please.”

The girl’s face fell like she had expected some more important or exciting task. “Uh, sure. Just a sec.” She set down the rag, then went around the counter. “What kind ya like?”

“Dorals,” Bethany said, motioning her free hand at the farthest cigarette rack from her. The girl had to turn her back to Bethany to grab them, and in the few seconds it took the girl to turn around again and go back to the register Bethany had the gun out and pointed at her.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. The girl—Bethany could now see that her name tag simply read PJ—blinked at the gun several times like she did not quite understand what it was. Then Bethany could see the actual moment of recognition in her eyes. PJ’s eyes flicked away from the gun for less than a second to something underneath the counter, but that was her only movement. After several seconds more PJ’s lip started to quiver. Bethany felt an unwelcome moment of sympathy for the girl. This was probably the first time she had ever been robbed.

“No sudden movements,” Bethany said. PJ jumped at the sound. Aw shit, Bethany thought, a jittery one. Please don’t do anything stupid. “Both hands where I can see them.” PJ slowly raised both hands to shoulder height, and her eyes started to become glossy with oncoming tears. “With you left hand I want you to grab a bag. Keep the other where I can see.”

PJ did exactly as Bethany said, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. Again her eyes darted to some place under the counter, although not the same place as before. Everyone always looked under the counter when Bethany robbed a place, looking at the panic button that called the police and trying to find a moment to push it. PJ, however, didn’t even seem to know where it was. No one had ever trained her for this moment. She was probably thinking of family, maybe a boyfriend, wondering if she would see them again.

“Now open the register and put all the money in the bag,” Bethany said. PJ hit a button on the register and the drawer popped open with a ring. The noise was very loud in the relative silence. The wind outside grew louder, and Bethany had to think about her car piling with snow, about her mother waiting for her out at the lake. This felt like it was taking too long. PJ’s movements were too slow, and did Bethany just see her eyes rest for a little too long on somewhere under the counter? Had she just found the button? Despite how cold her hands still were Bethany felt her palm grow sweaty on the grip of the gun.

Don’t do anything stupid, PJ, she thought. Just go with it and this will be over. Think about your boyfriend, your father, your mother…

PJ put the last of the bills in the bag, but her eyes stayed at the place under the counter. A single tear ran down her cheek. Bethany thought she saw the girl’s hand jerk towards the counter, and Bethany fired.

* * *

Bethany lit a cigarette and rolled down her window just enough to flick out her ashes. Her mother may not have let her hang out enough with other girls to know what was in fashion or not, what was normal and what was freakish, but she watched enough television to know that most mothers didn’t let their twelve-year old daughters smoke. If she didn’t leave any fresh ashes or butts in the car’s ashtray then maybe her mother would not realize she had started up again, and maybe Bethany would not have to go through the same tired lecture as always. You see? Aren’t you glad I’m fine with you smoking? I don’t care what all those fucking soccer moms think, we both know I’m the only one who actually gives a shit about her daughter.

Normally smoking was a secret Bethany had no problem having, but on a day like today she really wished she had this one less secret to keep. The wind made woeful noises through the window crack and spit bits of snow in at her. Even with the car on and the heater at full blast she felt the cold penetrate her joints. Her mother had left the windshield wipers going to keep the snow from piling too high while she went about her business, and Bethany could see out the window to the city growing increasingly pale outside. Beyond the gas station parking lot and across the street a single form moved, a boy that she guessed had to be about her age. At least, she thought it was a boy. Could have been a girl. He or she was dressed from head to toe in a thick blue snowsuit, the hood pulled tight over his/her head and a scarf obscuring his/her features. Over his/her shoulders was a canvas bag full of plastic wrapped newspapers, and as Bethany watched the paperboy/girl/thing walked to the front door of a run down looking house and placed a paper just inside the storm door. Maybe this was typical of people her age. Maybe, all across Fond du Lac, there were kids grumbling as they had to go out into the freezing world and do their paper routes so they could have pocket change. They probably thought it was a gross injustice that their parents would not do it for them just this once. Bethany, for one, didn’t think she would complain in their situation. It would be better than waiting for her mother to get in the car with a bag full of money she had not earned.

Her mother, of course, would only tell Bethany that she had earned it, and not just because she had gone through the work of stealing it. Her mother always told Bethany that the world owed them both for everything it had put them through, and although Bethany could not argue that life truly sucked for her, she could not help but think her mother was referring to something specific that the universe as a whole had done to be in her debt. Her mother, however, did not talk much about what if anything had gone wrong with her life. It could have been something to do with Bethany’s father, but Bethany had never met him and her mother never talked about him. If her mother had not told her all about sex when she was six then Bethany probably would not have even realized she did have a father out there somewhere.

Bethany took another drag on her cigarette and thought for a moment about getting out of the car and going over to the paperkid. It was very tempting. She avoided other kids her age, mostly because of the way they picked on her and harassed her, but when they did that they were always in groups. This kid was alone, and the street was mostly deserted. The wind and snow might even hide any signs of her approach until it was too late, and she could sucker punch him or trip him or maybe even put out her cigarette on the kid’s tiny patch of exposed flesh. As satisfying as that thought was for a moment, though, it turned sour and curdled in her mind. What would that do? It would not make any part of her life any better, and it certainly would not make other kids leave her alone. This neighborhood was close enough to where she lived that this kid may indeed have been one of her occasional tormenters, but then maybe not. If this kid was not then no message would be sent to others to leave her alone, and if he was that just might make them madder at her. Besides, the thought of this kid screaming in pain and humiliation as she burned him triggered uneasy memories. This whole line of thinking was taking her to places she did not feeling like going right now.

Bethany was too busy watching the kid with the papers to see her mother come running out of the store, slip-sliding in the snow as she tried to stop at the car door and instead crashing into it full-force with her hip. Bethany yelped in surprise and dropped her cigarette, then yelped again as it smoldered on her jeans. In her rush to grab it and try throwing it out the window before her mother saw it she grabbed it by the wrong end twice before getting a hold of the right end. By the time she had control of it again her mother was already getting in the car, and Bethany was about to just grit her teeth and deal with her mother’s speech when she realized something was not right. Her mother was never exactly what could be called calm after she pulled a job, but she had done it enough that she usually at least kept her composure. Only when something had gone wrong or threatened to go wrong did she ever look ill at ease.

Now her mother looked anything but at ease. She still had on the ski mask she had put on before going in, but the eyeholes were twisted slightly, making her eyes appear lopsided on her head. The fabric was stretched near the mouth like someone had tried to grab hold of it. Her mother’s chest was heaving quickly, and that could not have just been from the running. She had not parked the car far enough away from the station that it should have taken that much out of her. She had a plastic bag with the money in one hand, but the other went immediately to the wheel and gripped it hard enough for her fingers to turn white. But they did not go completely white, Bethany saw. There were still spatters of red on them. At that moment Bethany registered several things at once: the thicker trails of still-wet blood on the front of her mother’s coat, the absence of her mother’s gun, the sudden wild and uncomprehending look in her eyes. Bethany was smart. She could put all the pieces together. But she found the question leaving her mouth anyway.

“What happened?”

Bethany’s mother finally seemed to remember her daughter in the seat next to her. Their eyes locked for several seconds. Some part of Bethany’s mind, some part she would be ashamed of later, took some relief from the fact that the woman did not notice she was smoking.

“What did you do?” Bethany asked again, or at least she thought she did. Later she would be unable to remember if anything had actually come out of her mouth at all or if she had just thought the words.

Her mother blinked several times, and her eyes now looked capable of focusing again. “Hold this,” she said. She held the bag out in Bethany’s direction, but Bethany did not take it.

“What did you do?” Bethany said, and this time she was sure the words had actually left her mouth because the corners of her mother’s mouth curled up into a snarl.

“I said hold the fucking bag!” She used the same tone of voice Bethany always heard right before the woman backhanded her or put out a cigarette on her arm, but there was a new additional quality to the scream: a slight quaver like maybe she was not sure she should be yelling. Or maybe it was not that she did not think she should be yelling. Maybe that unfamiliar quality was fear.

That fear scared Bethany infinitely more the threat of violence, and she took the bag from her mother without any additional words. Her mother put the car into drive, but Bethany did not dare yet ask where they were going. She was not even sure if her mother really knew.

* * *

Bethany knew exactly where she had to go, but now more than ever she wanted to just throw her newly acquired bag of money out the window and drive somewhere else, somewhere far away from Fond du Lac and even more importantly far away from Lake Winnebago. She no longer cared that her mother would be disappointed yet again. Thinking of her mother again brought back memories of that day when she had been twelve, and for some reason the memory that showed up in front of all the others was looking over at her mother in the driver’s seat, fighting the steering wheel to make sure the car did not skid out or fishtail in the snow while all the while absently rubbing her bloody hands on her pants. The blood just had not wanted to come off. Bethany risked taking her eyes off the road just long enough to look at her own hands. No blood for her. She had been far enough away from PJ that the blood splatter had not reached her. Bethany could not help but take that as a sign. Maybe the lack of blood spatter meant the wound had not been that severe. Maybe the girl would be fine.

Bethany remembered the way the girl had looked lying on the floor. Her eyes had still been open and moving, but Bethany did not know enough about the human body to be sure that meant the girl would be fine. She had fired wildly, not aiming at all the way she had practiced, and the bullet had looked like it might have grazed the girl’s neck. Wasn’t there some sort of major artery there? Bethany could not remember, but the blood had been pooling on the floor fast. Bethany had gone around the corner to grab the bag of money where PJ had dropped it, keeping just enough hold of her senses to not step in the blood and leave any tell tale shoe prints (or maybe they would be able to see those from the melting slush she had left on the floor when she came in? Bethany had not thought of that at the time, but it started to nag at her now). A quick glance around at the underside of the counters showed the panic button in a completely different place than Bethany had thought the girl was reaching. Either the girl had been confused, or Bethany had just been imagining things. After a moment’s hesitation and one last look at the girl, her mouth working silently in an attempt to form words Bethany could not understand, Bethany had pushed the panic button herself and run for the door.

On her drive back into the city proper Bethany thought she heard sirens somewhere out in the wind, and by reflex she slowed down and tried to look inconspicuous. But if the sound had been real then she had missed the actual sight of the police cars on their way to help the girl. They would probably take too long to get there, Bethany realized. If the wound was really as bad as she thought it had been, then the girl was probably dead by now.

Dead. She had not let that fact sink in yet, but now that it was in her mind she had to take a serious look at it. The girl was dead. The girl was actually dead. Death alone was something she would have been able to accept. She had seen it enough, but it had never been her fault before, or at least not really. Out of everything her mother had shown her, taught her, persuaded her to do, that one thing was still what had separated them. Her mother had been careless enough to let an innocent die. Bethany had never put much stock in the typical ideas of good and evil, but evil was exactly what her mother had become on that day. It was the one thing that had continued to separate them through all the years.

Her mother had not cared about the person she had killed. She had simply wanted to escape, not get caught. Bethany, though, could not keep that girl’s face out of her head, could not stop thinking about everything that girl would never do with her life. Surely she had not intended to work in some piddly gas station for her entire life. Surely there had been things she had wanted to do—go to college, maybe have a family. Hell, maybe the girl’s sole ambition had been to smoke pot and play Playstation until she was old and gray. But that was all gone now, and Bethany had to live with it.

“Fuck you,” Bethany whispered. Even she herself was not sure who she was talking too until she continued. “Fuck you, you bitch. I’m not like you.” The wind picked up outside, and the car shuddered. “I’m not like you. I’ll never let you make me like you.” The wind howled and whipped around the car, and an extra burst of ice crystals spattered across the windshield. “I bet you even somehow did this, didn’t you? You fucking bitch! I’m not going to let you get away with this!”

But if her mother did have something to do with this, if she had somehow set this all up against Bethany as revenge for not paying her tribute or even for that other thing Bethany had done, then it was not like the woman would ever really pay for it. All the payment would have to fall on Bethany.

Bethany stopped screaming obscenities into the empty air and lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Yes, she was the one who had to pay the price. Some part of her mind that still managed to function rationally told her that the very fact that she was upset about killing the girl separated her from her mother, but that was no longer the issue. Bethany had to face the consequences of what she had done.

The consequences were going to have to wait just a little longer, though. Bethany still had a date to keep out on the lake.

* * *

Lakeside Park sat right at the spot where Fond du Lac and Lake Winnebago met. If Fond du Lac could be said to have a center, a heart, then the park was it. In the summer the park would team with children either playing on all the playground equipment on its west side or screaming with delight on the merry-go-round or the tiny train that made a circuit around the entire park. Adults could rent paddleboats or canoes and lazily make their way up and down all the man-made rivers that spread like capillaries through the baseball diamonds and pavilions and past the water fountains and gazeboes. The historic lighthouse that stood sentinel near the harbor would be open for visitors to climb to its top and strain to see across the lake. From the lighthouse’s pinnacle the gentle seaweed smell of the lake would fill a person’s nostrils and the lapping of waves on the shore would sooth a person’s ears until all would seem right with the world. Or at least that was how Bethany imagined it would be. Her mother had never bothered to actually take her to the park to actually play and have fun. Instead she only saw it at night when her mother needed to meet her dealer or she needed to talk to someone about fencing something she had stolen. Bethany had made the mistake of asking her mother once if they could go out to the park to play on a summer afternoon. Her mother, in a confused and hazy-eyed state that Bethany had later learned to identify as being stoned, had simply stared at her like she had spoken in gibberish and then told her to go back to watching television.

Her mother skidded the car to a halt in the small parking lot near the lighthouse and took another moment to stare at the drying blood on her hands. Outside Bethany’s window she could not see much through the translucent white wall of snow, but the lighthouse, despite its whitewashed color, could still be seen clearly like a guard standing between the city and the onslaught of the winter storm. Beyond it was the lake, frozen and scoured smooth by the wind and snow, stretching out for as far as the eye could see. Of course, the eye could not see far at all in this weather. If Bethany had not known any better she could have imagined that this was the point where the world stopped. There was nothing out beyond the rocky shore except for white and white, broken up only by the occasional patch of white.

Bethany looked back at her mother and fidgeted with the plastic bag still clutched in her sweaty hands. It had not taken much imagination at all to realize what had happened back at the gas station. She had known her mother was capable of many things, but she had never actually considered that the woman might ever actually use the weapon she always carried with her. She had not even been sure if her mother ever actually loaded the thing. Bethany had always figured it was there more for the threat than to actually cause any harm.

Her mother stared out over the frozen lake and bit her lip. Any signs of panic she had shown at the gas station were gone now, and she seemed as calm and thoughtful as she might have at home on any ordinary day. Bethany searched her face, looking for anything that might signal remorse, but that was so uncommon in her mother that Bethany was not even sure what it would look like. Bethany’s heart had sped up as they had left the gas station, but that had just been from confusion. Now, as she stared at her mother, her heart raced out of fear. She would be lying if she said she had never feared her mother before, but that had been thanks to her disciplinary methods. Especially when the woman was high. Her imagination seemed to come up with the most painful ways to hit Bethany once she had something or other in her system. Her mother was not high now, was never high when she pulled a job, and that was part of what made her seem all the more scary now. She did not care that she had killed someone and Bethany could not blame any drugs. This was simply the monster that her mother could become when things went horribly wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye Bethany could see something moving in the passenger side mirror. She looked back over her shoulder to see a car drive slowly by on the road. There wasn’t any reason for anyone to be out for a leisurely drive through the park in this weather, and as soon as that thought crossed her mind she realized that was probably exactly what the driver of the car was thinking about her mother parking here. She tried to see details of car, but it was already disappearing into the swirling haze of snow. Her mother saw her staring and turned to look as well. All either of them could really see was that the car was white, possibly with blue trim. A cop car?

“Shit,” her mother whispered. She turned and stared out the front window for only a second, then opened her door. “Get out.”

“But…”

Her mother was already outside, but she poked her head back in long enough to give Bethany a nasty sneer. Bethany could not help but look at the way the woman’s teeth showed and think of a trapped animal baring its fangs. “If that was a cop then he might have figured out who we are, and he’ll be back. Probably with backup. Unless you want to go to jail, then you better get out.”

Bethany’s eyebrows furrowed. Whatever her mother had done, she hardly thought that she herself would be put in jail for it. Her mother must have seen an argument ready to start, because her hand shot across the driver’s seat, grabbed Bethany hard by the arm, and yanked her out over the driver’s seat and through the door.

“I said get the fuck out, you little fucking bitch!”

She let go of Bethany’s arm as Bethany fell out the door, and for a moment Bethany could not force herself to get up from the shock. The bag of money, which had still been sitting in her lap, had come out with her and spilled all over the pavement. Several bills immediately fluttered and flew away in the wind, but Bethany did not try to catch them and her mother did not even seem to notice. The woman had turned away from Bethany for a moment to look out over the lake again, nodding her head or shaking it almost imperceptibly in response to some heated conversation raging in her head. It took Bethany several seconds before she felt the sharp, hot pain that had exploded into her shoulder, but she did not cry out. Her mother must have pulled something out of whack, maybe pulled it out of its socket or something, and the agony was fifty times worse than anything she had felt before. Even when her mother had put out cigarettes on the underside of her arm the pain had been somewhat tolerable. This time, though, the pain shot up and down her arm and through her entire body. Every nerve that was not actually affected by the injury still screamed as though in sympathy, but Bethany made sure the scream stayed internal. Usually when her mom hurt her, Bethany would soon get an apology, sometimes even heartfelt, and occasionally even with a tear or two. She had no expectation of that this time, though. This was a woman who had just killed someone. If it was so easy for her to be unapologetic about that, then Bethany could not expect remorse for a simple dislocated shoulder. A scream of pain, for all Bethany knew, might even result in a punishment far worse than this.

As Bethany stood up, gritting her teeth and trying not to cry, her mother started out over the snow covered rocks on the shore towards the lake and motioned for Bethany to follow.

“Where…” The fire in her arm had made it difficult for Bethany to think about how to finish the question, but her mother got the gist of it anyway and looked back with another scowl.

“Where do you think we’re going? As far away from here as possible. Now shut the fuck up and move.”

Bethany could not figure out what might be out on the lake that could offer them any protection from the cops, but she followed anyway. If she dared to talk back, then her arm could very well be the least of her worries.

* * *

Bethany pulled her rust bucket into the exact same place her mother had parked fifteen years earlier. She always did every time she came here, even if she was just visiting the park and had no intention of rendezvousing with her mother. She came here often, or at least she had before prison, and she especially liked to come during the summer. The lighthouse had become something of a symbol to her after that day, a symbol of the normal life everyone other than her had been allowed to live, and although she had soon come to shun the idea of a normal life she still treasured every moment she could at the lighthouse. It had been exactly as she had pictured it as a child, the perfect and quiet haven, except for the constant presence of graphitti in the stairwells. She did not care a rat’s ass whether or not Pirate Bob was here or if it was indeed true that Fergusson loves Clarissa and did not see why they had to deface such a beautiful place. She had to admit a certain strange swell of pride, though, the time she had discovered someone had written her name and phone number on the stairs along with instructions to call her for a good time. Pride or not, she had still needed to change her phone number.

The lighthouse offered her no sense of welcome or warmth now, though. It was again the same silent and cold sentinel she remembered from that day with her mother. The light at the very top of the tower, never off during the summer in order to properly guide boats into the harbor, was now dim. There was nothing for the lighthouse to guide when the lake was covered in ice, so it simply slept and waiting for the spring day when it might have purpose again.

Bethany checked her rear view, and for a moment she could have sworn that she saw a cop car drive past on the road behind her. She blinked then looked again, and there was nothing. Her imagination again. She had never thought of herself as a particularly imaginative or creative person, but winter storms always brought those qualities to her surface. There was just so much that could be hiding in the swirling snows and among the drifting banks.

Her mother would chide her for those kind of thoughts when they met in a couple of minutes, but only if Bethany actually said anything to her. And Bethany was hardly in the mood for conversation. She did not want to dawdle on the lake any more than had to. A part of her was still trying to say that the girl from the gas station might still be alive and that she, as the woman who had put the bullet in her to begin with, had a duty to at least know the girl’s fate.

For only a moment Bethany thought about turning herself in. If there was anything that could separate her from her mother now, it could be fessing up and accepting the consequences. Her mother had never accepted what she had done as wrong, but of course her mother had not gotten away with it completely without consequences. She had paid her dues for her murder, and maybe Bethany just might have to pay the same.

Bethany stopped as she got out of the car and realized exactly what she was now thinking. Was she really willing to go through exactly what her mother had done? Her stomach churned. The idea made her sick. Sick and fearful. After all, her mother had not been given a choice. If Bethany ended up the same way, then someone else would have to help her do it.

Bethany did her best to ignore the gnawing sensation from inside her gut and went around to her car’s trunk. She opened it and pulled out the ice auger she kept just for her meetings with her mother. Augers were typically used to bore holes for ice fishing, but she did not think any ice fisherman would approve of what she needed it for now. With one last look at her car, the park, the lighthouse, Bethany walked out over the rocky shore and onto the lake.

* * *

Bethany looked over her shoulder after only a minute and saw only a white curtain of flying snow. The shore should have still been easily visible, but there was nothing. There was a vague shape that might have been the lighthouse, but she could not be sure. It could have been anything. A person probably could have walked right up behind her and Bethany would not have been aware until the person’s hands grabbed her.

Her mother was a few feet in front of her, and although she was still close enough that Bethany could see her clearly she doubted that her mother would see her if she turned around. The woman kept muttering syllables under her breath, words that were lost in the wind before they could fully reach Bethany’s ears, and she would occasionally stop and look around as though she had forgotten where she was or where she was going, if she even knew where she was going after all. She did not appear to be going towards anything in particular or have any set idea for a path. She was just in the middle of a panicked flight, and she had forced Bethany along for the journey. If the woman actually had a destination in mind, then she had better take them to it quick. In the hurry to leave the car Bethany had forgotten to grab her gloves, and she had to shove her hands in her pockets and keep flexing them in order to keep the blood flowing. The hood of her coat kept the worst of the wind off her ears, but they still felt strangely hot as the air pulled all warmth from them. If they spent too much longer out here she was going to freeze, or at least she would if the ice did not drop out from beneath them first. At several points she thought she heard the ice creak and groan beneath their weight. If they fell through they would either drown or, if they managed to get out, the temperature of the water would kill them. But Bethany was beginning to suspect that was exactly what her mother had in mind.

Bethany could not be sure if her mother had ever actually gone to prison for any of her crimes, but the woman sure talked like she had. Either she had been in jail and had a truly awful experience or she had watched enough television to think that prison was truly hell on earth. Either way, she had always said she would rather die than go to prison. Maybe that was what this was about. Bethany thought of her mother’s gun, probably still at the crime scene, and then looked at her mother’s hands. She was wearing a pair of bulky gloves now, the kind that would have made actually handling and using a weapon near impossible. She had not worn the gloves at the gas station, and her prints would be all over the gun. If her prints were on file with the cops, then she was caught.

No doubt in Bethany’s mind now. Her mother had come out onto the lake without any intention of returning to land. And she had decided to take her daughter with her.

Bethany moved before she could give herself any time to rethink the problem. She turned and ran. Her shoes weren’t suited for the ice, and she almost slipped and slammed face first into the ice before her escape attempt had even begun. She caught her balance just before she went down, though, and after adapting a more heavy-footed style of running she was able to take off at a respectable speed.

She did not dare look back, and she could not be sure with the wind and ice battering at her ears, but after a pause Bethany thought she could hear her mother cuss and then give chase after her. Her hearing was the only sense that really was of any use to her now. The snow still kept her from seeing more than a few feet, and all she could feel was the cold trying to numb her body. She could only barely feel her feet, and at several points they almost slipped out from under her. Her ears, though reddened and very probably on their way to frostbite, still worked for her. That was how she could still hear her mother screaming at her in breathless anger and bewilderment. That was how she could tell the woman was gaining on her. And that was how she knew the ice beneath her was cracking.

Bethany took a wild leap as the ice roared and the seemingly solid surface beneath her suddenly fell away. She skidded to a halt on her stomach, partially expecting her mother’s hands to appear at her neck and start squeezing, the woman’s idea of a just punishment for not quietly letting nature kill them. Instead Bethany heard a splash, then her mother screaming. Bethany turned just in time to see her mother’s head go under the water.

* * *

Bethany looked over her shoulder after only a minute and saw only a white curtain of flying snow. There was a vague shape that might have been the lighthouse, but she could not be sure. Bethany stopped, stamped her feet for warmth, then set down the bag of money and prepared to drill a hole through the ice. This was just about the right place for the rendezvous. Maybe she was a few feet off, maybe a hundred feet. As long as Bethany made her best guess about the place then the gift would be accepted. Somewhere beneath her, decayed and fish-eaten, would be the body of her mother.

It had been years after her mother had drowned in the lake that she had come to make the first tribute. At first she had just given her mother money she’d stolen from her foster parents, but that had never quite satisfied the woman. She had tried to tell all the counselors over the years that her mother was still out there, but she had eventually become tired of the strange looks they gave her and the endless procession of drugs they gave her to “make her better.” Maybe that was partly her fault. She did not think that she had ever been able to properly explain to them just what her mother was now. She was not even sure that she could ever really know. Her mother was not a ghost, at least not in the traditional sense. No rattling chains or moans in the attic or moving of objects or any of that crap. But Bethany could still hear her in the wind. She had been able to hear her mother splashing in the water and cursing at her even through the wind and snow, and from that day on she was the wind. On winters’ nights Bethany had still been able to hear her mother’s screams in the wind no matter where in Fond du Lac she was, and she always knew that the screams came from the lake. She had thought she was finally rid of her mother, that she would finally set out on a different path than the one her mother had chosen, but even then her mother would not allow it. Her mother would only stop screaming when Bethany brought her the money every year. Even after death, her mother had continued to raise her little girl exactly as she saw fit.

Once Bethany finished with the hole in the ice she kneeled down in front of it and held the bag close to her chest. She could still hear her mother in the wind, and a chill ran through Bethany that had nothing to do with the cold. Even when she’d been in Taycheedah she had been able to hear her mother, and every year the scream had become angrier. Bethany had suspected that after such an absence the typical tribute might not be enough, but in the past her mother’s voice had always died down once Bethany was in place with the money. Instead now the wind only grew louder, the snow lashed at her exposed skin harder, and the very ice underneath her seemed to groan in a sad chorus with her mother.

Bethany dropped the bag through the hole to disappear in the black water. The wind only grew louder.

“Mom?” Bethany said. She could barely hear her own voice. “I know you can hear me.” The wind died down for just a moment. All the damn counselors would have told her that the wind had not really died down, that it was just her mind telling her it had, but it was easy for them to say such things. They did not have to deal with the reality that she did. She had her mother’s attention, and for a moment she did not know what else to say.

“Mom, I… I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while. I’m sure you already know why.” The wind picked up, whistled slightly in Bethany’s ears. “Of course, I suppose that’s kind of what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted your little girl to be just like you. Couldn’t be like you without an official record, huh?” The wind was growing louder again, and her heart started to hammer harder in her chest. Her mother was working up to tell her something, she could feel it. The air became even colder against her face, and it took Bethany a moment to realize she had started crying. “Just like you. I suppose you had something to do with what happened today, didn’t you?” Bethany raised her voice, trying to sound accusatory and righteous, but she already knew the truth. Her mother as a memory was now something more and greater than human, but the woman had had nothing to do with the girl’s death. That was all Bethany’s fault. The groaning of the ice grew, and for the first time Bethany realized she had chosen a weak spot. Maybe in some part of her mind she had chosen it on purpose. If she was going to be like her mother, then she might as well go all the way.

“I don’t care.” Her voice was low, but she let it grow louder until it matched the volume of the wind. “Is this what you want? You want your little girl to die the same way? Then fine! Let it happen!” Somewhere beneath her the groaning became a distinct crack. “If you want me to die, then let me die, but I am still not like you, do you hear me! I will never be the cold-hearted piece of shit you were!”

Snap, crack. Even through the thin layer of snow on the ice Bethany could see the ice crack and start to break under her weight. Before she fell through, though, she turned her head to the sky and let loose one final scream.

“You fucking bitch, I’m glad I killed you!”

* * *

Bethany had turned her head away at first to avoid watching her mother’s death throes, but she was only able to keep her eyes away for a few seconds. When she looked back she saw her mother flailing in the water, her hands desperately grasping for something firm on which to hold. The hole was much smaller than Bethany would have anticipated, and after her mother went under one more time and came up gasping for breath her fingers finally caught hold of the edge of the ice. Although the ice squealed in threat of breaking off and sending her back into uncontrolled flailing the woman was able to get just enough leverage to pull herself up halfway out of the water. One final effort and she was finally all the way out and lying on her back. The wind and snow had slowed as though nature herself were stopping to admire the woman’s tenacity.

Bethany’s lungs burned from trying to run in the freezing air and her legs ached from their efforts at keeping her from diving face-first into the ice, yet she knew could force just a little more effort from her body. The adrenaline had not quite stopped flowing, and she knew that if she just turned and ran now she could easily escape her mother. She could find that cop car, tell the police where her mother was. The woman could barely move now, was probably going into shock from the freezing water, and it would be easy for the police to get her. All Bethany had to do was move.

She did not move. Her mother’s chest heaved, slower than Bethany was sure it had any right to, and the woman struggled to get into position to see her daughter. Bethany could not tell how long it took her mother to turn towards her, to stand up. Once her mother was on her feet, shaking from both exertion and the cold, their eyes met. Her mother spoke.

“Oh my god, honey.” Her voice was quiet yet still completely commanding. “Oh my god I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m so sorry. I’m…”

Bethany stepped forward and pushed her mother back into the hole in the ice.

The strange thing was, Bethany truly believed that her mother was sorry. In that moment where their eyes had met Bethany had seen the remorse and knew it to be genuine. She was all the woman had, and now that her mother had come back to her senses she would do anything for her daughter.

But that was only in this moment. That was only when death had been staring the woman in the eye and had forced to her to take a long hard look at what she had been trying to do. What about when that moment was over, though? Bethany had always known her mother to be dangerous. The cigarette scars all up and down Bethany’s arms showed that. Only after today, though, did she understand just how dangerous the woman truly was. She had killed the clerk, had been ready to kill her own daughter, so how long would it be before the drive to protect herself once again overrode the drive to protect her flesh and blood?

None of that actually entered Bethany’s head until later, when she was wrapped in a blanket in the police station waiting for social services to come for her. Maybe those thoughts were even rationalizations for what she had done, a way to keep herself from feeling guilty even though she knew she had no reason to feel guilty at all. At the exact moment she pushed, however, she was working on pure instinct.

Her mother did not have enough energy left this time to put up much of a struggle. She simply fell backwards, her unbelieving eyes wide and focused on her daughter, and then the lake took her. It seemed so quick, so simple, not the sort of thing that could haunt her for the rest of her life. Bethany did not even spare any time to consider how this might shape her existence from now on. She did not really consider anything. She simply stared at the hole in the ice until it started to freeze over again, and then she turned back and used the vague shape of the lighthouse to guide her back to shore.

* * *

For the first second, Bethany did not feel anything different. The water felt no different than the air and wind. She even thought it felt a little warmer, like a blanket that had suddenly come up to cover her and protect her. Then the shock of the temperature finally hit her, all her nerve ending screaming at once as her body went from simply cold to a deep freeze unlike anything she had ever felt before. Before she could control herself she opened her mouth to yelp in pain, and water flooded her mouth and nostrils. She blinked, her eyes stinging at the freezing water like they were having needles shoved into them, and all around her she saw darkness. There was a feeble light somewhere just above her, and without any conscious thought she flailed her body towards the spot. Her head came up over the surface, and she had just enough time to spit the water out of her mouth, take a gasping breath of air, and a quick look at her surroundings before she went under again. She had hoped she might see the edge of the ice and some place to grab, but all she had seen before returning to the darkness of the lake was the unbroken whiteness of the storm.

All of this took under three seconds, but her mind forced it all to stretch out to much more. This was exactly how her mother had felt, she knew, except maybe her mother felt a flicker of hope during her first time in the water that Bethany would try to help. Bethany did not have that hope, though, and that was okay. This was what her mother had deserved, and she was certain that this then was what she deserved as well. They had both become murderers, and they had both deserved to die.

Even as these thoughts went through her mind, though, she continued to struggle for the surface. There was still the possibility that PJ was still alive, and even if she was not Bethany had never intended to hurt her. Bethany was sorry for what she had done, oh so very sorry, but her mother had not been. She was sure of it. The woman may have been sorry for just those few moments after coming out of the water, but the woman had been dangerous, unable to accept the consequences of her actions. Bethany, however, could. In fact, she had been repenting for her actions ever since that day on the lake when she was twelve. She had been trying to atone to her mother, and now it was her duty to atone for PJ. Maybe that meant turning herself in, maybe that meant something completely different, but completely giving in to her mother, completely becoming like the woman even in death, was not the way.

With her strength waning, with her lungs burning with need for oxygen and her limbs growing numb, she made one last grasp for the edge of the ice.