Before Marcel turns onto the path, he checks his rear-view mirror one last time to make sure he’s alone. The track winds into the woods, so well hidden that most people don’t even know it exists. He lowers the headlights and drives deeper into the darkness until his car can go no further.
He switches off the engine. Marcel has been coming here for years and knows the area better than anyone. Still, though he’s certain no one is around, he glances about before getting out. From the boot he lifts a large outdoor sports bag and drags it towards the lake. The closer he gets, the heavier it seems to become. At the water’s edge, a narrow wooden jetty awaits. He walks to the very end, sets the bag down and stares across the lake.
Red, orange and brown tones, broken by patches of green, frame the shoreline. It’s autumn. The lake, shaped like a heart and surrounded by dense trees that haven’t yet lost all their leaves, always reminds him of Sarah, his daughter with her heart-shaped face, fiery red curls and green eyes. He recalls her laugh. At times it felt as though the lake itself woke up whenever Sarah ran around it. He and his wife would watch the ripples spread over the surface and the leaves swirl in her direction.
Exactly a year ago, after weeks of fear and uncertainty, Marcel and his wife were told that the body of a young woman had been found. They were asked to come to the forensic mortuary to identify her. It was their Sarah, nineteen years old. The police had discovered her in these woods. Six months later the suspect was acquitted for lack of evidence.
Today, the lake is silent. The trees don’t stir; they seem to wait. Marcel bends down, pushes the heavy bag off the edge of the jetty and watches the water begin to ripple. As he turns and walks away, the rustling in the trees grows louder.
