After that night, Sally arranged to be in Wharton to see Jess whenever she could. A quick trip on the train from the city, no trouble at all. She was confident in her power to lure this man away from his wife. Sally would have what was rightfully hers. Didn’t he love her? Hadn’t he always loved her? Wasn’t he hers?
A secret lunch here, a stolen kiss there. Men are so easily swayed, especially if they’ve been married for a few years. She took him to her bed a few times, after serving him one too many strong martinis. She knew this man, she knew what he liked, she knew his weaknesses. He could not resist her.
It was all going so well until the night he broke things off. Again! It was inconceivable to Sally. He was becoming a father, he told her. There was the welfare of a child to consider. He needed to straighten up, he needed to be the kind of person a son or daughter would be proud of. He needed to be the kind of person his wife deserved. He loved his wife and always had. As things were, he said, their affair had to end. Couldn’t she see that?
She saw. Clearly. Jess Stewart had made a fool of her once again. But this time, Sally was not the same fragile young girl he had left years before. She was stronger now. Fiercer. This time, his sin was unforgivable. He had denied her the thing she most desired. It was only right for her to deny him the thing he most desired. Turnabout was fair play.
It was a perfect plan, really. She knew Jess was in Chicago for business that week. His wife would be alone when the nastiness occurred—Sally didn’t like to think of the word murder, it sounded so evil, so wrong. This wasn’t wrong, Sally knew. It was difficult, but it was the right thing to do. So many things in life were like that.
She imagined him coming home and discovering the body. Oh, how he would suffer. How he would grieve. Just as Sally had suffered and grieved. After it was over, Sally and Jess would be on even ground, one facing another. He had hurt her; she had hurt him. Fair. Perhaps she would even be there to comfort him. Perhaps he might turn to her, then, realizing how wrong he had been.
Further evidence of her cleverness: She had told that chatterbox Helene Bonnet that she was going to Europe for several weeks. She often went abroad. If her whereabouts that night were questioned, she would have an alibi as well, if the police didn’t bother to check Helene’s story.
And the fog! If Sally needed any confirmation that she was doing the right thing, that the very universe wanted what she wanted, it was the fog, shrouding the city, concealing her movements as she stole to Front Street that night, knife in hand.
Sally’s thoughts were racing, here, there, and everywhere, as she crept around the side of his house. She hadn’t counted on Jess’s wife being outside, in the backyard near the lake, when she arrived. But no matter. The task could be performed just as easily there. Better, actually. No blood in the house. It was perfect!
She found his wife stumbling toward the lakeshore moaning and crying—clearly she was having the baby. This surprised Sally. She hadn’t counted on that, either. Again, however, it was a fortuitous turn of events. In the throes of childbirth, his wife wouldn’t be able to put up much of a struggle as Sally did what she had to do. She smiled at her good fortune and followed Addie down to the lakeshore. It all told Sally that she was doing the right thing. The trees and the grass and the fog were nodding in agreement. Sally could see it clearly, the way nature itself was cheering her on.
Then it was time. Could she go through with it? Could she end the life of another human being? You’ve come this far, don’t back out now. It’s almost over. You’re nearly there. Sally could smell the lake and the sweet scent of the fog. Lilac on the night air. She looked behind her to the flickering lights coming from the house, blazing through the whiteness. The scene didn’t seem real to Sally, there, on the lakeshore, dancing lights in the background, a knife in her hand.
She crept closer to Jess’s wife. Closer still. Then, directly in front of her eyes, red seeped across a field of white. She didn’t even realize she had done it. Sally stared as the red stain spread farther and farther onto the white nightgown. Jess’s wife didn’t even look at her. She fell into the shallow water. Sally stared at the bloody knife that she was holding and knew she had done what she came to do. There was no undoing it now. A few minutes later, Sally watched as the baby slipped from its dying mother’s womb.
She ran to the side of the house and watched as another figure appeared out of the fog, which was lifting a bit. Impossibly, it was Celeste Connor, pushing a baby carriage. Sally watched as Celeste fished the baby out of the lake and put it in the carriage. Then another voice. Harrison. Sally heard it all, then—Celeste’s crazy ramblings, Harrison’s horror at what he thought she had done. A smile sliced across Sally’s face. He thinks his wife killed her. This is perfect. She watched as Harrison put the body of Jess’s wife in the rowboat.
Unbelievable. Then and there, in front of her eyes, Harrison had just absolved Sally of the crime she had committed. She had always liked that man. He put the guilt squarely on his wife’s shoulders. The blame lay elsewhere, not with Sally. She hadn’t expected such benevolence, not after what she had done. It was a good day.
Sally turned and headed back to her room, then. Her task was nearly finished. But there was still the matter of this knife. A tiny detail. She knew enough to know that she should get rid of it. She decided to take it to the shipyards and hide it in the trash. No one would notice it there among the fish entrails and battered boxes. Then she would return to her hotel and wait for the future to unfold.
She heard it as she walked past the city dock. Was it someone singing? It was a noise the likes of which Sally had never heard before. A song with no melody, no words. Was it human? Sally wasn’t sure. But she was so captivated by the sound that, against her better judgment, she followed it to the end of the dock, the knife still in her hand. And then it dawned on her. She didn’t need to find her way to the shipyards after all. She dropped the knife into the water and smiled as she watched it twirl downward, out of view. This night had gone so well.
The singing was louder now. Sally squinted out into the fog and thought she saw the outline of a creature in the water. An otter, perhaps? A beaver? What was it? Was this creature making the sound? Whatever it was, it locked eyes with Sally in that moment, and she was frozen there, at the end of the city dock, held captive by the intensity of the creature’s gaze. Like prey in the sights of a cobra.
Sally did not have children, so she did not understand the fury of a grieving father. She could simply not foresee the blinding, vengeful rage that she had elicited with her actions that night. Poor Sally was so captivated looking into the eyes of the creature that she did not see the enormous wall of water moving toward her until it burst out of the fog and engulfed her, smashing the dock into pieces with its wrath.
The lake plucked Sally off her feet in its fury and twisted its tentacles around her as tight as a noose, plunging her body under the surface, forcing so much water into her lungs that they burst apart, killing her in an instant. It carried her lifeless body for miles to a faraway, desolate shore and spat her out in disgust.
To this day, on that faraway beach, where her bones had been picked clean and carried away by wolves, an aura of madness remains. Animals other than the fearless wolves stay away, sensing danger and destruction. But humans aren’t as in tune with nature as animals are. Families congregate on that beach to take a dip in the cool water on steamy summer days, armed with picnic baskets and blankets.