The House Across the Lake

by Riley Sager

I avoid all forms of social media, which are basically hazardous waste sites with varying levels of toxicity.

I almost tell him it’ll be without me. I have no desire to get wrapped up in this more than I already am. But when I consider the alternative—being alone here, waiting for something to happen, trying not to watch when I know I will—I realize it’s best to stick with the hot former cop.

I also suspect he knew I didn’t want them, mostly because I didn’t want to inflict the same kind of psychological damage my mother had caused me.

Standing between them, still brandishing the chunk of wood I’ve just used as a weapon so the spirit of the man whose death I caused can escape in the body of the woman I’d thought Tom had killed, one thought rings through my skull. What the fuck am I doing?

“You have no idea how hard it is to be a woman. Or how maddening it is to always feel at risk because that’s just how our fucked-up society is. Trust me, you’re not equipped to handle it. Wait until you have to walk down the street alone at night or stand on a subway platform and wonder if one—or more—of the men around you will try to harass you. Or assault you. Or kill you just like you killed those three girls who are now somewhere in that lake.”

Boone seems like a good person who’s struggling to tame his demons just like the rest of us.