He sat on the pier with his head in his hands. Over the silent lake nothing could be heard but his sobbing, a weep of bottomless misery and lost hope.
The little boat was dipping in the water, attached by a rope. Never would it tell about what it had witnessed, but Jeremiah knew.
He had had it all. A beautiful wife, a gorgeous little daughter. He could hear the child’s laughter, his wife’s soothing voice. His daughter asking about life. About the future.
Up in the house he sat down in the old chair, staring emptily at the sofa in front of him. The image was glued to his mind. Two bodies in the bottom of the boat, their throats cut like fish on a fishing trip. The sound of oars touching water. Their eyes. Their empty, dead eyes staring into nothing. Everything he had, everything he had ever lived for, forever lost by a moment of morbid pleasure.
He poured a glass from the bottle, Tears were running down his cheeks as he drank.
He poured another. Emptied it. Another. Another.
He woke up by the daylight, still in his chair. His head hurt. Reality came back.
He went down to the lake. Rowed out to the deepest part, where they were resting. If there could ever be rest.
Once again silence sunk down over the little lake. The crystal water quiet like a mirror. An empty little boat was floating alone.