Murder at the Yacht Club

Footsteps? Nina shook her head and continued across the dimly lit parking lot of the marina. Get a grip, she told herself. Just a few more days, and she'd never have to deal with these people again. But the words felt thin, like an empty promise whispered into the darkening air. Nina Sherman was the kind of beautiful young woman who turned heads—long legs, del-icate features, and crystal-blue eyes framed by waves of golden hair. But behind her stunning exterior was a shadow, a vulnerability no one else saw. That darkness had deepened after her family fell apart. Once her mother’s golden child, she’d always been the responsible and good one. Her older brother Calvin had been the risk-taker, the protector. But when he was accused of a crime he swore he hadn’t committed, everything shattered. Their mother, unable to cope, took her own life, leaving Nina utterly alone. Just out of high school, she abandoned her dreams of college and took to cleaning the yachts of the wealthy to survive. The night was unnervingly still, the thick fog clinging to the marina like a suffocating veil. The black water reflected faint glimmers from the dock lights, but everything felt dis-tant and unnatural. Nina’s mind buzzed with anticipation—her plan was nearly complete. A small smile crept across her lips as she spotted a sleek, 42-foot Sea Ray Cruiser bobbing gently in the water. Too small, she thought, indulging in her usual mental game. She chuckled softly at the ab-surdity of it all. Soon, none of this would matter. “I won't be cleaning any of you much longer,” she whispered. Then—another sound. Nina froze, her smile fading. Was that footsteps? Her heart pounded as she turned quick-ly, scanning the parking lot under the dull glow of the lamps. No one was there, but the eerie sen-sation of being watched crawled up her spine. She shook her head, trying to shake off the feel-ing, but her eyes kept darting toward the shadows, her nerves on edge. She picked up her pace as she spun on her toes, a dancer’s reflex from her years in ballet, and headed for her bright yellow Ford Pinto. The sound quickened behind her, but she forced herself to ignore them. She reached the car, bent down to insert the key into the lock—and eve-rything changed. A sharp, searing pain exploded at the back of her neck. A sickening crack echoed in her ears. The world around her twisted into a blur of confusion and agony. The marina lights flick-ered, dimming in and out, and then—nothing. Had the blow come just seconds earlier, when she was standing upright, it would have crushed her skull. But the strike landed just below, snapping her vertebrae and crushing her spine. Nina crumpled to the pavement, paralyzed. Her head cleared and she was fully conscious, fully aware—and utterly terrified. She could not move anything. In that horrifying moment, she knew her dreams of escaping this life were over. Instead of freedom and untold wealth, all she could feel was the suffocating terror of knowing someone had planned her gruesome end. Her eyes darted frantically as her body was lifted into the backseat of a car. As the vehi-cle took off, she saw a man in the driver’s seat. She strained to make out who it was, but her par-alyzed body could not adjust to give her a better view. She watched the telephone poles, the tops of buildings, and the branches of swirling leaves fly by as the car sped down the road. But de-spite her many attempts to scream or move, she could not react in any way. Nina Sherman was paralyzed everywhere but in her mind. After turning down a gravel road, the car slowed until it skidded to a stop. The car door opened, and she was hoisted over the man’s shoulder as she desperately tried to make eye con-tact. She couldn’t make out his face as he kept his baseball cap dipped low. Her head bobbed from the jostling of his movements as he left the graven road and walked down a wooden dock. He flung her body back down as if she were a rag doll, and her head smashed into something hard. It took her a second to see she had been placed in a small Jon boat with a tiny outboard motor. Wait! I know where I am. Oh, God, no! She thought, the panic rising, wanting so badly to scream or move, to find somehow someone who could help; the horror of what was happening overwhelmed her, and tears formed in her eyes. She tried to scream, but the sound died inside her throat, just like her dreams of escape. Was this how it ended? Not in the triumph she had im-agined but in silent, immobile terror. The man pulled on the motor, but it spat and sputtered as she fought to get her muscles to move. I still have time! She screamed, but the words were only in her mind and did not come out. The man swore under his breath, giving her a slight hint of his voice. As she waited for him to say more, the boat roared to life, and it slowly motored for about 15 minutes, then stopped. Still unable to see the man’s face, she started deciphering his form. Oh God, no! She panicked when who had taken her became all too clear. She yelled at him in her head, " NO, I TAKE IT ALL BACK! I WON’T SAY ANYTHING!” His face turned to her as if he could read her mind. Bending down on one knee, his face drew close to hers as if he were about to kiss her soft, red lips, “What a fucking waste,” he said as tears poured over her frozen cheeks. His chunky hand wrapped around her neck and moved in as if he were going to have his way with her one last time. But he pulled back suddenly and whipped around as if he heard something. Please, God, send someone to help me! Nina prayed. While Nina watched in terror, the man frantically tied her legs together with a rope that was attached to a cement block. Her silent, agonizing pleas went unheard, but under the dim moonlight, she recognized she was at one of the deepest parts of the lake out from Three Sisters Island. The mania occurring in her head was beyond any comprehension as he picked her up and hurled her body over the side. NO! As her body slipped into the dank, cold, murky water, the block pulled her body to the bottom. Panic surged through her as the water filled her lungs, and inexplicably, her thoughts raced to her brother, Calvin: I’m sorry! Calvin Sherman had one main hobby growing up: teasing his younger sister, Nina, often with scary stories of Lake Lanier. He would say when they fished on its banks, trying to sound sinister, “You know that the lake is haunted. It wants to take you. Watch your step now. You don’t want to fall in.” Calvin wasn’t ultimately making this up. The lake was known for its notorious history of “drowning” victims; some would resurface, but others would not. Finding the bodies of those who went under the waters of the lake was a painstaking process, and more times than not, the authorities let nature take its course. However, the dead would take over a week to undergo a specific scientific phenomenon that eventually led to their resurfacing. As the darkness closed in, her fear fixated on the gruesome details of what awaited her beneath the surface. As the body settles on the lakebed, it is assaulted by bacteria and other microorganisms that eagerly begin breaking down the tissues. This decomposition process leads to the release of various gases, such as methane and hydrogen sulfide. As these gases accumulate within the body, they cause it to bloat, gradually transforming it into a macabre balloon. The body becomes in-creasingly buoyant daily, defying the natural forces that would otherwise submerge it. Eventual-ly, the buoyancy becomes too strong, and the body rises to the water’s surface, breaking free from its watery grave. This natural occurrence, postmortem floatation, is a captivating phenome-non influenced by many factors. One of the primary reasons is the water temperature. Warmer waters tend to accelerate the decomposition process, leading to a quicker release of gases and subsequent floatation.