The Lake - Richard Laymon

They were traveling over rough ground.

Bumping over ruts and rocks, her body shaking, jolting up and down.

Nauseous waves swept up from her stomach…

The scarf bit into her face.

Sweat, slick and hot, oozed from every pore.

My God. WHERE ARE WE?

Don’t tell me. Mt. Tam. I know it—sense it. Goddamn fuckin’ place. I HATE it. I get outa here, I’ll NEVER, EVER come back to this freakin’ place again…

More bumping. More ruts.

The car pulled to a halt.

Her heart lurched.

What now? Is this where I get it? Right where Allan got his?

The trunk lid swung up.

Thank God.

Cool air streamed in.

He was pushing her, then rolling her forward. Feeling around for something. A weapon?

Christ! He’s gonna kill me!

He picked her up.

Hoisted her onto his shoulder.

She was bouncing and flopping around again, like a sack of laundry.

He stopped.

He was fiddling with a door lock, stepping over a stoop, his boots stamping across a wooden floor. Then she went flying through the air, landing on a springy mattress. She heard, felt, the harsh metallic squeak of bedsprings…

He was loosening her ties now. Peeling off the blanket.

Thank God thank God.

Now I can breathe.

Get this thing off so I can see, maybe I can talk him out of killing me.

The scarf stayed put.

So did the twine around her wrists.

Oh, the goddamn heat!

Her skin felt slick. Slimy.

Uggh…

If only I could see!

In her mind, though, she could see the headlines:

GIRL, CAPTURED BY MANIAC UNCLE!

Lost for weeks out in the wilderness, the eighteen-year-old’s emaciated body was found by hikers today. Looked like she’d starved to death. Slowly.

Or maybe hacked to death, quickly.

What’s it to be, folks?

“Gonna leave ya now, sugar. Uncle Mace has gotta ride. Places to go. Things to do.”

She felt his lips on her forehead.

And his kiss.

Light, soft.

She caught his sour breath.

“Back soon, honey,” he whispered.

She heard the click, click of boots as he walked away, a door snap to, a key turn in the lock.

The car engine revved, then raced. It moved away. She listened till the sound faded.

She was alone.

Hey, come back! Don’t leave me like this!

Save your breath, Deana.

Maybe he won’t be too long…

She waited.

And waited.

S’pose he never comes back. S’pose he just leaves me here to rot…

It was almost light when Mace returned.

FIFTY-FIVE

“Deana! Deana! Leigh! Open up!”

Warren thumped the door so hard, he thought he’d bust his knuckles.

“Christ, where are you, Deana?”

It’s like Sheena said…They’ve gone…

What had Deana meant by “Mom’s boyfriend’s on the run…and he’s gone apeshit?” And why did she emphasize “he knows about you?”

Sounded like anything could’ve happened…

Probably had.

They could both be dead.

“Oh my God. Not that…”

Sheena had arrived home early. A couple of minutes later and he’d have hit the road, driving over to Deana’s.

“Warren, maybe I won’t be goin’ back to Pacey’s no more,” Sheena said quietly. “He kinda objects when I leave him in the lurch.”

She seemed preoccupied. He knew that look.

Only too well.

His mouth went dry.

“Sheena! For chrissake, tell me what’s up? What was so important you left the club early?”

She said she was scared. Had had one of her feelings…

He saw beads of sweat on her upper lip. He’d never seen her this tense before.

“You’re not gonna like it, Warren, but this gal o’ yours, she’s in deep trouble. I feel she’s in a place that’s small—and dark. Yeah. It’s real dark in there, and she…”

She hesitated, knowing what this was doing to Warren.

His face went white. “For God’s sake, Sheena, she what?”

“Call the cops, Warren. Let them deal with it. It’s none a’ your business. Don’t want you getting yourself killed on account of some gal you only just met!”

But Warren was out the door. She heard the Porsche burst into life.

“Deana, if you’re in there, open up. PLEASE!”

Twin headbeams swooped down the driveway. Warren squinted, bringing up a hand to shield his eyes.

Leigh’s car screeched to a halt. The near-side door swung open and she jumped out.

“Warren!”

“Leigh! You’re safe…”

“Yeah. But what about Deana?”

“What d’ya mean, Leigh?” His heart lurched, and sank like a stone.

He was too late. He’d known it all along.

He stood aside while Leigh prodded the key into the lock. The door fell open. They rushed inside.

The hallway was dark.

They ran to the living room. Trembling light from the TV threw uneasy shadows into the darkness. A talk-show host laughed, holding a mike close to a grinning member of the audience…

“Deana! Deana, darling! You there?”

Leigh darted into each room, calling, her heart sinking, her legs all shaky.

When she returned to the living room, her shoulders were hunched. She looked drawn, defeated. Exhausted.

Oh my God, thought Warren. Sheena’s right. I shoulda called the cops.

Leigh caught his concern. “Did you only just get here?” she demanded, her face hostile.

“Yeah, Leigh, I’m sorry. I got held up…”

“My God, Warren. You got held up? Don’t you see? Mace arranged all this so he could take her…”

“What happened? And where were you, Leigh?”

Leigh broke down, sobbing. There’d been no fight at the Bayview. All had been quiet when she got there. Just another civilized night. Customers enjoying their meals, paying their checks, saying their goodnights. No “all hell breakin’ loose” as Tony said…Tony? It hadn’t been Tony who’d phoned her. It had been a hoax caller. And she’d bet her bottom dollar it’d been Mace who’d done the calling…

The phone rang.

Leigh sprang forward, grabbed it. “Yes?” Her voice was terse.

Mattie.

“Thank God you’re okay, Leigh. Have to report there was no emergency back here. Musta been a hoax call. Chief signed off early. Went home to his wife. She’d gotten sick. Nobody here’s aware of any emergency. Don’t ask me why…Leigh? You and Deana okay?”

Leigh met Warren’s eyes. Hot, frightened tears began to well up.

“Deana’s gone, Mattie. She’s not here.”

A moment’s silence, then:

“It’s Mace. Y’know that, Leigh, don’t ya?” Mattie’s voice rose. “Goddamn fuckin’ asshole Mace. Jesus! Our friendly master mimic Mace. The shit fooled us all.”

FIFTY-SIX

Almost sunup.

Mace eyed his wristwatch. “Maybe a half hour till it gets light,” he muttered.

Gotta move it. Though I shouldn’t worry, he told himself, I got nothin’ but time. He set his holdall down on the stoop and pushed the key in the doorlock.

He grinned. This was a real good place for his “other activities.” Nobody, but nobody’d come this way in weeks.

The air was cool and clear, the dew still heavy on the rough grass humps along the track. He scanned the terrain. Mountains on one side, well-wooded with dark, impenetrable pines. The cabin, hidden in rocky territory, was almost impossible to access. He’d used the dirt path, betting not many others would attempt it—wouldn’t want to. You could wreck a vehicle driving over the rough tracks hereabouts.

He glanced over to his right. Into the wide misty space beyond. Before that, though, came a sheer drop to the valley below. In the growing light, he heard the distant sound of roaring water. The river. He’d done some whitewater rafting down there a coupla years back. When he first discovered the cabin…

Yessir. One lonesome place. But, like the trooper he was, he always covered his tracks, so nobody’d ever discover his “other activities.” He’d been fortunate to find such an isolated spot.

He went inside the cabin.

“Hi, honey. I’m home!” he sang out.

Silence…

Then a muffled sob from the bed.

“Well now, Deana darlin’, how ya doin’?”

He set down his holdall and went over to Deana. Humming a little to himself, he untied and peeled off the silk scarf. He released her wrists from the twine.

Deana gasped, scrunching her eyes, peering into the half-light.

Saw him standing over her.

Giving her one of his twisted smiles.

“PLEASE, MACE. TAKE ME HOME!” she blurted.

“Why, sure enough, y’are home, sugar.” Mace looked a little surprised, hurt she was thinking otherwise.

“Where am I?”

She rubbed at her wrist, wincing as she went over the burn marks. Her hands still felt dead.

“You’re tucked away nice ’n’ safe where nobody can find ya, honey.”

Deana looked around at the cabin. A tin bucket stood in the corner. Coulda done with that hours ago, she thought, aware of the dark patch, now cold and uncomfortable, between her legs. She saw packs of bottled water, an open cardboard box, a rickety hardback chair—and Mace’s holdall, directly in front of her.

Shuffling till her back was against the wall, she took in the gray tick mattress. Old brown stains made big patchy patterns across it.

Blood?

There were more stains than mattress.

She stifled a gulp of fear.

“Mace, what are you going to do to me?” she asked, despising the tremor in her voice.

“Haven’t decided yet, sugar. But take my advice, don’t you worry your pretty li’l head about it.” He walked over to the cardboard box, took out a wrapped bread roll, and handed it to her. “Here. You must be hungry. Some time since you last ate, huh?”

She took the roll, peeled off the wrapper, opened up the top layer, and peered inside.

“Won’t hurt you none.” He watched her closely, an amused grin on his face. “Can’t guarantee it’ll be Bayview quality, but it’s as good as you’re gonna get.”

He picked up a bottle of water, twisted off the top, and passed the bottle to her. “There,” he said. “Salami on rye and a swig a’ water and you’ll be fightin’ fit in no time at all. Mmmm…Looks good,” he said, and nodded at the sandwich. “Don’t mind if I have one a’ those myself.”

Helping himself to a roll and fresh water, he sat facing her, astride the hardback chair. He broke off a wad of bread and shoved it in his mouth. “Guess you must be wonderin’ why you’re here,” he said, chewing around on the food. “Why I’m taking such a special interest in my pretty li’l niece?”

“You could say that,” Deana said slowly, not taking her eyes off his face. How could she ever have fancied him? He looked like an over-the-hill biker with his leather jacket, bleached hair, and crumbs falling down his front.

Scratch over-the-hill biker.

Mace is one hundred percent cop, Deana, an’ don’t you forget it. A cop gone bad—and mad…

Her heart began to hammer.

Mace chewed on his food, smiling at her like he knew something she didn’t.

Deana didn’t like the way he did that. She shivered.

“Tell ya a little story?”

“If you must.”

“Gotta keep y’ entertained, honey. Can’t have ya gettin’ bored, now, can we?”

She made a face. He had to smile. The kid had guts, he’d give her that.

“I tell you a tale, then I take your photograph. Deal?”

He offered a hand and she took it, warily.

She didn’t much like the sound of “photographs,” but at least it didn’t seem like he was going to kill her yet.

He got up and stood looking through the cabin’s murky window. “Guess your mom told you about Edith Payne’s letter?”

“Er, sure, she told me about it…”

“I’ll go one better, sweetheart. I’ll tell ya my version!”

Turning on his heel, he faced her. Looking into her eyes, saying nothing. Just staring like she was a stranger he’d never seen before.

Then giving her that twisted smile again.

She glanced away, feeling nervous, uncomfortable. Why the hell didn’t he sit down and get on with his story?

As if he’d read her thoughts, he set himself astride the chair. He began talking.

“How d’ya think it feels to know that your own mother kills your pa, then gives you to somebody who couldn’t care less whether you lived or died?”

His eyes glowed at her, burning with a hate she didn’t understand.

Shrinking from his gaze, she said slowly, “Don’t know how that’d feel exactly, but…I guess it’d be awful…”

“You don’t know how that’d feel exactly.” His voice rose a couple of octaves, mimicking her words.

Curling his mouth in disgust, he resumed his tale.

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Deana. It feels bad. Real bad. It makes you hate a person so much you wanta make ’em suffer—the way you suffered. All those years.”

Deana stayed quiet.

“My pa didn’t have a chance. He was sick. And drunk. No wonder, with Edith Payne for a wife. My pa believed he was right. And I guess he was…No girl should be like sister Tania. Dark and…covered in hair…” He slumped forward over the chair. His face creased up. He looked beat.

Deana’s mouth stayed shut.

Maybe he’s gonna cry.

Then I can hit him with something and escape…

Casually, she looked around. Saw nothing she could use as a weapon. Except the chair…and he was sitting on that.

“I searched for my sister, y’know. Didn’t track her down, though. But not once have I given up hope. She’s out there. Somewhere.” His voice rose. “Causin’ grief and makin’ things bad for somebody else, I guess. Yeah. I KNOW she’s still out there—somewhere…”

“So, what d’ya intend doing when you find her, Mace? Or should that be Jess?”

Right on, smart-ass! That should get you killed okay. You wanna die? Carry on this way and you’ll get your wish…

He lifted his head, and his eyes leveled with hers. They seemed oddly vacant, yet they glittered with a wild, dangerous look.

Deana shuddered.

Christ, I got him riled again. What am I, a fuckin’ moron?