The Lake - Richard Laymon

Leigh nodded.

“Mmmm…Nice hair. And the guy?”

“Ben. Cherry’s brother. A good friend from way back when I was in San Diego having Deana. Yeah, he was a very good friend…”

She sighed.

Thinking about Ben.

Her knight in shining armor, she’d called him.

A bunch of kids strolled by. Wearing swimsuits, towels hanging around their necks. Laughing and joking on their way to the lake.

Leigh watched them pass.

Her lips curved in a smile. “Ben was a great guy. The best. But I walked, Mattie. Eighteen years ago—and again yesterday, back at the Bayview…”

“You have a lot on your mind right now, Leigh. And I get the feeling your Ben’d understand just why you walked out the door—when you’ve a chance to tell him, that is. D’ya think you might get it together again someday?”

“Maybe. In my own time. When I’m good and ready.”

They’d made reservations at the Lakeside. At the height of the summer season they were lucky to get two cabins—a double and a single. Sheena and Mattie chose the double. Leigh took the single.

They ate burgers and fries in the bright, airy restaurant. Red-check cloths on the tables. Red-check curtains at the windows. Mostly, this time of day, the place would be humming with activity; right now it was deserted, except for a young couple sitting quietly in the corner drinking coffee, a map spread out before them.

Sheena was uneasy, on edge. She played around with her food. Finally, pushing her plate aside, she said she needed a run. Promised she’d be back in half an hour.

Mattie watched Leigh’s face. She was looking strained, pale. The tension of the last few hours was beginning to take its toll. She hoped Leigh would be up to it when they came eye-to-eye with Mace.

If they came eye-to-eye with Mace.

Hope to God we do. Maybe we’re on a wild-goose chase.

Sorensson could’ve goofed.

Mace could be back there on Del Mar.

Stalking Warren.

Watching Deana.

Deana had pleaded to join Leigh and the others, but the doc advised a twenty-four-hour hospital checkup. That done, Warren was to look after her at his place. Mattie had arranged for a round-the-clock watch on them both.

Leigh assured Deana she’d be back in a couple of days. She hated going, but felt she needed to be on the spot to help Mattie catch Mace.

For the umpteenth time, she satisfied herself that Deana was in safe hands.

Until a small voice in her head whispered:

Oh yeah? Just how safe is safe?

Leigh felt cold and sick inside.

Nothing fazed Mace, she knew that.

If Deana or Warren was to be found, Mace’d do it…

Shit, Leigh. Pull yourself together—they’ll be okay. Go out there; do your thing. As in help Mattie nail Mace.

Between the three of them, she had every confidence they would.

Sheena alone was a one-woman army…

Mattie was also a pretty tough cookie.

And Ava assured us Mace’d be here.

Ava could be wrong, the voice piped up again.

No way, Leigh told herself. He is out here. Regressing. Reliving his childhood days. Thinking about God knows what.

She recalled Sorensson’s face, pale, intense. “Be convinced, Leigh,” she’d said. “Harrison’s moved on. The West Coast’s behind him now. He’s out there in Lake Country…”

“We get some sleep, then plan a course of action,” Mattie told them before Sheena left to go running. “We’re on a covert operation—and it’s a team effort. Leigh, if you think of anything, let us know. Such as likely places where Mace could be—and Sheena, you’re welcome to come up with your ideas. Any ‘feelings’ you may have…”

They parted.

With severe misgivings, Leigh went to her cabin. She turned on the shower and undressed. Easing out a little as she stepped under the shower, soaping herself, feeling the warm water sluice her body. It felt good and, for a short while, relaxing.

Toweling herself dry, she put on her only change of clothing—a loose navy sweatshirt and pants.

But as she lay on the bed, her former unease returned.

She tossed around, staring at the ceiling; all the while bad memories, fears about meeting up with Mace, and escalating concerns about Deana whirled through her mind.

She sighed.

One thing was for sure.

With all this going on in her head, she didn’t feel much like sleeping…

SEVENTY

A hand curved slowly around her neck.

“It can be like this again, Leigh,” he told her.

So tenderly, she almost believed him…

Wanted to believe him.

His eyes glittered down at her.

His mouth hung open.

Her heart hammered. She drew back, her hands flying to her face.

“I loved you,” he whispered. “Things just got a little mixed up, is all…”

Her eyes snapped open.

SEVENTY-ONE

“MACE!”

“I’m here, sugar. And y’came all this way to say hello? I’m touched, darlin’. I truly am.”

The late-noon sun dipped behind the trees, but it was still hot. The cabin was deep in shadow. Shafts of light from the open window pierced the semigloom.

A light breeze from the lake bellied the curtains.

Leigh gasped. How the hell had he gotten to her? The door was locked…and the windows…?

Shit!

Like a fool, she hadn’t checked the windows.

Her eyes darted back to Mace.

A different Mace now.

Plaid shirt. Combat pants—your average guy taking a well-earned summer break. A little fishing. A few beers…It figured, all right. Dressed like that, he’d pass unnoticed in a crowd.

His hair was darker, longer; the blond surfer streaks were gone.

He was a stranger.

A dangerous, unpredictable intruder.

Her blood chilled at the thought.

He swayed a little. A hunting knife hung loosely in his right hand.

“You shouldn’t’ve come, Leigh. Nosin’ around. Disturbin’ a man payin’ his respects to the place of his birth…”

His voice was flat, toneless.

Slowly, Leigh edged up the bed, flinching as her back caught the slatted rail behind. She pulled away from him.

Scarcely daring to breathe.

Sweat, slick and hot, flowed down her sides.

Mace leaned in, his knife making circles near her face. His eyes were deep pits. Grape-black. Glinting into hers.

Hypnotizing her.

Tearing her eyes from his, she thought, I’ve gotta break the silence—keep him talking…

“You did some awful bad things to Deana, Mace. Why did you do it?”

“She was a whorin’ little slut, that’s why. She deserved to die.” He spoke slowly, his voice slurring slightly. “She’s out of the way now. Yessir, where she is, little bitch won’t be causin’ no more grief.”

“Deana’s still alive, Mace.”

“Wrong, Leigh. I killed her. She had to die…”

He’s killed her! THE BASTARD’S KILLED HER…OH NO!

She shot upright, her heart racing.

Reaching out her left hand, edging it sideways toward the water glass on the nightstand, she extended a finger. Nudging the glass a little; cringing as it crashed to the floor.

In the silence, it sounded like a bomb going off.

Mace came in with his fist.

Mashing her jaw.

Whipping, cracking her head sideways.

Making a low “Uuggghhh,” she slumped back on the pillow.

Out cold.

Wrestling her onto his shoulder, he went through the kitchen bar to the front door. Unlocking it with one hand, closing it behind him, he hurried out back.

SEVENTY-TWO

The cabins were behind him now.

Still running, he turned, snatching a look over his shoulder. Through the trees, he saw the cabins recede into the distance.

All clear.

He stumbled on, through another deserted copse, stepping over branches, chugging through rough grass.

Soon, the grass gave way to pebbles.

Okay so far…

Out of the trees now, the late-noon sun caught him off guard. Squinting into the light, he shook his head, trying to clear the noise, the clutter, the nonsense inside it.

He made his way to a secluded inlet.

Reached the rowboat.

Lowering Leigh into it, he pushed the boat forward.

It shushed quietly along the sand and slipped neatly into the sparkling water.

Leigh groaned.

Leaning over, he slapped her face. Her eyes opened, stared at him groggily for a moment, then closed again.

She was out. Okay.

He stepped into the boat, settled down, eased the paddles from the oarlocks, and stroked out across the lake.

SEVENTY-THREE

“He’s got her, Sheena. I heard a crash, went to investigate, and she’d gone. It could only be Mace. Do you see anything out there?”

Sheena, mobile pressed to her ear, listened intently.

“I’m approaching the lake now, Mattie…Can’t see anything this end…” Her voice was hurried, breathy, as she jogged over uneven scrub and pebbles.

Drawing to a halt, she scanned the water. “There’s a guy in a rowboat. Dark hair, plaid shirt…Stroking like hell…He’s looking over his shoulder…”

She paused, then said quickly, “Mattie. It’s Mace. Travelin’ south. Heading for the pines out there.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure as I’ll ever be. The guy’s in an awful hurry. Hey, didn’t Charlie have a hideout around here—like the place he died in? And yeah. There’s something in the boat, Mattie. Like a pile of clothing or…”

“Sheena, keep an eye on that boat. I’ll pull rank, requisition a launch. Rowboat. Inflatable. Whatever.”

Sheena kicked off her sneakers and waded into the lake till she was breast deep. Then, lifting her arms, she struck out after the rowboat.

SEVENTY-FOUR

Slowly, Leigh opened her eyes, trying to focus on the room. Everything blurred before her.

Her lids closed again.

Gingerly, she felt her jaw. It moved around freely—a little too freely for her liking. Pain shot through her face, stars exploded like fireworks in her head.

Her eyes opened. They darted to Mace.

“Recognize where y’are, darlin’? Recall this li’l ol’ place, do ya?”

Leigh went cold. She began to shake.

She was lying on a palliasse of some sort. It was lumpy, hard, with no give to it—like it was filled with straw or something.

She closed her eyes again. Shutting him out. Smelling the place…The damp, earthy, moldy odor…

Her eyes snapped open.

THIS WAS IT!

THE HOUSE.

WHERE CHARLIE DIED…

The nightmare began again.

Screams echoed around and around in her head, like those other screams, all those years ago.

Edith Payne’s screams. When she’d discovered her son Charlie, lying broken and bleeding. His head caved in…

“Never did take the old place down,” Mace was saying. “Left it here to rot. Gotta tread careful now…Could fall down one a’ these biiiig holes…” He grinned at her, standing on the edge of one, jumping up and down, testing the old boards, judging how much they could take.

She shuddered, feeling them shake, vibrate; hearing debris crumble and fall into the void below…

Mace gave a hollow laugh.

“All comes floodin’ back now, darlin’? Day you killed my brother Charlie?”

His fist came at her again. Smashing her head back to the mattress. He stood there, grinning and chewing, hearing her groans, her small, soft cries.

Then he was down, grabbing the neck of her sweatshirt, twisting it around his hand, bringing her up close till her face touched his.

Her stomach lurched with fear and loathing.

His grip tightened.

SEVENTY-FIVE

“STOP! Police! I got ya covered, Mace!”

Mattie.

Right behind him.

Both hands gripping her gun.

Shoving it into his back.

His hands went up.

Carefully, still keeping him covered, she reached for her belt. Unhitched the cuffs. Snapping one open, she moved forward to slip it onto Mace’s wrist…

Then Sheena appeared. Wet from her swim.

“Save it, honey,” she told Mattie, not taking her eyes off Mace. “He’s mine.”

Droplets pooled around her naked feet. She glowered at the back of his head.

Mace stiffened, his hands dropping a little, poised for action.

Sheena was ready.

“Jack off, Mace,” she snarled. “Or should that be Jess?”

Mace froze.

Then his shoulders and hands relaxed.

“Sister Tania,” he said quietly. “We meet at last.”

He swiveled around and stared, a bemused smile tilting his lips. Taking in the long black hair, sleek and wet, dripping over her shoulders. The tawny skin gleaming in the shadows…

She was like a warrior queen, risen from the sea. Dressed in black: Apache-style band around her head, Guns N’ Roses T-shirt clinging to her body. Her breasts and nipples standing proud beneath.

His eyes played around her breasts, then dropped to the tight leather shorts showing a couple of inches below her top.

“Seen enough, punk?”

He didn’t reply. His eyes still traveled over her. They were hungry. Taking in the shiny, well-muscled arms. The long shapely legs, planted firmly apart.

A slow smile curved his lips. He shook his head as if to say “Well, whaddya know…”

“So it’s Tania,” he drawled. “After all these years.”

Her eyes leveled with his. Daring him to move.

“Time to turn in ya stripes, Mace,” she said softly.

Slowly, her hand reached back, easing up her T-shirt, feeling for the knife in its holster. It rested warm and hard against her damp leather shorts.

“C’mon now, sis. This is your brother here. Don’t wanta harm your own kin now, do ya?”

Suddenly, his arm went up and Sheena was staring at a 9mm Sig. Sidestepping neatly, she brought up her knife. Whirled it through the air. It landed, quivering, in his biceps.

Blood spurted a little, then slowly, steadily, pumped down his arm.

His face darkened. He made a grab at the wound. The knife shook a little but still held. The Sig hit the floor with a clunk, and Sheena lunged forward, forcing his arm back and down.

Mace snarled. She snatched back her knife.

“My move, punk,” she said with a brief smile, wiping the blade across his shirtfront. She leapt back, crouching, weaving from side to side, tracing circles in the air with her blade.

Spying his chance, avoiding the knife, Mace bounded forward, throwing a sideways kick at her face. He missed.

Then aimed a karate chop to her throat.