The Lake

SEVENTEEN

Leigh rolled over, sat up, and knuckled the tears from her eyes. Like a kid at school. Despite her frustration at Charlie’s absence, the idea struck her as a little amusing. Tears welled up again, but she thought better of it. Wouldn’t do for Charlie to catch her like this, eyes all red and puffy from crying.

If Charlie deigned to put in an appearance this side of tomorrow.

Fine. Put it down to experience, Leigh. World’s full of gals who’ve been let down—are being let down at this very moment, she told herself. But she could swear Charlie had been serious last night. Serious enough to come out to look for her, anyhow.

Not today, though.

Must have had second thoughts.

Maybe his mom beat him when she saw his wet pants and he’s stayed home.

Who gives a shit, anyway…

She wasn’t a gal to hang around after some guy who couldn’t stand up to his own mother.

She must be a tough old bitch.

Not like her mom.

Leigh imagined her own mom and dad—if they could see her now. Waiting around for this guy who sells baskets for a living, how would they react? “Don’t tell me,” she muttered. “They’d be all self-righteousness and pursed lips. Accusing eyes. Mom’s would be red with weeping.”

“Pull yourself together, young lady,” Dad would say, with a pleading glance at Mom, like “We got ourselves a situation here, Helen. She’s your daughter, too, y’know. Tell me, what are we going to do with her?” Mom would just shake her head, wring her hands, stem back more despairing tears.

“What are Mike and Jenny doing?” she’d blurt. “Allowing her out on her lonesome like this? Leigh’s so vulnerable just now. What with that showdown with the police and everything. Your brother should have had more sense than to encourage her to meet up with this… this basket-seller!”

“My brother. That’s rich! My brother indeed! I don’t recall you putting forward any of your family to help out with your errant daughter…”

“You mean our errant daughter!”

God, what a mess!

For the millionth time (it seemed like the millionth), Leigh lifted her head and scanned the lake. She was weary with waiting. Charlie had either forgotten, or was being held captive by that witch bitch mother of his.

“That’s it,” she muttered. “Mom found out, locked her precious boy in the closet, and swallowed the key. Jeez. What kind of fool am I? Driven to the point of suicide by some kid who can’t even stand up to his own mother?”

Some kid who’s gagging for sex but doesn’t even know it yet. Wouldn’t know a pussy if it jumped up and bit him. “No,” she told herself. “That’s not true.” She remembered Charlie last night, the state he was in (the state they were both in), and knew that no way was that true.

Time to haul ass and head for home, honey. Quit being a prize idiot and just get gone.

She looked at her wristwatch. 5:57. Mike and Jenny would be getting worried. More than that. They’d most likely be hairless by now. Wondering if they should call Mom and Dad.

Or the cops…

No, they wouldn’t do that. Not Mike and Jenny. They were okay guys. Sensible. Levelheaded. Teachers, for godsake. Through her tears, Leigh was sorry for what they must be feeling right now. They’d be thinking they had let her parents down.

Let her down.

Jesus.

At least she owed them the courtesy of an appearance before they called the police department.

She climbed to her feet. Her back and legs were wrecked; she felt like she’d done a fifty-mile route march.

Aaaghh…

She limped over to the canoe. Clambered into it. Sat down and eased the paddle off the gunnel. It was so muggy and hot. She unbuttoned her blouse. Her almost new blouse, the one she’d worn only twice before. She liked it, too, knew the color red looked good against her fair hair and sun-bronzed skin.

But it wasn’t looking so new, or so good, now.

Hanging off her shoulders like a limp rag.

She dragged it together, tied the ends in a knot. Under the thin fabric, she felt the weight of her breasts as she leaned forward, skimming the paddle through the water. She scanned the dark pines and the shining lake spread out before her… and saw Charlie up ahead, powering his rowboat toward the shore with strong, well-muscled arms, his back against the sun, his front in shadow.

Like last night, he wasn’t wearing his hat.

She could see his gleaming white teeth.

Because he was smiling, for chrissake.

The smile did it for her.

Goddamn you, Charlie. I don’t believe this. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I’ve just spent an entire afternoon waiting for you. Shit, Charlie. How could you?

He steered the boat around, easing its hull onto the sand. All so laid-back… and, goddamn it, he looked so… unconcerned. He lifted the anchor and let it drop into the water.

Then, effortlessly, like an athlete, he leapt from the rowboat and came toward her. Gleaming muscles, slender hips—and jeans bulging in all the right places. He sure looks mighty pleased with himself, she thought angrily.

“Charlie, you useless piece a’ shit. Where have you been?”

“Mom told me to take more baskets out on Willow. There’s a whole new buncha vacationers over at Carson’s Camp, and…” He stopped, saw her angry face, and dropped his eyes.

He looked caught, uncomfortable.

“Charlie,” she persisted. “You knew we arranged to meet today. At three o’clock, we both agreed. It’s now turned six. What is the matter—can’t you tell the time?”

His face reddened, his mouth trembling slightly.

Alarmed, she thought he was going to burst into tears.

Oh my God.

Don’t do this to me, Charlie.

I want a goddamn lover, not a crybaby.

Take me in your arms. Sweep me off my feet.

Do something. But don’t just stand there like an idiot.

He looked confused—innocent, like a child; melting her anger like a snowball in the sun. More than anything else in the whole world, she wanted to hold him close. Gather him to her breast; caress him with gentle hands.

And for him to ram himself inside her.

Now.

He could have committed murder for all she cared.

Maybe had.

Maybe his mom lay bleeding to death right now, a stained hunting knife tossed to one side. The lifeblood pumping out of her.

All because she wouldn’t let him go to the evil bitch who lusted for her precious Charlie’s sex.

Give it to me, Charlie. Here. Now. In front of anybody who cares to watch. Just give it to me.

Leigh opened her blouse, letting it fall from her shoulders as she moved toward him.

His eyes widened. Then he smiled, shyly, fixing his gaze on her naked breasts. They were heavy and swinging as she walked toward him.

He held out his arms, and with a moan she pulled him to her. Wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her open mouth onto his. Their tongues met. Her free hand struggled to undo the top button of his jeans.

They’re so tight.

It’s a wonder he isn’t raped every time he goes out, she marveled, peeling down the zipper. Easing her fingers in between his legs, she found the hot, pulsating bulge lying there. Waiting for her. With both hands, she reached in farther, cupped his scrotum and penis, and drew them out. He moaned, squirming in her grasp.

“In me, Charlie,” she breathed.

“The house. Come into the house,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Why not here? Anyway, what house?”

“My secret place. It’s private. Come with me.”

She pouted. Annoyed at the interruption, her rim aching with need. If he’s gonna play games again, it’s finito. I’m outa here.

Still pouting, she followed him up the limb-strewn beach to a house set back in the pines. Watching out for him across the lake, she hadn’t noticed it before. He led her across the rickety porch, to the stoop and through the half-open door.

“You been here before?” she asked warily.

“Yeah. Lotsa times,” he told her. “Not with nobody else, though. I come here alone. So’s I can think.”

“Whose place is it?”

“B’longed to some rich New Yorker guy back in the thirties, Mom said. Shot his wife, buried her out back in the woods. Guy hanged himself from that there balcony, y’see up there?”

“How did they know he’d shot and buried his wife?”

“Left a note on the kitchen table confessin’ all. Said he’d caught his wife in bed with Jed Johnson, local ranger hereabouts. Nobody’d live in the place after that. It was left to go to rack ’n’ ruin. Y’can still see bloodstains on the kitchen floor,” he explained with enthusiasm, as if proud to impart this piece of local lore.

The house was dark inside; it smelled earthy and damp. Leigh wrinkled her nose as she caught the moldy odor of decaying wood—or was it dried blood?

Shivering, she wished she’d picked up her blouse from off the beach.

It had been wet, anyhow.

Might have dried off by now, though.

A sharp shiver brought goose bumps to her naked flesh. Hunching her shoulders up to her ears, she wrapped her arms around her breasts.

Charlie led the way up the stairs.

“Mind that one—and the next. These old stairs are real unsafe. Don’t want you breaking a leg, now.”

“God, Charlie. Do we have to do this? I mean, this place could put a person off it, y’know…”

She flung out an arm to balance herself, clutching at the balustrade. It was tacky with damp and mold. She dragged back her hand, checking her fingers.

“Yuck. This is gross. Charlie, you’re doing this on purpose. Tell me you don’t want to make love to me, and I’ll go. Just fade out of your life forever… I don’t need all this.”

Tears of disappointment welled in her eyes.

Disappointment? Try terminal frustration! He’s playing games with me—just like last night. Who the hell does he think he is…

“Charlie?”

They reached the landing, a mezzanine arrangement with several doors branching off into various rooms on the right. Must have been quite a house once upon a time, she thought miserably.

“Charlie…!”

He turned, sweeping her into his arms easily, as if she were a child, and carried her into one of the rooms. By its size it had probably been the master bedroom. A tick mattress lay in the center of the floor.

Jagged, broken windows overlooked the pine-fringed lake. It was a mighty fine view, she had to admit.

Any other time…

Empty beer cans, food wrappers, and other junk was piled in the corners of the room. Squatters, campers…

Even murderers… She pictured the New Yorker guy, rope in hand, taking one last look at the lake below…

Charlie put her down, then went over to an old-fashioned dresser. He opened a drawer, took out a folded sheet and an Indian blanket.

Leigh perked up.

Looks like this could be a regular routine.

She felt let down. Cheap, tawdry. She’d hoped she’d been his first. Looked like he’d been lying through his teeth when he told her he’d never had a girlfriend.

Guys. What is it with them?

Wondering what he’d come up with next, she watched, hands on hips, eyebrows raised.

“Uh-huh,” she murmured, eyeing the bedcovers and wondering who’d used them before she came along.

“Very handy.”

“I snuck these in last night, after you’d gone.” He looked as if he expected her to pat him on the head and say, “Gee, thanks, Charlie.”

She didn’t.

He spread out the sheet on the mattress. Then he put the blanket on top.

At least they’re clean.

If they’d been dirty, I’d’ve been out of here, she told herself. Then, immediately, she felt guilty. Charlie had done all of this for her. She was sure of it.

He was smiling eagerly. Folding down the bedcovers, he motioned for her to get in.

Still, she was cynical.

“The romance is killing me, buster… Can’t wait for dessert.”

Cocking his head to one side, he tried to understand her words. Her mood. He hadn’t seen her like this before. His eyes shifted to his feet.

“I… I thought you’d like my secret place…,” he said quietly, disappointed she seemed displeased.

Leigh let out a small “aahh” of guilt. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. Innocently, his eyes questioned hers. Like a small boy who’d brought his mom a special gift, only to be told she didn’t want it.

She relented, couldn’t take his discomfort any longer.

“Okay, Charlie. I give in. This sure is some place you got here.”

Moving over to the makeshift bed, she clambered in, hugged her knees, and smiled up at him.

Charlie looked happier already. It dawned on her that in his own special way maybe Charlie was in love with her.

She opened her arms, and he came to her.

They lay there for a while, he stroking her breasts, her belly, her thighs and legs. Doing it carefully, like she was a piece of precious china.

Lying by her side, propped up on an elbow, head in his hand, he looked at her. She smiled deep into his eyes.

His arm dropped down.

They lay together, their bodies touching. The pain, the hard ache between her legs, began again. He caressed her back, gently. Kissed her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks.

Then tenderly, and with infinite feeling, her lips again.

She sensed the different kind of passion.

Not the wham-bam, thank-ya-ma’am stuff that had happened yesterday.

This was a wonderful, titillating foreplay to the main event.

Leigh responded, gently at first, then with impatience and a growing need. She came on top, straddling him, her mouth opening on his, finding his tongue, sucking, sucking, and pulling it into hers. Drawing it into her throat.

Wishing it were him she had in her mouth.

Like last night.

She left his mouth. Sliding down, she trailed her tongue over his slick, muscular chest.

His body tasted good; it was hairy and salty with sweat.

She licked harder now, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. Her tongue traveled past his navel and through the dark curly hairs spreading across his hard belly.

Down to his huge erection.

She grasped it and took it in her mouth until he came, writhing, moaning, spurting into her. Sobbing and gagging, she swallowed his come.

Gasping, tears running down her face, she lay with her head between his legs, panting, breathless. Pulling her up against his chest, he massaged the backs of her thighs with firm, smooth strokes.

His mouth found hers again; he took her tongue and sucked at it, hard. As he shifted slightly, his pubic hairs rubbed against her belly. Then, with a strength she wasn’t expecting, he shoved a hand inside her.

Aaaaghhh…

She cried out. In shock. In pain.

With a catlike movement Charlie was on top, thrusting himself deep into her center. Pounding into her, gouging, shaking her body to the core. She rose to meet him, raw, hurting, pressing herself against him, raking herself up and down his shaft till she could take no more.

He came into her again. And again. Still gasping, crying a little, she lay back on the tousled, sweat-soaked sheet. Charlie lay on his side, looking down at her, hungrily.

Panting. Wanting more.

Playing with her dark, softening nipples.

She felt the hard ache rise again…

“Charlie,” she breathed, closing her eyes, lifting her arms to hold him.

But Charlie leapt up, grabbed his shirt, and thrust his arms into it. Fumbling with the buttons, he gave up trying and dragged on his jeans.

Hopping from one leg to the other, he looked almost comical.

Except it wasn’t funny.

Leigh was in shock.

Crying out in disbelief: “Charlie?”

Astounded.

Bereft.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave me now… not like this…”

“I gotta I gotta…,” he stammered desperately. “I promised Mom I’d be home for supper. She thinks I’m out collecting wood for tomorrow… I gotta go… I just gotta…”

He looked around wildly.

Torn. Willing himself to be somewhere else.

Night shadows had gathered. She couldn’t make out his features.

Couldn’t see if he was disappointed.

What had gone wrong?

Had she been too forward?

Whatever. Looks like she’d frightened him off…

And now he was leaving her.

But he couldn’t.

Not when we’ve had it so good together.

Nothing, no one, is gonna keep us apart!

She sprang up and grabbed him; he wrenched away from her urgent, shaking hands grasping his shirt, holding on to him.

“Mom’ll be looking for me. She’s expecting me…”

They fell to the floor, struggling, fighting. He rolled away from her.

Pushed himself up.

Unable to believe what was happening, she reached out to hold him.

He fell back, away from her, shoving an elbow hard on the floorboards. With a rending, splitting sound the rotten floor gave under his weight.

He plummeted to the ground below.

She stared at the black space where the floor, where Charlie, had been.

Hearing his low, hurt grunt as he hit rock bottom.

The dull crack that was a thud and a splish! all at the same time.

Like a ripe melon bursting open.

Terrified, Leigh scrambled to her feet.

“Charlie oh my God Charlie Charlie! Wait, I’m coming I’m coming.”

Naked, she bounded across the landing and took the stairs, two, three at a time.

Ouch.

Shit!

She caught her toe in a broken stair and stumbled.

Flinging out her arms, she clawed at the balustrade, almost falling headlong.

No need to search for Charlie.

His legs sprawled at weird angles in the room facing her.

“Charlie. I’m here. Don’t move…”

Then her heart stood still.

She was terribly afraid.

More afraid than she’d ever been in all of her eighteen years.

Her stomach turned to ice.

But she went forward, through the doorway.

To get to Charlie.

Lying there.

So still.

She was in an old-fashioned kitchen. Dark with shadows. Shuttered windows. Narrow rays of the setting sun carving through dust motes rising from where he’d fallen, in an awkward nest of wood and flaking bits of plaster.

She stared at Charlie.

“Oh, God. NO! NO NO NO-OOO!!!”

Forced herself to look at what had been his head.

Clumps of brown hair clinging to slivers of scalp, scattered in a mess of brain and shattered skull.

Slimed with matter, the base of the stove poked through the red mush of Charlie’s face. An eye, a bloodshot globe attached to bloody strings, escaped from its socket.

Leigh stared. The eye slipped a little.

Showing the brown iris.

It knows I’m watching it. It’s smiling Charlie’s smile at me…

Leigh heaved, swayed, doubled over, and slid to her knees on the dusty clay floor.

Breath burst from her lungs in great, ragged gasps.

Hot, chunky vomit rose in her throat.

This, this… wasn’t… couldn’t be Charlie.

Charlie’s beautiful, strong—and he loves me. I know that. He loves me…

Taking one last look at Charlie, flaked with dust and plaster like a discarded tailor’s dummy, she fled down the passageway, out onto the stoop, and stumbled down the steps.

Whimpering.

Fighting back vomit.

Sobbing, muttering, as she ran.

Straight into the small, rigid figure of a woman.

Charlie’s mother.

Thin, birdlike.

Openmouthed.

Shocked. Staring at Leigh’s naked body with horrified, accusing eyes, bright as polished stones in the fading light.

The woman skimmed past her. Into the house. Leigh hurried on, toward the canoe, her feet cut and bleeding as she fled over stones and fallen branches.

The scream coming from the house pierced the evening quiet, renting the air like a knife through silk.

Pure. Vibrant. Agonized.

An animal caught in a trap. Then…

“Whore; Lilith; poisonous bitch; filthy murderess!”

Under glowering skies, Leigh pushed her canoe into the lake and climbed in. Grasping the paddle, she worked it hard, bending forward and back; dipping, skimming through the dark water. As she traveled, crisp, white wavelets lifted around the bow, telling her the wind had changed direction.

She shivered, feeling its chill on her tear-streaked face, on her cold, trembling body.

Paddling hard, her uneven breaths coming in raw, hurting gasps, she left Goon Lake behind.

The screams of Edith Payne followed her like arrows from hell.