The Lake

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?

His mouth quirked in a humorless twist.

“Well, now. Ain’t you the funny girl? Just call me Uncle Mace, honey. That’ll be fine by me.”

“Sorry, Mace. Didn’t mean to upset you,” she said in a small voice.

“You didn’t upset me none. Me, I’m just your nice, friendly ol’ uncle Mace.”

“You joined the police so’s you could find Tania? What did you do before that?”

He grinned. “Smart kid, ain’t ya? Oh, I bummed around ’Frisco, working bars—pumpin’ iron. Knew all the gyms in the Bay Area. Boxed a little; this ’n’ that. Then Mom got sick. She was an old lady by then. I went back to Wahconda, but she was dead already. Only inheritance she left was the cabin I was born in—and that letter…”

Deana almost felt sorry for him. He sure was a mixed-up guy. Yeah. Sick. Dangerous. But sad, too.

Suddenly, he was on his feet, staring out the window again. His hands went up to his hips, his jacket lifted, and she caught the bulge of his hip holster.

“Mace?” she ventured quietly. “Why don’t you let me go home? Keeping me here isn’t gonna do you any good. People’ll be looking for me. They find me and—”

“Find you? What makes you think anybody’s gonna find ya, sweetheart?”

“Well, they’ll search for me. Probably trace me to here.”

“No way. Nobody saw you go. Nobody’ll find you here. Reason I use this place is because nobody ever comes up here. ’Cept me.”

Then he was standing over her. His legs apart. Grinning. Stroking her hair. Smoothing the dark strands resting on her shoulders. Over and over again.

She winced.

Too scared to move.

Her eyes leveled with his crotch.

Saw him jerk inside his pants.

God, no. He’s gonna rape me. Please God. NO!

He grabbed her head, pressed it to him. His hard-on rose some more. She felt it throb against her face.

Breaking away, she squirmed back across the mattress, edging off it, landing on her knees.

She scrambled to her feet.

“Just let me go, Mace. Before we both do something we’ll regret.” Her eyes wandered to the chair. One quick smash and it’d be in pieces.

I could use one of the legs to hit him with.

Kill him, if I have to.

Oh yeah? You an’ whose army?

His eyes mocked her. “Don’t do anything stupid, Deana. Remember, I could break ya pretty li’l neck, just like that.”

He swiped the air with a swift karate chop.

She blinked. Picturing his hand coming down, whistling toward her.

Watch it, Deana.

Maybe I’ll get him while he’s asleep…

If he falls asleep…

She shivered, suddenly getting the feeling he was reading her mind.

Instead, he looked confused, bewildered. Shaking his head. Heaving a sorrowful sigh.

“I’m gonna have to put y’away, Deana. Y’know that?”

“Put me away? Whaddya mean, put me away?”

“Put you someplace where you’ll come to no harm. Where you’ll be safe. Come to Uncle Mace, li’l girl.”

He beckoned, smiling. Like he was offering candy to a baby.

She glared back. Not moving.

“C’mon, sugar. Uncle Mace might turn nasty if Deana doesn’t come when she’s called.” His voice had a singsong lilt to it.

“So, whaddya gonna do, Mace?”

“Something I shoulda done right from the start.” He picked up the twine from where it had fallen earlier. She watched him advance, slowly, winding it around his hands.

She backed away, stumbling against the cabin wall, her arms shooting out, spread-eagled against the wood slats.

“C’mon now, Deana. There’s a good girl.”

Fascinated, she watched him twist the twine around his fingers. Her hand rose to her neck.

“No, Mace. Please don’t,” she panted. “DON’T DO IT, MACE!”

She lost it… somehow got caught up in a swirling black cloud.

Screams rang out, shattering the deathly quiet…

Vaguely, she wondered who it was, crying out like that.

The screams died.

Then she heard sobs… tiny, whimpering sounds.