The Lake

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.