Richard Laymon: The Lake

First, she set the jug on the table and went over to the sink. Turning on the cold faucet, she cupped her hands and splashed water over her face.

Then she grabbed a hand towel, patted herself dry.

Feeling better, safer, all the time.

It was only a nightmare, she told herself again.

Deana downed two glassfuls of juice, knowing she’d probably spend the remainder of the night in the bathroom.

Who cares? I’m awake, I’m alive, and I’m all in one piece!

Back in her bedroom, she caught that same weird figure slink past the window.

Again?

NO!

Frowning, she stared hard. But saw nothing.

Just the curtain, stirring softly.

And her tree, murmuring in the breeze.

Wonderful. I’m going crazy. My mind’s playing tricks…

She set her refilled glass on the nightstand, took off her robe, and climbed into bed.

She yawned, glad the nightmare was over.

She felt safe again.

And sleepy.

Her lips curved in a smile.

As her lids closed, she thought about the party tomorrow night…

Tomorrow night?

Tonight, she reminded herself.

Deana yawned again, going through the scenario of telling Mom how she and Allan would be going to the movies after dinner. Mom’d be furious, but she’d soon simmer down. Hey. She knew how it was; she’d been there herself, hadn’t she?

Once upon a time.

So she keeps reminding me.

Deana smiled sleepily. It felt good, touching her naked body beneath the sheet, the soft breeze wafting through the window.

Thinking about the dinner party—and afterward, when she and Allan would bunk off together.

“Mmm…,” she whispered. “Tonight, we’re gonna have the time of our lives!”

“If I were the suspicious type,” Deana said, “I might think that car is following us.”

“But you’re not,” Allan said.

“A little bit, maybe.” She looked over her shoulder. The other car was still beyond the last curve, its beams dim and barely visible through the narrow rear window of Allan’s Mustang. Seconds later, the headlights appeared. One was out of alignment, throwing its beam crooked and high. Deana didn’t like the cross-eyed look. It made the car seem a bit demented.

“How about turning around,” Allan suggested. “You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s making me nervous.”

“Probably just some guy on his way to Stinson Beach. Once you’re on this road, you’re on it for keeps.”

Deana faced the front. Her hands were sweaty. She wiped them on her kilt. “Maybe you should slow down and let him pass.”

“You’ve seen too many Friday the 13th movies.”

“ You dragged me to some of them.”

“I love the way you squeal and cover your eyes… and peek through your fingers.”

“Maybe we should have gone to a movie,” Deana said.

“Losing your nerve?”

“It’s awfully dark out here.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“How soon’s the turnoff?” Deana asked.

“It’s coming up.”

“Well, if he makes the turn, too, I say we forget it.”

Allan turned his head toward her. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he obviously wasn’t thrilled by the idea of forgetting it. She couldn’t blame him. He had suffered through the dinner with Deana’s mother and grandparents, which must’ve been quite a drag for him, probably able to keep his spirits up only by reminding himself of what was planned for afterward.

“One more thing,” she had told him on the telephone before the party.

He had responded with an “Uh-oh.”

“This isn’t an ‘uh-oh,’ pal, this is an ‘ah-ha.’ Once dinner’s over, you and I will be free to amscray. I was thinking of somewhere very dark and very secluded, perhaps in the vicinity of Mount Tamalpias. You might want to bring a blanket.”

Maybe dinner hadn’t been such a drag for him, after all, Deana thought. If the nervous, excited looks he gave her were any indication, he was too busy imagining sex in the woods to be bored with the family gathering. She’d had a difficult time, herself, keeping her mind on the festivities. By the time they were clearing off the dishes, she was such a wreck that Mom asked whether she was upset about something.

Well, see, Mom, it’s like this. Allan and I aren’t actually going to a double feature. We thought we’d find a place over by Mt. Tam where we’ll have a little privacy; we’ve only done this kind of thing once before, and we were both a little loaded then, so this will almost be like the first time, and I’m a little tense.

Just a little tense, that’s all.

The clicking sound of Allan’s turn signal brought her back to the present. She realized she was gripping her thighs and trembling. Calm down, she told herself. This is nothing to be scared about.

“It went right on by,” Allan said after making the turn. For a moment, Deana didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered—the car that had been behind them.

“Well,” she said in a shaky voice, “I guess we’re in luck.”

Allan downshifted, the car growling like a determined animal as it started to climb the steep road, headbeams pushing into the darkness. Deana felt herself sink deeper into the bucket seat.

“Wouldn’t a breakdown be fun about now?” Allan asked.

“A laugh riot.”

Maybe this area is a little too secluded, she thought. And too dark—and scary. She found herself thinking about last night. Nightmare on Del Mar, starring, ta-dah… Mr. Hatchet Man. Uhhh…

She turned her eyes to the safe, familiar green glow of the dashboard instruments.

“We should’ve gone to a Holiday Inn,” she muttered.

“I thought you were against motels.”

“Yeah, well, I might be changing my mind.”

“Man, I wish you’d changed your mind half an hour ago. Want me to turn around?”

“No, that’s okay. We’re already here.”

“I don’t mind. A bed. A shower. Heyyy.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a thought. We’ll think about it, okay? It still seems kind of… I don’t know… tawdry.”

“Tawdry?”

“Look it up.”

“You’re definitely weird, you know that? It’s all right to fool around in a car or in the woods someplace, but you do the same thing in a motel room and it’s tawdry. Does that make sense?”

“It must,” Deana said, “or why would I feel that way?”

“Because you’re nuts?” Allan suggested.

At the top of a rise, the road leveled out. Ahead was a wide, moonlit clearing—the parking area for the outdoor theater. When they’d been here last month for a production of Othello, the lot had been packed with cars.

Now it was deserted.

“Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Allan

said.

“I figured we might.”

Allan drove to the far end of the lot. He stopped at its edge near the start of the footpath leading through the trees to the theater. He turned off the engine. “Well, here we are,” he said, sounding a little nervous himself. He killed the headlights. Darkness closed over the car. He took the key from the ignition, pushed the key case into a front pocket of his corduroy pants, and rubbed his hands on his legs. Twisting around, he reached between the seat backs and brought the blanket through the gap.

Outside, the night breeze chilled Deana’s legs and seeped like cool water through her sweater. Shivering, she gritted her teeth. She wrapped her arms across her chest. Allan joined her in front of the car. “Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He fluttered open the blanket and draped it over her shoulders like a cape.