Richard Laymon - The Lake

Mommy’s head came forward, her eyes glaring. They leveled with Deana’s. The hat slipped, tilting to one side. She looked weird, scary—like she was about to tear open the car door and drag Deana away.

Back to her abominable brood…

Deana shrank into her seat.

Warren touched the remote. The window whirred up.

Grinning like an animated zombie, the fag-hag from hell pressed her skinny nose to the glass. Quickly, Warren turned the key, revved the engine. The car leapt forward. A little way down the street, he peered into the rearview mirror.

The fag-hag was gone.

“So Harry popped his clogs.”

“ ’Bout the size of it. Smart move. Wherever he is, he’s gotta be in a better place than in that weirdo’s freaky rest home!”

Warren shot Deana a quizzical glance. He guessed all this had something to do with her experience the night she invited him to dinner. He decided not to ask.

She gave him a weak smile. “Wearing that stupid hat, she looked like that gay English guy, Quentin Crisp… God, what a hoot! ”

“You’re not kidding!”

“Well, that’s Mommy Dearest,” she said faintly. “Or should I say, Daddy Dearest? What a freak! No idea she was a transvestite.” Remembering the hag’s strong, scrawny arms tight around her, Deana murmured, “What d’ya reckon? Is it a ‘she’—or a ‘he’?”

Warren gave a thin smile. “Who cares? Just make sure we avoid her in future, that’s all.”

“Agreed. Apart from that, she did interrupt something rather special. Don’t you think?”

“Mmmm. You’re right there. We started…”

“Started what, Warren?”

“We started something I’d rather like to finish later. How ’bout you?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Me, too.”

Deana went quiet for a moment. Then tears welled up. Slowly, they fell down her cheeks.

Warren stopped the car.

“What is it, Deana? Not something I did, I hope?”

“No. Nothing like that. What we did was all so… wonderful. It’s just that everything seems to be happening, is all. One thing after another. Especially tonight, coming face-to-face with that freaky old witch again. And then there’s Mace… I don’t know, I’m so scared of him. And of what he’s doing to Mom.”

She almost said, “And how he came to my room…” but stopped herself, reluctant to spoil things by discussing Mace tonight.

Warren drew her to him and kissed the tip of her nose.

Looking into his eyes, she said quietly, “You’re all right, Warren. Y’know that?”

“You, too,” he replied. “And don’t forget, whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

Leigh met Deana at the door.

“What’s up, Mom? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just did, honey. Nelson.”

Deana’s jaw dropped. She stopped in her tracks.

Oh my God. Not Nelson!

What the hell is happening to us?

“He’s sick, Deana. He wanted money…”

“Where is he?”

“He left. I called Mattie—I feel awful about that. He was just a pathetic human being. Real sick.”

“You called Mattie? Not Mace? ”

“No, honey. Not Mace.”

Something in Leigh’s tone made Deana hesitate. There was a tension in it she didn’t like. If there’s a problem with Mace, she thought, I need to know about it. “Mom. About Mace—” she got out.

“How’s Warren?” Leigh interrupted, a little too quickly. Deana closed her lips. Maybe now wasn’t the time to say anything about Mace.

“He’s okay.” She pictured the fag-hag and her band of trolls, tucked away in the twilight zone. Best keep them under wraps, too. Mom doesn’t look like she can take any more shocks.

She led Leigh to the living room. “Guess you could use a drink,” she said, going over to the wet bar and decanting a cognac into a balloon glass. “Anyway,” she said, rapidly changing the subject. “How’re things at the office?”

“Er… I didn’t go today, hon.”

“No?”

“No. Something came up.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Deana, better grab yourself a drink, too. There’s something I should tell you.”

Brriinngg… Brriinngg…

Leigh’s heart lurched.

“The phone, Mom,” Deana reminded her gently. “Shall I get it?”

“No, dear. It’s probably for me.”

It was.

Mattie.

“We got Nelson, Leigh. He’s in a bad way. Something terminal, I guess. But he’ll be looked after, where he’s going. Don’t you worry about him. Thing is, looks like he’s still harboring some kinda grudge. Swears he’s gonna get you—when he comes out. Which he won’t, of course. Come out, I mean.”

“Thanks for that, Mattie,” Leigh said. She gave an uneasy laugh. “Makes me feel a whole lot better. I don’t think.”

“Nelson’s going noplace, Leigh. Trust me—and you can take that to the bank. He’s real sick, and he’s behind locked doors. So, no chance he’ll bother you or Deana, ever again.” Mattie hesitated, then asked, “You okay? Musta been quite a shock…”

“Yeah. Right .” A pause. “And Mace?”

“He’s gone, Leigh. Vacated his apartment. Skedaddled. Vamoosed.”

“Oh my God…”

“Keep your doors locked, Leigh.” Mattie spoke quietly. Leigh, catching the urgency in her voice, felt a little faint. Mattie was asking, “Has he got a key to your place?”

Leigh’s heart missed a beat.

“Yes… No. I don’t know. I never gave him one. But he knows where I keep a spare.”

Mattie’s silence spoke volumes.

“Maybe you should have a minder,” she said. “I’ll get somebody over there. Whoever it is, I’ll bring them over myself, so when I call, you’ll know it’s okay.”

“Right.” Leigh shivered, bringing a hand to her throat. “This is getting worse, Mattie.”

“It will do. Until we nail Mace. And doing that won’t be easy. He’s one slippery chick.”

“You’re not kidding,” Leigh murmured, then said, “Okay, Mattie. See you soon.”

“That Mattie?”

Leigh nodded. Hugging herself, leaning against the door frame, going over the conversation. Deana studied her, frowned, and said, “Mom, you look awful.”

Leigh managed a bright smile. “Gee, thanks, honey. That’s all I need to know.”

“Here, take a sip of this.” Deana handed the glass of cognac to her mother. “You look as if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Leigh took a swig and winced. “How people can drink this stuff, I’ll never know.”

“Mom. You had something to tell me… What is it?” Leigh sighed. She wasn’t feeling up to repeating the whole thing over again.

“It’s a long story, honey.”

Here we go again: “Here lies Leigh West. Hers was a mighty long story…”

She sighed, and felt sick, going over what happened today. But Deana has to know. Best get it over with now…

Easing into the sofa, she took a sip of cognac and shuddered. At the other end, Deana faced her, her legs drawn up, chin resting on her knees. Her glass lay untouched on the table.

An uneasy silence hung on the air.

“Honey,” Leigh began in a quiet voice. “You’ve always wanted to know more about Charlie, your father. Well, today I learned the truth of the matter—straight from the horse’s mouth. Or, put another way, straight from the pen of Edith Payne, Charlie’s mother.”

Wide-eyed, Deana stared at Leigh. “And?”

“When I was your age, I was a bit of a rebel. Mom and Dad packed me off to Aunt Jenny and Uncle Mike’s in Milwaukee. It was there I met your father…”