Richard Laymon: The Lake

Mattie’s face was taut. “Damn right,” she muttered. “That sick fuck was the cleverest sonofabitch I ever did meet!”

Leigh felt faint. Her head began to swim.

“Please, Ava,” she whispered. “Tell me where you think Mace is—and where he’s hidden Deana!”

Sorensson placed a warm hand over Leigh’s icy one. She smiled gently and said, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where your daughter is, Leigh. But I think I know where Mace is headed. It’s my guess he’ll return to his roots, his old stomping ground… Go back to where it all began.”

“You mean… the lake? Lake Wahconda?”

Ava nodded.

Shaking, and on the verge of tears, Leigh looked at Mattie.

Then she was staring past Mattie’s shoulder, at two people entering the restaurant.

A red-haired girl.

And a big guy with a beard.

She blinked and swallowed, hard.

After all these years…

Cherry Dornay and her brother Ben.

Deana lifted her head.

Her face was a vague blur in the darkness.

Her stomach clenched; she stared at the door.

The crashing, splintering sounds got louder.

Oh my God! Who is it? What’s happening?

Nursing her head, she bit her lip, making her mouth bleed all over again. The blood tasted warm, salty… She felt it slide down her chin.

Then the door burst open, shattering the dark with a blast of light.

Outlined against the sun, a figure stood in the opening.

“Deana? Deana!”

A man’s voice.

She was almost sure it was Warren—coming to take her home.

What if it’s not?

She crouched back in the shadows, her eyes fixed on the man. He moved forward, peering into the darkness.

It could be Mace…

Said he’d come back. Use his knife on her. Cleanse her sins away. Rid her of her bad blood…

The man got closer.

She cringed, still not making out who it was…

Maybe a figment of my imagination—been having some really weird dreams lately.

A pause.

Yeah… That’s it. I’ve gone stark staring crazy!

Her hands shot up, covering her face, her fingers making a narrow V.

She squinted through it, breathing hard.

I might be in an insane asylum right now…

Cringing back, she saw someone else behind the man… a tall woman with long black hair. Dressed in black. Denim cutoffs. Iron Maiden T-shirt… Deana’s eyes leveled with the woman’s long, well-muscled legs.

“Deana! It’s me, Warren,” the man said gently. He was standing over her now. Then lowering himself, kneeling… reaching out.

Deana screamed.

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me…”

Her screams trailed off into tiny whimpers. She pressed blood-streaked hands to her mouth, her eyes desperate, pleading.

“Warren? Is it really you?”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes.

“I guess they do things like this to mad people,” she said slowly. “Fuck about with their brains… Like get their hopes up, then…”

A cold, wet nose snuffled at her knees.

“Down, Sabre. Sit!”

Warren— and Sabre.

Oh thank you God thank you God!

Warren’s voice came low, urgent. “Gotta get you outta here, Deana. Fast. Can you walk?”

Dumbly, she shook her head.

“No? Then I’ll carry you…”

He bent down, lifted her in his arms.

She flinched as he held her, her body hurting all over… Still not believing Warren was here. That he’d found her. Just when she’d given up hope he ever would…

The woman’s voice hissed out.

“Gotta hurry, Warren. I can hear an engine…”

“Open the car door, Sheena. I’ll be right over.”

Sabre loped ahead with the woman.

Picking up speed, Warren ran the last couple of yards over dry, sparse grass roots and scrub snagging his boots, fresh mountain air keening at his lungs.

Frowning anxiously, willing him on, Sheena stood by the open door of the Chevy. The vehicle the other side of the ridge was getting closer. They heard its engine chugging, whining, the tires skidding over rough dirt road.

Hunching herself into the driver’s seat, Sheena revved up the Chevy, eager to be gone. Looking back anxiously as Warren laid Deana across the backseat, pulling a blanket over her.

He climbed up front beside Sheena.

Sabre, panting out hot steamy breaths, leapt in and curled around his feet.

Warren slammed the door shut.

Sheena, her white-knuckled hands clenching the wheel, stepped on the gas, swung the Chevy around, the tires squealing and racing as they hit ruts and rocks.

Then she let it ride, manhandling the wheel with strong, capable hands.

The black customized Commando mounted the hill. It headed toward them.

Through the dust-covered windshield, they saw Mace, his teeth bared, snarling. He was picking up speed.

Sheena drove at him hard and fast. Aiming to go straight through the Jeep or knock it off the mountain path. Mace hesitated slightly, then rammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Sheena yelled, “Hold tight!”

She went for Mace.

The Jeep swerved to the left, then skidded to a halt, showers of dust belching up behind. The left-hand door swung open. Mace slid out, jerking his revolver out of its holster.

Scurrying, crablike, darting behind rocks and bushes, he dropped on one knee, both hands on the gun. He got Sheena in his sight.

Aiming to take her out, he pulled back the trigger…

Warren ducked. Sheena drove. Smashing into the blacked-out Jeep. They watched it teeter, then topple over the ridge with a rattle of dirt and stones. Shots rang out. Whining by. Missing them by only a fraction.

Quickly, Sheena zigzagged the Chevy out of range. Hanging on to the wheel, speeding, slipping, sliding down the trail in a shower of dust and stones.

Warren straightened up.

He peered through the rearview mirror.

Mace was gone.

“Leigh, we got Deana.”

“Christ, Warren! You’ve GOT her?”

“That’s right, Leigh. Is Mattie there?”

“She sure is,” Mattie snatched the phone from Leigh’s hand and yelled into it. “I should tan your butt, Warren Hastings. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before you went chasing off? You coulda wrecked this case, y’know that? Coulda got Deana killed…”

“Sorry, Mattie. There just wasn’t time. We had to go. Anyway, we’re coming in now. And Deana’s alive, okay? She’s had a rough time, but s’far as I can see, her injuries look kinda… superficial. Can’t say for sure, though… She’s a little bewildered. Got an injured jaw. Black eyes. Otherwise okay.”

Wrapped in blankets, Deana lay on the sofa, Leigh by her side, holding and stroking her hand.

“How did you find me?” Deana asked Warren. Her words came out thick and slurred. She was weak as a kitten, couldn’t stop shaking, not yet believing the nightmare was over.

Warren’s brows went up. He looked across at Sheena, standing silent by the glass wall, staring out at the view. “Over to you, sis,” he called out with a grin.

She turned nonchalantly, lifted a shoulder, and tilted her head. “Yeah. Right…,” she said, looking at Deana. “I’ll tell y’about it sometime. Just say I wander around those parts myself now and again. When I need to think, get my head straight, know what I mean? I just take out the old Chevy and have me a little campin’ trip up there in the mountains.”

“Yeah, but… that… that place I was in, it was so well hidden… It couldn’t have been easy.”

“Persistent li’l gal, ain’t ya? Let’s just say my woman’s intuition played a part—it led me to where you were.”