Richard Laymon - The Lake

• Название: The Lake
• Автор: Richard Laymon
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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Dismayed, he looked at her. She’d drawn up into a small tight ball, her hands held clenched to her face.

“You brought me here, Warren. How did you know? Why did you bring me here?”

Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Then he got it.

Whatever had happened to Deana a short while ago, had happened here, in this clearing.

He pulled her gently to him, making soothing noises as if she were a child waking scared from a nightmare. She shook, sobbed, and cried all at the same time, her face wet and shiny with tears.

He waited till she’d calmed down a little.

“Take me back, Warren,” she said quietly. “Please. Take me away from this place!”

“Sure, honey. Just don’t cry anymore. You’re safe with me.”

Deana snuffled, and he produced a tissue from the glove compartment. She took it, gratefully, and dabbed at her face. “I must look a real freak,” she said with another sob.

“You look wonderful, Deana. You always do.”

“Thanks, Warren,” she said, still sniffing loudly. A pause, then: “I think I owe you an explanation.”

“Not necessarily. But I can guess. Something to do with what happened to you—and your mom?”

She nodded, her lips still trembling.

“No need to explain. Don’t want you upsetting yourself any more. I’m just sorry I chose this place, is all.”

“Not your fault. I said you choose. Didn’t say anything about not going anywhere near Mt. Tam. So don’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know. But can we go home now, please?”

“Sure,” he said, turning the key in the ignition, still looking at her anxiously. “Sure you’re okay now?” Deana nodded, snugged back into her seat again, and stared out into the night. Remembering Allan.

How he’d opened the car door for her, and how there hadn’t been a cat in hell’s chance of him escaping.

Then the old Pontiac, whooshing by, lifting him off his feet.

Allan. Allan…

Another sob shook her body. Vivid pictures flashed through her mind. She saw herself running away from Allan.

Saving my own skin…

He could’ve been alive.

Maybe I could’ve saved him.

Don’t think about it anymore…

She gasped.

Something…

Someone was back there, in the bushes. The car moved on past. Warren maneuvered it slowly, carefully over the ruts.

Still Deana could see it…the white face, with dark holes for eyes. No, not dark holes. It, whatever it was, had an eye. It had looked at her. Its mouth gaping wide…Its scrawny hands parting the bushes…

Then it faded into the dark beyond.

She turned around. Stared hard.

Saw nothing.

She frowned.

The face had been a lot like Nelson’s. Thin, white. Eerie. Positively ghoulish in the dark shadows.

It can’t be Nelson, she told herself.

Nelson’s dead.

Mom identified the body.

Her breath evened out. Her mind had been playing tricks again. Coming here hadn’t been one of Warren’s greatest ideas.

Glancing across at him, she met his eyes. He smiled gently. “Okay now?”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

She was still shaking, though.

Thinking about Nelson.

But a dead Nelson, she reminded herself. Hope I can sleep tonight. Hope I don’t see him again. Walking past my window, waving his hatchet.

Bullshit, Deana.

Pull yourself together.

Nelson’s dead.

This is two weeks on. We’re safe now. Mom’s okay. She’s got Mace, ’n’ I’ve got Warren to keep me company. I hope. Unless I’ve scared him off by tonight’s little performance.

“And as we lie here,” Allan’s voice whispered in her head. “Our naked bodies all sweaty and tangled…”

Oh my God.

Stop it.

Allan’s dead. Gone. Please God don’t let me go over that again…

She looked at Warren, felt the bumps and jolts as the car sped downhill, bouncing over the ruts. He met her gaze, smiled, and said, “You’ve got me now, Deana. I’ll take care of you.”

FORTY-SEVEN

“Leigh, tell me about your pregnancy. The early days, when you were making out, all alone…”

There was enough of a pause for Leigh to look up, puzzled.

“Go on,” she said quietly.

“Sorry, Leigh. Does my asking questions upset you? I’m just interested in you, is all. I want to know everything that ever happened to you. That make sense?” He tilted his head, smiling quizzically.

Leigh returned the smile. “Sure it does, Mace. But I already told you all there is to know about my misbegotten youth. I was a bit wild. Got pregnant. Those days folks took it a little more seriously than they do now. I was sent away and—well, you know the rest.”

Leigh shrugged, then smiled. It was an end to the matter, as far as she was concerned. “Why don’t I get us another bottle of wine from the fridge.” She left the sofa and made for the kitchen.

Reaching for clean glasses and setting them on the serving tray, she began to feel good and warm inside. She was glad she’d changed her mind and called Mace when Deana and Warren had left after dinner.

She’d wanted to relax. What better way to do it than with Mace by her side?

Ten o’clock.

Another hour or so and Deana’ll be back. Must remember to ask her about the missing photograph. Not tonight, though. Leave that until tomorrow.

Bring her home safely, Warren, she thought with a shiver.

Please God, don’t let it be like last time…

She looked up, saw Mace standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said, coming forward. “Let me open that for you.”

“Thanks. Nice to have a man around. To open things, and…”

“Oh, yeah? And what else, may I ask?”

“Oh, to open things and just be around the house, I guess.”

They took their wine through to the living room.

Lingering by the glass wall, Leigh told him, “As for my story—if you must know, there’s not much more to say. I got knocked up. I wasn’t the first. Won’t be the last. Girls do it all the time. I wasn’t in love with the guy, so there was no question of him being involved…He died anyway.”

Mace stayed silent. They crossed over to the sofa. He took her glass and set it down on the low table.

Then he moved in against her. Their lips met…Pressing close, she could feel his hard-on, bulking up, growing big inside his jeans.

“Perhaps we should take the wine into the bedroom,” he whispered. “Relax a little, take in some TV, and…” He bent down, his mouth finding hers, his tongue edging in, hard, searching.

He felt her flinch away slightly.

“Sorry, Leigh. Only if you want to, of course.”

“Mace, you know I want to. Just a little worried about Deana, is all. She went out after dinner. With Warren, her new boyfriend. They should be back soon. She said maybe an hour or so.”

He eased away from her, searching her face. “Hey. She shouldn’t worry you like this. Y’know? Maybe I should have a word—”

“No, please don’t,” Leigh cut in with a short laugh. “Warren’s okay. Really. He’s mature and very sensible. Deana’s perfectly safe with him.”

“She still shouldn’t do this. Not so soon after Nelson an’ all.”

“Really, Mace. Everything’ll be fine. Honestly. I feel it right here.” Leigh touched her heart. The silk robe she’d changed into earlier gaped open, showing the soft curve of her left breast.

Mace grinned. “Do that again and I warn you, I won’t be responsible for my actions!”

“That’s my Mace. Mmmm. You’re so masterful at times.”

She stood up, took his hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom.

“Er, the wine?”

“What wine?” she said with a sly smile. “We’ll enjoy that later!”

She went ahead of him into the dark bedroom, her robe sliding to the floor.

He picked it up, tossed it over the bedrail. “Come here, you crazy woman. Come to Poppa.” He grabbed her by the waist and flung her on the bed. She reached out to switch on the bedside lamp, but his hand closed over hers.

“No,” he murmured. “We don’t need light. We got hands. We got touch. Ve-erry sexy, so they tell me…and a guaranteed turn-on!”

“Okay. Okay. Just give it to me, Mace. Hard and long.”

He looked down. Her face was a pale blur, pleading.

“Am I hearing this right? You saying ‘give it to me.’ Any way. Any how?”

“Sure. Why not? Just do it, Mace.” With trembling fingers, she began struggling with his jeans. Unzipping them, pulling them down. She reached out, felt his coarse curly hair, shuddered, and curled her hands around his shaft. Sighing and moaning a little, she breathed, “My God, Mace. Give it to me.”

She was panting now.

Pulling him to her.

Wanting him.

Whichever way he cared…She shrugged down under him, feeling his weight straddling her, leaning over, his hair falling forward. In the dark, their eyes met and held…She grabbed his penis with both hands. Close up, it was huge. Engorged. She rammed it into her mouth. Hard.

He pulled away…“No,” he said softly. “Not that way. The way you want it.”

She gave in, straightened out, and he lay on top, covering her face with kisses, tracing his tongue gently over her mouth, her neck, then slipping down to her breasts.

He cradled them in his hands, caressing them. He went down again. Taking small quick licks, his tongue playing around her nipples, feeling them go rigid. She wriggled beneath him, pressing onto his shaft, feeling the moist warmth rising…He went in deeper and deeper…She rose to meet him.

Moaning, panting, she rammed herself onto him. He responded, pressing deep, shafting her with long, hurting strokes. He came quickly, flooding her with hot, releasing bursts. Finally, he pulled away. Moving off her. Falling back on the bed, breathing hard, his body slick with sweat.

She lay there, staring into the darkness, still panting softly. At last, her breath evened out. She felt full, satisfied. Complete.

A clicking sound came from the hallway.

They tensed, holding their breath.

A light clatter of heels on the clay tiles.

Deana.

Home.

Leigh breathed a sigh of relief.

Mace turned his head, smiling into the darkness.

Leigh’s face was a soft white smudge in the gloom.

A gray light crept in from the window, playing across the bed. Trembling shadows from the trees outside shifted around, touching the walls, the ceiling.

“Deana’s home,” she whispered, finding his hand. He took hers in his and squeezed it. “Okay. I give in,” he whispered back. She turned on her side, facing him, curving in to his body. Feeling the sweat, slick and warm on their skin.

Mmmm, she thought, smiling softly, everything is just so perfect! Her eyelids began to droop. She felt spent, happy, relaxed.

Mace dropped a kiss on her shoulder, then lay back on the pillow, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling.

Soon, their breath became a steady rhythmic sound. Still holding hands, though more loosely now, they slept.

Leigh jerked awake for a moment, remembering the thrill of how they’d made love. And that Deana was home. Asleep by now, she guessed, lifting her head from the pillow.

2:55.

God, it’s so hot. A shower would be nice. Drenched with sweat, the bedsheet clung to her like a live thing. Plucking it away from her skin, she felt the night air chill her body. Pushing down the sheet, carefully so as not to wake Mace, she let it lie a moment, crumpled, damp and cool across her thighs.

She glanced down at her body, gleaming pale in the darkness.

Do it, Leigh. Go get yourself a shower…

Holding her breath, she worked her feet, slowly, pushing down the bedsheet some more. Turned to look at Mace. Still sleeping. She pictured him on her, his come pumping deep inside her.

A tremor of excitement flicked in her groin.

She felt so tender there. And sore.

His warm semen still seeped between her legs. He’s some hunk, she thought dreamily; that blond hair, those dark eyes. And his body…Tight abs. Well-muscled arms. His just being there made her want him all over again.

Her glance swept down his body, his chest rising and falling as he slept. It was the first time she’d taken a real good look at him naked.

But something was wrong.

Even in the gloom she could make out the thick black hair covering his arms, chest, belly, and down between his legs. She looked at his penis, lying pale and shrunk now, in a mass of pubic hair. Her glance switched to his face. Clean-shaven, as ever.

A chill began in her stomach.

This was a different Mace.

A stranger.

He stirred, feeling the air chill his skin. His muscles tightened; he hugged his arms around him. Then his eyes opened. He lifted his head. Looked down at himself.

Uncovered.

Naked.

With a growl, he leapt up.

“What in hell are you doing?” he demanded. She drew back, startled at his tone. Terrified by the sudden anger. His mouth came open and his eyes flashed dangerously.

Suddenly he was on top of her.

His fist coming down…

Smashing her face…

Knocking her into the pillow. Then more blows, to her throat, breasts, stomach…

She heard herself gasping, weak little sounds…He still straddled her, laying into her body again and again, pummeling hard.

Leigh threw her hands around her head. Trying to stifle her screams…Then, rolling into a ball, she turned away from under him and slid off the bed.

Standing, trembling, shivering, terrified, her arms hugging her body.

Mace sat up. Staring at her. Breathing hard. Suddenly, the fight left him and he drooped forward, shaking his head.

“Leigh, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Please believe me. You woke me—I was having a helluva nightmare. Leigh, you have to forgive me.”

“A nightmare?” Leigh backed away. She grabbed her robe from the bedrail. The silk clung to her damp skin. Struggling into it, she dragged it around her body.

Remembering Mattie’s words:

“The creep from Yellow Bend ain’t the only guy who likes to hear a gal scream…”

“You’d better leave, Mace,” she said, her voice quiet and shaky. “I think we both need some space. Time to think things through.”

He grabbed the bedsheet and held it up to his chin. But she turned away, not wanting to look at him anymore. Not wanting to see him, or remember him this way. Angry. Violent. Punching her. Beating the daylights out of her.