Richard Laymon - The Lake

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.

She heard him searching around for his things. She switched on the light and walked into the bathroom. Hoping Deana hadn’t heard her cries. Heard him laying into her.

Please God she hadn’t heard that.

FORTY-EIGHT

“Mattie. We need to talk.”

“We do?”

“Yeah. Time to spill the beans, Mattie.”

“About friend Mace?

“Right. Maybe there’s something else I should know?”

A pause.

Then Mattie said, “I’ll be right over.”

Mattie was off-duty, and the way she looked when she arrived at the house took Leigh off guard. Red blouse tied at the waist and denim cutoffs. She strode into the hallway, her long tanned legs taking her straight to the kitchen. She looked like a high-school kid on her way to the beach.

“What’s the matter, Leigh? Got a problem?”

Leigh followed, then busied herself making coffee. It was eight in the morning and she hadn’t fixed breakfast yet. Deana was still in bed.

“Yeah. You could say that. Take a pew.” Leigh motioned to the bench by the kitchen table. “Last week, you implied that Mace had ‘another side’ to him. Maybe a black side. An iffy side. Care to tell me more about that?”

Mattie took the mug of hot black coffee Leigh placed before her.

“Where shall I begin?” She spoke slowly, giving a tight smile. “Guess the beginning’s about the best place?”

Mattie looked up, peering into Leigh’s face.

“Well, shitski, honey! Where’d you get that? ” She gestured toward the bruise already showing purple on Leigh’s cheek.

With a self-conscious gesture, Leigh’s hand went to her face. “Does it look so bad?” she asked anxiously.

“Bad enough,” Mattie replied, shaking her head.

Leigh gave an embarrassed grin. “Maybe I should put on some more makeup. I’ll do that before Deana shows. Don’t particularly want her to see me in this state. As it is, she can’t stand the sight of Mace.”

“Look,” Mattie said briskly. “Mace is good at his work. You might say too good. He wants somebody, he goes out there and nails ’em good. Yeah, he’s well-respected back at the department. But beneath all of that there’s a certain something that says potential rogue cop—know what I’m sayin’?”

Leigh gave a short, harsh laugh. “I get the picture,” she said. “Have you seen Mace flare up? Go stark, staring crazy?”

Mattie took a swig of coffee, then looked Leigh in the eye. “A coupla times. One day he put a guy in the jug; the guy calls out for a lawyer. Unfortunately, he caught Mace going off shift. Mace goes straight in there and slugs the guy out cold. Guy lying there, still out cold, and Mace starts kicking him. Couldn’t stop. I had to drag him off. It wasn’t easy. Then Mace turns on me. I get a bruised jaw for my trouble. He apologizes, says he doesn’t know what came over him.”

Mattie shrugged her shoulders.

“Next time, he slugs a girl in a club. Broke her jaw, turns out. Anyway, he shows his ID, tells il patron the girl’s makin’ a nuisance of herself. Girl’s fired on the spot. Mace walks free. No hassle. No problem.”

Leigh listened in silence, then said, “Uh-huh, seems like our Mace is bad news. Like he’s two separate people. Never took me to his apartment, y’know…I did wonder why. Maybe he’s got somethin’ to hide? Know what? I’d sure be interested to know what makes him tick.”

Mattie swung her leather shoulder bag around to her front. She lifted the flap, dove into it, and came up with a key. Waving it before Leigh’s eyes, she said, “How about we have ourselves a little adventure?”

“You mean that’s Mace’s house key?”

“Sure is. I happen to know he’s out on a case right now. Should take him all day…” Mattie’s eyes challenged her.

“Why not?” Leigh said.

Mace’s apartment was in darkness.

Leigh suppressed a shiver. What had Mace got against good honest daylight? What was he, Count Dracula or something?

The apartment was very neat. Too neat for a bachelor pad, she thought. No magazines. Straight lines of paperbacks in a cheap wooden bookcase. No mess, no beer cans, no evidence of takeout food.

Nothing.

She frowned. It was unnatural.

Place is like a damn funeral parlor. Especially with the blinds all drawn like this.

She shuddered. There was something about the neatness of it all that spooked her.

Mattie glanced around. Leigh smiled. Good ol’ Mats. Casing the joint. Once a cop always a cop…Bet nothing escapes her notice.

She was right.

“Place hasn’t been slept in these last coupla nights.”

“How can you tell?” Leigh felt guilty. Of course Mace hadn’t spent the night at home for a while. He’d been with her, hadn’t he? Well, last night, anyhow.

“Desk calendar says July fifteenth,” Mattie said. “It’s now July eighteenth.” She went through to the small kitchen area. She opened the fridge door. “The milk’s past its sell-by date.”

Leigh’s eyebrows went up. “Looks like Mace isn’t the only good cop around here,” she remarked dryly.

“Hey. How about this?” Mattie, at an open drawer of Mace’s computer desk, was waving some photos.

Leigh perked up. Photographs, especially missing ones, held a particular significance for her right now.

She looked at the photos fanned in Mattie’s hand. Mainly art shots, nicely lit ones of people, places, water, rivers, the sea, rocks, and some amazing skies. Most in mono; some in full color.

“Our Mace hopes to make the big time one day,” Mattie explained. “He’s got an award somewhere. Told me about it once. The Smith-Griffon Award for Best Seascape or something, I remember.”

Mattie returned the photographs to the drawer and opened another one. She came up with bundles of letters and bills.

Leigh began to feel uneasy.

Suppose Mace walked in?

At this very moment.

She imagined footsteps hurrying down the corridor outside. A key scraping in the lock.

The door opening…

“Mattie. We really oughta go now. I don’t feel good about this whole thing.”