The Lake

She was panicking; couldn’t control the way her breath came out, all huffy and shallow.

She turned away from the phone, hoping he couldn’t hear her quick, uneven breathing.

Please God. Don’t let him hear me.

For a split second, she paused, steadying herself.

“Yeah. Sure. I’m still here, Nelson.”

“Y’know, you said some pretty hurtful things back there, Leigh. An’ all I ever wanted was recognition for my work. I deserved better. I know I’m not much to look at, but I’m an artiste in my own right. My creations made the Bayview the place it is… And my beef Willington’s a masterpiece.” He choked out a sob. “Everybody says so…”

Leigh calmed down a little. Nelson wasn’t angry, spiteful, or threatening anymore. Just downright pitiful.

“You knew my worth,” he went on. “You knew how good I was.”

Leigh listened to his pathetic whining. Not quite sure how to handle it now. Thinking that this entire conversation could go horribly wrong; change into something bad…

Mustn’t offend him, she thought.

Play him like a fish.

Placate him.

Let him spit it out. Whatever it was he had to say.

“All I wanted was to hit back at you.” His voice wavered. Leigh was finding it difficult to hear him now.

“…An’ make you worry like crazy. So the way I figured, I should follow your girl and scare the shit outa her…”

His sobs were noisy, heaving gulps, vibrating over the line.

She moved the phone away from her ear. When she listened from that distance, Nelson’s voice made thin, tinny sounds; ineffectual squawks coming from a long way off.

He was crying, too.

“Nelson. Don’t go on so.”

She heard Deana’s gasp of horror.

Jesus. Quiet, hon. There’s my girl…

“I didn’t mean that boyfriend of hers should get killed. I didn’t want for that terrible accident to happen. I was so riled up, I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry…”

Listening to him groveling, Leigh grew more sure of herself. “Nelson,” she said. “What you did was really bad. You killed that young man. You deprived him of a fine future. But if you’re as sorry as you say you are, all you have to do is give yourself up. You’ll have a fair trial, Nelson. Believe me.”

Sure. All things considered.

A fair trial.

The guy’s a maniac. Not a pervert.

Not an obssessive killer at all.

What he needs is a straitjacket. Not the chair.

Her thoughts flew back to Deana.

Hope she has the sense to call Mace on my cell phone…

“Nelson, where are you? I mean, are you close by?”

Hope to God he’s not outside the house.

Could be.

She heard a wet, gasping sob.

“Christ, Nelson. Where are you?”

Deana, use my phone, for godsake.

Call Mace.

“Just wanted to get it off my chest… how all of this happened. So you know it was your fault. You coulda told me you didn’t want me for a partner. Not just fired me…” The whining tapered off. Then:

“Coulda lived with not bein’ a partner.”

A long pause.

“I been feelin’ real tuckered out lately. I worry about my work an’ all…” Nelson sounded beat now. “Anyways. I won’t be botherin’ you no more, Ms. West. You’ll be fuckin’ rid of me for good! But I hope you’ll remember, as long as you’ve breath left in your body, that you brought it on your own fuckin’ self—”

“NELSON! What d’you mean? I’ll be rid of you…”

Silence. Then:

“Ah’m goin’ away, Ms. West. Forever. You’ll not hear from me again.”

“Nelson.”

Say something. Anything. Just keep him talking.

“Was it you who returned my necklace? You took it, didn’t you? From the restaurant?”

Nelson wasn’t listening.

The phone fell from his grasp. It dangled, swinging to and fro on its connection cord. Fascinated by the pendulum-like movements, he watched it for a moment, his toothless mouth making a small black O.

Somewhere deep inside his mashed-up brain, a smile began. A grimace of triumph that tried but didn’t quite make it to his tear-streaked face.

He’d told her, all right.

He’d told that high-handed bitch what for.

Spittle swung from Nelson’s chin. Snot dribbled into his mouth. His tongue came up and licked it away. The stuff tasted good and sweet.

Lurching away from the pay phone, he crossed the sidewalk and teetered along the edge, his arms outstretched for balance.

Cars came at him from nowhere.

Like bats out of hell.

As he squinted in the glaring headlights, his face lifted to meet the cool night breeze.

It felt all right.

Clean.

He was a boy again. Out on one of them lakes beyond Point Reyes Station. Fishing with his pa. Taking in great gulps of fresh, clean air. Hearing the squawk of Pa’s oars in the oarlocks, the slap of wood on water, making ripples and waves dance around their smart new rowboat.

And the fish he brought home.

Yes-siree Bob! Ma sure knew how to cook her boy’s fish.

Tender as a baby’s smile, they fell to pieces soon as look at ’em.

Fog shrouded the far end of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Nelson grinned and walked toward it.

TWENTY-ONE

“He’s gone, baby.” Leigh shrugged into her toweling robe. She drew the belt tight around her, giving a long sigh of relief, grateful the ordeal with Nelson was over.

He’d sounded weak. Beaten.

Not a threat anymore.

Please God.

She looked up as Deana appeared in the doorway, wrapped in her robe, hugging it around herself. “Wow,” she breathed. “That was something else. Nelson sure flipped this time.”

Hope to Christ he’s gone for good.