The Lake

She moved position and the knife skittered away, its spinning blade glinting in the darkness.

Mom’s vegetable knife.

How quaint.

“Here boy. Sabre. Heel!”

Deana peeked though her hands. The voice didn’t sound like it belonged to a rapist.

Or a murderer.

It sounded strong. Ordinary. Youngish.

The dog backed off, its long tongue lolling over some seriously pointed teeth. The dog fixed its gaze on its master, like it was waiting for the next command.

Deana blushed in the darkness.

It’s only a dog, for chrissake! Just a big stupid mutt.

The mutt turned its attention to her curled-up legs. Snuffling around some, giving her a steam clean with its big slobbery nose.

Yuck. The beast!

Deana scrambled to her knees. Stood up, then bent down quickly to pick up the knife.

In the shadowy darkness, the blade flashed embarrassingly bright.

“What’s this?” The guy grabbed her hand, twisting it backward. Her grip loosened and the knife clattered to the sidewalk.

He yanked her wrist again, making her yelp with pain.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

She regained her balance, drew back a leg, and aimed a kick at his crotch.

He danced back. Just in time.

Then, holding up both hands in mock surrender, he laughed.

“Hey. You’re looking at a friend here. Not foe!”

“What the hell you doing with that dog? It could kill a person, jumping out at them like that!”

She scowled at the dog. It was hauled in on a short lead now, sitting quietly by his master’s feet, tongue lolling out of mean-looking jaws… Hot breath clouding the night air.

“Sorry. I’m Warren Hastings. This is Sabre, my trusty sidekick.” Warren held out a hand. “You must have been really scared.”

Deana ignored the hand.

“You aren’t kidding. That’s a monster you’ve got there.” She was still fighting back tears of relief.

“That’s no monster. That’s my mutt. Let me tell you, there’s a kittycat lurking beneath that rugged exterior. Right, boy?”

“Some kittycat. He scared me half to death, I’ll have you know.”

Warren smiled.

“You dropped your knife. Make a habit of carrying a knife? Make a habit of midnight runs, come to that?”

“A girl’s gotta stay safe. Never know who she might meet up with. And yes. I like to run at night. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope. But why not run during daylight hours? Safer that way, so they tell me.”

“What’s it to you? What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “Why don’t I offer you a mug of cocoa. To make up for my marauding mutt?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I make a mean mug of cocoa when I’ve a mind.”

Warren tilted his head to one side. His smile was infectious, too. Deana found herself relenting and grinned back at him.

Steady on. Mustn’t let him think I’m easy meat.

“How do I know…”

“That I’m not a rapist? Or a serial killer? That the problem?”

“About the size of it.”

“Look. That’s my house, there. The one with two redwoods in front. Moved in just a coupla days ago.

“Here’s the deal. I make us some cocoa and you fill me in on the neighborhood. Might even run to a cookie or two…?” He smiled, showing nice white teeth.

“Your house? You live there alone?”

“Not alone. There’s my sister, too. She’s called Sheena. You’d like her.”

“I really oughta go. Mom’ll be worried…”

“Does Mom know you’re out?”

Nice one, Warren. You sure know how to press the right buttons. “Sure she does. She doesn’t mind me running at night.”

“With a knife?”

“Just let me pass. I gotta get on home.”

“As you wish. Take a rain check on the cocoa, though. Finest on the West Coast. Got Best Frothy Choccy Drink Award last year…”

“Good night, Warren.”

“Let me walk you home. Sabre’ll defend us from would-be rapists.”

Don’t keep using that word. Makes me scared.

“No, thanks. Only a block to go and I’m there.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Yeah. Good night.”

“Good night, O nameless lady in black. We shall meet again, maybe.”

Deana turned and ran swiftly downhill, her sock-covered feet beating a muffled rhythm on the sidewalk. By the time she got to her driveway, she was breathing hard.

Running lightly down the slope, she reached the stoop, steadied herself against the doorpost, and felt for the key. It nestled hard and warm between her breasts.

She hauled it up, lifted the chain over her head, and felt hair.

Shit. I left my cap on the sidewalk!

After the trusty Sabre jumped me.

Carefully, she slid the key into the lock.

She cringed slightly. Sometimes the lock made a loud, metallic scraping noise.

But not tonight.

Thank God.

Wouldn’t do to meet up with Mom.

Deana snuck into her bedroom.

She closed the door and leaned back on it, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Her legs were shaking. Her heart still pounded.

Must be the excitement of her nocturnal adventure, she guessed. Not the exercise; she’d had too much practice for that to be a problem.

Warren.

She gave a wry smile.

Looks like I made a new friend.

Allan’s image flashed before her.

I went out there to kill Nelson, Allan. To kill your murderer. I got waylaid, though. But we’ll get him, soon.

She flooded her mind with thoughts of Allan till, suddenly, he was there.

She tilted her head and sniffed, catching a whiff of his scent. It eddied all around her.

Then it was filling the room.

Allan’s here!