The Lake

“Put me away? Whaddya mean, put me away?”

“Put you someplace where you’ll come to no harm. Where you’ll be safe. Come to Uncle Mace, li’l girl.”

He beckoned, smiling. Like he was offering candy to a baby.

She glared back. Not moving.

“C’mon, sugar. Uncle Mace might turn nasty if Deana doesn’t come when she’s called.” His voice had a singsong lilt to it.

“So, whaddya gonna do, Mace?”

“Something I shoulda done right from the start.” He picked up the twine from where it had fallen earlier. She watched him advance, slowly, winding it around his hands.

She backed away, stumbling against the cabin wall, her arms shooting out, spread-eagled against the wood slats.

“C’mon now, Deana. There’s a good girl.”

Fascinated, she watched him twist the twine around his fingers. Her hand rose to her neck.

“No, Mace. Please don’t,” she panted. “DON’T DO IT, MACE!”

She lost it… somehow got caught up in a swirling black cloud.

Screams rang out, shattering the deathly quiet…

Vaguely, she wondered who it was, crying out like that.

The screams died.

Then she heard sobs… tiny, whimpering sounds.

FIFTY-SEVEN

“Just calm down now, honey. Uncle Mace ain’t gonna hurt ya. Yet.” He stood over her, busying himself with the twine. Wrapping it neatly, tightly, around her legs. The way he went about it, she could tell he’d done it before.

Probably many times.

She struggled, trying to kick out at him, but all she did was make futile little scuffles with her feet.

Goddamn shit’s hobbled me—like a horse!

Tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks.

Mace’s mouth curved in a bright smile.

“Now, now, darlin’. No struggling. A gal could get hurt that way.”

He slapped her face. Her head jerked up, sideways, then flopped. Her hair swung around her shoulders. Giving a little cry, she gasped, ready to give him a mouthful.

Thinking better of it, she clamped her lips tight.

No use goading him. I could wind up dead.

Gonna wind up dead anyhow.

“Hey, sugar,” he whispered. “Didn’t y’care for that?”

No reply.

Catching the defiance in her eyes, he whacked her again. With the back of his hand.

Seems like Uncle Mace is having himself a rare old time.

Stay with it, Deana

He wants you to crack. Break up. Plead for mercy. Okay. Like he’ll wait forever. No way is the shit gonna see I’m scared…

He studied her face; saw the tears, her clenched jaw. The defiance still there.

His smirk broke out again.

“That’s a good li’l gal. Uncle Mace don’t like gals who get flighty…”

She wriggled her feet.

The twine sliced into her calves and ankles.

She pulled a face. Struggling only worsened the pain.

Mace is one sick fuck, she fumed inwardly, but he sure knows how to tie a person up.

In desperation, she stared at her legs: pale, puffy, crisscrossed with twine. “Dear God, Mace,” she gasped. “This hurts—I’m gonna get gangrene if you don’t untie me.”

Suddenly, the full realization of what Mace could do hammered home. The damage… the pain he could inflict.

She began to shake.

“Scared, honey?”

Her lips stayed shut. She shot him a sour look.

“No reply, huh? Maybe you’d care for another crack?”

The next one rocked her jaw.

Harder this time.

Starting up the pain where Nelson had slugged her two weeks ago.

“Uuugghh…,” she gasped, shaking her head. She felt a gush of blood spurt and rise inside her mouth, but her top teeth seemed to be embedded in her lower lip. She eased them free. Blood flowed out and down her chin.

Do this one more time, the fucker’s gonna break my neck.

Cringing with pain, her hand flew to her jaw. Her lips felt slick and rubbery. She scowled, clenched her teeth, and muttered, “Up yours, shit-face.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that, sugar…”

She glared at him. But he seemed distant, as if his mind was on other things. It was.

Tilting his head, he looked at her, admiring his handiwork. The swollen eyes, bruised mouth, cut lips, the trickle of blood sliding down her chin…

Then, reaching forward, he slipped her blouse off one shoulder.

Not satisfied with that, he pulled it down some more, until her breast peeked out.

Deana cringed. Went taut. Goose bumps squirmed all over her body.

Gently, Mace fingered her breast, tracing swirls around it, touching up the hard dark nipple.

Her stomach shriveled. She pulled away from him, scarcely breathing.

His eyes held hers for a moment.

Daring her to move…

She lurched forward, thinking about screaming, throwing herself at him, clawing at his face, blinding him with her nails…

Then he was stepping away, like an artist assessing his masterpiece.

Deana gave up. She went still.

Now for the final touch…

That long black hair.

His hands came at her, reaching out, holding the dark shiny strands between his fingers… savoring the silky feel. Then he fussed around, arranging it over her shoulders.

“Mmmm—huh!” He seemed pleased with the effect. Humming under his breath, he took a little time poking around in the holdall. He brought out the Nikon and several unopened reels of film.

No need for Polaroids today. The light’s okay.

Everything should go according to plan.

He was about to create another Mace Harrison masterpiece. A surge of satisfaction, anticipation, welled up inside him. It felt good and warm.

Lifting his eyes skyward, he gave a cynical smile.

“This one’s for you, Daddy,” he whispered.