The Lake

“Haven’t decided yet, sugar. But take my advice, don’t you worry your pretty li’l head about it.” He walked over to the cardboard box, took out a wrapped bread roll, and handed it to her. “Here. You must be hungry. Some time since you last ate, huh?”

She took the roll, peeled off the wrapper, opened up the top layer, and peered inside.

“Won’t hurt you none.” He watched her closely, an amused grin on his face. “Can’t guarantee it’ll be Bayview quality, but it’s as good as you’re gonna get.”

He picked up a bottle of water, twisted off the top, and passed the bottle to her. “There,” he said. “Salami on rye and a swig a’ water and you’ll be fightin’ fit in no time at all. Mmmm…Looks good,” he said, and nodded at the sandwich. “Don’t mind if I have one a’ those myself.”

Helping himself to a roll and fresh water, he sat facing her, astride the hardback chair. He broke off a wad of bread and shoved it in his mouth. “Guess you must be wonderin’ why you’re here,” he said, chewing around on the food. “Why I’m taking such a special interest in my pretty li’l niece?”

“You could say that,” Deana said slowly, not taking her eyes off his face. How could she ever have fancied him? He looked like an over-the-hill biker with his leather jacket, bleached hair, and crumbs falling down his front.

Scratch over-the-hill biker.

Mace is one hundred percent cop, Deana, an’ don’t you forget it. A cop gone bad—and mad…

Her heart began to hammer.

Mace chewed on his food, smiling at her like he knew something she didn’t.

Deana didn’t like the way he did that. She shivered.

“Tell ya a little story?”

“If you must.”

“Gotta keep y’ entertained, honey. Can’t have ya gettin’ bored, now, can we?”

She made a face. He had to smile. The kid had guts, he’d give her that.

“I tell you a tale, then I take your photograph. Deal?”

He offered a hand and she took it, warily.

She didn’t much like the sound of “photographs,” but at least it didn’t seem like he was going to kill her yet.

He got up and stood looking through the cabin’s murky window. “Guess your mom told you about Edith Payne’s letter?”

“Er, sure, she told me about it…”

“I’ll go one better, sweetheart. I’ll tell ya my version!”

Turning on his heel, he faced her. Looking into her eyes, saying nothing. Just staring like she was a stranger he’d never seen before.

Then giving her that twisted smile again.

She glanced away, feeling nervous, uncomfortable. Why the hell didn’t he sit down and get on with his story?

As if he’d read her thoughts, he set himself astride the chair. He began talking.

“How d’ya think it feels to know that your own mother kills your pa, then gives you to somebody who couldn’t care less whether you lived or died?”

His eyes glowed at her, burning with a hate she didn’t understand.

Shrinking from his gaze, she said slowly, “Don’t know how that’d feel exactly, but…I guess it’d be awful…”

“You don’t know how that’d feel exactly.” His voice rose a couple of octaves, mimicking her words.

Curling his mouth in disgust, he resumed his tale.

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Deana. It feels bad. Real bad. It makes you hate a person so much you wanta make ’em suffer—the way you suffered. All those years.”

Deana stayed quiet.

“My pa didn’t have a chance. He was sick. And drunk. No wonder, with Edith Payne for a wife. My pa believed he was right. And I guess he was…No girl should be like sister Tania. Dark and…covered in hair…” He slumped forward over the chair. His face creased up. He looked beat.

Deana’s mouth stayed shut.

Maybe he’s gonna cry.

Then I can hit him with something and escape…

Casually, she looked around. Saw nothing she could use as a weapon. Except the chair…and he was sitting on that.

“I searched for my sister, y’know. Didn’t track her down, though. But not once have I given up hope. She’s out there. Somewhere.” His voice rose. “Causin’ grief and makin’ things bad for somebody else, I guess. Yeah. I KNOW she’s still out there—somewhere…”

“So, what d’ya intend doing when you find her, Mace? Or should that be Jess?”

Right on, smart-ass! That should get you killed okay. You wanna die? Carry on this way and you’ll get your wish…

He lifted his head, and his eyes leveled with hers. They seemed oddly vacant, yet they glittered with a wild, dangerous look.

Deana shuddered.

Christ, I got him riled again. What am I, a fuckin’ moron?

His mouth quirked in a humorless twist.

“Well, now. Ain’t you the funny girl? Just call me Uncle Mace, honey. That’ll be fine by me.”

“Sorry, Mace. Didn’t mean to upset you,” she said in a small voice.

“You didn’t upset me none. Me, I’m just your nice, friendly ol’ uncle Mace.”

“You joined the police so’s you could find Tania? What did you do before that?”