Night Tides (10 page)

At last she blew her nose, checked herself in the mirror, and returned to the newsroom. Only the lights over her cubicle were lit, and she settled into her desk secure that no one would ever know she’d been crying. She checked
The Lady of the Lakes
. Nothing new.

She scrolled down through the blog’s old posts and comments.
Here
was a story, if only she could get a handle on it. Who was this person, or group? How did they know these things? Often they reported crimes on the isthmus before even the police knew about them, whether capital ones like the kidnapping of Carrie Kimmell or misdemeanors like graffiti attacks or broken windows. It often seemed as if only the actual perpetrators could know these things so quickly, yet what criminal, or even gang, could be so clandestine?

Far more interesting were the posts about crimes of the past, pointing the authorities toward fresh clues and new suspects. A pedophile priest, a serial rapist, and the man behind a sixties’ campus bombing had all been brought to justice long after their crimes because of tips found on this blog. It almost seemed as if the victims’ ghosts must’ve risen from the grave to provide some of this stuff.

So who was behind the blog? No one had any clue. Still, Julie kept her eyes and ears open. All she needed was one stray thread, then she could follow it to the source and unmask
The Lady of the Lakes
for all to see. Maybe then people would finally forget about the girl in the bikini.

She glanced inadvertently at the empty space beside her phone, where for two and a half years a photo of her with Ethan Walker had rested. Instantly she felt the unmistakable tug that memories of Ethan always sparked. He’d been such an all-consuming passion that his absence, even after three months, still seemed overwhelming. She wanted those huge arms wrapped around her now, wanted to smell that distinctive mix of musk and industrial odors he always had at the end of the day. Even his issues with sex would be secondary now to just being in his presence.

She opened her phone and dialed his number. It couldn’t hurt to just hear his voice. After four rings his voice mail said, “Hi, this is Ethan Walker of Walker Construction. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP.” He actually said “ASAP,” a holdover from the military acronyms drilled into him by the army.

She snapped the phone shut. She couldn’t leave him a message. Tough reporters didn’t go crying into the arms of their old boyfriends.

A
S HE WALKED
to his truck from the gym, Ethan retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. The night air was so humid that the effects of his shower vanished almost at once. He examined the lighted screen and immediately recognized the last number.

He climbed into his truck, shut the door, and started the engine, trying to ignore the sudden tingling in the pit of his stomach.
Julie
. She’d called but left no voice mail. It must’ve been a misdial out of old habit. He doubted it was deliberate; when they broke up, they’d agreed never to call the other at night no matter how bad the loneliness got.

Yet she had.

He took a deep breath, his thumb running back and forth over the send button. Finally he pushed it twice.

It rang several times, but she never answered. When her voice mail picked up, he snapped the phone closed.

She’d know he called, of course. But then, she started it. Just like she always had.

He glanced back at the club, where Cin the redhead was probably delightfully sweaty and winded by now.

Then he put the truck in gear and drove too fast out of the parking lot.

F
AITH
L
UCAS SOBBED
as she pulled her panties up her legs. The tiny scrap of fabric no longer seemed to provide any modesty. If anything, its presence emphasized her nudity and helplessness. She felt blood trickle down her leg and could barely stand from stress and lack of food.

“What are you crying about?”

“It hurts,” Faith whimpered, eyes downcast. The pain, shame, and constant terror had reduced her to primal submissiveness.

“Of course it hurts. You know better than to fight me. Next time just lie there and take it. Or do you want me to start drugging you again?”

She shook her head. The greasy ends of her hair slapped against her shoulders.

“Then stop whining. Hold out your hands.”

She did, and a fresh plastic tie snapped around them. She winced and gasped; the bruises from where she’d once fought to escape were still tender. Then came the ripped-fabric sound of the duct tape before it was pressed firmly over her mouth. Her tears ran down over the silver material, and she was physically turned away from the bright light toward the dark doorway where she spent her time between sessions.

She no longer raised her arms to cover her bare breasts. It seemed pointless. A hand between her shoulder blades guided her back down the stairs and into the room where the other two waited. They watched her silently over similarly taped mouths, no doubt wondering who would be next. The Asian girl curled her own battered, pale body into the tiniest possible size, as if that would somehow hide what he had already done to her. The other girl, the newest, watched with the wide eyes of someone yet to comprehend her full helplessness. After all, she still had not truly felt his touch.

Faith felt the jagged concrete beneath her bare feet and took her place on the dirty floor. The hand pointed at Ling Hu and motioned for her to stand.

The Asian girl shook her head. But she got slowly, awkwardly to her feet and ascended the stairs.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE ANGRY MAN
sat at the red light, his hands tight on the steering wheel. Even at night, the summer heat made the plastic wheel cover sticky to the touch, and his vehicle had no working air conditioner. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he wiped it impatiently. The red light obstinately stayed red, despite the fact that the cross street was entirely empty. On the radio, a man explained why immigrants would destroy America.

Out of the darkness emerged three college-age girls. They were in animated conversation, one of them with a cell phone held tight to her ear. They displayed long, slender legs and boobs augmented by either surgery or push-up bras. None was older than twenty, he guessed, and not one of them even glanced his way.

Paying no attention to the crosswalk, they strode obliviously in front of him just as the light turned green. His headlights illuminated their lithe, supple forms. Angrily, he honked his horn, and they all jumped. The one with the phone did a little dance as she tried to catch it before it hit the pavement. Another flipped him off as he gunned his engine. “Fuck off, Grandpa!” one yelled as he roared past them.

He resisted the urge to floor it. He did not want to draw the attention of the police, not tonight. Especially not tonight. But the girls just added to the rage festering in his belly, and his only comfort was the knowledge that shortly all that fury would be unleashed.

T
HE MAN TURNED
off the ignition and sat very still. His heart pounded, and for a moment he wondered if this was it, if after everything he would be felled by a heart attack. His rasping breath fogged the truck’s windshield, and he opened the window to let in some fresh night air. It was just as humid outside.

Finally his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal. Panic would not help him, any more than it had helped Ling Hu. He had watched her die slowly and painfully, eyes wide and body trembling with effort, reaching out for help that he could neither give nor summon. Now she was ninety pounds of dead meat he had to dispose of quickly, and in a way that would confuse officialdom when she was finally found.

He got out of his truck and dropped the tailgate. He had triple-bagged the girl’s body in industrial-strength garbage bags and now dragged her across the wet grass to the lake. This part of the shore was near the zoo, and, during the day, families fished and picnicked beneath the trees. At this time of night, though, it was deserted. At least, it seemed to be during his three drive-bys, and he couldn’t just tool around with a corpse in his truck all night. If he was meant to be caught, nothing would change it. And if not, he had nothing to fear.

When he got the bag to the water’s edge, he tore it open and stretched out the girl’s body. Rigor mortis had not yet set in, and he dragged her by the ankles into the lake. His booted feet squelched in the mud, and his splashing steps sounded gunshot-loud in the silence. He towed her a few yards away from shore, then shoved her toward the drop-off. He knew she would eventually float but hoped the currents might take her away from this spot before it happened.

He stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Something rubbed against his foot, probably a catfish or small sturgeon. The way it seemed to grasp at him, like a hand trying to hold him in place, must’ve been his imagination. Still, he returned to shore as quietly as possible and drove away toward Park Street, still unable to believe his continuing luck.

R
ACHEL STOOD NAKED
in the darkness, in water up to her thighs. Lake Mendota stretched out before her like a dark, intermittently sparkling void, threatening to suck the big shoreline houses into oblivion.

Just ahead, the bottom dropped away into the deepest part of the lake. The moon was hidden behind the trees, so for all intents she was invisible, standing some fifteen yards from shore, rubbing her hands slowly up and down her hips. The familiar frisson of being so publicly vulnerable ran through her, raising chill bumps despite the heat. She was stark naked literally in the middle of Madison, surrounded by thousands of people. But the late hour, the darkness, and whatever lived in the lake protected her from discovery.

She took several deep breaths, enjoying the moment of delicious anticipation. Neither the swarming mosquitoes nor the sound of hip-hop from a distant lake house could distract her. Forty-eight hours’ worth of frustration and mounting desire were about to culminate, and she was as wet as the body of water before her.

“Do you want me?” she whispered. “Show me you want me.”

She slowly sank to her knees. The lake as always matched her mood. If she wanted to be romanced, she had to approach it in a tender way that built in intensity. If she wanted to be screwed senseless (and on extremely rare occasions, she did), she dove in and let the lake ravish her. And if she wore any clothing or jewelry, it would be nothing more than a normal swim.

This was a night to take it slow. For two days she’d been twitching like a downed power line, every nerve ending on overload. It grew so bad that even the sensation of clothes against her skin drove her crazy. Fantasies of Ethan Walker fueled the fire, but the source no longer mattered, only relief from the ever-tightening tension.

Her knees settled into the soft mud. Something small scurried out of her way, slapping the surface with its tail as it fled, but it didn’t bother her. Nothing in the lake would harm her, and everything was secondary to the water surging over her thighs. She slid her knees apart to let it reach her intimately. It lapped at her and she sighed with relief and delight. She closed her eyes, imagining the waves were fluttering fingers expertly teasing her, coaxing her open.

“That’s it, baby,” she breathed, so softly only the lake could hear. “I’ve been aching for you.”

She held out her arms and bent forward. The delicious moment her nipples touched the water made her gasp and pause to savor it. Was the water actually closing around them, hardening enough to deliver firm yet gentle pinches? Then she slid smoothly into the warm, dark liquid, moving beneath the surface and into the depths, where her lover’s embrace awaited. The city night sounds vanished, replaced by the rumbling heartbeat of the water itself.

It was a feeling almost impossible to describe—which was one reason she’d never told anyone. First the water solidified ever so slightly, providing a silken liquid cocoon molded to her skin. It filled her nostrils and mouth, too, and there was always an instant of
OhmyGodnoairNO-AIR!
Yet she could still speak and scream, although there was no one to hear.

The water grew more solid and, with no further preliminaries, slowly penetrated her, forming itself to fit inside her so that it addressed every sensitive spot. She was free to respond in any way she wanted. She could clamp her thighs together and curl into a ball or spread wide and wantonly pump her hips. The water filled her either way. She was its voluntary plaything, and it was her liquid paramour.

Don’t make me wait
, she said through the water filling her mouth.
I’m nearly insane from waiting. Please
. In response, the water within her began to move.

Anyone watching would not have noticed even the slightest ripple on the lake’s dark surface. But Rachel hovered deep in the murk, her naked body squirming, hips bucking against the warm liquid presence that filled her in every way.
That’s it…yes, oh, yes… harder… don’t stop… .
Rationally she knew she should be drowning, and she used to wonder if perhaps she
were
already dead and this was some Owl Creek–ish fantasy of her dwindling life. But somehow she was able to get the oxygen her body needed. She couldn’t literally “breathe” underwater, and when she once tried during a nonsexual swim she very nearly
did
drown. But when the lake, or lake spirits, or whatever force was behind this, took its pleasure from her body, it or they made sure she was safe. The way a lover should.
Oh, God, yes… more…

The tension of the last two days exploded in a rush of fulfillment that, had her cry been audible, would’ve made bystanders call 911. It released a mass of emotions she could express in no other way, and the lake absorbed her tears and sobs with the same tenderness as it embraced her body. But this was only the beginning. Before she even realized it, the rush began again, and she built toward another orgasm.

The water caressed her intimately, not like something hard and masculine now but with the fluttery touch of a tongue. It was torturous the way tingles built under its ministrations, and she writhed and screamed in delicious torment. She felt the same flicking attention on her breasts, and she cupped them in sympathetic anguish. Finally she exploded, a wrenching inner spasm that brought tears of emotional release to her eyes. She’d never experienced anything that powerful.

And they weren’t done with her yet.

As the spirits returned to a rougher, more possessive approach, she felt a thrill of fear. She was parted and penetrated, the water supporting her hips to give leverage to whatever pushed its way deep into her. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, and her exhausted muscles tightened again under the relentless pounding.
Feather and hammer
, she thought,
alternating to drive me insane
. Could she survive much more?

It didn’t matter. If she had to die, this was how she wanted to go. She rolled her hips wantonly, legs spread wide, hands massaging her breasts.
Take me … go deeper… give it all to me… .
Her cries, screams, and whimpers were silenced by the delicious water in her mouth, and she felt now that all the tension, of two days spent so horny she could barely think, had somehow been worth it.
I’m yours, baby, all yours
.

In the darkness it was hard to tell direction, but she sensed she was near the lake’s bottom. She rolled onto her stomach, the soft silt touching her with featherlight fingers, and raised her hips for more. She would never have been so willingly subservient, so traditionally feminine with a human lover, but no man ever made her feel this good. Her cheek sank into the mud, and the soft sediment brushed the tips of her nipples just as the surface waves had done earlier. A firm presence held the back of her neck with just enough strength, and she flashed to her fantasies of Ethan from the night before. She squeezed handfuls of the mushy silt between her fingers as she came yet again.

Please never stop
, she begged.
Please, never let this end… .

The pressure built within her, the tingling rush grew stronger, and her muscles trembled loosely in anticipation. When it happened, her whole body seemed to clench in on itself and she heard her heart thundering in her skull. It was an orgasm stronger, longer, and more intense than she’d thought her body could tolerate.

In the midst of it, something new and extraordinary happened: She suddenly seemed to leap from the lake to the sky, as if astrally projecting into the night. It occurred too fast to fully comprehend, and then she dove down again, toward the city, into a building she had no time to identify. Before her was the face of a beautiful, sad-eyed girl.

Rachel hovered there, seeing without eyes, the details crisp and unnaturally clear. This was no interior vision like the ones she usually got—this was reality of a new and rather terrifying kind. She had no sense of her physical self, neither the lust that had been driving her nor the fear that she should be feeling. Had she been separated from her body somehow? Would she be returned when she was done?

This stranger had curly black hair that fell to her shoulders and pale, freckled skin. Her nose was long and vaguely Semitic. She had a small diamond stud in her left nostril and wore a turquoise and leather choker. The instant impression was of warmth, kindness, and affection. The first word that popped into Rachel’s mind was
sweet
. The girl was smiling, bathed in golden light, with a familiar-looking wall behind her. The ambience was like a princess in a castle.

Then suddenly the whole view changed and the girl was somewhere else, somewhere dark and filthy, her mouth hidden behind a duct-tape gag, her sweaty face smeared with dirt. The necklace was gone, and she was naked, her hands tied above her. A shadow fell over her, and she screamed through the gag.

Both scenes could not be true, or happening simultaneously, and it seemed unlikely that the terrified girl could become the smiling, kind one. It had to be the other way around. Was she finally being shown a glimpse of
the future?

Save her
, the spirits said.
Save her
.

R
ACHEL SURFACED
with a ragged cry, half sob and half protest, and stumbled as her wobbly legs refused to support her. She had no memory of swimming this close to shore. She was gently lifted again and this time managed to stay on her feet, gasping and crying as fresh tears ran down her face. She choked back the sounds, so no one would think she needed rescuing, and wrapped her arms protectively around herself. Suddenly she truly
felt
naked, with all the helplessness that entailed. Just like the girl, in the second part of her vision.

The night had grown overcast, with the city’s glow reflected on the clouds. Without the stars, she had no idea how long she’d been under. No boats moved in the darkness, and she heard nothing but distant traffic. Most of the lakeside homes were now dark. She was immensely glad about that; the emotions roiling within her were too strong and contradictory, and she could only stand in the water crying until she’d released enough of them to think straight again.

For the first time she knew she’d been shown, if not
the
future, at least
a possible
future. Perhaps it wasn’t even real, just some sort of projection of a surmise on the spirits’ part. After all, she had no real knowledge of their limitations or even their motives. If they
did
know the future, then why after all this time would they start showing it to her
now?