Fire Lake

by J C Paulson

  He moved her back slightly, away from his erection, and could see her breasts just breaking the surface, buoyed by the water, nipples hard and red. One hand drifted over them, then plunged below to learn whether she was as aroused as he.

  “I want you now, Grace.”

  “Yes, Adam. Now.”

  He filled her slowly, hard legs planted for balance; he hoped he would be able to hang on for more than a few thrusts. Cold water, warm Grace commingled to stretch and tease every nerve in his body.

  “God, Grace . . . I don’t know how long . . .”

  “I’m ready, Adam. Come to me.”

  “This is yours, Grace. Your lake. Your place. And me. Take it all.”

  Adam erupted, burying his mouth in Grace’s neck, biting her to keep from shouting her name. He felt her tighten around him, and his final spasm came exquisite in its pain and pleasure. Grace cried out and returned his bite in her own effort to stay quiet.

  They stood, wrapped around each other in the water, still joined, shuddering from the cold and the loving.

  “I do not want to leave this moment. But I have a blanket in the canoe,” said Adam, finally.

  “Genius,” Grace chattered.

  “Time to go. My intention was not to freeze you solid, Babe.”

  “I know. I’ve rarely been hotter, actually.”

  “Me as well.”

  They disengaged and, staying low just in case, crept toward the beach. Adam swung the blanket around them both; Grace gathered the clothing, and they started back to the cabin.

  At the top of the incline, Grace froze. On the greenway, a dark figure stood, staring toward the water.

  “Someone’s there, Adam,” she said, under her breath. She could just make him out, faintly illuminated by the yard light in front of the Allbrights’ cottage.

  “I see him.”

  “What do we do?”

  Adam pulled her back to the waterline, and they quickly walked along the sand toward the next cabin’s beach access. Confronting the apparition, naked as they were, was not on.

  No light streamed from the vacant neighbouring cottage’s windows, and darkness enveloped them. Adam led Grace up the path, around the back and they slipped in their own door before Grace finally took a breath.

  “Might have been just a nosy neighbour,” Adam said, rubbing Grace’s arms to warm her.

  “I don’t think so,” Grace said, shivering. “He was wearing a ball cap.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lots of people wear ball caps, Adam pointed out, trying to calm Grace.

  True, she thought, as she rapidly got dressed. In this case, though, it was not a coincidence. The person on the greenway was bloodshot man, phony satellite salesman or the killer. Or all three in one.

  She said so to Adam. He had to agree.

  “I’ll try calling Ellard, see where he is.”

  The RCMP officer answered on the first ring, and Adam identified himself.

  “Grace thinks she may have seen the man who came to the cabin earlier. On the greenway. We were just returning from a . . . walk.” Adam grinned, lopsidedly, at Grace and shrugged.

  “Okay. I’m behind your cabin. I’m heading there now.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Adam pulled on his shirt and a light jacket, grabbed his gun and was again stymied by what to do with Grace.

  “I’m safer with you,” she argued, before he could say anything.

  “Okay. But stay behind me.”

  Tough to do, thought Grace, when we’re single filing down the damn path parallel to the greenway. But Adam somehow managed to diagonally shield her until they reached the main pedestrian walkway, where he extended an arm backwards and tugged her close to his back.

  The whole operation took ninety seconds, and they were looking at Constable Ellard, waiting for them. No one else stood in the greenway.

  “He couldn’t have gone far,” Adam said in a stage whisper. “I didn’t hear any vehicles start. He’s on foot.”

  “Conveniently, it’s dark again,” Ellard noted dryly. “Still. We’d better take a look around.”

  “Grace, can you go to the Allbrights’? The lights are still on.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “Take care, Adam. Please.”

  “I’ll walk you there first.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s thirty feet away. I’ll be fine. We’re so close we could see him from here, if he was there.”

  He kissed her quickly. “Okay. Go quickly, Grace.”

  She nodded and slipped through the trees and underbrush toward Tillie and Gord’s cabin. She looked back to see Adam and Ellard disappear toward the crescent road. A chill shuddered through her. Stay safe, Adam.

  Grace stepped onto the Allbrights’ deck, but before she could knock, she felt a breath of movement. A hand slapped over her mouth; an arm violently wrenched her backward against a stinking male body. The man stepped down off the side of the deck and into the trees, dragging Grace with him.

  Grace hadn’t seen him, hadn’t even felt his presence until the last second, nor smelled him among the aroma of pine and spruce. Where the hell had he been hiding? No time to curse herself for inattention. She couldn’t scream or plead or try to reason with him, silenced as she was by his hand; her arms were held captive by one of his. Her feet, clad in flimsy deck shoes, were her only weapons. As he dragged, she lifted one foot off the ground, bent her knee and kicked her heel into his arch. It wasn’t enough to hurt much, but it did unbalance her attacker. Together, they fell sprawling backwards onto the hard, root-encrusted earth.

  “Fucking bitch!” he hissed, as Grace tried to squirm her way out of his grasp.

  As he spoke, she knew him. And bit him.

  “Fucking hell!” he said but did not release her. “Squirm and bite all you want. You’re coming with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Adam had appeared from nowhere, and now towered over Grace and her attacker, gun drawn.

  “Let her go. Right now.” He saw the flash of a knife, against Grace’s throat in an instant.

  “Put it down, or I cut her,” the man growled.

  “Get up, asshole. Let her go.”

  “No. Back off.”

  The knife pricked. Grace arched and cried out; thick blood rushed to Adam’s head. In the thin light cast by a yard lamp, Adam saw the glint of teeth and knife. The bastard was smiling, and for a split second, he pointed the weapon at Adam as if in victory.

  Grace seized the chance and twisted violently to her right, away from the knife. The attacker was left-handed, and for a breath, surprised by his victim’s action.

  Adam saw his advantage, but Grace still covered most of the attacker’s body, and both of them were writhing in the dirt. He couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Grace, so Adam dropped the gun and launched himself at the two-person pile in front of him, reaching for the knife, not caring if he took the blade or the handle. It sliced into his palm, but he grabbed it as he pulled Grace out of the man’s grasp and off his body.

  Bigger and more powerful than the assailant, Adam won his prize but lost the perpetrator. The man rolled over, leaped to his feet and ran. Temporarily weaponless, clasping Grace on top of him, Adam could do nothing but watch him go.

  He lifted Grace’s head to inspect her face and neck but could see little.

  “Grace, how badly are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

  “Yes. No. A bit. God, Adam. Are you all right?”

  “I am now.”

  Grace began to sob into Adam’s chest, as he held her.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”

  “I don’t know, Adam. I don’t know.” Grace felt something sticky on her side, and reared back, forgetting her own trauma. “You’re bleeding. How badly are you cut? Let me see.”

  “It’s nothing. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

  “Your hand matters, Adam. What if you’ve cut a tendon or something, saving me
? Come on, let’s get into the light. Hurry.”

  Grace scrambled to her feet and extended her hand to help Adam up; he grasped it with his own uninjured hand. Once on his feet, he looked around for his borrowed weapon, found it, and said, “I have to call Ellard.”

  “You have to let me look at your hand first,” Grace said, dragging him toward the cabin.

  Adam, aware he was bleeding copiously, relented and let Grace lead him. Once inside, she gently pushed him into a dining room chair and turned on the overhead light. The cut was clean, deep and long, making Grace gasp in horror; but Adam wiggled his fingers and pronounced his tendons intact.

  “You still need stitches.”

  “I know. But I really do have to call Ellard,” Adam said, already dialling with his good hand.

  Grace left the table to gather bandages from the first aid kit, a basin with water and an old, clean towel. She had to get him to Meadow Lake Hospital — or, if she was lucky, back over to Tillie’s. She had been a nurse; Grace hoped she had surgical needles and thread in her cabin.

  Grace overheard Adam explaining to Ellard what had happened, asking him to get over to the Allbrights’. The RCMP officer apparently hadn’t heard the fracas, nor seen the assailant disappearing; but he would head over right away.

  Adam signed off and grimaced as Grace bathed the wound and bound it tightly.

  “I’m sorry, Adam. It must hurt a lot.”

  “It’s not great,” he admitted.

  “We should really head for the hospital now. Or, we could ask Tillie if she can sew it up for you. Hospital would be better.”

  “Tillie would be better.” Adam hated hospitals, Grace knew. His choice didn’t surprise her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, as long as she has antiseptic, yeah. What’s the difference? I gather she was a nurse?” Grace nodded. “She’s not going to try anything unsanitary.”

  “True.”

  Grace thought about that for a minute, staring at his bandaged hand.

  “What about anaesthetic, though, Adam? You think it hurts now. Wait until she starts stitching.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll take the scotch. Come to think of it, that would work as antiseptic, too, in a pinch. Grace, it beats hell out of driving to Meadow Lake and back. And it’s a bad cut, but nothing is damaged.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yes. Tillie would be able to say, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Okay. Let’s go, then.”

  It was dark, but not yet terribly late. Grace, dazed from the night’s bizarre events, was amazed to see that the clock on the wall had not yet ticked nine-thirty. She wouldn’t let her body give in to the shock of being attacked, yet again. Only Adam mattered right now.

  Back they went to the Allbrights’, Adam on high alert, pain driving his jaws together; Grace could see the muscles tauten. No one leaped from the bushes, and they made their destination in two minutes.

  She knocked. Tillie answered immediately.

  “Tillie, Adam has been injured,” Grace said without preamble. “Can you help? His hand has been slashed. And I have to tell you something. Can we come in?”

  “Of course. Come in, come in. What happened?” Tillie asked.

  “First, could you look at Adam’s hand? I was wondering if you could sew up the gash.”

  Tillie, uncharacteristically, simply nodded and gestured for them to sit down at the kitchen table. She turned on the light, left the room briefly and returned with a medical bag.

  “Okay. Let me see.”

  Adam laid his hand on the table, and let the retired nurse gently unwrap the bandage.

  “Were you butchering a pig, for God’s sake? That looks like a wound from a big, sharp knife.”

  “I guess it is,” said Adam. He pulled the liquor bottle from his jacket pocket. “Give me a minute.”

  He shuddered slightly as he attempted to open the bottle with one hand; Grace dove in to do it for him.

  “Here, love. Swig it back.”

  Two ounces of fiery alcohol disappeared down his long throat. “Okay. Ready.”

  “Doesn’t look like anything has been sliced through. I’ll be able to sew him up. Hold his arm,” Tillie said.

  Grace almost lost her nerve. Tillie’s request drove the reality of the small operation, and the pain it would cause, into her brain like a splinter. It had to be done. She nodded to Adam, smiled sympathetically, and took his arm between both hands.

  “Hold on, Baby,” she said.

  “This is going to sting,” Tillie said.

  Adam clenched his jaw as Tillie poured antiseptic liberally over the wound, spilling it over into a large bowl. He flinched, but Grace held on hard, making small comforting noises. The needle and surgical thread came out; Tillie bent to her task without apology and pierced the skin.

  “Uh,” Adam grunted.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes,” he said, between gritted teeth.

  The long wound took eleven stitches, black and neat, to close. When it was over, Grace led Adam to the couch and handed him the scotch. “More,” she said. He didn’t argue.

  Tillie cleaned up the small mess on the table, packed up her bag, and returned.

  “Now. Tell me. All of it.”

  Grace sighed. But Tillie had to know.

  “I was attacked on your porch. Earlier, I saw someone in the greenway. Adam didn’t want me to roam around with him, looking for someone dangerous in the dark, and asked me to come to you. Before I could knock, a man came out of nowhere, put his hand over my mouth and dragged me away.

  “I was able to trip him, and we both fell to the ground. While I was wrestling with him, Adam came back. The man drew a knife; Adam got it away from him, but you see what happened to his hand. Then Adam pulled me off the guy, but he got away.”

  Tillie’s terrified eyes said it all. She regained her voice, cleared her throat.

  “What is going on? This is so . . .”

  “I know. So scary. But Tillie. I have to tell you this. I didn’t see his face, because he was behind me; but I think I recognized his voice.”

  Adam, who had been lounging rather limply on the couch, sat up straight. His head snapped around.

  “You didn’t tell me that, Grace.”

  “I didn’t have time, Adam . . .”

  A sharp rap interrupted Grace. Tillie’s eyes widened further, until the visitor announced himself through the thin door.

  “It’s Constable Ellard. Sergeant Davis, are you there?”

  Tillie sucked in a sharp, relieved breath, rose to her feet and hurried to let him in. Standing on her deck was a filthy man wearing a baseball cap, his arms held tight behind him, the constable looming over his shoulder.

  “Tom,” she gasped.

  “Yes. Tom,” Grace said. “I was just going to tell you. It was your son who attacked me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace flinched at the sight of her childhood friend. She had not seen Tom for years — not since she was nineteen, and Tom twenty-three. Confronted with him now, shock at his dissipated, dirty appearance overcame her fear and disgust at their violent encounter.

  Tom’s brown hair fell lank and greasy from under the Blue Jays ball cap, once white and blue, now grey and black. His once-clear emerald eyes, glazed and red, rolled slightly; his skin was a disconcerting shade of yellow. And his clothes: torn, filthy, hanging on his skinny frame. He twitched and struggled in the constable’s grip.

  “My God,” Grace breathed.

  Tillie lurched forward and took her son in her arms, even as Ellard held him in a powerful grip.

  “Tom, where have you been? What is going on?”

  He shook her off, with an ugly laugh.

  “Where did you find him?” Adam asked Ellard.

  “Up the loop, hiding in the bushes about ten cabins away.”

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Adam asked Tom, his anger boiling over. “Why did you attac
k Grace?”

  “I’m not sayin’ nothin,” Tom growled back. “Not to you, not to anyone.”

  “Tom . . .” Tillie started.

  “Not to you, either. Like I just said.”

  Stung, Tillie stepped away from him, eyes filling with tears. She sat down, hard, on a kitchen chair and was silent.

  Adam and Ellard shared a look over Tom Allbright’s head. Adam shrugged and turned up his palms in a what-can-you-do gesture.

  “Tom Allbright,” Constable Ellard said, “I’m arresting you for the assault of Grace Rampling, and on suspicion of murder. Let’s go.”

  “Do you need my help?” Adam asked.

  “No. I’ll call Al and let him know I’m bringing him in. Take care of your hand,” Ellard said, inclining his head toward Adam’s bandages.

  “Tom,” Grace said. “Why would you do that to me? Why would you want to hurt me? I don’t understand.”

  Tom said nothing, but the twitching was becoming noticeably worse.

  “Get me out of here,” he said, finally.

  Ellard grabbed him securely, turned him around and pushed him out the door. Grace moved to the kitchen table, sat across from Tillie and reached for her hands.

  “Oh, Tillie, I’m so sorry. Can I get you something? Tea, maybe?”

  “Some of Adam’s scotch might help.”

  Adam took a glass from the drainboard at the sink and poured her a stiff, neat two fingers. Tillie downed half of it, and carefully set the glass down.

  “He was high, Tillie, wasn’t he?” Adam asked, as gently as he could. He’d seen it thousands of times. Tom Allbright was a junkie.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what he’s on?”

  “No.”

  “If I had to guess, maybe methamphetamine?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Meth, for short, is a drug that increases the release of dopamine. It’s easy to get hooked very quickly, because users love the fast high. But it also decreases hunger, so people who have been using for a long time can lose a lot of weight. He looked pretty skinny, Tillie. Was he bigger, once?”

  “Much bigger. Very muscular. But why did he attack Grace? Oh, Grace . . . I’m so goddamn sorry. You’re sure it was him?”