The bizarre encounter with the bear lay heavy on her mind. What would have happened had Whit Anderson not come along when he did?
She shuddered to think about what the bear might have done to her.
Even worse, had something happened to her, what would have become of Bit—alone up here in this teeming wilderness?
And then there was Whit. The good doctor. The handsome good doctor. Anybody would have to be blind not to realize he had made a pass at her. More than a pass, really. He had come right out and openly declared some kind of romantic feelings for her, even though he was aware she was married. Should she have been more forceful in turning him down?
Of course not, the man was too nice. A real gentleman.
And he had saved her life.
Suddenly she remembered the old wall phone in the kitchen. She could use that to call Brad. Why hadn’t she thought about it before?
Trembling with anticipation, she hurried into the kitchen and lifted the receiver off the hook. She paused: did she even remember how to use one of these old things?
She started to dial Brad’s number—then realized there was no dial tone. She depressed the hook again.
Nothing.
“Hello? Hello?” she shouted into the receiver. She made several more efforts to get a dial tone, but nothing worked.
The phone was dead. Just like the TV’s and radios and all the other electronic gizmos in Brad’s fancy lakefront house.
What was going on, she wondered.
She almost felt like crying as she slowly placed the receiver back on the hook.
⸙
SHE FOUND BIT curled up in the middle of her bed talking more play games with Anastasia and Teddy. The sight of Teddy perched on top of her daughter’s stomach brought back a flood of all-too fresh memories of the black bear coming after her in the woods. She felt herself recoiling, had to force herself to get a grip. Teddy was only a stuffed animal.
“Sweetheart, I think I’m going to turn in early,” she said, sitting down next to Bit and patting her leg. “Would you like anything from the kitchen before I go?”
Bit shook her head. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
Laura kissed her on the cheek. “Then I’ll say goodnight. You can play with Teddy and Anastasia a few more minutes, but lights out at ten, right?”
“Right, Mom,” Bit said indifferently. She continued to play with her dolls.
When Laura got up to leave, Bit said, “Mom, you never told me about your walk today. Did you enjoy it?”
“Why, yes, I did,” Laura said quickly. “Thank you for asking.”
Then Bit asked: “Mom, is Brad ever coming back?”
Laura’s legs went weak. She reached back for the bed and sat down.
“Of course, Brad is coming back, sweetheart. What makes you ask that?”
“I heard you fussing, remember? And then he left us.”
Laura cringed. So that was it. The poor thing had not yet got over her parents’ argument the night before.
“We just had a little misunderstanding,” she explained. She hoped Bit had not heard everything. “It wasn’t anything serious, sweetheart. I was wrong. He was wrong. When we see each other again, we’ll both hug and make up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Now, don’t you worry anymore about that. You just make sure to turn off the lights at ten, and I’ll see you in the morning bright and early. Goodnight.”
As Laura started to leave the room, Bit asked, "Mom, would you please leave the door open?"
Laura froze, struck by the strange request. It had been years since Bit had asked for the door to be left open to her bedroom. Laura was tempted to ask why, but decided against it. “Of course, sweetheart," she said. "If you need anything, remember, I’m just down the hall in the room next door.”
“Thanks, Mom. Goodnight.”
“Sleep tight.”
They blew each other kisses.
“Don’t forget to leave the door open,” Bit called out.
"I won't."
Laura switched off the light but remembered to leave the door to the hallway open.
⸙
LAURA WENT AROUND the house as she did every night, checking the doors to make sure they were locked and the curtains drawn. She didn’t know why she bothered, especially with the curtains. After all, they were in the mountains, not some drug-infested, crime-ridden urban area.
Upstairs, she undressed and slipped into a warm nightgown. Before crawling into bed, she shuffled over to the window for one last peek at the lake.
A thick fog had rolled in with the darkness, and high out over the water, sparkles of lightning crackled and popped. It looked like another storm was moving in. At times like this she yearned for a simple battery-operated radio. Since none of the TV’s in the house worked, the Weather Channel was out of the question.
After stoking up the fire, she crawled between the cotton sheets and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. As she lay in the quiet dark, listening to the low hiss of the fire, she imagined she could still feel Brad’s broad, warm shoulders next to her. She could almost smell that enticing new cologne, the one that had been given to him in Paris. She rolled over and fell asleep.
⸙
SOMETIME DURING the night she was awakened by the sound of footsteps out on the bedroom deck. She sat up quickly, holding her breath as she looked toward the sliding glass doors.
All she saw was black, yawning darkness.
She must have been dreaming.
She lay back down, but before she could doze back off the sound returned—like heavy footsteps tromping around outside on the wooden deck beyond her bedroom.
She jerked up and stared at the door again. Except for the intermittent pop of lightning and raindrops forming glistening patterns against the glass, she saw nothing. She glanced across at the clock: 11:45. She continued to watch the window for another five minutes. Then, satisfied that no boogeyman or frothing black bear was out there, she lay back down and slithered beneath the covers.
But this time she couldn’t go back to sleep. She tossed and turned, punching her pillow and rearranging the sheets. Every few seconds she would imagine some weird, creeping sound flopping and banging around outside on the deck and her eyes would pop open wide and she’d find herself staring apprehensively into the gaping darkness. Listening to the raw howl of rain and cracking roar of wind whipping across the lake, she couldn't imagine anyone dumb enough to be out wandering about on such a night.
An image of Paul’s cabin sprang into her mind. She’d never seen it, of course, didn’t have a clue what it looked like, but she had a picture of it inside her head, and it gave her an odd sense of comfort just knowing the young artist was nearby.
The portraits!
It suddenly occurred to Laura that she hadn't seen the pair of paintings since Brad left. She jumped out of bed, threw on a robe and tip-toed down the hall. She saw that Bit’s light was off, then continued down the stairs through the dark, not bothering to turn on a lamp. She went over to the sofa and looked behind where she'd left the portraits.
Laura gasped. Both paintings were gone.
Had she put them somewhere else? Perhaps Bit had moved them and neglected to tell her. Growing more frantic by the second, she looked behind the chairs, in the kitchen, the pantry and each of the lower bathrooms. They weren’t there.
She stood in front of the still-smoldering fireplace, dazed and confused. It had to have been Bit who moved them. But where? When? Most importantly, why? Perhaps she had sneaked them up to her room to prevent Brad from seeing them. That seemed reasonable, considering how upset she was after hearing the two of them quarreling out on the deck.
Suddenly she recalled the black anger that had flooded Brad’s face when he had seen the portraits.
Oh no…
Laura gritted her teeth. How could you, Brad? Jumping to conclusions was not in her nature. But how else could she explain the missing portraits
? He must have taken them with him when he drove off the previous morning.
Laura banged her fist against a kitchen cabinet. Damn you, Brad. How could you do that? Any other time she could not imagine her husband doing anything so stupid and underhanded. But, considering his state of mind that night, Laura surmised that anything was possible—his way of getting back at her.
A horrible thought entered her head: what if he had gone over to Paul’s and done something bad? Before their big blow-up two nights ago, she would never have suspected Brad capable of hurting anybody. But that was two nights ago. She thought about calling Paul, to let him know what happened—but there was no phone. And even if she had one—even if she had a whole houseful of phones—she still didn’t have a clue how to get in touch with him.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself.
⸙
SHE WAS STANDING in the dark kitchen getting a drink of water when she saw movement outside the back glass door. This time there was no getting around it. Somebody—or something—was out there. Instinctively, she lowered her head and ducked behind the counter.
She waited, listening.
Outside on the deck, came the unmistakable thump of footsteps, the same kind of heavy footsteps she had heard on the upstairs deck—a steady clump of boots going back and forth. Gasping, she drew her gown tightly around her neck, reached up and grabbed the big MagLite from the counter drawer. She gripped the flashlight like a club. It gave her strength, and she yearned to switch it on, but held back out of fear the light might alert whoever was out there.
The footsteps stopped, then gradually started descending the back steps. Laura continued to listen, heart pounding so hard her chest hurt. Her spirits lifted when she heard the spectral footsteps finally fade away.
She waited a couple more minutes to make sure. Then, still clutching the heavy MagLite, she rose slowly and looked toward the door. Nothing moved out there except for the glittering wall of rain spraying the deck like diamonds pouring down from the sky.
Collecting her courage, Laura crept forward, flashlight at the ready. As she drew closer to the glass door, she half expected to see the bear reared up on its hind legs, snarling and slobbering on the other side.
But she saw nothing.
She pressed her face against the glass and peered into the darkness. This time, something down on the beach caught her eye. Squinting, she was able to make out two shadowy forms standing stiff and still at water's edge. Was it her imagination--or were they staring right back at her?
Laura slumped against the wall, gasping for air. Her chest heaved in and out, and for a moment she thought she would faint. No, she screamed at herself, she would not allow herself to be frightened any longer. She'd had enough of running and hiding. It was time to confront this thing rather than continuing to hide in the shadows.
Brandishing the flashlight like a baseball bat, she thumped it against the palm of her free hand. It felt good. It felt powerful.
Okay, Buster, whoever you are—whatever you are—I'm coming for you. You can scare a little girl, but now you’re going to have to deal with a full-grown woman What do you think about that?
She got up, grabbed her raincoat and snapped it on over her shoulders. She slid her feet into her rain boots and stomped toward the door.
She stopped, suddenly remembering.
The gun.
Turning, she hurried into the hallway, yanked open the table drawer and grabbed the Beretta. She held it up in the light, her fingers trembling at the unfamiliar heft of the pistol. She grimaced as she examined the black mass in the palm of her hand. She might as well be holding a nuclear device. Surprisingly, she remembered most of what Brad had told her how it worked—the magazine, the safety, the trigger. She checked the magazine, saw it was full of rounds. A smile crossed her lips as she racked the slide and heard herself say, "Okay, make my day."
⸙
LAURA STILL COULDN'T believe she was doing this. Holding the gun at arm’s length in one hand, the heavy MagLite in the other, she made her way down the slippery steps, across the soggy yard. She pulled the hood over her head and headed straight down for the rain-whipped beach. Bracing herself against the storm, she clambered down the rocks, slipping and sliding, but somehow making it all the way down to the sand. She halted, looked around. Where were they—the figures she had seen from the house?
Rain pelted her face, trickled down her neck. The gale-force wind came at her like a banshee with curving claws, whipping away her hood and rippling through her tangled hair. Her raincoat rustled and cracked, rustled and cracked. White, froth-tipped waves pounded the beach with primeval fury.
This was insane, Laura told herself as she moved along the beach, crouched low, following the massive beam of light splayed out before her. Driftwood and other debris cast up by the storm tumbled and thumped up and down the beach. She thought: only a crazy woman would leave a perfectly safe house and a warm, dry bed to go wandering around outside on a night like this in search of a phantom.
She let the flashlight's bright yellow beam guide her as she worked her way along the shoreline, mindful of the dangerous rubble clumping and clattering all around. As she trudged along, the spray of light fanned out before her like Noah’s staff, magically parting the waves of creeping darkness and transforming demonic serpents into random pieces of driftwood.
She hadn't gone more than fifty yards when she glanced down and spotted something gleaming-white sticking up from the sand.
Lowering her light, she saw in an instant what it was—a human skull, white and washed clean by the drenching rain.
She staggered, almost collapsing at the sight of her grisly discovery. It was only a skull, she told herself. Skulls can't hurt you, not even a human one with hollow eye sockets and a gaping, grinning cavity where the mouth used to be.
Steadying herself, she bent down to examine the skull. When a thick, hairy worm slithered out of the skull’s yawning mouth, Laura dropped the skull and screamed.
Her scream carried over the wind, over the sound of the lashing waves, all the way to the dark form watching her quietly from the shadows.
Twenty-Eight
WHEN LAURA FELT A COLD hand plop down on her shoulder, it was all she could do to keep from losing it altogether.
“Laura?” a familiar woman’s voice called out to her.
Laura spun around, waving the big flashlight in the general direction of the voice. She almost cried out with relief when she saw Phyllis Coleman's bright, twinkling eyes peering out from the hood of a massive poncho.
“Are you all right?” Phyllis asked, steadying Laura by the shoulders.
“Oh, Phyllis,” Laura whimpered, “Thank god it’s you.”
The older woman towered over Laura, her enormous poncho popping and billowing out like great black elephant ears in the storm. She leaned close, and in a voice that boomed over the howling gale, asked, “What are you doing out here?"
“I thought I heard a noise.”
“A noise? Storms are always noisy.”
“I’m not talking about the storm,” Laura yelled over the screeching wind. She quickly explained, as best she could under the conditions, the footsteps on the deck, the pair of shadowy figures she had spotted down here on the beach.
“So you decided to come out to investigate?”
Laura nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. But I did hear someone outside my house.” She lowered the MagLite’s beam until it illuminated the skull staring up at them from the sand. “And look at this. What do you think this is?”
Phyllis bent down, picked up the skull in her hands and examined it closely. "This is odd," she shouted. “Where did you find it?”
“Right where you’re standing. Is it human?"
"It's human, all right. A young male. In his early teens."
Laura wiped the rain from her face. "How can you tell?"
"I'm a professor, remember? I've been around old bones all my life."
Laura remembered she had the
pistol and quickly started to stick it inside her pocket before Phyllis could see it.
"I see you've got a Beretta," the professor observed nonchalantly.
Laura was almost embarrassed to confess she had a gun. "My husband gave it to me,” she stammered, still struggling to be heard over the storm. Hope it doesn't frighten you."
Phyllis smiled then pulled out her pair of revolvers with the pearl handles. "Not unless these frighten you."
Laura gasped at the sight of the big, shiny guns. She watched Phyllis stuff them back inside leather holders strapped beneath her raincoat, then asked, "Should we call the police?"
"Why?"
Laura cocked her head in amazement. "The skull,” she replied, puzzled that Phyllis didn’t think the skull was such a big deal. “Someone might have been murdered here."
“I doubt that. Besides, I don’t think the police would be very interested."
That puzzled Laura even more. "Why not?” she asked. “Shouldn't they launch some kind of investigation?
"This skull is rather old, dear. It’s probably been on this beach a long, long time. Tell you what, why don't we go up to your house and get out of this storm? We can talk about all this over a cup of hot tea."
Laura couldn’t think of a better idea. Before turning to go, she asked the professor if she had seen anything unusual on the beach herself.
"You mean besides this ghastly skull?" Phyllis shouted.
"No. Something else, even more unusual."
Phyllis laughed. “I can't imagine anything more unusual than a human skull lying on the beach," she joked. When she saw how serious Laura was, she cupped her mouth with one hand and shouted, "Just what are you driving at, dear?”
Laura glanced nervously up and down the beach. “I’m sure I saw somebody prowling around out here earlier," she shouted.
“Tonight? Out here in this awful mess?”
Laura nodded hard. “Two. Maybe three people. Right about here where we’re standing!”
The People in the Lake Page 14