Night Tides Page 2

  The truck’s vinyl bench seat smelled of sweat, paint, and rubbing alcohol, and the engine rattled as if exhausted from overwork. He drove her to the deserted park and marched her into the shadows. Then he’d blinded her with the flashlight and uttered the words she knew were a prelude to her own rape and murder:

  “All right, strip. Now!”

  What choice did she have? She fumbled with the bottom of the tank top and pulled it over her head. She slid her bra straps off her shoulders and blushed with humiliation as that garment joined her shirt on the ground. Then she unsnapped the khaki shorts and slid them down her legs.

  Carrie could hardly breathe through the tape. She was a nineteen-year-old sophomore, and every awful thing her mother had feared about college in the big city was about to happen to her.

  When she was down to her white cotton panties with little red hearts, tears welled in her eyes. Then, as she’d hooked her thumbs in the elastic, the voice said, “Stop. That’s enough. Turn around.”

  It’s the same man, she suddenly realized. She’d heard about the other girls but had never thought it could happen to her. Now it had, and she did as instructed, facing the dark surface of Lake Monona. The man yanked her wrists back and crossed them at the small of her back, her knuckles brushing the elastic band of her panties.

  When she felt the tape zip into place around her wrists, it sent her over the edge. She made a wild dash for the street, not caring if she was seen in this state of undress. Unfortunately, she had gotten turned around and, instead of finding safety, had run straight into the lake, where something had tried to grab her.

  Now she felt the obscene touch of her abductor’s fingers on her exposed body. Tears trickled past her jaw and down her neck. What would her boyfriend, Nathan, think of her disappearance? Her parents? Would they even know she was the latest girl to be kidnapped, or would they believe she’d just run away again, like she’d done as a teenager? How long would it take their anger to turn to worry? And what would happen to her by the time her clothes were found and they realized the truth?

  Her abductor scooped up her discarded clothes and muttered, “Wouldn’t want to be litterbugs, would we?” Then his hand lightly caressed her sweaty, bare shoulders. With a sigh of satisfaction, he added, “There you are.”

  RACHEL MATRE surfaced with a gasp.

  Lake Monona was warm and, as always, smelled of mud, moss, and fish, but its effect on Rachel had nothing to do with its odor. She stood on the bottom and felt the soft silt ooze between her toes, settling delicately on the tops of her feet. The waves patted her chin, and she wiped wet hair from her face. She wished she had something to lean on; even with the water supporting her, her knees were so weak she feared she’d fall. But, as always, the lake protected her and kept her from harm. As a lover, it was unfailingly considerate.

  She looked around, unsure if she’d still been underwater when she let out her last climactic cry. If not, its intensity might have attracted unwanted attention, even at two in the morning. The water sparkled in the night; a small boat in the distance, some late-night fisherman out after walleyes, left a trail of rippling quicksilver. The stars were visible around the few clouds drifting across the sky. Tiny Hudson Park, where she’d entered the water, was a blank dark space between the stately lakeshore houses.

  A flashlight momentarily stroked the water’s surface in a wide arc. Reflexively, she ducked down until, froglike, only her eyes and the top of her head showed. The beam came from the nearby, and much larger, Martyn Park. She watched the light shine along the big gray rocks dumped there to prevent erosion. Then it winked out. Probably some bored cop checking for teenage lovers.

  She swam quietly for the edge of Hudson Park, where she’d left all her clothes. She had to be naked; the lake allowed no barrier between her body and its touch. She luxuriated in the way the water stroked her as she moved through it. No human hands could ever mimic that liquid combination of caress and embrace—not that too many had tried lately.

  Suddenly something grabbed her and pulled her firmly underwater. She was startled but knew better than to struggle. She recognized the touch at once. Although it was unusual for the lake spirits to take her twice in one night, she was not afraid. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  As she slid deeper beneath the surface, the liquid sensation against her skin changed to something more solid. Hands made of water, but somehow firmer, touched her everywhere at once, gently squeezing and stroking. She was parted to allow the entrance of something warm and phallic, which filled her expertly and unerringly found her most sensitive spot.

  We love you, the voices sighed in her head. We want you to know it.

  Oh, God, I know it, she thought back. Take me, use me, I’m yours.

  We need you, the voices said. Often she’d tried to remember if they were male or female, or even if they spoke English, but the effects on her body kept any such in-the-moment analysis at bay. She understood them, and they, her; that was all that mattered.

  She was pushed gently down to the bottom and felt the soft silt against her back and shoulders. Her arms were pulled out to the side and held there, while her breasts were encircled and caressed. She undulated against the pressure, driving it deeper inside and moaning silently into the enveloping darkness. She clenched and opened her fists, straining against the gentle pressure holding her down, knowing she was both entirely helpless and completely safe.

  Since she was still afire from their earlier session, her orgasm came easily and quickly and left her with a tingling rush deep in her belly. Her body opened wantonly, without shame or hesitation, ready for the next one.

  You have me, she cried in her mind. You have me completely. Always.

  We need your help, the voices said. She was turned, her hips were raised, and she was taken from behind, with the same gentle insistence and inevitable result. Her hands and knees sank into the silt. She knew she should be drowning but had no trouble breathing. And yet it wasn’t precisely breathing—more a stasis where no air was necessary.

  Hands reached beneath her and found her nipples. Fingers tangled in her hair. Oh, God, yes, I’ll help, I’ll do anything.

  Help her. She needs you now.

  Rachel’s mind filled with the tableau of a terrified young woman, nude except for her panties. Every detail was vivid and intense, like those adrenaline-fueled slow-motion moments before a car crash. The girl had soft brown hair and a Celtic knot tattooed on one shoulder blade. Her pale skin gleamed with sweat. Gray tape covered her mouth and bound her wrists behind her back. Her eyes were wide, teary, and held the blank stare of shock. She sprawled facedown across the big gray boulders that lined the lakeshore, with one foot in the water—which explained her sudden connection to the spirits. Above her, a figure shone a blinding flashlight down into her face.

  Even in her disembodied state, Rachel could not see past the glare. But she felt a chill, as if the shape behind the light somehow clearly and malevolently saw her.

  Then the vision dissolved in the rush of another orgasm, as the sensations around her became too strong to resist. Who was she? Rachel cried, the question mingling with the release. When did that happen?

  Help her, the voices repeated again. And then it was over.

  The spirits, or beings, or demons, or whatever the hell lived in the lakes around the Madison isthmus, guided her back to the surface. She emerged floating on her back, limbs splayed, the stars shining down on her. Waves—natural ones, without carnal intent—lapped at her ears and made the city sounds cut in and out. She took a moment to catch her breath, to let her body tremble out the last shudders of pleasure. Then, limbs heavy and relaxed, she turned onto her stomach and swam wearily for shore, to her clothes and her mundane life.

  The vision stayed with her, though. Bereft of clothes, exposed to the unwanted gaze of her captor, the girl looked soft and vulnerable. Her body was not fat, but neither was it toned or tanned the way modern girls with all the money and time at their disposal strove
to achieve. No, this was a real person who spent her time outside herself, not a narcissist putting every spare minute into self-improvement. Her body wasn’t displayed publicly as an accomplishment or possession, like a new car or fashionable jewelry. It was meant to be shown in private, to someone who’d earned the right to admire and touch it. Damn the world for abusing someone like that.

  Rachel climbed from the lake. The little rivulets running down her skin recalled the spirits’ caresses and sent a distracting tremor through her. She crouched and listened to make sure no one was nearby. Madison used to be one of the safest cities around, but with the growing presence of gangs and binge drinking, that was no longer true.

  Her record wasn’t bad, though. Twice in twenty years she’d been caught emerging nude from the lake; the first time she’d startled two lovers hiding on the shore, and they’d run away as fast as she had. The other time, though, a pair of Hispanic teen boys had confronted her, and she’d been forced to jump back in the water and swim away, waiting offshore while they drunkenly, and bilingually, described what they wanted to do to her. It had been dawn before they wandered away, and at least one jogger had spotted her dressing frantically.

  She waved her hands to disperse the mosquitoes drawn to her naked flesh. The humid night made drying off pointless. Nearby, her running shorts, shoes, and T-shirt lay folded in the shadow of the trees.

  The out-of-body experience had left her shakier than usual. It was odd enough being a sexual partner for the disembodied entities that lived in the lakes. Now they could apparently disembody her at will. Despite her intimacy with them, she really had no idea who or what they truly were or what they wanted with her. Well, beyond the obvious, of course. Were they ghosts? Elemental beings? Aliens, even?

  Help her, the voices had said—not the usual Tell people about her. And Rachel wanted to help, but there was no way to determine when the events in the vision had occurred. The spirits plucked images anywhere from distant prehistory up through the recent past but never, alas, from the future. All the images were connected, usually directly, with the water itself. This one had been as well, with the poor victim’s bare foot slipping beneath the surface. Rachel knew about the two girls kidnapped recently, of course, but this one did not resemble the photographs she’d seen in the newspapers and on TV. Had Rachel been shown an old crime related to the new ones? Or one from the recent past that simply hadn’t been discovered yet?

  There would be time to worry about that later, when she wasn’t quite so vulnerable herself. She tied her wet hair back with a ponytail holder and was about to dress when light raked across the water’s edge before her.

  She jumped back into the darkness, too far from her clothes to reach them, and her hands reflexively flew up to protect her modesty. Soft, steady steps approached on the dew-damp grass, accompanied by the jingle of keys. She hunched down, annoyed, and then froze. Her involuntary gasp of fright sounded like a scream in her head as something obvious occurred to her.

  It was true that she’d never been shown the future, but what if the vision was absolutely contemporary, happening in real time as she watched? She needs you now, they had said. Had the flashlight that momentarily shone her way earlier been held by the girl’s abductor? Was he only now taking her away, where she would be abused and discarded? Or was the girl stashed in the trunk of his car while he trolled other parks, this park, for additional victims? Was he standing near her now, keys jingling with every step?

  Momentarily she could not even breathe. Like the girl in the vision, she, too, was naked, unable to run or escape. She could be stared at and mocked and fondled, her body no longer her own, belonging to some man who—

  No, she shouted at her panic. I don’t think that way anymore. Now I’m in charge. No one will do anything to me. Only the lake spirits had the right to take her, and then only when she allowed it. She would die before she submitted to someone unwillingly.

  The distinctive radio crackle brought a flood of relief. The policeman walked slowly along the hill just above her, his flashlight moving across the water’s edge. She’d left one clear footprint in a patch of mud, and if he swung the light to the left he’d spot her easily. But he turned off the flashlight and spoke into his microphone. “Unit 512 here,” he said. “Just checking Hudson Park. Continuing on to Elmside. Jiminez out.” Then she heard the unmistakable trickling sound as he relieved himself against a tree. She bit her lip to keep from laughing, especially when he let out a long, contented sigh.

  When he returned to his car and drove away, she emerged from the bushes, trembling and fighting the giggles. Then she dressed.

  Hudson Park was located in a lakeside neighborhood whose residents had the kind of clout to ensure regular police patrols. Less than a block in size, it existed to protect the remains of an effigy mound built by the long-departed Native Americans. It was the earthen silhouette of a four-legged animal with a straight tail that extended as far as the curb. Before the street, and the huge houses that lined it, were built, the tail had continued another hundred feet or so, according to the people who studied such things. Constructed centuries before Europeans arrived in the New World by a tribe that no longer existed, its origin and purpose could only be conjectured. Even the animal it depicted was disputed. Some called it a lizard, others a panther. Most used the generic term water spirit.

  Rachel knew her water spirits did not dwell within the mound, like ghosts haunting a mansion. But they considered the spot sacred, along with all the other areas around town, some now lost, where the mounds once existed. Often, the visions they shared with her depicted native tribes gathered around these special places, in solemn rituals whose purpose she could never fathom. And so, to honor her lovers, she always paused by the irregular outline of the effigy’s head, its shape worn away and distorted by time and disrespect, and bequeathed it a moment of solemnity.

  She reached beneath the waistband of her shorts and touched the spot below her navel where she had a small, simple tattoo of the mound silhouette. It was invisible beneath her clothes, unless she wore particularly low-slung pants, but it was always there, a sign of her commitment to her lover—or lovers, or whatever they might be. And sometimes, like now, she swore it tingled along its edges.

  RACHEL JOGGED DOWN the empty streets toward home. Her tennis shoes slapped the pavement, sharp in the post-midnight quiet. All the big houses were dark, except for those whose motion-triggered security lights blinked on as she passed. These mini-mansions were far too expensive for someone like her, and it always seemed ironic that the people who could afford them had little or no respect for the lake they so desperately wanted to overlook. They thought nothing of tearing out great sections of the shore for their docks and boathouses or cutting down ancient trees that dared obstruct their view. Then they wondered why the unspoiled lake they’d admired seemed to turn all brown and choked, once the plants that anchored the soil had been removed.

  She turned a corner and skidded to a stop.

  A car was parked at the curb, and two young men leaned down to talk to the driver. All appeared to be in their twenties, with that air of privilege and narcissism distinctive to economic security. As she turned to leave, the car’s headlights bloomed, pinning her the way the flashlight had done the girl in her vision. She froze.

  “Hey, honey,” one of the men slurred, “why you in such a hurry?”

  “Yeah, we having a party,” another one said, using a ghetto accent that made him sound even more white. “Why don’t you swing around and hang with us, yo?”

  Don’t show fear, she told herself. Maybe it was a coincidence and unrelated to her vision. Still, the warning echoed vividly: Help her. Was this what the spirits meant? Was the poor girl waiting in the car, hoping Rachel would save her?

  No, she decided. There had been only one consciousness, one malignant entity behind that flashlight. These were just aimless boys looking for someone to scare.

  She turned to face them. The car’s stereo exploded int
o the quiet night, the bass making her chest vibrate. She raised one hand to block the light. “Hey,” she began, “I don’t think—”

  Suddenly one of the men was right in front of her, his hand on her wrist, pulling it away from her face. “Hey, yourself. You’re kinda hot, you know that?” He reeked of beer, sweat, and body wash. “You must run all the time to keep those abs so tight.” He lightly patted her exposed belly.

  “Man, she a MILF for sure, yo,” said ghetto boy.

  “Bring her over,” the car’s driver called. “We’ll all go for a ride. Want to get high, honey?”

  Rachel said nothing. This was a situation she could handle. She gave the boy a friendly smile, then drove her right foot down onto his instep. As he hollered and bent double, she slammed the heel of her hand into his nose. His head snapped back and he fell to the pavement.

  “Hey, what the fuck?” one of the other boys exclaimed. But by then she was already running, flat out, in the other direction.

  She was not panicked, but she knew that if it came down to a physical confrontation, she was outnumbered and overpowered. And if they got her into their car, it would be over. So when she heard the vehicle’s tires squeal as it pulled away from the curb, she left the sidewalk and cut across the silent, dark backyards.

  She left a trail of security lights and startled family dogs behind her. Glancing back, she saw the car’s headlights sweep around as it turned the corner and tried to anticipate where she would emerge. She stopped, pivoted, and ran back the way she’d come. They’d have to loop the block to catch her, if they even realized what she’d done—if their Halo-shortened attention spans could even care for that long. By then she’d be long gone.