The Lake

She dressed quickly, her resolve to find Nelson growing by the second. She pulled on a black, long-sleeved sweatshirt and matching tights.

Bundled her thick hair into a knot.

Dragged a black knit cap over her head, safely anchoring the hair in place.

No black sneakers, though.

Damn! Then:

“Yes!”

Brilliant!

A brain wave…

She picked out black knee-length wool socks from her drawer and pulled them over her white Nike running shoes.

I look like a cat burglar!

Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.

Slipping quietly into the kitchen for the knife, she felt like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.

Holding her breath, she stood still, listening.

No sign of Mom stirring.

Tiptoeing over to the cutlery drawer, she pulled it out carefully.

It rattled slightly. Drawing in a quick breath, she held still for a moment. Then she took out the vegetable knife and ran her fingers lightly over the steel blade.

Wow!

It was really sharp.

She closed the drawer, freezing as it rattled, louder this time, on its way back into the cabinet.

A gurgling sound belched behind her. She caught her breath again—and let it out with a gasp.

Phew…

Water in the pipes.

I think.

I hope…

Through her soft sweatshirt, she fingered the door key on its chain, lying in the deep cleft between her breasts.

Might need this in a hurry if things go wrong.

Like I’m standing over Nelson’s bleeding body…and someone sees me holding the knife dripping with blood…and I have to run like crazy to make it home before they call the cops.

Must be an idiot to think that Nelson’d be hanging around.

Waiting to get stabbed to death.

But you never know.

I got this feeling I could be in luck tonight.

One way or another.

Anyway. I’m out there for a run, aren’t I?

Not aiming to kill anybody.

I’m taking the knife along in case Nelson happens by.

Then I promise you, Allan, I’ll kill the bastard.

She slipped out the front door, holding the knife blade outward. She ran lightly down the driveway.

The knife felt awkward at first. Then she got used to it, pumping in and out in her hand as she ran.

The socks were great. Like this, she could run on in silence. No one would hear her muffled steps.

Blending in with the shadows, she felt like one of them herself. Part of the scenery.

Black clothes make perfect night camouflage, she told herself.

Wearing black made her feel a lot safer.

But it was still spooky out here.

Scary.

And it was hot. Her head was sweating already.

I’ll take off my cap in a minute…

She paused to work out her strategy.

She’d reached the end of the drive. Now, which way, up or down?

If Nelson’s around, which way is he likely to go?

Might be coming up to the house.

Got himself another car maybe? The cops have his old one.

Something rustled in the juniper bushes to her left.

She stiffened, not daring to breathe, flattening herself against the shrubs by the gatepost.

Yeoowwww…

A cat streaked out in front of her. She gasped; then, feeling relieved, she laughed a little. Fuckin’ cat!

Okay.

Start running.

Downbank?

Best go upbank; it’d make for an easier journey on the way home.

After I’ve annihilated Nelson.

She turned and jogged upbank, gently.

Looking around her.

Is someone watching?

Wondering what the hell that girl is doing out at one a.m.?

Asking for trouble…

A thrill buzzed in the pit of her stomach.

It was spooky.

But it was exciting, too.

She could meet anybody.

Or anything.

Dressed in black, the odds were that no one could see her anyway.

On the other hand, there could be some guy out there, thinking about what he’d do to her if he caught her…

She hastened her step.

Maybe she should turn around?

Go back home…

Not yet.

I’m not that scared.

Keep on truckin’, Deana…

And eyes front, all the way.

It’d be a dumb move to look around, enjoy the scenery as she ran along.

Yeah.

Asking for trouble that way.

Mostly, it’d make her feel scared, worrying about who or what could be out there.

I should worry. I have a knife.

Mom’s vegetable knife.

Don’t make me laugh.

Some karate kid comes along and kicks the knife outta my hand.

Then what?

Then you get jumped, raped—or worse, you dope.

Murdered.

Raped and murdered.

You’re an idiot, Deana West. What are you doing out here, anyway?

Mom’d have a fit.

If she knew.

She’ll never know.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. Fifteen and I’m tucked up in bed. No one any the wiser.

“Hey.”

A shout.

Ringing out in the night. Echoing loudly.

Deana gasped, melting into the shadows of a redwood spreading out from a driveway.

Her grip tightened on the knife.