Crescent Lake

by David Sakmyster

  Well, Audrey thought. This situation certainly fit the bill. Her primary concern was Nick's safety; after that was assured, she could decide what to do about the Reverend, the lake, and whatever the hell else was going on in Silver Springs. She was already envisioning a massive government inspection, the town sealed off, men in shiny radiation suits combing the forest and probing the lake.

  But there was time for all that. Nick assured her he was in no immediate danger. He was safe now from the Reverend's touch, and, judging from Grant's story, that meant he would just be factored in to the stalemate picture, along with Grant and Theresa. There was time, Nick had said before she left. Time to hang around the town as an impartial player to make sure things didn't get out of hand. Audrey sensed, however, that Nick had started to grow fond of Silver Springs, and especially of young Theresa. And she wondered if his concern for the town and his reasons for staying had more to do with protecting the girl than anything else. She felt she knew Nick well enough to realize he might be trying to atone in one more way for his past; that he projected onto Theresa Angetti all the responsibility he neglected with his own wife and daughter on that one night.

  Audrey understood his logic and his reasoning. And this scared her, for it meant she was becoming too personally involved personally. In the space of a few days she had come to know Nicholas Murphy better and more deeply than she had known any of her past boyfriends. He was different; he had a surprising effect on her, and the further she drove from Silver Springs, the more she missed him and the more she hoped the danger would pass, or the court date would be delayed – and that he would not have to be relocated, away from Washington and away from her.

  What's wrong with you, girl? It was her father's voice. Stern, commanding. You're on a job, don't forget that. Don't let your feelings get in the way of duty.

  Audrey gripped the wheel tighter with both hands. She drove steadily through the narrow streets, finally arriving at her dense collection of apartments. A heavy blanket of cotton-white clouds extended from the west and rolled in across the darkening sky as she stepped out of the car. Her place was quaint and well-furnished, and monthly payments weren't bad; but it sure wasn't a luxury accommodation.

  But still better than what you had living with your old man, right? Suppressing her father's accusing voice, she fumbled for the key. As soon as the door opened, an ash-gray Siamese cat skittered across the wood floor to greet her.

  "Hello Grendel!" she said, kneeling and scratching the feline under its outstretched neck. Grendel purred softly and tilted its head, maneuvering so that her fingers reached behind its sensitive ears.

  "Were you a bad kitty this weekend?" Audrey stood and waved a scolding finger. "Left all alone, I bet you got into mischief."

  The cat looked at her innocently, its tail swaying like a flag in the wind. Audrey closed the door and switched on the light. "Any huge parties? You empty the fridge? Drain the liquor cabinet?"

  Grendel meowed, blinked, then turned and ran up the stairs, disappearing into the thick shadows. Audrey dropped her purse on the gray loveseat in front of the television, and walked into the kitchen.

  Her cell phone sat on the counter; right where she had left it – plugged in and charging. Oh my God, how did I forget that?

  She snatched it up, saw the icon for voicemail, and typed in her code as she opened the refrigerator door. "I'm here. Talk to me."

  The first message was blank. Some idiot called and just stayed on the phone, breathing softly, not even panting or making lewd sounds; just... listening. She was reaching inside the refrigerator as the second message took a second to register; but when it did, finally, in all its chilling clarity, she felt as if someone had sliced her feet off at the ankles and pushed her over.

  "This is ALICE." Alice was the codeword for the central office. This was serious. "The Looking Glass has been compromised. Repeat. Looking Glass has been compromised as of eight a.m. Eastern time, Friday night. Immediate withdrawal from Wonderland ordered. Immediate."

  Jesus! Audrey dropped a carton of iced tea; open, it splashed her shoes and spilled out onto the floor. A soft patter of feet hit the stairs, and in a moment Grendel careened around the corner and cautiously approached the spill.

  They've found him, she thought, and leaned onto the counter for support. Found him already! They know where he is. Oh God. He had to be moved, now. There was no time, none. She was already twenty-four hours behind.

  With the phone still pressed against her ear, she ran back into the living room to get her purse. Searching for Nick's number, she heard the third message start.

  "Audrey? This is Georgann Parker, from across the street."

  Audrey frowned, digging through her purse. It had to be here, somewhere.

  "It's four-thirty, Saturday afternoon. Where are you?"

  Audrey finally located the scrap of paper with Nick's phone number.

  "There's a man outside your house."

  She froze.

  "Yeah. I thought it was strange. I mean, first I look out the window and see this sporty black Mazda driving really slowly, past your apartment. Then it drives back. And, hell I got nothin else to do, so I sit there and watch. Nothin' happens for the longest time. The car's gone. But then, this guy shows up. Looks kind of ordinary. Big, losing his hair. He walked down the street once, turned, then walked back. He rang your doorbell a few minutes ago. Kept checking around, like he was making sure no one was watching. Course I keep this room dark. He can't see me for shit. Anyway, he's still there, peeking around. Oh. Now he's leaving. Walking back the way he first came in. Well. Just thought I'd tell you. I'm sure you know him and all, I just thought, hell–"

  Dial tone.

  Audrey looked at the door, then at the phone. She had to reach Nick at once. Her feet feeling like they were encased in concrete shoes, she shuffled back into the kitchen, reaching for her keys.

  A second before she touched them, her phone rang, a deathly sound shattering her senses and giving a jolt to her heart.

  She lifted it to her ear.

  And waited several seconds, hearing only a soft, gentle breathing.

  "Come on, Nick," Audrey whispered into the phone, after hanging up immediately on the previous call, and quickly dialing Nick's number. "Pick up. Please." She stood several feet from the window. Carefully she leaned over a short coffee table and parted a section of the blinds over the window pane. As Nick's phone rang for the tenth time, she peered outside. Four apartments away, a black Mazda was parked under a street lamp, basking in a dull pool of amber light.

  Audrey swore. She grabbed her purse and ran back into the kitchen, nearly tripping on Grendel. After she hung up the phone, she dug into her purse for the 9mm, her badge and her cell phone. She stuffed the badge and phone into her front jeans pocket, and clicked the safety off the gun. Crouching under the counter, she switched off the kitchen light, then glanced around to the back door. The window gave a clear view of the cramped yard and the home behind her.

  Grendel suddenly hissed, his hair bristling. The cat faced the front door and fixed it with a wary eye. Audrey listened.

  Something shuffled outside. A shadow appeared at the window. Without a second thought Audrey spun and raced to the back door. She wasn't ready to face the mob's finest. Not now, not like this, without knowing if the stranger was alone or if there were others. In a near-panic she hurtled outside and ran, slipping swiftly into the alley between the backstreet's apartments. She didn't know how, but they had gotten her name and had made the connection to Murphy. She was the only agent who knew his location, and she had no doubt they were good enough to draw that simple fact out of her.

  The 9mm in hand, she crossed another street and ran behind several other houses, found a thick crop of forsythia bushes for cover, and took out her phone.

  "Dave!" she said after dialing. "It's Audrey. Yes, I heard the message. I've got bigger problems right now. Send a team to my house, along with the local black-and-whites. They've tracked me." />
  She was silent a moment.

  "When can you get here? Good. I'll be in the garage of the first house on the street. Hurry."

  The window on her front door was shattered, and the door was ajar. Two plainclothes agents went in first, and the next moment another team burst into the kitchen from the back door. Five policemen attempted to enter next, but Audrey slipped in ahead of them. One of the men, a burly seven-foot officer, tried to convince her to remain outside. She fixed him with a spiteful glance, cocked the 9mm, then crept into her apartment.

  The first thing she noticed was the smell.

  Blood. Fresh blood, pungent. Agent Gregory held up a hand to her from the second stair. He pointed upstairs and put a finger to his lips. Agents Allen and Johnson approached silently from the kitchen. They both noticed the blood as soon as Audrey. It started on the fourth stair, then smeared up the wall and continued along the dark stairwell to the upper level.

  Audrey went up behind Gregory. She flicked the light switch. Tried it again. The stairs remained in the dark. Gregory hesitated, and Audrey climbed up beside him and moved ahead. She knew her house, knew where someone could hide, knew where the next light was. She could be walking right into an ambush, but instinct told her the intruder had already gone.

  Still, she cautiously ascended the last few stairs, probing the shadows for any hint of motion. She gripped the banister – and felt something warm and wet. On her next step her foot encountered a lumpy object that squished under her weight. Slowly she bent down and touched it with one finger.

  Audrey gasped and nearly fell backwards off the stairs. The object was furry in places, wet in others, with hard and thin sections jutting out, like splintered bones. "Grendel..." Nearly sick, she leaned against the wall and caught her breath.

  With a rush, something inside her snapped and her anger took over. She vaulted the last step and rolled onto the landing.

  Caution, warned her father, is the policeman's watchword.

  Audrey stood breathing heavily, aiming the gun out in front of her. In control again, she moved slowly toward her bedroom.

  And keep track of your buddy. Someone should always watch your back.

  She heard Gregory gasp and stifle a choking sound. He had found the cat.

  Another step... her shin brushed against something thin and unfamiliar. Immediately she jumped back, dropping slowly to one knee. She tried to look past the darkness, but it was too thick. Crawling back to the stairs, she whispered, "Get a flashlight from one of those cops!"

  In the seconds that followed she remained motionless, listening intently. Not a sound, nothing moving. Gregory finally handed her the heavy flashlight. She quickly flicked the switch. Her weapon-hand followed the beam of light, her finger tense on the trigger. The hallway was dark, her bedroom door closed. She shined the light into the bathroom. Empty; she could even see into the shower.

  Then she turned the light onto the object that was shin-level off the floor. She saw nothing at first, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the brilliance, she finally saw it. The beam followed the thin fishing wire as it stretched across the floor, up the wall and across the ceiling. From a hook near the dead lamp hung a fat green grenade, wobbling unsteadily seven feet over the floor.

  "Goddamned," Agent Gregory whispered, climbing the last stair.

  Audrey wouldn't let herself breathe any sighs of relief just yet. "Get back downstairs and send our friends out with an APB on a black Mazda RX8. It can't be too far away."

  "But..."

  Audrey gave him a small push. "No one's up here. This is a professional job." Again she looked at the grenade, and the blood smear. "And stylish. One person. Came in and left. I only hope, and I'll know for sure in a second, that he didn't find what he was here for."

  She carefully walked over the trip wire and moved toward her bedroom. She had records in there. Even a map with highlighted directions to Silver Springs. If he was thorough enough...

  Audrey turned the knob and pushed, stepping aside at the same time, in case there were more traps in store. Agent Gregory saw she was safe; and after a distasteful look at the cat's remains, he turned and made his way back down the stairs.

  Audrey flicked on the light. She immediately cursed her stupidity at leaving any clues at all. She might have just botched her first job – and caused the death of the only man she had come to truly care for since her father's death.

  Her room was in shambles, papers and books thrown everywhere. Mirrors broken, clothes strewn about. But what caught Audrey's attention immediately was a section of the wall above her vanity.

  Written in finger-scrawl, with Grendel's blood, were the words:

  See you in Silver Springs

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Silver Springs

  His cell phone was in the bedroom upstairs, left by the bed in case someone called during the night. When Nick had finished eating a medium pizza–extra cheese, sausage and bacon, and had thrown the crusts to Rocky the raccoon, he stretched out on the sofa in front of the television. After less than five minutes of intense PGA action, he had eased into a heavy sleep which wasn't to be disturbed by a distant ringing.

  Several minutes later his feet started to twitch. Sally had always kidded him about those involuntary night-time kicks that usually became more pronounced after a tiring day. If you don't want to sleep with me, just say so, darling. Don't kick me out of the bed...

  Nick's lips curled into a smile as he turned over. He mumbled his wife's name as he settled under another layer of sleep. "Sally," he said again as the phone began its first of many rings. And in his enfolding dream–

  –his wife sat down beside him on the picnic blanket he had stretched out on a grassy hill. They had sandwiches – BLT's, he realized as he held the Saran-wrapped lunch. The sun was brilliant, and almost overbearing, and it was difficult to see Sally's face as she bent forward to deliver a quick kiss and a warm hug. "Thank you, darling," she whispered in his ear. "This is beautiful. The three of us on a picnic." Her touch was pleasant and reassuring, her breath mingled with the cool breeze and her perfume was sweet and intoxicating.

  "Three?"

  Sally's fine blond hairs tickled at the corner of his lips. She held him tight. "Melissa's playing in the orchard."

  "Playing?" Nick tried to pull away. He looked through Sally's hair toward the crop of thick trees lining the next hill, and thought he could just make out a small shape running around the trees. He blinked and tried to get a better look. Something caught his attention: a figure dressed in black, standing at the other edge of the hill, facing the orchard.

  "She's found a new friend," Sally whispered sweetly, holding Nick tight. "Stay," she said when he started to rise. "Let her play."

  Nick struggled and pulled free. He heard a girl's laughter from the top of the hill and began to run in that direction. Sally gripped his legs, but he tore away, and in that moment saw something that chilled him uncontrollably. He knew that somewhere else, in another time and place, he recognized the figure on the hill, the friend Melissa was running towards.

  In that instant, the darkly-dressed man seemed to notice Nick's presence; he turned and waited for Nick to approach just as a dense bank of clouds obscured the sun and took the glare off the hilltop. And that was when Nick slowed and ground his feet into the earth. He knew he should fear the man with the silvery hair and the eyes that blazed like the hidden sun, the man that waved to him with a single white-gloved hand.

  Melissa burst out of the orchard, her pigtails bobbing with every step. Giggling, she bounded the last few steps; and, heedless of her father's warning screams, she leapt into the outstretched arms of the man with the silver hair.

  Nick shrieked and dropped to the ground – onto a land that suddenly and without warning opened into a yawning chasm. He plummeted through the spiraling darkness, aware that the crevice had sealed shut far above him. In the utter silence of the pit he wasn't sure if he was still falling; direction had no meaning, time was endl
ess and distance incomprehensible.

  Gradually, a tightness occurred around his shins, something encircled his feet, like a cord. The pressure righted his body and dragged him down. Down, down through a world of blackness that became heavier and thicker. He tried to scream, and was astounded to feel a wave of bubbles rush against his face. His hands moved slowly up and down, confirming that he was indeed submerged – and, he realized, no longer descending. He was caught, rooted to something in the void below. Tied, he suddenly understood. His feet were tied and anchored to something – a grime-encrusted cinder block - foiling the natural inclination to float upwards, back to the air, and the park, and...

  But there… beyond the wavy, liquid curtain: a light, and a shape moving around.

  A sudden pain made him wince. Something with a dozen sharp claws settled on his back and began to gnaw at his flesh, slowly tearing off strips and digging into his skin while it feasted. Nick struggled to dislodge the crustacean thing, but it merely sliced at his hands and wrists. And through the darkness, other shapes appeared. Segmented, hard-shelled dwellers of this lake, webbed invertebrates with feelers and pincers; then came the ones with incandescent internal organs, squid-like beings with skin that reflected swirling, nameless colors. They came in schools, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of flesh, and they fought and bickered amongst each other for the rights to this banquet.

  Nick punched and swatted, all the while trying to kick free. The shape above the water's surface bent forward, and Nick could make out a small face, and blond hair done up in pigtails.

  "Melissa!" He tried to form the word, and thought he could almost hear it through his water-lodged throat. His hands stretched out for her; they seemed to grow to an impossible length, reaching all but the last inches before the surface – where the girl's palms rested on the other side, and her face was pressed against the water–