Night Tides (2 page)

MADISON, Wis.——Madison police detectives are investigating the disappearance late Wednesday or early Thursday of a University of Wisconsin-Madison student whose discarded clothes were found near the zoo Thursday morning.

The woman has been identified as Faith Evangeline Lucas, 21, of Green Bay. The family allowed police to release her name and picture in hopes that it will prompt people to come forward with more information about her disappearance.

According to police, it is too early in the investigation to tell if Lucas’s disappearance is connected to that of fellow UW student Ling Hu.

Posted by
The Lady
to
The Lady of the Lakes
blog:

According to the official police party line, there might be no connection between the recent disappearances of two UW students. As if we’re supposed to believe that their clothes jumped off by themselves.

A sexual predator is on the loose, people. The street cops who work on the isthmus know this, but their bosses don’t listen. So, until they do, don’t go out alone, don’t go into strange places at night, and don’t trust anyone you don’t know.

CHAPTER TWO

C
ARRIE
K
IMMELL’S
bare feet slipped on the erosion-blocking stones lining this section of Lake Monona’s shoreline. She stumbled, off balance because of the duct tape that bound her wrists behind her back. The same tape covered her mouth, muffling her cries.

Her foot slid into the water and sank ankle-deep into the mud. No doubt due to her panic, it felt as if something in the water grabbed her, encircling her ankle in a gentle but unbreakable grip. As it began to pull her into the water, she managed to wrench free, then fell facefirst onto the rocks. Since she was nude except for her panties, the impact was especially painful. She knew that this late at night she would find no help, even in the middle of downtown Madison, and that certainty only terrified her more.

Whimpering, she tried to rise. If she could reach the street or one of the big dark houses silhouetted against the night sky—

A flashlight blinded her. She squinted into the light, praying it was a policeman or even a stranger who might have come to her rescue. But the distinctive labored breathing coming from the darkness dashed her hopes at once.

“Nice try,” the voice said softly. “Now get up. And don’t try anything else, because I’m really tired of messing with you tonight. You’re right on the edge of becoming more trouble than you’re worth.”

Carrie clumsily got to her feet and climbed from the rocks onto the soft park grass. In a few hours this place would be alive with people sunbathing, children playing, and dogs chasing Frisbees. But now it was abandoned, and in the moonlight the huge cottonwood trees cast immense shadows that hid her, and her assailant, from view. She might as well have been standing naked deep in the Wisconsin woods.

Her attacker grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close. “Understand me well, bitch. Go along quietly like a good little girl, and you eventually might see your friends again. Give me any more shit, and all
they’ll
see is your corpse. Clear?”

Choking on sobs, Carrie nodded.

The abduction had happened so fast she’d had no time to react. One moment she was walking alone down Gorham Street toward her apartment, minding her own business. It was near midnight, but in the student district the porches were filled with people drinking beer, smoking pot, and making out.

She’d passed under a maple tree so tall it blocked all light from the streetlamps, and in that brief darkness she’d been tackled and pushed into a truck’s cab. She slid across to the passenger door, where the top of her head slammed painfully into the armrest. It had taken all of three seconds for her assailant to slap tape across her mouth and jam a gun behind one ear. “Make a sound,” he warned, “and I’ll blow your whole freshman year out the top of your skull.”

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.”

R
ACHEL
M
ATRE
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.