Cradle Lake by Ronald Malfi Page A

it?”
    â€œAfraid not.”
    â€œWell, there’s a part in the show where the genie, who’s really fucking bent out of shape, just turns to the camera and gives this fucking
smile.
Scared the shit out of me. Even today, I cringe whenever a phone book commercial comes on TV.” Another nervous laugh. This time, Alan couldn’t help but smile at him. “When Owen turned and smiled at me in that alley, that was what he looked like—fucking James Earl Jones done up as Aladdin’s genie. Had I been in worse shape, I could have had a heart attack right then and there.
    â€œâ€˜How you been?’ I asked him. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’
    â€œâ€˜Been around,’ he says, his voice gravelly. Thankfully, he turns away from me, and I don’t have to look at that hideous smile anymore.
    â€œâ€˜Folks been worried about you,’ I tell him. ‘You been going down to the lake?’ Because, see, this was well before Landry followed Sophie to the lake that night. Jury was still out.
    â€œâ€˜Do you see it?’ he says, ignoring my question. He’s staring at the roof of the Laundromat again with that same intense expression. In fact, he’s squinting while practically standing on his tiptoes.
    â€œâ€˜See what?’ I say.
    â€œâ€˜It’s gone.’ And there’s some resignation in his voice. ‘You must have scared it off.’
    â€œâ€˜Must have scared what off?’
    â€œâ€˜They’re all over the place now. Been following me. You just missed one up there.’ Owen points to the roof.’Must have heard you call my name. They’re temperamental like that.’
    â€œâ€˜I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say. And suddenly I didn’t care, either, because I knew he was about to face me—and offer that hideous genie’s smile. Which he did. And my blood ran cold all over again.
    â€œâ€˜It don’t matter,’ he says calmly enough.
    â€œâ€˜You and Sophie been going down to the lake, haven’t you?’ I say again—only this time I made the mistake of mentioning his wife. I knew it was a mistake the second the words came tumbling out of my mouth, but there was nothing I could do about it.
    â€œâ€˜Don’t talk about her,’ he practically growls at me.
    â€œI could see the discolored patches under his eyes and his sallow complexion, and for one split second, he seemed to
age
right there in front of me. Like those time-lapse films that show the entire life of a flower in a matter of seconds? He just seemed to grow old.
    â€œAnd later that night, lying in bed and unable to sleep, I would think about how he looked so old and wonder if the lake did that to him—that it wasn’t only his worsening depression about his wife’s affair, which half the town already knew about, but the lake itself. As if the lake was physically draining him. For the first time I wondered if in order to heal some people the lake had to drain that energy from others.” Hank paused, almost as if he wanted those words to sink in.
    â€œEither way,” Hank said after a moment, “I don’t say another word to Owen. He shuffles by me, one shoulder dragging along the brick alley wall, until he reaches themouth of the alley where it spills onto Market Street. He pauses there and cranes his neck.
Please don’t smile. Please don’t smile,
I’m thinking, mentally crossing my fingers. Thankfully, he doesn’t. He just peers at the roof of the building and screws his face all up, as if lost in contemplation.
    â€œâ€˜You didn’t see it?’ he asks me. I shake my head and this seems to suffice, because he rolls his shoulders in return—oddly casual, I remember thinking—and hobbles back to his old Duster and drives home. That was three days before Landry followed Sophie out of the house and about a week before Owen killed