Chapter 11 #2
The chill presses in on me as I claw upward. I pinwheel my arms above me, ineptly pushing and scratching my way to the surface, to the light I can just barely barely make out, even with my eyes open and gritty with the silt of the lake.
And when I open my eyes, I see it.
A shimmer just beyond the silt and dark.
Pale hair undulating like streamers, face still and luminous in the water, her eyes open and trained on me. Glimmering— glowing.
A human. A woman, in a flowing dress of unearthly greenish white, her eyes black voids, her face placid.
Vivian.
I don’t know how I know it’s her. Lack of oxygen, a panic response, another mental break. Who knows, who cares.
It’s her. I know it’s her.
Shining. Protecting. Beautiful and unreal and probably not real.
But she’s not going to let me drown.
Except then I blink, and she’s gone.
The water is just water, not glowing. And just as quickly as my resolve had appeared, another thought takes its place .
Too late.
I waited too long. I sank too deep. I’m not going to be able to make it on my own.
I pushed too far, and this is the consequence.
Yet just as I’m thinking it, something firm and warm wraps around my waist…
…and then I’m rising, pulled irresistibly upward like I weigh nothing. Soaring and surging upward until?—
Crash. I, we , break the surface of the lake. My burning throat and lungs gulp for air as my panicked vision swims in search of focus.
“I’ve got you,” a male voice says. “Don’t panic. Don’t flail.”
It’s not Elena. It’s?—
But before I can see the face of my rescuer, he’s pulling me to shore, left arm wrapped around my waist, right arm cutting forward, almost effortlessly, in time with his legs, moving faster as a duo than I could have managed by myself.
The return trip seems to take half the time, like we’re just gliding over the surface, skimming smooth as a sailboat, until my knees are hitting soft sand and I can crawl forward.
Coughing, gasping, I fall out of his grasp, and that’s when I look back and see it’s the boy from Saturday night. Or one of them. The tallest one, the biggest and most silent.
Callahan.
What the hell was he doing out at the lake at this hour?
Pine needles and dirt cling to my fingers, push into my knees as my breath catches and sticks and water burns out of my throat until finally, finally I’m breathing regular again.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Callahan says.
He hasn’t stood, just sits on his knees in the lapping edge of the water, looking at me with concern. He’s wearing skin-tight, knee-length swim trunks…and that’s it. Yet he doesn’t seem cold at all .
I splutter. “You’re one to talk,” I manage.
He doesn’t react, and I feel an immediate pang of shame. He just rescued me, maybe saved my life, and this is how I act?
I swallow, which hurts.
“I’m so sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just?—”
“I come out here for conditioning,” he explains. “Before we practice in the morning. It’s…” he trails off. “My own form of discipline.”
He gives me a probing look, searching for signs of damage, and I notice for the first time how handsome he is.
An arresting thought to have at a moment like this, but it’s hard not to notice, especially when he’s wearing barely anything and water is clinging to the ends of his long, thick eyelashes.
“What did you think you were doing?” he said, his tone softer than it should be, less accusatory.
I shake my head, checking for water in my ears, and as I do, look around the shore. There’s no one.
I’m alone.
“I was…she…” I sweep my wet hair out of my eyes. “God damn it. My swim test,” I say. “That girl Elena was here to proctor it for me.”
Callahan’s jaw tightens.
“The swim tests are done in the pool,” he says.
What?
“But I saw a sign?—”
“She’s swim team captain,” he mutters. “She should know better.”
I fold my arms against a sudden, chill breeze.
“I think she does know better,” I mutter. To myself or to him, I’m not sure.
Because I get it. Get the joke.
Funny prank. Let the new girl drown. Let her join Vivian in the depths of the …
I shiver.
Whatever I saw in there, I don’t want to think about. Don’t want to be real.
Because it isn’t. None of it’s real.
Not what I saw here.
Not what I saw in the church back home.
Not real. Not real. Not real.
All the while, Callahan says nothing. Just narrows his eyes, almost imperceptibly, firms his mouth to a line.
“You’re shivering,” he says, and I realize I am. Shaking, practically. I hug myself tighter, push myself to standing, and he scrambles up after me, offering an arm that feels steady and strong as a bough of oak.
“Thank you for—” I shake my head. “I guess rescuing me.”
Callahan nods and withdraws his hand swiftly once it’s clear I’ve found my balance, like he doesn’t want to risk touching me too long. But it’s different than the way Kingston did it. No edge of disgust that I may or may not be imagining. Just simple, precise duty.
“You should look after yourself around here,” he says. “Please take better care, all right?”
I’m astonished. No one’s ever said anything like that to me.
Take care, in a way that sounds genuine. Shuddering with cold, as water drips down my back, I nod.