Six Crime Stories (27 page)

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Chapter 1

As he sank, the water rushed into him, flooding his lungs, freezing him from the inside as well as the outside. Stunned and numb, he dropped further into the icy reaches, propelled by the momentum of his fall. Down, down he plunged, a senseless, dead weight, stars flashing behind the lids of his eyes, blooming and winking like holiday fireworks.

Then, instinctively, desperately, he flung away the shock, heaved it off like a blanket, and he realized what was happening.

He was drowning! For God's sake, he was drowning!

With renewed awareness, he fought the water, flailed and kicked and twisted wildly. Still sinking, he writhed and pedaled, battered at the frigid envelope, struggling to end his descent. He couldn't let it stop him; there was so much to do.

Though his limbs were numb and his lungs burned, and the fireworks on his eyelids blazed more brilliantly than ever, he surged with strength at the thought of his mission. Thrashing his legs against gravity, he felt himself slowing, felt the speed of his fall diminish. He continued to kick at the water, and finally felt himself stop, and then he opened his eyes and looked up.

Above him, there wasn't anything but blackness.

How far down
was
he? How many feet had he sunk?

Closing his eyes then, he started for the surface, trying to think only of what he had to do, not how far he had to swim. He chopped his hands and feet through the water, pushed against it with all his might. Propelling himself upward, he focused on his dream, climbed toward the open air with all the force of will with which he'd pressed toward his dream's fruition.

He had to survive, had to get there, had to
do
it.
Everything
depended on this moment.

He wondered how far he was from the surface. He'd been swimming for so long, and he still wasn't there yet. How far...how far?

A sharp tingling sparked over his body, and he felt himself weaken, begin to succumb. Squinting upward, he saw only more blackness, a mercilessly dark infinity.

He was drowning! He was going to die.

It wasn't fair. He'd come so far.

He gave himself a final push, a last, angry jolt, and cursed the world for the millionth time. After all it had done to him, how
dare
it rob him of his last chance?

And then, he couldn't kick any more.

Full of rage, a hurricane rage, he stopped swimming.

Miraculously, he felt himself breaking the surface.

Shooting his head up and back, he choked, spat water from his lungs, gulped at the air. He slipped under again, but wouldn't let it grab him this time, instead kicked and swept his arms so that he could regain the surface. Bolting his head upward once more, he coughed up water, gagged and spat and actually took in some air.

Snapping his eyes open, he gaped at what lay around him. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to see the rippling surface of the lake, the tree-lined silhouette of the shore.

The shore was a long way off.

Still kicking and sweeping at the water, he managed to slowly turn around. Watching the shoreline, he saw it fold away in the distance, curl along the length of the lake. Turning, he followed the curve of the shore, watched it reach a final, far extension and roll back toward him. That tree-lined rim flexed away into a wide cove, then angled sharply inward, protruding into the lake before it swept off toward a distant dam. When he'd finished his rotation, he realized that the protrusion was the closest point to where he floated, and he started to swim toward it.

Though it was the closest point, it was still far away, and would take him a long time to reach. He was bolstered, however, strengthened with fresh, flaming resolve; he'd blown himself back from the brink of death, and he had so much to do, and he couldn't give up.

Freezing, aching, gagging, he dragged himself across the lake with long, painful strokes of his arms. As he crawled toward the shore, he felt jubilant, thrilled to have survived this latest misfortune.

And he felt excited, full of anticipation for his coming venture.

He reviewed his plans, all the places he had to visit...

...all the things he had to do...

...all the people he had to kill.

 

*****

 

What happens next? Find out in
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About the Author

Robert T. Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. DC Comics, Simon & Schuster, and DAW have published his work. According to Hugo and Nebula Award winner Mike Resnick, Robert "is a towering talent." Robert was nominated for the British Fantasy Award for his story, "Fear of Rain." His young adult urban fantasy novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, is now available from Clarion Books/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and
was named one of
Booklist
's Top Ten First Novels for Youth.

 

*****

 

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Fantasy

6 Fantasy Stories

6 More Fantasy Stories