The Drowning (16 page)

“I don’t know …” she says.

“Step on top of the taps, then pull yourself up.”

She checks back at me. I nod at her encouragingly, even though I’m not really sure if she can make it and I’m certain that I can’t. She puts one foot on top of the cold tap. Her foot must have moved it, because the dripping’s turned into a stream. Then I realize the other tap at this sink is going, too. And both of the ones at the second sink. I shiver.

“Go, Neisha! Go. Go now!”

The water isn’t draining away. It’s rising up the sides, and it’s brown. It fills my nostrils with the smell of decay. I turn the taps, all of them, but it doesn’t make any difference. The water’s still coming.

“Neisha, quickly!”

“I think I can do it,” she calls back, “but what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get out somewhere else.”

“I’m not going without you,” she says.

The brown water is up to the brim, spilling out onto the floor.

“You’ve got to. Your dad’ll go mental if they take you down to the cop shop, you know he will. You go, Neisha. Go now!”

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, but call me when you’re home, will you?”

“Yes, I’ll call you.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now please, please go!”

She gives a little jump and pulls her head and shoulders through the gap.

To my right, there’s a mechanical
thunk
, the groan of metal on metal and the sound of tumbling, swirling water. What’s happening?

Neisha’s still struggling to ease herself through the window. She hasn’t heard the noise, but my blood’s running cold.

She’s halfway out now, wriggling through the hole, and for a terrible moment I think she’s stuck. I can see her hands on the other side of the window, pressing against the frosted glass. And now her legs slither through and her feet disappear. There’s a thump and she gives a little cry.

I clamber up onto the sink and cram my face up to the window.

“Are you okay?”

She’s picking herself up off the ground.

“Yeah,” she says. “Can you get out?”

“I’ll be all right. Just get out of here, Neisha. Go. Now.”

Outside the air is cold and clean and dry. It’s starting to get dark. Behind me I hear pipes knocking and banging
from within the row of toilets, water cascading onto the floor. I’ve got the rank smell of it in my nose; it’s stinging my eyes.

I watch Neisha run out of the yard. Then I jump down from the sink. My feet splash in the brown water on the floor. It’s over the top of my shoes now. I take a couple of steps toward the toilets.

“Rob?” I call out. I could run out of here, run away again … but I’m dog-tired, the cold is sapping my strength, and, besides, I want to face him. I need to stop him, make him leave us alone.

I look along the row of closed doors. Water’s coming from underneath all of them. I walk up to the first one and push it gently. I hold my breath as the door moves under my fingers, swinging back on its hinges. The stall’s empty and I can see that the water is flowing in from the one next door.

I breathe out and step back again.

I steel my nerves to try the second door. Same thing.

I move back from the door and lean against the wall. Two doors left.

The knocking noise is louder. It’s coming from the stall at the end. I move to face the door. He’s in there. He must be.

There’s a gap between the bottom of the door and the surface of the water that’s coming out. Holding my breath, I crouch down and turn my head sideways to peer through. I wobble a little as I crane forward, and put my hand down to steady myself. The stinking brown water ripples against my fingers, and the cold is so intense it feels like the water is grabbing me, holding on, pulling me. I glance down, expecting to see the watery
fingers that were pressing on Neisha’s neck wrapping themselves around my wrist, digging in, tugging.

There’s a loud
bang
, the sound of splintering. The door bursts open and a wall of water comes toward me, a fountain of thick, frothing stuff pluming out of the toilet bowl and crashing onto the floor in a tidal wave of filth.

I’m screaming now as I rock back and slam into the wall behind me. The water hits me in the face, in my eyes, my nose, my mouth. My scream is extinguished, snuffed out as the water forces its way into my throat.

I’ve got to get out of here, get out now, or I’ll die.

Coughing and choking, I scrabble past the other stalls on my hands and knees. I don’t care anymore what my hands are touching, what my feet are wading through. I’ve just got to get out of here.

On my feet now, I blast through the door and hurtle down the corridor.

You fucking let her go.

Suddenly he’s in front of me, standing square in the middle of the corridor.

I skid to a halt.

You had my girlfriend, you killed me. You owe me!

I lurch around and head back the other way. Soon I’m at the steps, the flooded corridor where this all started. The water is covering the first step. The sprinklers are still going. I feel each drop as it hits my skin. The water by my feet slows me down. The water from above reminds me of that other time, the time in the lake.

The sky’s so dark above me. A curtain of rain surrounds me and now I can’t see. I twist and turn, but it’s the same in every direction. Water above me, around me, below me. It’s in my eyes, my ears, my mouth. It’s pushing out everything else. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t …

The water is flowing into my mouth. I swallow and taste mud. It churns in my stomach, writhing, trying to force its way back up again.

He’s here, standing a couple of feet away. He leans forward and foul stuff pours out of him, spilling into the water at my ankles, and I can feel it rising up inside me, too, the same cold, vile fluid. Every time I cough it brings it closer to my throat. I try to swallow, but my muscles spasm. I can’t control it.

Kill her. Bring her to the lake.

“No way, Rob You’ll have to kill me first.”

If that’s what you want …

The water’s inside me, I’m coughing and swallowing and it’s rising. I bend over, heaving and retching, then stand with my hands on my thighs, as the water from the sprinkler rains down on me.

“Go away. Leave me alone!” I gasp.

It’s your fault.

His face darkens, the gaping holes of his eyes and mouth and nose merging. The sirens are getting nearer. More than one — a string of them, speeding their way closer.

He’s moving toward me and I start stepping back. Is he going to kill me? Kill me here?

I want to run again, but I’m exhausted. I take a deep breath but it catches in my throat, and I’m coughing again.

He’s close to me now and the stench of decay is making me gag. I want to turn and run so badly. I make myself stand still.

“I didn’t mean to kill you. I was just getting you off her, that’s all. I never meant …”

It was your fault we were in the lake at all.

The sirens are next to the building now. Flashing lights turn the corridor into a crazy waterlogged disco.

“What?”

You told me to kill her. And kill her we will.

The urge to vomit again is getting stronger. The lights and the noise and the water and the smell are making me dizzy. And his words. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense …

“That’s not right. It can’t be. I wouldn’t … I didn’t …”

There are other lights now. Flashlight beams shining from the end of the hallway, dazzling me with their glare.

“Are you all right down there? Can you hear me?”

I look directly into the light, past Rob, through him, but I can’t make out the owner of the voice. I shield my eyes and when I look again, the flashlights have been directed to the floor and there are shadowy figures walking toward me — there one minute, gone the next, nearer each time the blue light flickers on from outside.

“Can you tell me where the fire is, son? Is it out?”

The bin’s tipped over on one side, lying in the water.

I can’t speak. I’m numb. It was my fault? I told him to do it?

It can’t be true. I can’t remember.

The lead fireman is nearly level with Rob now.

“Where’s the fire, son?” he says. “Where’s the fire?”

I don’t say anything. I’m watching Rob, as the guy steps through him without noticing a thing.

You. Told. Me. You. Dared. Me,
he whispers.

The fireman shouts behind him, “It’s okay. All out. Turn the sprinkler off.” And then he turns and puts his hand on my arm, and I let him lead me outside and turn me over to the police.

C
arl? Is that you? You sound funny.”

Neisha’s on the phone. The girl Rob said I wanted dead. The girl he said I dared him to kill. The light from the screen forms a bright square in the darkness of my room.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you okay? Did you get home okay?”

Her voice is low, almost a whisper. I picture her talking in the dark, in the midnight hush of her house.

“Look, I can’t talk right now.”

Not with this ball of guilt lodged in my throat. Not when I don’t know what to say to her, whether to tell her or to carry on with what could be a big, fat lie inside me. The lie that I’m her hero.

“Is there someone there?”

“No, it’s just …”

“Please, Carl, I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to you.”

She thinks she needs me, but who am I? The boy she thinks I am, or the one Rob says I am? I want it to be the one she believes in so much. But how can I just carry on as we were?

I crawl out of my pit and take the phone downstairs into the kitchen, away from the shared wall and the stereo snoring.

“I’m worried about you, Carl. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Got home via the cops.”

She gasps. “Did they — ? I mean, was it — ?”

“Nah, it was okay. They just questioned me and brought me back here. I’ve got to go back again in a few days’ time. They won’t do anything until after the funeral.”

“Are they going to charge you?”

“Depends. If I play the dead brother card, I might just get a warning.”

I can hear how cynical that sounds, but it’s true. It’s no worse than spinning your teacher a line about your grandma dying to explain the odd day ditching class. It’s better than that: At least it’s not a fib.

Neisha’s quiet for a little bit, then, “You didn’t mention me?”

“I didn’t say anything. Not a thing.”

“Thanks. My dad went nuts when I got home. You were right, he would have gone ballistic if the police had picked me up.”

“No need for both of us to get in trouble. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you’re safe, too. It got a little … crazy in there, didn’t it? Thanks for getting me out. You’re a gentleman. You know, you’re nothing like your brother. I was so busy dealing with him, coping with his moods, I didn’t really see past him. But you were always there for me, weren’t you, like you are now. When can I see you again?”

Right now?
No! Don’t, Carl. Don’t. I’m not who you think I am. Oh God, oh God.
I’m thinking this, but at the same time I’m blushing,
soaking up the warmth that she’s giving me, phone to phone, mouth to ear. Mouth. Her mouth. Oh God. This has to stop.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What?” Her voice is suddenly sharp.

“Seeing each other.”

“Why? Why would you say that?”

“I just … It’s just …” I’m flailing around, trying to find the right words. “… it doesn’t feel right. Not so soon.”

“That’s why it
is
right. We’ve been through so much together. I need you, Carl. Don’t cut me off. Not now.”

“But I don’t know who I am!”

“It’s okay, you’re just getting your memory back, and I’m just finding out all about you, too, but what I’m finding I love. I love —”

“Don’t. Don’t say stuff like that. What I’m saying, what I’m trying to say, is that you think I’m this sweet boy, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just like my brother.”

“No, Carl. You’ve always been in his shadow, but the real you is different. Trust me. I can see you for who you are. You’re kind, Carl. You’re sensitive.”

I wanna laugh now, laugh out loud, but I do my best to stifle it. I wish I could believe what she’s saying is true.

“You know earlier, at the school, you said you saw Rob …”

“I was just … confused, I dunno.”

“But you saw him, didn’t you? That’s what you said.”

No point denying it. “Yeah.”

“Because you feel guilty and you miss him?”

“Maybe. You don’t think I’m losing my marbles?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s your way of expressing your grief.”

I want to believe her, to be swept along by her, live in her world. It’s so hard living in mine.

“But he talks to me, Neisha.”

“What?”

“I can hear him as well as see him. I can smell him, too.”

Silence. Not a comfortable silence, a tense one. The atmosphere’s changed, just like that.

“Maybe you should tell someone. A doctor or someone.”

“I don’t want a doctor, Neisha. I don’t need one. He’s real. I swear he is.”