He imagined he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face – for he could see it glinting off the water, almost blinding him. It was hard to get back into the boat, almost impossible to try and drag himself up and into it, but somehow he managed, kicking with all his might until he flopped – soaked and breathless – into the bottom of it.
‘Are you alone?’
A sour panic gripped him. Suddenly he didn’t want to sit up in the boat. He didn’t want to reach for the sides, to pull himself up – but he found he was already doing it. Already squinting against the sunlight to look towards the shore—
‘Yes,’ he said, relief threading through his voice as he stared back at the empty shoreline. ‘I’m alone.’
Not even the ducks had been at the water’s edge that day – and everything around him was eerily quiet, as though he were still underwater. As though everything was distant, and muffled.
‘I can see the house.’ He could see how the wisteria was still shedding – casting a blanket of purple petals beneath the windows, the doors.
‘Is it your house, Damien? Do you live there with your family?’
His mind skirted it, like a horse shying from a shadow. ‘I’m alone,’ he said – though this time he was less sure, and he could hear how his voice shook.
‘You’re alone?’
‘I was alone,’ he repeated. ‘On the lake.’
And then his gaze tracked back to the door of the house, watching how it yawned open on its hinges, and suddenly he wanted to be back in the water. Back in the place where there was no sound but the rushing in his ears – nothing to see but the blueish light above him.
‘I don’t want to do this any longer,’ Damien murmured.
He couldn’t feel the sun’s warmth upon his face anymore, but nor could he feel the solidity of the chair beneath him. He felt as though he was getting pitched and tossed, back and forth, his stomach roiling as he heard footsteps running towards the shore. As he heard someone shout for him – the sounds muffled, as though he were still underwater. And then he heard something else – another voice. His father’s voice, the way he bit the words through his lips.
It’s your fault.
Your fault.
‘What’s your fault, Damien?’ Ava asked. ‘What can you see?’
He scrunched his eyes shut, until all he could see was darkness. Until it could surround him, envelop him.
‘Nothing,’ he heard himself say. ‘Make it go away.’
He could feel himself straining with the effort to keep his eyes shut, could feel every muscle in his body tense as he fought to keep the darkness around him. For he was safe in the darkness. He belonged in the darkness.
‘Just tell me what you see.’
‘No,’ Damien murmured. ‘Please.’
‘Damien.’ Ava’s voice was still soft, still soothing. ‘You’re safe and well.’
‘Make it go away.’
She began to count him back – and each number was a pull, drawing him closer, as though she had thrown a rope into the roiling, black depths and dragged him forth. Each number was a thread of relief.
‘Three.’
He couldn’t stop himself. He opened his eyes, and watched again as the wisteria moved. As the door yawned open, and now he was further away, he could not see what lay beyond. Only that there was a light there.
Flickering.
‘Two.’ A figure in the doorway. A shadow upon the step, mouth open, calling—
‘One.’
Damien’s eyes flew open, and Ava barely had time to jerk back before he pushed past her, running for the door.
