The Drowning (26 page)

Through stinging eyes I can see there are three doorways ahead. One in front, and one on either side. I haven’t got time to check them all. The air finally finds its escape, bursting out of my mouth, filling the water with bubbles. I put my hand out to try and catch them and then I watch them dance away, and it’s almost like they’ve got nothing to do with me. This body isn’t mine anymore. I’m watching, just watching.

All I need to do is take a deep breath in and it will all be over. I’m scared, but not for myself. It’s all about Neisha.

I’m suspended in the water. I’m empty and soon I’ll be full. Isn’t my life supposed to flash before me now? It doesn’t. I don’t see anything. I just feel sorry. I let her down. I failed her. Again.

Suddenly to my left, there’s movement. Something dark coming toward me in the water. Hands out in front, feet kicking behind, long hair swaying like seaweed around her face. Neisha?

It is her! She’s moving fast. She smiles and slips past me, easing her way back along the hallway and then up and up into the stairwell. I twist in the water and follow. My head hits the ceiling before I break the surface. I turn my face sideways and my mouth finds the tiny layer of air still left. An inch. No more. I’m almost kissing the plaster, but I’m breathing. For now, I’m breathing.

I turn my head to find Neisha. She’s under the surface, treading water. I don’t understand why she isn’t gasping for air like me. She smiles again and turns away, swimming against the flow.

The window in the back bedroom is gone, blown inward by the torrent of water. It’s still pouring in, but the current isn’t as strong anymore. Neisha swims through. I’m right behind her. We’re out.

We’re swimming toward the light, and this time as I surface, there’s bright sky above me. There’s a break in the clouds and the sun’s shining on the water. The contrast is too much. For a moment I’m blinded.

I shield my eyes and look for Neisha. I bob along like a cork, twisting around to try and spot her. She must be close — she
was right in front of me, after all. Where is she? We’re behind the row of houses and we’re part of the swollen, flooded river, being carried downstream. Except it’s not “we” — I’m on my own. I can’t see Neisha anywhere.

There are shouts from the edge of the water, twenty yards away. I look up. People are pointing at me and waving.

And then I hear her.

“I love you, Carl.”

Her voice is close. I swivel around, but I can’t see her.

“Neisha? Neisha!”

“I forgive you. I love you. Good-bye.”

I feel her breath in my ear, smell a whiff of honey and vanilla. And then it’s gone.

My brain’s working so slowly. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe I’m waterlogged.

Since when did she learn to swim like that? Why wasn’t she gulping for air back in the house?

Because that wasn’t Neisha.

It was part of her — the part released from her body when it died.

Because she drowned in the house, in that room downstairs.

“No! No, no, please God, no!”

There’s no point looking for her here, in this fat, swollen sea of water, snaking its way through the rooftops. She’s gone.

Rob won. I wouldn’t bring her to the water, so he brought the water to her.

I look behind me. I’m about thirty feet past the end of the row and moving farther away. My body’s low in the water,
dragged down by my clothes. Maybe I should let the water take me. What’s the point of carrying on? I’ve lost my brother. I’ve lost my girl. I had hardly anything in my life and now there’s nothing left.

The water tugs at me, pulling me down. My mouth dips under the surface, then my nose. It would be so easy to let go now, to let this happen. And why wouldn’t I?

As my ears go under, I hear another voice. Not words this time, a low, grating laugh. Rob. He’s not urging me on anymore. He’s not threatening. He doesn’t need to. It’s over.

I wasn’t smart enough, or quick enough, or strong enough to save her.

She got what she deserved.

He’s gloating. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see his face again. I don’t want to see anything.

Something lands in the water, splashing the top of my face. I push down with my hands to peek above the surface. A large orange plastic ring is floating a couple of feet away from me.

“Grab it. Grab it, son!”

There are people screaming at me. They’ve thrown me a life preserver. Instinct kicks in and I thrash my legs and reach forward. I manage to grab one side.

“Get your arms through and we’ll pull you in!”

I duck under and come up inside the ring. There’s a cheer as I ease my head and shoulders in and rest my elbows on either side of me. The river pulls against me, but I’m not moving anymore. The ring is attached to a rope and now people are starting
to pull me upstream. I’m getting closer to the row of terraced houses, and as I draw level with the end one, I think of Neisha’s body, trapped somewhere inside, at the mercy of the freezing water, and I can’t bear it.

I let her down, but I can do one last thing for her. I’ll bring her out.

Still propped up, I wriggle out of my jeans. I cross my arms over my body and hold my polo shirt on either side. Then I lift my arms above my head, peel the shirt off, and slip out of the ring, back down into the water.

O
ut of the ring, I’m battling against the current. I front-crawl my way toward the houses, but it’s a struggle even without waterlogged clothes. My plan is to swim to the house and duck under the water near the broken window, but I’m so tired. The worst thing is, I can’t work out exactly where Neisha’s house is. The water is just below the roofs. Then I realize that you can tell where one house joins onto the next, where the drainpipe joins the gutter. Neisha’s house should be three from the end. I plow upstream toward it.

I swim up to the building, hold on to some guttering, and take a few moments to get myself together. The plastic I’m gripping bends and strains. From across the water, people are shouting. Someone let out a wail of anguish when I left the life-saving ring. Now they’re yelling at me to stay where I am, hold on until a boat can reach me.

If I can get Neisha out, I’ll get her body onto the roof, rather than try to swim anywhere with it.
When
, not if. I’m going to do it. I owe her.

I take a quick look around. The sunlight is still hitting the water. I can feel its warmth on my shoulders and just for a moment I’m back with Neisha at the playground, and
she’s kissing me, and the warmth from her skin and the warmth from the sun are part of the same thing. She holds me, wraps her arms and legs around me, makes me topple over, makes me laugh.

I’ll never have that again.

The shock of realization is like the stab of a blade. It cuts me in two, skewers me, takes my breath away. But I need my breath. I need it one last time — to go and fetch her. She can’t hold me again, but I can hold her.

I wonder if the water’s stopped rising now that the rain has stopped. How long will it take to sink back down, for the world to be back to how it should be? I wonder if I’ll see it, and I realize I don’t care either way. The world will never be back to how it should be. Neisha’s dead. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Come on. Do it. Do it now.

I push my diaphragm down into my guts, force my ribs out and up, and suck air smoothly into my lungs. It might be my last breath. So be it.

I sink into the water, using my hands against the brick to guide myself to her bedroom window. I grip the frame on either side and brace against it, propelling myself in. Panic flutters in my stomach as I think about how far I’ve got to swim, how far down I’ve got to go. The farther I get from the window, the worse it gets. There’s no surface here, only water above and below and around me. I feel its weight, feel the pressure of the walls and ceiling. But I can’t let that stop me. I’ve got to keep calm. I’ve got to focus on swimming, nothing else.

I’m through her room and out into the landing. Now down.
I squeeze my fingers together and scoop the water, pushing it behind me, pulling myself forward. I kick my legs breaststroke-style as I dive down, down, down, past the banisters and the pictures that still cling crazily to the wall. I sweep debris aside: pages from magazines, little wicker baskets, birthday cards, paperback books. The stuff that made this house a proper home, the normal things that people take for granted. I bat them out of the way and swim down the hall.

It’s quiet here. The only noise comes from me — the busy, rippling, chuckling sound of air escaping from my mouth. The pressure’s building inside me. I clamp my lips shut and it’s eerily quiet again. I’m close to the doorway, the one I saw Neisha swim out of. I’m scared, but I want to see her again. I want that more than anything in the world.

I kick my legs again, and I’m in. It is — was — a dining room. A table’s floating madly on its side somewhere near the ceiling. China plates and cups lie shattered on the floor.

There are two bodies in the room.

They hang vertically in the water, like a pair of broken puppets.

One dark. One pale.

Neisha is wearing her jeans and hoodie, heavy clothes, the clothes that helped to kill her. Her hair dances around her head like a black halo. Her eyes and mouth are open. She looks surprised. No. Terrified.

The body next to her has its back to me — head down, arms by its sides, naked apart from some boxers. Pale flesh, streaked with mud.

Neisha sways gently to the rhythm of the water, trapped in a silent disco. But it’s not silent here. There’s a voice, filling the room, the house, my head.

I knew you’d come.

Slowly, the second body starts to move, hands jerking upward, body twisting around, and, finally, the face turns toward me. His eyes are black holes of pain, his mouth a dark slash across his face, stretched in a hideous smile.

I scream, the noise distorted by the water, bubbles bursting out of me, filling the space around my head.

Rob’s mouth opens wider and he tips his head back and laughs.

And now, as the last bubble of air leaves me, I finally get it. I thought he wanted to kill Neisha. He was threatening me to get to her. But that was only half the game. He wanted me, too. All along, he knew he was going to kill me.

My stomach contracts. I’m empty.

He’s watching me, savoring my last moments.

I need to finish the job.

He’s done it. The job’s finished. I stare at his face, waiting for him to disappear, for this all to be over. His eyes aren’t black anymore, they’re burning with a strange cold light that’s almost too bright to look at. But I can’t look away.

So this is how it ends. Me and him. It was always me and him. Him and me. Rob and Carl.

Until Neisha. She changed everything.

He’s making me forget about Neisha.

I don’t want to die looking at him.

I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.

I came here to fetch her. That’s why I’m here; it’s flooding back to me now. I’m not dead yet, and I can still do this last thing for her.

I want to breathe in, but I’m not going to. I bite hard, clenching my jaw shut, tensing every muscle in my face. I’m not going to breathe in.

The French doors are open, the catch broken by the force of the water. I can just make out the outline of a brick barbecue, the squares of patio tiles. And beyond, a thin strand of light filtering down, with the promise of air and sun.

I launch myself at Neisha, locking my arms under hers, pulling her toward the opening. I’m down to my last ounce of strength, but I’m going to use it to bust us out of here.

Rob roars in my ears.

It’s over! It’s over, Cee!

He darts in front of me, swirling around and around, screaming on the inside of my skull.

But he can’t stop me. It’s over, he’s won, but it’s going to be over the way I choose.

We’re through the French doors. I can’t kick my legs anymore. There’s no oxygen in my body — it’s all used up. All I can do is hold on to her.

It’s me and her. Neisha and me. And it’s not an unhappy ending after all. We’re together — floating, twisting, twirling together — and eventually we’ll find the surface, and the sun will touch our faces again, breathe on our skin, kiss us one last time.