Deep Water

by Mark Ayre

  Abbie was strong, Charlie scrawny, almost weightless. He came easy. One second he was on his back in the sand; the next, his toes were off the ground.

  “Did you know what was going to happen?” Abbie repeated. “Did you?”

  Tears made Charlie’s eyes glisten. They bought him no sympathy. Abbie shook the teen, and he moaned but said nothing.

  “Answer me,” she said.

  Something smacked her back. When she turned, she saw Jacob a couple paces back. Fists clenched, eyes wet but blazing with anger and shame.

  “Let him go,” he said. “Put him down now.”

  Abbie watched the boy. His fists were still up, his body trembled. In that anger, she saw herself. After Harry and his friends had raped her, Abbie had been a ball of self-loathing and rage. It was lucky her mother had blamed her for what happened. That gave Abbie somewhere to direct her fury. Who knew what she might have done otherwise.

  Jacob didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Abbie saw he was serious and nodded. Opening her hands, she let Charlie collapse to the sand with an oof.

  “Everything you’re feeling right now,” she said to Jacob. “It’s understandable. It’s okay.”

  “Don’t talk to me,” he said. “Who are you to say how I’m feeling? You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”

  Somehow the boy’s anger, the confrontation, helped calm Abbie. His furious eyes burned through the memories of Harry and distracted from thoughts of Bobby.

  “I know a lot of things,” said Abbie. “Got a good head for figures, and I can name pretty much every Sherlock Holmes story and novel. Of course, if you meant to say, You don’t know anything about nanotechnology, that’s much closer to the mark. It has to do with something tiny, right?”

  For a second, Jacob was stumped. Then rage overcame his need to understand Abbie’s nonsense.

  “Who are you?” he said again. But not in the way one who wants to get to know someone asks, Who are you? He was saying it to make a point. Despite knowing that point, Abbie decided to take the question at face value.

  “My name’s Abbie.”

  “Nah,” he said.

  “No? Oh, maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re nobody,” said Jacob.

  There it was. Abbie kept quiet, for once. The boy probably thought his expression showed nothing but powerful rage. In fact, Abbie could see only confused, miserable pain. She wished she could make it go away. No one deserved to feel like that.

  “You think you saved me?” the boy went on. “Nah, you did nothing but put yourself in the middle of something that don’t concern you.”

  “I have a habit of that,” said Abbie.

  “I don’t owe you anything,” said Jacob.

  “Never said you did.”

  “You’ve no idea who my family are.”

  “Quite right. Unless… you’re not a Kennedy, are you?”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t going quite right. Jacob was trying to scare Abbie or make her feel shitty because he felt shitty. Her sarcasm indicated it wasn’t working and that only served to further frustrate him. Frustration wasn’t Abbie’s intention, but he wanted a fight, not placation. Abbie needed to push the right buttons.

  “You ain’t a hero,” he said. “I’m not going to thank you. Just leave me alone.”

  He turned from her to Charlie, who still lay in the sand. He approached and stood over the other teen. Stared at Charlie’s cheek because Charlie wouldn’t look at Jacob.

  He spat in Charlie’s face.

  “I won’t tell my father about you,” said Jacob. “I want to deal with you myself.”

  Raising a foot, he stamped on Charlie’s face. Giving a cry, Charlie started to roll. Jacob stamped on his shoulder. As Charlie fell on his front, Jacob raised his foot a third time.

  Abbie caught the angry teen’s arm and dragged him from the whimpering mess in the sand.

  “That’s enough,” she said.

  “Don’t touch me,” said Jacob. “Get off.”

  Abbie didn’t.

  “You hit him,” said Jacob. “Picked him up and shook him. Looked like you were going to beat the crap out of him, so what gives?”

  “I was angry,” said Abbie. “Overcome by a moment of furious madness. You brought me to my senses, for which I’m grateful. Now, I’m returning the favour. Step back, take a breath, leave Charlie alone. He’s not worth it”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” said Jacob. With utter disdain, he looked at her hand, still on his arm. “Get off me.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But if you try attack Charlie, I’ll stop you.”

  Jacob sneered. It was an ‘I’d like to see you try’ sneer.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what I did to Gray, Ana and their cameraman back in that little cave. You really want to fight me on this?”

  Jacob didn’t. A torch of reason pierced the fog of anger. He knew, if he tried to attack Charlie, Abbie would stop him. In a fight with the older woman, he stood no chance of victory.

  Like with Ellie and Francine, Jacob needed an excuse. Something that extradited him from the situation without a further shot to his pride. It was more important to Jacob than it had been to the women in the cave. Ana had broken him. He knew what he had been about to do with Gray. Abbie had saved him.

  For Jacob, that was almost the worst part. That it was a woman who broke him and a woman who saved him.

  Looking at Charlie, Abbie said, “Disappear.”

  Charlie looked at her. “What?”

  “Go. Leave. Depart. How much clearer do you need me to be?”

  Charlie began to rise.

  “No,” said Jacob. “I’m not done with him.”

  Abbie hadn’t released Jacob’s arm. The teen could have yanked in an attempt to free himself and gone after Charlie while Abbie stumbled. That he only wriggled a little, and in none too convincing fashion, indicated Abbie had been correct. He was afraid to go against Abbie. Charlie leaving solved his problem.

  By now, Charlie was on his feet. He looked at Jacob for the first time. Opened his mouth, and Abbie saw the word on his lips.

  “Your apologies will mean nothing,” she said. “Go home. Think about the kind of person you’ve proven yourself to be today. I don’t think you’ll like it, but only through acceptance of who we are can we become something better.”

  Charlie was still staring. He looked at Abbie as though she might have more.

  “That’s it. I’m all out of fortune cookie wisdom,” she said. “Last chance to leave. I can’t hold him much longer.”

  With the pitiful effort Jacob was putting into trying to escape, Abbie could have held him another decade. Charlie couldn’t tell or chose not to see it. Turning, he fled up the beach, towards the nearest set of stone steps.

  When he had halved the distance between them and the steps, Abbie released Jacob. He hadn’t been expecting freedom. After stumbling, he rounded on Abbie.

  “You should have let me have him,” he said. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Haven’t we done this bit?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right; we have. And I’m done with you. Better hope I don’t see you again.”

  He turned. Abbie looked towards the cave; saw movement. Maybe Ana was still coming around. Perhaps she was dead, and the police were on their way. Perhaps everyone was okay, and the gang was preparing to charge Abbie.

  Didn’t matter.

  “You sure you want to walk off on your own?” said Abbie.

  When Jacob turned back, Abbie nodded towards the cave, towards Ana and her entourage.

  “Ana might be alright. If she is, she might come after me. It’s just as likely she’ll come after you. What happens if they catch you before you get where you’re going?”

  Jacob wanted to hit Abbie with an immediate, fearless retort. Couldn’t help himself spinning back, examining the cave, nor keep the shiver off his shoulders as he imagined Ana catching him.r />
  “I hope she comes for me,” he said. He was a worse liar than Ellie. “They got Charlie to bring me here before. Surprised me. Won’t happen again. Next time I’ll—“

  “You’ll what?” said Abbie. Her face was flat. She pitied the boy but didn’t show it. “I’d be happy to walk you home.”

  She didn’t expect Jacob to accept her offer, graciously or otherwise, but had to ask. It was unlikely Ana would come for Jacob again tonight. Clearly, there was friction between the pair. Abbie feared for the boy—wished there was a way she could convince him to accept her as a temporary escort.

  “I don’t need some bitch babysitting me,” said Jacob. “Just piss off, alright?”

  Abbie shrugged. Jacob turned away.

  “You don’t have to feel guilty for what happened this morning,” said Abbie. “For what you almost did. Don’t have to hate yourself either.”

  He froze. Didn’t look back. Abbie could only imagine the hateful visage into which he was twisting his face.

  “Only people I hate is Ana, her cronies, her family,” Jacob said.

  “You should hate only them,” said Abbie. “But you won’t. For some time, you’ll be awash with self-loathing. All I can say is: I promise that phase will pass.”

  “You’re talking crazy,” said Jacob. “I’ll never hate myself.”

  “You will,” said Abbie. “I know. I remember.”

  “You…” He stopped as her words slotted into place. As her implication became clear. He didn’t know what to do with her confession. That was okay.

  “You ever want to talk,” said Abbie. “I’d be happy to listen.”

  As expected, Jacob lashed out with venom.

  “Why would I want to talk to a pathetic victim like you?”

  “Hollow words,” said Abbie. “I may have suffered, but I’ve proven tonight I’m no victim. Also, I kick ass. I think you noticed. Still no good with nanotech, though.”

  From her pocket, Abbie drew a slip of paper on which she had written her latest number. Approaching Jacob, she pressed the slip into his hand. She was trying not to remember Michael, the last teenager with whom she had shared her number, three weeks ago. He had taken her up on the offer to talk. If he had never called, would it all have gone so wrong?

  She couldn’t let that put her off now.

  “Anger will only get you so far,” she said to Jacob, knowing he was not ready to hear this now, hoping he would keep it in the back of his mind for when it became useful.

  “I’m not pathetic,” he said. “Don’t expect a call.”

  “I won’t,” said Abbie, noting the way he scrunched up the number and shoved it in his pocket, rather than discarding it onto the beach where the wind could toss it into the sea. Perhaps he hated littering.

  “Sure I can’t walk you home?” she asked.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  “That’s a firm no, then, is it?”

  Jacob didn’t think this required an answer. Fair enough.

  “You’ll never see me again,” Abbie confirmed.

  “Good.”

  Without another word, he stomped away, following the path already trodden by Charlie. Abbie watched him reach the stone steps and disappear into the darkness. She waited until he was gone.

  Then followed.

  Four

  Unknowingly, Jacob led Abbie through winding streets, past darkened windows, over cobbled stones.

  He was agitated. His head swivelled this way and that. If the sun had been up, he would have jumped at the shadows. Instead, he flinched at every little noise and screamed when the wind blew a leaf into his hair.

  Abbie remembered the days after Harry and his friends had drugged and raped her. Most her time she'd spent in bed, trembling, trying and failing to sleep, blurred memories tormenting her damaged mind.

  Having been arrested after he brutalised and permanently disabled Harry, Paul, Abbie’s brother, was out the way. The most powerful family in town bore his loved ones a grudge. For some weeks, Abbie had spent her limited time outside walking like Jacob was now walking. Agitated, afraid, jumping at the slightest sound, rushing on at the sight of people. Refusing to meet anybody's eye.

  Jacob feared brutal reprisal by Ana and her pals as Abbie had from Harry's father, Ian, and his hired muscle. Despite the nervousness, the fact he was on high alert, Jacob was rubbish at spotting anything that mattered. Consequently, Abbie had no trouble following him for twenty minutes between the beach's stone steps and the iron gate of what was presumably Jacob's family home.

  At the gate, Jacob stopped a final time. He looked left, right, behind. Abbie was across the street, pressed against one of his neighbours' hedges. Jacob's eyes raced over her but didn't stop, didn't return. Once again, he had failed to spot her, and with his search complete, he opened the creaking iron gate, stepped between two high hedges, and disappeared down a paved path.

  Abbie watched him disappear, then left the cover of the hedge against which she had hidden. Crossing the road, she came to the outskirts of Jacob's home, stopped to one side of the gate.

  Jacob's home was detached and sizeable. Six bedrooms, at a guess. Abbie remembered the way Jacob had referenced his father. His tone had indicated a wealthy background. It was always good to be proven right.

  From her position, Abbie tracked Jacob's progress up the path by the sound of his feet. After thirty seconds, Abbie heard the jingle of keys then the scrape of the lock. Another pause. Jacob taking one last look back, still partially sure Ana would appear from the darkness to seize and spirit him away.

  Ana didn't materialise. No evil garden gnomes attacked. Abbie imagined Jacob releasing a long breath; she heard him open the door, step inside.

  As the door closed, Abbie left the hedge and stood behind the gate, peering along the path Jacob had walked. A downstairs room lit up. Jacob's silhouette appeared behind a closed blind. His positioning indicated he was by a sink. Abbie imagined a running tap, the sound of a filling glass.

  Jacob was safe. Abbie didn't leave.

  Though he had seemed a thoroughly unpleasant teenager, Abbie's heart ached with worry for Jacob. It was not so much fear that Ana might return to finish what she had started, but that he might struggle to cope with what had happened tonight.

  Yes, Jacob had escaped performing sexual acts on Gray while a camera recorded his rape. But he would have fulfilled Ana's request had Abbie not arrived. That capitulation would haunt Jacob. In his nightmares, Abbie would not save him. Night after night, he would perform for Gray and Ana.

  And who would support him through his grief? The single mention of Jacob's father indicated to Abbie that he was not the kind of man Jacob could confide in. Was there a mother? Would it make a difference if there was? Abbie’s father had walked out when Abbie had relayed the story of her rape. Her mother had slapped her, called her a slut. How easy it was for these things to spiral out of control.

  Jacob left the sink, and Abbie shook off her reverie. She knew she was projecting. Obsession was a virulent, infectious disease. Abbie was in danger of succumbing if she could not put to one side her teenage trauma. This was Bobby's fault. The fault of the last town she had visited. For years before her mission to save Eddie, the previous subject of her prophetic dreams, she had been a robot. Emotion hadn't entered the equation. Now her messed up past seemed to reside at the forefront of her mind, tucked in a corner but ready to spring out at the slightest provocation.

  Jacob was safe. It had been wrong to follow him, but what was done was done. It was time to go.

  Before she departed, Abbie glanced left, glanced right. She was at the side of the house. It seemed the garden encircled the property, like a grass moat, but broader and with fewer crocodiles. The driveway must act as a permanently lowered drawbridge.

  During her single sweep of the visible segment of the garden, something caught Abbie's eye. A shift by a hedge. A slight movement. Jacob had checked his surroundings upon arriving at the gate and upon r
eaching his back door. Once again, he had missed the only thing of importance.

  Abbie didn't. Abbie rarely missed anything.

  More shifting. Then someone seemed to appear from a hedge.

  The way he appeared spoke volumes. Not smoothly but in a tangle of limbs and branches. Not on his feet but from his bum, brushing dirt from the seat of his jeans and picking leaves from his hair. The indication being he had fallen into rather than secreted himself within the bush.

  Jacob's arrival had been an unexpected surprise. Afraid of being caught, Bush Man had dived for cover in the nearest available spot and done a lousy job of it.

  No doubt, his aim had been to prevent Jacob from spotting him. From what Abbie had seen, Bush Man could have stood in plain sight. Jacob still wouldn't have noticed anything was amiss, and Bush Man wouldn’t need a new pair of trousers. Abbie would also have had to give him a different nickname.

  Inside, the kitchen light flicked off. Water in hand, Jacob was no doubt heading upstairs. Ten seconds later, Bush Man moved away from the bush into which he had fallen and crept across the grass, towards the door through which Jacob had disappeared.

  Glad of the distraction from Jacob's plight and her haunted memories, Abbie stepped a little to the side, ensuring she would not at once be spotted if Bush Man turned towards the gate and watched the sneaker cross the garden.

  As he snuck, Bush Man's hand went to his jacket. He felt for the outline of something then let his hand drop.

  In airports, people will often pat the pocket which contains their passport. A nervous habit to ensure it's still there. They'll do the same with their tickets in train stations and wallets in crowded high streets, especially in areas notorious for pick-pockets. Or if they've recently watched Oliver and have the Artful Dodger on the mind.

  Sneaking across someone's garden under cover of darkness, it was unlikely Bush Man was worried about his wallet or passport, and there was nothing for which he would need a ticket. It might have been a key. If so, it was one illegally cut or stolen from a homeowner. More likely than that: a weapon.

  If it was a weapon, Bush Man's nervous need to feel its outline indicated he was not a professional killer or burglar. Nor anyone used to carrying a gun or a knife. That he had panicked and fallen into a bush at the sight of a teenager supported this hypothesis.