That was wrong. There should not be rocks. He should be on the dock, cheek pressed to rough planks, splinters biting into his skin while people shouted his brother’s name and ran back and forth along the water’s edge.
Everyone except his mother. She should be standing over him, red-faced and shaking, screaming that it was his fault.
And it was. Even at nine he had been the older one. He should have known better.
He and Tommy had been playing on Uncle Roger’s boat, tied up at the end of the dock. They were soldiers, fighting the Germans. Scrambling on and off the deck, shoving and wrestling, taking turns. One of them pretended to drive. The other fired machine guns at enemies only they could see.
Everything had been fine. They were running for their escape after blowing up the enemy fort. Harry chased Tommy down the dock, laughing, feet slapping on sun-warmed planks. Tommy jumped for the boat and Harry jumped after him.
He missed.
His foot slid. The edge of the dock vanished above him as he went over the side.
He couldn’t swim. He’d never been comfortable in the water. Never learned. He broke the surface splashing and choking. Tommy reached over the side of the boat and stretched out an arm, fingers scrabbling for Harry’s hand. He was too small. Big for seven, strong and fast, but not big enough. He couldn’t reach.
Harry sank under. Hit the bottom hard and kicked. He broke the surface long enough to gasp. Tommy was there, arm stretched out, shouting something Harry couldn’t hear. Harry sank again. He pushed off the bottom and came up. Farther away this time. The boat sliding out of reach.
Tommy hit the water with a splash.
He was younger, but he’d always been the athletic one. The strong one. Harry had been bookish. Quiet. Tommy was loud and alive, always moving, always daring the world to keep up.
Harry sank again. He kicked and came up short of the surface, lungs burning, vision dimming. Tommy was there. Small hands caught the collar of his shirt and held on. Tommy kicked and hauled, dragging Harry to the boat inch by inch.
Harry found the edge and clung to it. He pulled while Tommy shoved from behind, all frantic strength and sharp breaths, until Harry tipped over the side and crashed onto the floorboards.
He lay there gasping, chest heaving, wood hard and wet under his cheek.
He lifted his head to thank Tommy.
He wasn’t there.
Harry lurched to the side of the boat and peered over, hands clawing at the gunwale, ready to grab him and pull him up.
He wasn’t there either.
They found Tommy three days later.
Now Harry was back in the water. It should have been him before. Maybe this time, if he stayed here, Tommy would be alright. Maybe his mother would be happy.
A voice called to him from far away. That was good. If someone was calling his name, that meant they were looking. If they were looking for him, Tommy must be safe.
Harry closed his eyes.
The rocks pressed into his chest and arms. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. He felt sick instead, a slow rolling nausea, his head spinning slightly. That felt right. He should feel sick for what he had done.
The current tugged at him, rocking him gently side to side, but he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, held down, weighted.
He slid his hands over his sides and chest. Metal. Cold and heavy. It felt like armor, maybe. Or his sins. He wasn’t sure there was a difference.
The voice kept calling, insistent. He wished it would stop. He was tired. He let the memory start again. This time he would reach the boat faster. He would be careful. He’d tell Tommy to stop running.
Maybe this time, everything would be alright.
Eventually, something grabbed his shoulder and shook, sharp and demanding. Enough to break the loop of memory. Harry turned his head.
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Through the light filtering down from the surface, he saw a woman. Pretty. Pale and drifting in the water above him.
An angel.
This was it. The angel of death had come to take him.
Good.
She looked younger than he expected. And she was naked, which struck him as odd.
She tugged at his arm and pointed upward, gesturing for him to follow. Harry stared at her without understanding. She planted her feet on the river bottom and pushed off hard, swimming toward the surface in a smooth, powerful stroke.
Harry felt a wash of sadness settle over him.
Even the angel of death was disappointed in him.
He watched her swim away. She broke the surface, vanished into the rippling light, and for a moment he thought she was gone.
He had just turned his attention away when she came back.
She dove hard and fast, closing the distance, stopping right in front of him. Close. He could see her clearly now. Familiar. She reached out, put a hand on each side of his head, and pulled herself in until they were eye to eye.
He knew her.
Jojo!
Everything snapped back into place. The river. The bridge. The fall.
Harry gasped.
Water rushed into his mouth and down his throat. His lungs locked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t cough. He couldn’t get it out.
Panic tore through him. He flailed, arms thrashing, hands clawing at the water and finding nothing. His chest burned. Every buried instinct screamed for air.
Jo backed away, eyes wide. She waited and watched, making calming motions without coming close. Finally she kicked hard for the surface.
Harry thrashed harder. His hands scraped against the rocks. He pushed against the bottom, trying to lift himself, but he could not get his arms under him. The water was in him, cold and wrong, filling places it should not.
The voice was still calling him. Nearer now. Louder.
Tommy?
:: System: HARRY!
Harry forced his thoughts tight, squeezed them down. He could see Jojo coming back, her shape cutting through the water toward him. He fought the urge to take a breath.
System? I hear you. What’s happening?
:: System: You fell off the bridge. You are in the water.
Jo was back at the bottom again. She swam toward him slowly, careful, watching his face. She pointed at him and back to herself, tugging at her clothes in an exaggerated motion. He could see now she wasn’t naked. She wore a thin cloth shirt and shorts, the fabric plastered to her.
He didn’t understand what she wanted. He shook his head.
System, am I drowning?
:: System: You are not drowning. You do not need to breathe.
:: [Respiration optional]
I don’t need to breathe? What…?
:: System: You’re a vampire Harry.
Oh right. Damn.
Harry slowly put a hand to his head and squeezed his temples. Through his fingers he could see Jo making the same gestures.
What is Jo doing?
:: System: I believe she wants you to remove your armor, but I recommend against that course of action.
What do I do?
:: System: Stand up and walk out. The armor will hold you down and make it easier.
Walk out?
:: System: Affirmative.
Just walk out?
:: System: Affirmative.
Harry tried to reach Jo over chat and got an error in return. Not in a party.
What happened to the chat?
:: System: You dropped from the group when you went unconscious.
Is everyone alright?
:: System: The others are nearby. You should be able to sense them. Jo’s presence is encouraging but I only know as much about the others as you do.
Harry lifted one arm and held his hand out, palm toward Jo. Trying to tell her to wait.
He pulled his legs under himself and rose unsteadily to his feet. The nausea hit hard and the dizziness followed. He slumped back down. Now he wanted to throw up and was still fighting the urge to breathe.
He fixed his eyes on the river bottom. Picked out one rock and locked onto it. He started naming the roster of the 1939 Yankees in his head. One by one. It helped. It was a trick he used to use when he and Martha… never mind that.
:: System: Alternatively, you could crawl out.
Harry looked at Jo. Pointed and jabbed in the direction he thought was right.
She nodded hard, pointing the same way before kicking off and heading back to the surface.
Harry reached forward with one hand. Drew one knee up under him.
He started to crawl.
***
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