Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

Gary walked in. ‘I knew I’d find her here,’ he said to the bartender.

‘Because I texted him where I was,’ said Ren.

‘On the road to hell,’ said the bartender, handing a beer to another customer.

Ren laughed. Gary sat down beside her. ‘Did you make a new friend?’

‘Every stop I take,’ said Ren. She checked the time on her phone. ‘I’m going to run to the ladies. Or maybe walk casually.’

‘Vodka cranberry?’ said Gary.

‘Yes, please.’

As Ren reached the door to the ladies’ room, Sylvie was coming out. Her eyes were red.

‘Oh,’ they both said at the same time.

‘You’re still here,’ said Ren. ‘Are you OK?’

Sylvie nodded. ‘Yes.’ She tilted her head back. ‘Well...’ She tried to smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘Is it...’

Sylvie let out a breath. ‘It is.’

Fuck. You are hurting. And I am judging.

Sylvie tried to smile. ‘Mistresses don’t have horns, you know.’

Their boyfriends, however...

‘I know you look at me and you don’t like me,’ said Sylvie.

I’m not sure that’s what it is, actually...

‘I’m your worst nightmare,’ said Sylvie. ‘You think women like me let other women down. And here’s the thing: I agree. Or, at least, I used to.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘You’ve never had an affair with a married man,’ said Sylvie, ‘am I right?’

Ren nodded.

‘Because you’ve never met one who blew your mind,’ said Sylvie. ‘It could be as simple as that. I’m bright, I’m strong, my self-esteem is not exactly in the toilet. I’m a psychologist, for Christ’s sake. Sometimes, I have no idea who this person is when I look in the mirror... except someone who is in love with Gary Dettling. I honestly don’t know how this happened. Have you ever fallen for someone who just takes your breath away, it makes no sense, there’s no logic, it goes beyond your beliefs, your expectations, your principles?’

I’m not sure. Jesus. I’ve been that in love... haven’t I? Maybe not. I don’t know.

Sylvie was still talking. ‘Your head is the same logical place it always has been and your heart is like something from the greatest romantic movie of all time – the type of movie you never got, where you’re watching and you’re like “There’s no way anyone would do that or say that or feel that strongly or...” And that logical mind of yours becomes this battleground, because, when I’m not with him, I think: what the hell am I doing? And when I’m with him, or talking to him, or hearing from him, the whole world is right.’

It can’t be!

‘Is it worth it?’ said Ren. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ said Sylvie. ‘Can you believe that? I don’t even think I can...’

Ren smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Sylvie – I haven’t been very kind to you. It’s—’

‘I understand, OK? I do.’

‘But, maybe you’re right – maybe I’ve never had that kind of loss-of-logic love before. Well, not with someone unattainable.’ But, then, I’ve never had logic to begin with. And, shit – that was terrible: unattainable? Maybe Gary is attainable. What do I know?

‘Just – I think you deserve more,’ said Ren. ‘Every woman does.’ His wife does too.

‘I never thought getting this little from a man could feel like so much,’ said Sylvie.

Oh dear God... you said that out loud. To me. And I hope you say it out loud to yourself later and hear how depressing it is.

I’m such a judgey asshole.

Ren hovered in front of Sylvie, then reached out, touched her forearm. ‘I’m sorry for being... not exactly friendly. Please... just look after yourself.’ Because whatever happens, I think Gary will be just fine.

‘Thanks,’ said Sylvie. ‘You too.’ She paused. ‘I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you, Ren. I... can’t imagine. I think you’re very strong.’

‘God,’ said Ren, ‘I’m so not. But, thank you.’

They hugged.

Well, well, well...

Jimmy Lyle had left Tate behind, left DEAD TO ME in his wake. He felt free, untethered. He was who he was meant to be. He had a stolen laptop, a burner phone, he had a new wig, he wore clothes that were two sizes too big, clothes, again, that were for women.

He sat back on the motel bed with his laptop. He checked his messages. The only name he wanted to see now was the newest one: BoyUndr15. He had screen-grabbed some of their earliest exchanges. Every time he read them, he got hard.

The first one had blown his mind.

Rapid01: hw undr15 r u??

BoyUndr15: :-) im xctly 15...

Rapid01: ok good... y ‘undr’??

BoyUndr15: undr

…

…

… watr

Jimmy’s heart pounded now, as it had pounded then.

Rapid01: y undr watr?

BoyUndr15: cuz...

Rapid01: cuz...??

BoyUndr15: its where i wnt 2 go

Rapid01: y??

BoyUndr15: its where i wnt 2 go... in the end

Instantly hard. It was the same now. He started pulling at his dick. He remembered how desperately he needed to know what the boy meant, was it what he hoped.

Rapid01: the end of??

The wait had almost killed him. He felt a head rush, like white noise. He had been rooted to the spot, his eyes transfixed by the screen. Then the words appeared.

BoyUndr15: cuz... life sux

BoyUndr15 had signed off, then, and Jimmy had nearly passed out. He imagined the pain of never hearing from him again. But BoyUndr15 came back, and was back almost every day since.

The last message Jimmy had sent BoyUndr15 was two hours before he checked into the motel. He described exactly what he wanted to do to him. He ended it with:

i wnt to take the pain away

let me take ur pain away

His screen lit up with a reply.

BoyUndr15: OK

Jimmy’s heart was bursting.

One hour later, BoyUndr15 sent another message.

Jimmy could barely breathe. He pushed his dress up around his waist, ran to the tall narrow mirror against the wall, trying to pull down his pantyhose as he went. But he fell to his knees first, yanked them down his thighs, scratching his thighs as he did it. He pulled the belt from his dress, wrapped it tight around his neck.

He had never gotten so hard, so quickly... all because of words and the beautiful images they conjured. He stared at the words as they glowed in the mirror’s reflection. He was glowing too, his eyes fixed on the dwindling o’s. The smartness of this boy. He was only fifteen, but he was like... he was... he was... he was his soulmate.

BoyUndr15, I love you.

I love you to death.

To death.

Not back again.

Ren sat in the office of Dr Leonard Lone, watching how the icy gray sky over Denver was draining the life from the painting that hung behind his desk.

Aren’t there guidelines for psychiatrist office art? Couldn’t the wrong image push someone over the edge? Especially when forced to view it while trying to avoid eye contact?

‘Why did you move your desk?’ said Ren.

‘I wanted to have the window to my right, to have the light come in that way,’ said Lone.

But I loved staring out the window behind you. I don’t like your painting. You’re waiting for me to answer your question – I know.

‘It did feel good, yes,’ said Ren.

‘Because you’re used to Gary berating you at the end of an investigation...’

‘Going nuts,’ said Ren. She smiled. ‘Berating sounds very... civilized.’