Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

‘Gary is civilized...’

‘No, you’re right – he is,’ said Ren. ‘I was kidding.’

‘Well, good job on all this,’ said Lone. ‘You didn’t go off on your own, you followed the rules.’

Griiiim.

Lone sat back, opened his arms in a generous gesture. ‘This was a case you didn’t take any risks on.’

‘Correct,’ said Ren. Correct.

Ren sat down that evening with her laptop and a glass of wine.

Still not getting Alice Veir helping John. All her talk of why she studied the law, how she wanted to make a difference. Is that it? Do we all just aspire to be one thing, the best person who ever lived, when really, as we move through life, we realize that all we can be is the best flawed human being under the circumstances. Alice Veir was so convincing in her belief in justice. Why would she throw it all away? Was there something in particular about Anthony Boyd Lorden? Was there a personal connection? Did she know him? Weren’t they around the same age?

Ren’s heart started to pound.

Her thoughts shifted to Alice Veir’s words about Anthony: ‘I’ve had my life. What has he had?’

I’ve had my life?

She’s forty-five years old. Isn’t she still having her life?

She thought about Alice Veir. She thought about Patti Ellis.

How could John Veir have gotten access to Patti Ellis’ medication? Oh my God. It wasn’t have gotten Patti Ellis’ fentanyl: it was Alice Veir’s. Alice Veir is sick. She must be terminal.

Ren pictured Anthony Boyd Lorden in the interrogation video: young, handsome, clean-cut. Then she pictured the police sketch in Emma Ridley’s file.

That’s why it was familiar: the photo of John Veir in the living room. At thirty years old, he looked a lot like Lorden at seventeen. And it was a pitch-dark night. Flawed eyewitness testimony.

‘You’d want a pretty tight relationship with a sibling – or anyone, for that matter – to be able to call them up and say ‘I killed my child, what do I do next?’

But it would be a whole hell of a lot easier if they owed you.

Kevin Dunne’s death was an accident.

And it was Alice Veir who hit him that night. Maybe she was drinking and she couldn’t throw her whole future away, everything she had worked for. She called her brother for help. And he came. And they let an innocent man go to jail.

Then Alice’s conscience kicks in when she knows she’s going to die. She wants to carry out an act of repentance.

But John calls her when he discovers what Caleb has done. He tells her his plan, reminds her of how he helped her out of a predicament when she was in law school – how his actions meant that she got a second chance too.

She tells him that was a very different situation. She tells him that was an accident. But he reminds her that yes, it was an accident that she knocked down and killed a boy called Kevin Dunne, but it was no accident to drive drunk or recklessly or whatever she did. It was no accident when she called her big brother to help her move the body, and to lie for her. It was no accident that she allowed a man to go to jail for twenty-one years until she found out she was sick, and wanted to do something good to redeem herself, wanted to set him free, so she could set herself free.

She thinks that he is making a fair point.

Ren called Emma Ridley and gave her the new information.

That night, Ren sat on her bed, holding her cell in her palm as if it was a fortune teller fish that would curl up at the edges and reveal her future. She started scrolling through her contacts.

She stopped at Joe Lucchesi.

Be brave.

She called his number.

He picked up on the second ring. ‘Hey!’

He sounds cheery. I wonder wh—

‘It’s great to hear your voice,’ said Joe. ‘Really great.’

Ren felt her heart jump. Oh, no. No. ‘Hey. It’s good to hear yours. How are you doing?’

‘Good, good,’ said Joe. ‘Are you home?’

Home... ‘Yes.’

‘How did it all go?’

Ren filled him in on the case.

‘Good for you guys,’ said Joe.

‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch in a while.’ I am falling for you, Joe Lucchesi. And it’s fucking unbearable.

‘It’s OK – you’ve been busy.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘Anyway – I better go. I’ve got some things to do...’

Silence.

Ugh.

‘Well, I better let you get back to it,’ said Joe.

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘Look after yourself. And... thanks for Denver. I had a great time.’

But I realize now: it isn’t what I thought it was. You’re not falling for him. You’re staggering out of some hellhole looking for purchase. Someone familiar. It felt intense because we were drunk and because we’re broken. I was confusing intensity with the need to attach to something.

‘Me too,’ said Joe. ‘I was thinking maybe—’

His voice was distant. She was already ending the call.

Jimmy Lyle walked the aisles of the department store. He stopped at swimwear. His heart pounded. He ran his fingers along the line of swim trunks on their little hangers. They weren’t organized by size, and it flooded him with anger.

He was looking for tags with the letter S. That was the size that interested him. He chose a plain yellow pair. He chose them because BoyUndr15 said that was his favorite color. And he chose them because of the days and nights he spent jerking off to the drowning boys and girls of Surf Rescue. And the lead actress in her yellow swimsuit. He loved her.

But he knew she didn’t care about him. She didn’t reply to any of his letters. The last one, the one he tried to hand-deliver, was taken from him before he even got a chance to get near her trailer. It didn’t matter how he explained it to the security guard, it didn’t matter how much he sobbed. He still remembered the cruelty of that man: ‘Dude, if she hasn’t replied to the first one hundred and twenty-seven letters, why do you think she’s going to reply to this one? What’s so special about one twenty-eight?’

‘Because there’s a gift in there with it,’ Jimmy had said. ‘It’s a package, can’t you see?’ And he knew that if she just watched the video that she would get it, that she would know. She would see how much she meant to him, she would see how everything he did was done while the show was reflected in his mirror. When she watched, she would be watching him watching her watching him.

His dick was hard by the time he reached the register. He smiled at the woman behind the counter, kept his eyes on hers.

‘You going on vacation?’ said the sales assistant.

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yes.’ His heart swelled. ‘And it’s my birthday today.’

‘If you show me some ID, I can give you our ten per cent birthday discount.’

It was Jimmy’s birthday. Just not the birthday that was on his fake ID.

He handed her cash. ‘Don’t worry – next time.’

She laughed. ‘You’ll only have to wait a whole year.’

He laughed, but he didn’t like anything about her.

‘So you’re going on vacation?’ she said.

With my boy. BoyUndr15.

Four hours later, Jimmy Lyle was standing by the pool, lost in the warm, shimmering water. Indoor, heated pool: BoyUndr15 had rich parents who didn’t give a shit about him. They would come home from their European vacation to find him. Jimmy expected that this was BoyUndr15’s plan. Jimmy knew what it was like to hate your parents, to want to punish them. He just wished he was as brave.

Across from him was a wall of glass that looked out on to snow-covered mountains. It was beautiful. But not as beautiful as what was about to unfold.