Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

Jimmy’s hand was on his buckle. His swim trunks were under his jeans. He knew what was inside them was always bigger than people expected.

He had spent a lot of money at the store – the yellow shorts, the beach ball, the towels, the oil, the condoms. He unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his pants, slid them down. He had his father’s skinny limbs. He hated them. But that didn’t matter now. He was here, feet from this swimming pool, moments from his wildest dreams, hard and ready. He unpacked his camera, set up the tripod.

He thought of his father. He felt a spike of anger in his chest.

Nothing will spoil this. Nothing will spoil this.

He had run through what would happen when they met: he would greet the boy with a smile, he would make him feel relaxed. His heart was bursting.

His phone vibrated with a text.

BoyUndr15: Opn gray door! Cmng thru the shower room... :-)

There was a knock, and Jimmy walked over to the door, his heart pounding, his legs weak. He opened it. In the half-darkness, he could make out two figures standing there. One pushed past him, stood to his left. The other stood in front of him:

‘Jimmy Lyle? I’m BoyUndr15.’

It was a woman.

Jimmy Lyle stared. ‘But—’

She was holding up a badge. ‘Or Special Agent Ren Bryce...’ She smiled. ‘Happy Fuuucking Birthday, Jimmy.’

Gary was pacing up and down his Safe Streets office. Ren was standing, motionless, eyes on the floor.

‘Jesus Christ, Ren,’ said Gary. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’

I was thinking if nobody knows what I’m doing, nobody can get hurt. I am the only person who could get hurt, and that’s fine with me. I can accept putting myself at risk.

‘I was thinking: there is a psychopath out there,’ said Ren. I’m not good with psychopaths being out there. Look what happens. Look what happens: people fucking die. People you love fucking die. They die.

‘I was thinking,’ said Ren, ‘that I couldn’t let that be, and that if I was the only one who knew, then it wouldn’t be screwed up. The first thing got screwed up because too many people knew.’

‘This is vigilante shit,’ said Gary.

‘But I had Ruddock!’ said Ren. ‘I brought Ruddock.’

‘At the eleventh hour!’ said Gary. ‘You manipulated him—’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Ren, ‘Ruddock’s a big boy. I went through all the evidence. It was—’ Don’t say watertight. ‘… watertight’.

‘Are you fucking laughing, Ren?’ said Gary.

‘No! That was—’

‘What the?’ said Gary. ‘I can’t believe – though I should! – that despite everything, you’re still doing your own thing. Ren Solo. What is it going to take? What the fuck is it going to—’

‘Stop!’ said Ren. ‘Stop!’ Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Do not say a word.

‘I’m sorry, Ren, but you’re going to have to listen to this. You really are. Everett is dead. Robbie is dead. Ben—’

‘Stop!’ She was screaming. ‘Stop!’

Gary grabbed her by the arms, squeezed them tight. ‘Ren, look at me. Look at me.’

‘No!’ She shook her head. Gary shook her until she locked eyes with him.

I can’t. I can’t. She was sobbing. ‘Don’t say it – don’t. Don’t.’

‘Don’t say what?’ said Gary.

I want to die. I want to die. ‘Don’t say that if I hadn’t gone off on my own that they would still be alive. I can’t bear it. Don’t.’

‘What the—’ He stared at her. Tears poured down her face.

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

Gary released his grip, pulled her into his arms. Her body was wracked with sobs. He held her tight.

‘That was the exact opposite of what I was going to say,’ said Gary. ‘Jesus, Ren – the exact opposite.’

I’m in Gary Dettling’s arms. Jesus.

She pulled back. She could feel strands of her hair hot and damp against her cheeks. She checked his shirt for mascara.

My hands are on his chest.

She felt his hands on her face. She looked up at him.

‘I was trying to say to you: it’s not your fault,’ said Gary. ‘None of it was your fault. It would have happened another day if it hadn’t happened that day. It would have happened another way. He could have taken more of us with him. This wasn’t about you or something you did or didn’t do. This was about Joe Lucchesi, it was about me. I shouldn’t be here, Ren. I shouldn’t be alive. I think about it all the time: I shouldn’t be here, but I am. And I am, thanks to you. And Joe Lucchesi is here, because of you. But if you listen only to one thing, listen to this: it was not your fault. And do not spend the rest of your life trying to fix it. Do not die trying to fix this. Do not die on me, Ren.’

‘OK!’ said Ren. ‘OK! OK! OK! I won’t. I won’t.’ She slumped down in the chair and cried, and cried and cried.

Can’t blink back a flood.

That evening, Ren sat on the sofa with a bottle of red wine, her phone in her hand.

Phones are a disaster. It’s too fucking easy.

It’s too hard.

She scrolled down, stopped at Joe Lucchesi.

He’s met someone else.

In twenty-four hours...

She lowered her thumb on to his number.

Don’t.

What’s the worst that can happen?

I’m the wrong person to put that question to.

The phone started to ring.

He picked up. ‘Hey...’ There was a smile in his voice.

‘Hey.’ She took a breath. ‘So I’m sorry about the last call. I was... tired.’ Jesus! ‘I... had a lot going on. I’m sorry. My head is a little all over the place.’

Why can’t I just be honest?

‘Really?’ he said.

Nice teasing. He knows. He knows me already. Black Mark Number 1. ‘How are you so sane, though? Seriously.’

‘I am seriously not sane.’

‘You’re doing a lot better than me.’ You don’t know that.

‘For someone who likes evidence to back things up...’ said Joe.

‘No, I don’t,’ said Ren. ‘Shit. That’s where I’m going wrong.’ In all aspects of my life. ‘I’m not sure I am always driven by evidence.’ I come up with shit and decide it’s the reality. Which part of bipolar... ‘I think this might be a changing day in my life’.

‘Don’t be so quick to presume you know what’s going on with me,’ said Joe. ‘I’m under no illusions – I know I come with... history.’

Like, of the Roman Empire.

‘And with more baggage than most,’ said Joe.

Like those trucks beside aircraft.

‘But,’ he said, ‘you can ask me anything and I’ll give you an honest answer.’

Unlike me.

‘Don’t be fooled by this tough exterior.’ He laughed.

‘Well, I can’t ask for fairer than that,’ said Ren. ‘While we’re getting it all out there, I’m an emotional cripple. You can ask me anything, but I probably won’t be honest. Not in a bad way, but I think there’s some override switch that, if anything is too roaring red of an emotional hotspot, these little builders come in with fire bricks.’

Joe laughed. ‘Well, that was pretty honest.’

‘Pretty... exactly.’ She paused. ‘OK – here’s a question: what’s been going on in your world? I didn’t even ask last time, sorry.’ I was too busy panicking.

‘Work and Grace,’ said Joe. ‘Which means assholes mixed in with ballet classes, the zoo, Frozen , playgrounds, frozen playgrounds...’

‘I’m sure you meet assholes in playgrounds too,’ said Ren.

And moms who want to fuck you. If they only knew how amazing you are, you’d never make it out of the playground alive.