Anton Strout - Dead Waters

I swung the lunch box at her. Her body went liquid and it started passing through her like all my bat attacks had. When the lunch box was fully within the water, I stopped it in the center of her chest, slamming the lunch box shut and pulling it out by its handle. . . full of water. The woman screamed out, her eyes widening and her body stumbling. I stepped back from her, but she kept coming for me, clutching wildly for my lunch box.

I spun around and found Connor off in a crowd of ghosts. “Connor, catch!” I shouted and threw the lunch box over to him, but not before I felt a wave of the water woman wash over me. The fight was going out of her, but not fast enough. I spun back around and all the hate and surprise in her eyes were focused on me. She was going to make it her dying wish to take me with her, and there was nothing I could do to stop it now. With Jane gone, I didn’t care.

Falling to my knees on the slats of the bridge, I felt my strength leaving me. I was drowning. My last thought as I drowned was wondering if soon I’d be just another bridgebound spirit that Connor would be able to talk to in a few minutes.

Then another thought struck me. As my world went dark, I wondered if Jane was already waiting for me on the other side or if Connor would find her standing around on the bridge, too.

White light, I thought. That’s a good sign, right?

The blur in my eyes roused me and I struggled to awaken the rest of my senses as well. The ringing of an angelic host, complete with accompanying harps, sounded more like the beeps, pings, and whirs of . . .

“Hospital equipment,” I croaked out. “I’m not in the afterlife?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Connor’s familiar voice spoke out. “Does your personal vision of blissful eternity include me?”

“Or me?” another voice asked. The Inspectre.

I willed my eyes to fully open, and to my surprise they did, the world coming into focus. I was in a hospital bed, the overhead lights of the room turned off, the white blur that woke me coming from the hallway outside my room.

Connor was already standing at the side of the bed. The Inspectre stood up from a nearby chair, using the empty scabbard of his sword cane to help him up. I tried to turn my head to him but couldn’t. I went to speak again but managed only to get out a dry croak before Connor grabbed a Styrofoam cup with a straw sticking out of it from the table next to my bed. I sipped from it, and the hit of refreshing water shot through me like a jolt of energy. Once I was done drinking, I tried speaking again.

My mind stumbled forward slow, the world and everything around me a fog. “Why can’t I move?”

“That’s probably the pain meds,” Connor offered. He put the water back down on the bedside table. “You’re probably on enough morphine right now to warrant a rehab program when you leave here.”

“What happened?” I asked, feeling like a foreign passenger in my own body. Questions were forming, but slowly, not nearly fast enough, and I was having trouble organizing my thoughts.

The Inspectre stepped closer. “You sustained quite a bit of damage,” he said.

“So removing the woman’s heart didn’t work. . .” I said.

“Quite the contrary,” the Inspectre said. “It worked remarkably well.”

I forced my head to do my bidding and I felt it shift a fraction to my left.

“Easy,” Connor said. “You’re in a neck brace. What you did with the lunch box worked, but you still sent that woman into a blind death panic. When she wasn’t trying to drown you, she was trying to crush you with all that water. Your body is pretty battered and bruised, but I asked the docs and they say you’re going to live.”

“What about all those spirits on the bridge?” I asked.

“They moved on,” Connor said with a smile. “To wherever spirits go. Once Scylla and Charybdis were dead, their hold over the Hell Gate passage broke.”

A new thought slammed into my head, pushing past all of its cloudiness. How had it not been there right away? “Jane,” I whispered. “What about Jane?”

Connor’s face sobered. “ ’Fraid not, kid,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“She went down fighting,” the Inspectre said. “She saved us all.”

The meds numbed me. I could barely think, let alone process what had happened to Jane. Fleeting images of her running for the boat and the explosion played themselves over and over in my head, but my mind refused to process the fact that she was gone. I lay there not speaking for a long time. Connor and the Inspectre stood at my side and remained silent themselves as the sounds of life struggled out all around us in the hospital. The figures in the hall passed by until one of them stopped in the doorway. I recognized him, even without his hoodie pulled up.

“Aidan. . . ?”

Aidan Christos stumbled into the room. He was soaked through, his clothes clinging to him, what had survived of them, anyway. Most of what remained of his hoodie was charred or torn. His features, while still human-looking, were drawn and gaunt to the point that he looked like a spectral version of himself. Connor ran over to him and helped him into the room.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.

Aidan looked at Connor, but he was so messed up I wasn’t sure he could see him in his state. “I told you my kind doesn’t take well to water,” Aidan said. “Not really our element, and I was in it far too long, I think. I’m having trouble healing.”

“At least you can,” I mumbled, still in my daze.

Aidan turned and followed the sound of my voice. He shuffled toward the foot of the bed. When his bony claws of fingers hit the end of it, he grabbed onto it like it was the only thing that could keep him standing. “Simon?” he asked. “How. . . how are you?”

“I’ll live,” I said. I couldn’t hide the darkness in my voice. “What happened to Jane? I saw you let go of the severed tentacle and then dive through the fire into the water.”

Aidan tensed. Parts of him were slowly healing, his features turning back to his normal look of a teenager, everything except his clothes. The better his features got, the worse his actual face looked. The young vampire looked pained and worried.

“There was so much going on,” he said. “There was the monster. It was dying, but not fast enough. Underwater, I couldn’t avoid the tentacles. They were thrashing about everywhere, making it harder to try to find her.”

“ Did you find her?” the Inspectre asked.

Aidan nodded. “Eventually, yeah,” he said. “I don’t know how long I was under. I don’t need to breathe, but still the water was having an effect on me. I felt my body giving in to the river, until I finally struggled to the surface.”

I lay there, thankful for whatever painkillers they had given me. My mind filled with sadness, but my body wouldn’t react to it in my condition. When I could finally speak, I did. “At least you found her body,” I said. “Her family will be able to give her a proper burial.”

Aidan looked exhausted, but even through that I could see some hesitation in him. “About that . . .”

“What?” Connor asked.

“Please tell me you found all of her,” I said. “Please.”

“You have to understand something,” Aidan said. “I barely made it to shore. We were both. . . burnt and wet. I could barely pull her after me . . .”

“What the hell did you do?” I asked. “What happened to her body?”

“Tell the boy, for goodness’ sake,” the Inspectre added.

“I needed to replenish myself,” he said. “I. . . I couldn’t stop myself.”

“You fed on her?” I asked, horrified.

“I would have died,” he said.