***
“That should do,” Ray said, leaning away from the bed. Together, they had cleaned her sheets, cleaned the floor, and cleaned the woman’s face, so that she looked nearly identical to how she had been before the coughing fit.
They had even managed to tape the rubber part of the mask back together and then slid that section behind her head. The only thing they hadn’t been able to fix was her ribs; Drake had heard them crack, and he was pretty sure that Ray had, too. But, at least on the surface, Angelina seemed none the worse for wear.
Drake hoped that if she was in pain later, John would just slip her another pill.
“I still don’t know why you don’t want to call your dad,” he said.
Ray simply shook his head, as if to say, you wouldn’t understand.
Drake knew better than to push further.
They stayed in the doorway of Mrs. Reynolds’s room for a moment longer, staring at her still features. Drake marveled at how it seemed as if nothing at all had happened. It was disturbing to him that someone could come so close to the brink of death and yet be dragged back, shaking and trembling.
Kill me, kill me, kill me.
Ray turned to him, no longer with tears in his eyes.
“Go get showered up,” he said. “I’ll make us breakfast. Then we can head to the pond.”
Chapter 9
The ‘pond’, as it was known, was almost a perfect circle, with a radius of about twenty feet. Terrified at the prospect of having his big toe removed by the snapping turtle they often saw sunning itself on the bank, Drake hadn’t the nerve to test its depth.
It wasn’t the prettiest digit in the world, but he was particularly attached to it.
Tucked away in a clearing surrounded by woods, if you didn’t know where to find the pond, you probably never would. The Reynolds’s farm was situated on approximately 50 hectares of land, most of this which they’d allowed to run wild over the years. Once, Drake had asked Ray why they had a farm, considering that neither of his parents were farmers and the fact that they had a house in the city. Ray had promptly informed him that it had been his grandfather’s, and when he’d passed, it had been bequeathed to John in his will.
Drake had a mind to ask why they didn’t just sell it, but the look on Ray’s face suggested that the subject was closed. Ray might be an only child, but the Reynolds clan, as small as it was, was tight-knit.
The two of them walked in silence, neither of them mentioning the episode in the bedroom with Angelina, which suited Drake just fine. He still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Ray being there in the middle of the night, feeding his mother cigarettes, or even if he should.
He decided to keep this to himself for the time being.
After making their way through the woods, they finally reached the clearing about twenty minutes later. After glancing around furtively to make sure that the snapping turtle wasn’t hanging about—it wasn’t—Drake felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease a little.
“Look how calm the water is,” he said.
Ray didn’t answer; he just walked to the edge of the grass and then pulled his t-shirt and shorts off. Then he stood in his underwear, the early morning sun making his skin appear pasty.
“A little early for a swim, isn’t it?” Drake asked, eyebrow raised.
Ray just shrugged. As Drake watched, the boy shuffled forward until his toes dangled on the edge of the bank, and then he dove headfirst.
Ray’s dive was almost graceful, his pale body piercing water that was as smooth as a sheet of glass. A small burst of bubbles followed his heels, and then Drake was alone.
He listened to the sound of leaves set in motion by a soft breeze and for the first time in a while, a calm fell over him. Then a squirrel hopped from one branch to another and the spell was broken.
“Ray?” he shouted, realizing that his friend had been underwater for some time now. “Ray?”
Drake moved toward the pond, pulling off his shoes as he went. He was in the process of removing his shirt when Ray’s dark head finally surfaced near the other side.
His friend sucked in a massive gulp of air and then disappeared again. Drake didn’t feel in the mood to swim, but it didn’t look like Ray was coming out anytime soon; he didn’t want to swim, but he didn’t want to get a sunburn, either.
Drake pulled off his shorts next and stood there in the hot sun sporting only his underwear. He turned his gaze upward and as he waited for black spots to occlude his vision he heard something rustling in the grass at his feet.
Thinking that it was the turtle, he leaped to his right, but then laughed when he saw that it was only a leaf that had fallen from above.
You’re such a pussy, Drake told himself, his internal monologue strangely taking on Ray’s voice.
And with that, Drake cannonballed into the pond.
The water was as refreshing as it was cloudy; Drake could barely see his own hand in front of his face. Unlike Ray, Drake surfaced quickly, slicking his blond hair back from his face as he did. After clearing the water from his eyes, he was surprised to see that Ray was but three feet from him.
“The water’s nice, isn’t it?” Ray asked quietly.
Drake kicked his skinny legs in an eggbeater motion and moved his arms in small circles to keep afloat.
“Not bad, not bad at all.”
Ray was only a foot from him now, and Drake was feeling his personal space being invaded.
“Let’s see who can touch the bottom first,” Ray said with a grin.
Drake moved backward a foot or two.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head.
Ray raised an eyebrow.
“You are a fucking pussy, aren’t you?”
Drake shrugged. He knew that Ray was only teasing him and that one of these days he would have to stand up for himself and save face.
But today wasn’t that day.
“Don’t feel like it,” he said.
Expecting Ray to insult him again, Drake tensed. But instead, Ray surprised him by saying, “Suit yourself.”
Before Drake could reply, Ray’s head dipped below the murky surface once more.
Drake continued to tread water, spinning around to try and predict where his friend would pop up next. He was glancing over his left shoulder when something brushed up against his leg and he immediately tucked his knees to his chest.
He was sure it was just Ray fucking around with him, but he was taking no chances. Drake kicked his feet until he was lying on his back, and then started a lazy backstroke toward the shore.
He was nearly there when something touched his leg again, only this time it wasn’t a gentle brush, but a pinch on his heel. Drake startled and then thrashed, thinking that the snapping turtle had grabbed a hold of him. His imagination took over, and he pictured himself being dragged below the surface, the turtle digging deep into its evolutionary roots to enact a reptilian death roll.
Kicking furiously now, wanting nothing more than to be out of the water, Drake frantically tried to make his way to shore.
He was almost there when the crown of his head bumped up against something.
Drake spun around, raising his fists as if he was going to box the turtle, and immediately lowered them again when he saw that it was only Ray.
“What you scared?” Ray asked.
Drake opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, Ray leaned in close and did the unthinkable.
He kissed him on the lips.
“Hey!” Drake shouted, shoving Ray away from him. “What the hell do you think—”
Ray reached out, and Drake, never a spectacular swimmer, didn’t move back fast enough. The boy’s hands grabbed a fistful of hair and before Drake realized what was happening, he found himself underwater again.
Chapter 10
Drake flailed, trying desperately to swat Ray’s hands off his head. At the same time, he kicked as hard as he could, but no matter what he did, his
face remained submerged. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see anything other than suspended silt and muck. Being underwater for more than thirty seconds now, he started to get disoriented and focused on the hands that gripped his hair. And then he stopped. As deep as he was, Drake realized that Ray must now be underwater as well, and instead of attacking his arms, he swung wildly at where he thought his body was. His fists connected with something hard several times, but the water slowed his punches enough that they did little damage.
Death roll, he thought unexpectedly, the turtle would do a death roll.
Just when it felt as if his lungs might explode, Drake decided to do just that. With all of his remaining strength, he twisted his hips and launched into a barrel roll. At first, it felt as if Ray’s grip would hold and that he would drown in the shitty pond at the hands of his best friend.
But just as he completed one full rotation, Drake felt Ray’s fingers slip out of his hair. Kicking like a madman, Drake broke the surface with the enthusiasm of a baby being born.
He gasped and spluttered, filthy pond water streaming from his nose and mouth.
Surprised to discover that he was nearly pressed against the bank, Drake managed to crawl onto the shore, then flip onto his back, just in case Ray was preparing for a second attack.
Drake’s mind was still working hard, trying to piece together what had happened, trying to figure out why his friend had first kissed him and then tried to drown him. But no thoughts, at least not cognizant, cogent ones, formed.
His brain’s only function now was to re-oxygenate his tingling hands and feet.
Ray’s head suddenly emerged from the water not ten feet from shore. And he still had a shit-eating grin on his face.
“What the fuck!” Drake yelled. “What in—” but a coughing fit overtook him then. As he retched and spat, he was reminded of how Angelina looked that morning, the way her body struggled to expel the phlegm that choked and suffocated her. Drake spewed more water onto the grass beside him.
And with that, he started to feel close to normal again.
Normal, but incredibly confused.
He pushed himself back up the bank, pulling his legs completely out of the water as Ray slowly swam towards the edge. When the boy started to get out of the water himself, Drake shouted.
“Get away from me! Get—”
Ray stopped smiling.
“Relaaaaxxx,” he said. “I was just fucking around, you know that.”
Drake squinted at his friend.
Was he? Was he just horsing around? Was it just a joke?
Drake couldn’t be sure either way, but when his friend flopped down beside him, he was too exhausted to pull away.
They lay there, both of them in their underwear not three feet from each other, with the sun beating down.
As the minutes drew on and Drake’s breathing started to regulate, he found himself more preoccupied with what had happened before his head had been shoved underwater than almost drowning.
“I’m not gay,” Drake said at last.
He’s just confused, he thought as he waited for Ray to say something. He’s confused, angry, and scared. Shit, I was scared, seeing Angelina that way, and I barely know her.
He had heard somewhere that people could react in strange ways when confronted with stress.
That’s what that was, just an outlet for his stress. I would have preferred if it didn’t—
“I know,” Ray said at last. “I’m not either.”
Drake tilted his head to look at Ray, but his friend refused to meet his gaze. And yet, Drake believed him.
Or at the very least, he wanted to believe him. After all, even though they were both virgins, they had shared many a fantasy about Becky and some of their other female classmates.
The two boys dried in the sun for the better part of an hour in silence, until Drake literally felt his skin starting to burn.
Thinking that Ray had dozed off, he dressed without saying anything.
“Did you suffer?”
Drake, head still stuck inside his t-shirt, froze.
“What?”
“I asked if you suffered when you were underwater.”
Drake finished putting on his shirt and glared at his friend, whose eyes were locked on his.
“You okay?” Ray asked. “What’s wrong with you?”
Drake gawked.
“What’s wrong with me? First, you kiss me, man, and then you try to drown me. What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ray looked away.
“I was just fucking around, Drake. I told you—I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“If you say so, but you seriously freaked me out. Do me a favor, Ray, no more ‘fucking around’ this week, okay?”
Ray’s eyes drifted to the pond, which had grown still again.
“Of course, you did,” he said so quietly that Drake wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Of course, you suffered. We are all suffering.”
Drake felt anger start to build inside him then and he took two steps toward his friend. Before he reached him, however, Ray bounded to his feet and quickly started to dress.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The anger sluiced off Drake’s back. There was something wrong with Ray, something different—more different. Things had grown so confusing over the past few hours—even the past day or two—that Drake was having trouble making sense of it all.
He sighed.
“Go where, Ray?”
Ray turned his back to Drake then and started toward the woods that led to the Reynolds’s farm.
“Didn’t you see the note my dad left? The squirrels are starting to smell and he wants us to clean them up.”
Chapter 11
“No fucking way, Ray. I’m not going near those things again. They’re just gross.”
Drake struggled to catch up with his friend, who was pushing his way through the trees with the ease of a seasoned bushman.
“I’ll do it then, if you’re too much of a pussy. Dad said he wants them gone before he gets home from work.”
Drake threw his arms in the air and looked skyward as if pleading for divine intervention.
Then he literally made the noise of a cartoon character.
“Argh. What the fuck is going on with you, Ray?”
Ray stopped and for an instant, Drake thought that his friend would finally turn around and address him, let him in on whatever was making him act so strangely.
But then Ray started walking again and Drake had no choice but to follow.
The woods quickly thinned and Drake soon recognized the worn path in the overgrown grass that led to the driveway, which eventually took them to the Reynolds farm. In the distance, he could see the wooden structure, outlined with a halo from the sun.
Drake jogged to catch up with his friend. For some reason, Ray, who was typically prone to sauntering, had now decided to try out for the Olympics as a walker.
“Dad said to bury the squirrels,” he said, “but I’ve got a better idea.”
“Wow, I’m super stoked. What on Earth are we gonna do? Fry ‘em up and make sandwiches?” Drake shot back.
Ray, rather predictably, ignored him.
They made their way toward the barn, and once inside, Ray started inspecting the line of shovels that leaned up against the inner wall like lost Pikemen weapons.
Drake, however, was interested in other things.
He made his way over to the workbench and reached beneath. He grabbed the white bucket that housed the bottle of Ballantine’s on his first try. Without even looking to Ray, let alone asking his permission, Drake took the cap off and took a giant swig.
Maybe he’s right, Drake thought. Maybe it is time to man up. After all, they’re only squirrels. And they were suffering.
Ray’s face when Drake emerged from the water, gasping for air, flashed in his mind.
Did you suffer? When you were underwater, did you suffer?
Drake
shuddered and sucked back more of the Ballantine’s. It burned his throat something fierce, and it was all he could do not to cough.
As he was screwing the cap back on, he felt warm breath on his ear and spun around.
“Wanna offer me some?” Ray asked with a smirk.
Drake reached out and pushed his friend away.
“Get away from me, man. I don’t want you to kiss me again.”
Ray chuckled and snatched the bottle from him. As he drank, he raised the shovel he had chosen; a broad, aluminum one.
“This is the one.”
Drake raised an eyebrow.
He was a city boy, his only adventures in the wild were the two weeks that he came up to the Reynolds farm every summer, but this looked like a snow shovel, not one for digging. The end was flat.
“I thought you said your dad wants us to bury them?”
Ray chuckled again and took another swig of Ballantine’s. He drank so much this time that his cheeks puffed with the liquid. Drake got some semblance of satisfaction when his friend not only grimaced as he swallowed, but his lips trembled as if he were struggling to hold it down.
Ray put the cap back on the scotch and then shuddered.
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
Drake took the bottle from Ray, put in the bucket, and slid it under the bench.
“Well? How can you dig with that thing? It’s like for snow, or something.”
“We’re not,” Ray answered quickly. “I’ve got a better idea.”
***
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Ray. This is fucking stupid. Fakkking stupid. We swim there, for Christ’s sake.”
Ray either didn’t care or he was too busy trying to balance all three of the squirrels on the shovel while keeping the maggot-infested corpses far away from him, to hear.
“Ray, stop. Stop! Dammit, Ray, I said stop!”
And this time, Ray did stop.
“What?” he demanded as if Drake’s request wasn’t only annoying, but offensive as well.
“You’re going to put the corpses in the pond that we just swam in? Do you hear yourself? You do that, and there’s no fucking way in hell that I am going to swim in there again. Ever.”
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2 Page 4