Death by Water

by Alessandro Manzetti

  “It’s a pleasure to serve,” his uncle said.

  Aunt Franny clutched her husband’s hand. “That it is.” She looked toward Danny. Then away. She shut her eyes and cried.

  “Franny?” his uncle said.

  His voice was not enough to stop her from rushing from the table. They both called after her, but they knew it was too late.

  “I’m sorry,” his uncle said. “It’s not your fault.” Behind them, they heard her rush into her bedroom, just off the living room, and collapse onto the bed. She wept.

  Danny looked down at his plate.

  “Things catch up, you know?” his uncle said. “You are staying in our daughter’s room. Having a child’s voice in the house again.” He looked up to the framed picture of Chloe over the fireplace.

  “My dad said you said it would be good for you,” Danny said.

  “I know. We thought that.” His uncle kept his gaze on Chloe’s picture. “But thinking and feeling are different things.”

  “No doubt,” Danny said. I’m trapped…making them feel bad. I don’t want to be here, either. Like I'm caught inside an invisible net.

  His uncle got up and headed toward the bedroom. “Good luck today, kiddo,” he said. “Make sure you finish your food before you go.”

  “Why didn’t she wake up?” his aunt cried, her words muffled but clear from behind the closed door. “Why wouldn’t she just wake up?”

  Danny’s blood felt flash frozen. He wanted to be anywhere else. His guts were tight. I’m always compared to Chloe. She’s still here. They haven’t let go.

  As soon as his uncle was out of sight, Danny found a plastic bag, scooped his breakfast inside, put the empty plate in the sink, and hurried outside.

  He sped up the driveway and turned left at the top of Gallows Road. His mind played the breakfast over and over, like a guppy looping endlessly around a fish tank. Please, Mom and Dad, get back early. Danny thought back to his cousin Chloe’s funeral. They’re making me sleep in her room. Probably on her bed and old blankets. He took out the bag with his breakfast and threw it into the woods. “All yours, bugs,” he said. His stomach had turned, anyhow, thinking of his cousin inside her coffin.

  This was close to the spot where we played when I was a kid.

  —Come catch me, little Danny boy!

  —Come catch me!

  He walked toward the end of Gallows Road and saw the sign for San Quinlan Road, downtown’s main strip. “San Quinlan? Might as well say San Quentin.”

  Danny walked on the stone sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, running a hand over the wall that kept pedestrians from falling into the San Quinlan River a few yards below. The sound of its flow felt inevitable and calming, the watery smell present everywhere. He looked over at the shops and offices that stretched a half a mile through downtown. Everything one needed was there.

  He stopped near the church steeple. His stomach tightened. He remembered his cousin’s funeral. How did she die? That’s something we’ll talk about when you’re older. Turning back around, Danny looked over the stone wall lining the sidewalk and down toward the rushing San Quinlan River. Once he passed Saint Jude’s, he looked back toward the road and the buildings opposite. He crossed the street.

  He passed the gas station, its bays old-fashioned. It didn’t have a convenience store attached, like the ones in Berkeley. Next door, Gary’s Groceries was one of the largest structures in town, but even it would be considered small by city standards. Its design differed from the rest of San Quinlan in that it was made in the 1960s and looked of its era. Inside held a Starbucks, which made Danny feel connected to the outside world, even though he hated coffee. The GAP was built within an existing building so as not to ruin or tamper with the overall aesthetic of the town. It was surrounded by many local shops like Hector’s Candy and Alhambra Art Gallery, the home of local celebrity artist Robert Alhambra.

  Danny made his way toward the end of the strip of shops, to where Old Mill Road started. He had time. The last thing he wanted to do was be seen lingering aimlessly. He knew he could walk through the light woods, maybe catch some alone time free of human interference.

  He didn’t make it ten minutes until he came upon Kenny Peyton. Of course. Kenny could always be counted on for loitering and borderline mischievous behavior. “Yo,” he called out. “You headed to the Mission?”

  “That sounds like a good idea, actually,” Danny said.

  “Famous last words,” Kenny said. “Dead serious.”

  Danny’s feet made sloshing sounds as he made his way through the forest. “It’s still moist as all get out,” he said. “Did the whole thing flood?”

  “I didn’t see it this time,” Kenny said. “But it does this whenever it rains just a little. It’s like it’s a marsh, but isn’t a marsh. It’s weird.”

  “Smells like algae and mold,” Danny said.

  “That’s San Quinlan for you. Everything’s always damp and runny.”

  Danny looked down and saw the soil, rich from the river water. “How long does it take to dry out?”

  “It never does. Probably why the people at the mission killed themselves.”

  “I’ve never heard the full story, all these years.”

  Kenny’s voice took on a deeper, more serious tone. “Saw it myself, man. Was a kid, but I’ll never forget all the stretchers. At least a dozen. All covered, but there was one boot sticking out from under a blanket. A work boot. Just like my dad’s. Scared the crap out of me. I thought it was him and ran up to Cohen’s Mill to make sure he was there.”

  “He was?”

  “Sure,” Kenny said. “And good thing he didn’t see me. He would’ve killed me for walking that far alone.”

  “It’s safe here.”

  “You think?” Kenny laughed. “San Quinlan just looks that way.”

  When they arrived at Saint Anne’s Mission, Danny forgot how rundown it’d been. “It’s like God is angry and reclaiming the land.”

  “Or nature,” Kenny said. “Not sure God would approve of the whole congregation offing themselves at once.”

  Danny heard his uncle’s voice in his head. That old story about the flock committing suicide in the woods is just tall tales. They closed it because it flooded one too many times to fix. It’s more fun for kids to think it’s haunted. I don’t believe in ghosts, though. People can get haunted by other things. Real things.

  “Let’s check it out,” Kenny said. “See if there’s anything good.”

  The large front doors weren’t open, but were easy enough to swing out. The wood was still intact, even though it’d been warped and camouflaged with large water spots. “Is this safe?” Danny asked.

  “No,” Kenny said. “Not one bit. The whole place could fall on top of us at any second.” He laughed.

  “Well, screw it,” Danny said. “You only live once.”

  “As far as we know,” Kenny said.

  They crossed the doorway. The once-white walls were decayed dark from neglect. Light pooled in from little windows. Danny pointed. “There’s still glass in these.”

  “Weird, right?” Kenny said.

  They made it past the first long hallway, which led inside a larger room. Several plastic buckets and broom handles were stacked in a corner. “Watch out,” Danny said, first to notice the floor. “It’s flooded in here.” The water appeared half a foot deep.

  “There’re support beams running through,” Kenny said. “We can walk on those.” Most of the floorboards had lifted or were missing. The beams crisscrossed, leaving a dozen rectangular pools.

  Kenny made his way out onto a beam balancing by keeping his arms outstretched, slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Don’t fall in,” Danny said.

  “Shut up.” Kenny didn’t look back.

  Danny followed him onto the beam. He stepped, his footing insecure. “This isn’t cool.”

  “Come on, man. Just pay attention. You’ll be fine.”

  Dann
y took another step, twisted wrong, and lost his footing. He jumped back to the still-existing floor of the hall. “Damn,” he said. “Almost went in.”

  “Not my fault you have huge feet,” Kenny said. He’d made it to the middle of the room and was able to stand on a cross section—a much larger surface than the beams themselves. He bent down. “Dude! You’ve got to see this.”

  “What?”

  “There’s fish.”

  The beams were slippery. Danny looked around and spotted a pole-shaped piece of wood. He grabbed it. He banged one end of it on the floor to test its strength. The pole felt solid. He had a crutch.

  Balancing with the pole, Danny made his way back onto the first beam. He slipped, but caught himself.

  By the third step, he’d found his rhythm and made his way toward Kenny, who, for the record, hadn’t noticed Danny’s effort, being much too transfixed by the fish.

  “What kind of fish are they?”

  “Don’t know,” Kenny said. “Wish my dad was here. He’d know.”

  Each fish was dark, with silver bellies and black skin. Their eyes were wide. Two were about a foot long, and two more were about half their size. “Is it a family?”

  “Give me a break. Fish don’t have families,” Kenny said.

  “Don’t families stay together in the wild?” Danny asked.

  Kenny laughed. “Is that what you believe?”

  Danny’s guts tightened. “I’m not sure, but if we don’t help them, they’re going to die.”

  “They can swim out when it rains and floods,” Kenny said.

  “When’s that going to happen?”

  “Could be next spring. Could be tomorrow. Who knows?” Kenny said.

  “I saw some old buckets by the front. We could use those.” Danny stood. “We can bring them to the river. Let them go.”

  Danny made his way toward the front where he found the three plastic buckets. When he carried them back, he put one on a small ledge between the slats. “Bad news,” he said. “These aren’t the only fish trapped in here.”

  Kenny looked up at him. “How many?”

  “A lot,” Danny said. “If we’re going to free all of them.”

  Danny crouched and placed a bucket into the pool. The fish swam away, scared. He submerged it. “They aren’t going to go inside,” he said. “They’re smart. They don’t want to get trapped.”

  “They don’t get it that they’ll only be trapped for a little while until they’re free again.” Kenny said. “Wish there was a way we could tell them.”

  One of the small fish went inside the bucket. “Whoa,” Kenny said. Danny tipped the bucket lip upward, but before he could, the fish swam out. “Damn it.”

  “We’ll have to be faster.”

  “This is going to take awhile,” Danny said.

  “I have an idea.” Kenny took another bucket and submerged its bottom. “We can give them a little nudge.”

  He dragged the bucket around the small pool. The fish swam away from it. Three went right into Danny’s bucket. He jerked the handle and lifted the bucket halfway out of the pool. “They’re still inside.” Agitated and frightened, the fish swam in circles inside the bucket. “We only have one more left.”

  Kenny’s bucket was up and out of the water. “Got him. Or her.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Quick reflexes, man,” he said. “It was scared and easy to trick. So, let’s get them to the river and see what they do.”

  “The hard part is going to be getting out of here carrying these without falling in,” Danny said. “It wasn’t easy with just me.”

  “The weight of the bucket should help you,” Kenny said. “Counterbalance and all.”

  “All right.” Danny walked the beam, pole in one hand, bucket of swimming fish in the other. “You’re right. It’s easier. Weird.”

  Once they both made it to the front hall of the mission, Danny put his pole against the wall.

  They made their way through the short patch of ground between the mission and the edge of the San Quinlan. Kenny lifted his bucket and jerked it hard so the water and the fish flew. “Go on. Be free.” He laughed. The huge splash went toward the river.

  Danny couldn’t spot the fish. He went to the bed and poured his bucket out, careful to choose a spot where there weren’t that many rocks. “Go find your kid,” he said. They swam away fast and sure and disappeared downstream in a blink. He waved at them.

  “Let’s hide these buckets and get home,” Kenny said. “You’re shit as a fisherman and I’m hungry. We can come back tomorrow for the others. They’ll survive.”

  “This has been hard on her,” Uncle Luke said. “Having you here. Having a kid here. It’s opened up a lot of wounds.”

  Danny sat on the edge of his bed, his uncle Luke in a chair a few feet away. In the background, he heard Aunt Franny sobbing, even though it was obvious she was trying to keep it down. Why didn’t you just wake up?

  Danny wanted to ask what happened to Chloe. He’d been so young when she’d died, his parents had only mumbled something about it. He wanted more than anything for them to come back from their missionary work and take him away from San Quinlan.

  He looked toward his Uncle Luke’s drooping expression. His uncle’s eyes wouldn’t meet his and his voice had gone uncharacteristically soft.

  “I’m sorry,” Danny said. “I sure didn’t mean to bother anyone.”

  “You didn’t,” his uncle said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “None of this’s your fault. I’ll bring you up dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Danny said.

  “I’ll leave it on your desk. Aunt Franny worked hard on it. Sometimes the strangest things will bring back a memory and make a hard moment real again. But if you talk to God, it can be healing. It can redeem you. Do you feel redeemed from your situation? From hurting that boy?”

  Danny hadn’t thought about it He pretended to. “Being here has helped me heal. Like today? There were some fish trapped in a pool, after the river had gone down?” He didn’t mention the mission. That’d be reason for grounding. He was told not to go inside. “So, I got some buckets and collected the fish and brought them to the river and set them free.”

  His uncle nodded. “This isn’t the first time God has put fish in the path of a man who needed a showing of faith.”

  “Right,” Danny said, hoping his uncle would leave him be.

  “I’m very glad your time here has given you that focus on your faith.”

  Then he left, briefly, before returning. Danny put his book of holy scripture in bed next to him and opened it. When his uncle returned, he’d see it, and hopefully believe Danny had fallen asleep bathed in the Good Word. He’d always find a quick phrase in there and then bullshit about it when asked.

  He hadn’t intended to really fall asleep, but he did. He vaguely heard his uncle come in, heard the gentle scrape of the tray as it slid across the desk.

  Sleep blanketed him. He found himself back down at the banks of the San Quinlan, the white bucket with the fish in his hand once more. The fish made vocalizations. He thought they sounded like an orchestra tuning up, just smaller and rougher.

  I must set them free.

  Then he tilted the bucket, only he tilted with it. An unseen force pulled at him and as much as he tried to pull away, his body remained powerless in the way it does in dreams. He was a passenger and something else steered.

  Up to his neck in the rapids, Danny clutched the handle of the bucket underwater. It caught the current and pulled him along.

  I should let go.

  No.

  If I do I will drown.

  It didn’t make sense, but his dream-self knew that the rules as he knew them didn’t apply.

  The water carried him.

  Where are the fish? Did they make it?

  His feet couldn’t touch the ground.

  What if there’s a big boulder underwater? I could get smashed.

  Danny tried to look ahea
d, but the rushing breaks of the water were too high and fierce to see clearly through the water for obstacles. He noticed, too, a familiar turn. He was coming up toward his Aunt and Uncle’s place. How did I get here so fast?

  From the river, he spotted his room and a figure moving inside, silhouetted against the billowing curtain. He didn’t recognize the movements or the gestures; he didn’t think it was his aunt or his uncle. Maybe someone younger.

  He heard weeping. A crying baby.

  The current pulled Danny. He tried to fight it. He let go of the bucket; the water was too strong.

  Paddling his feet and hands made no difference.

  Before he went under, he saw the outdoor shower and then the small door that led toward the basement. We don’t use it. Flooded one too many times. Nothing but mud and bugs down there.

  He saw a dark blue field everywhere he turned underwater. The San Quinlan went deeper than he imagined.

  His lungs hurt.

  Can’t breathe.

  Oh, God.

  Can’t…

  Catch…

  He thought of the fish in the pools at the mission. Were they thinking the same thing? Would they slowly die of starvation? Would the still waters kill them, slowly asphyxiating them?

  Have to…

  Get…

  Up.

  Debris from the riverbed floated around him.

  That’s why the water isn’t clear.

  The bits of soil, leaves, and twigs spiraled in all directions.

  Danny flapped his limbs.

  His lungs felt like they’d implode. He fought the urge to open his mouth—letting in the water would be suicide. He hit something. He reached out and touched a smooth, hard surface. A rock? Use it to climb out.

  Useless.

  Then his foot was stuck. Tangled around a root? Stuck in the riverbed mud?

  The debris gathered around him. A million little specks of dark.

  Like bees to honey.

  Then the world slipped away.

  He woke to the smell of smoke. Morning. His aunt cooking. He eyed his dinner, untouched, at his desk.

  He stretched, got up.