The Drowning (15 page)

After a while, we move apart. My legs are trembling, there’s sweat pooling between my shoulder blades, under my arms. “I need to sit down,” I say, and collapse into one of the tattered canvas chairs. Neisha makes to go and sit in the other one, but I pull her toward me and draw her onto my lap. I need her warmth again, and her mouth on mine. The chair creaks beneath us. Neisha makes a face.

“Is this all right?” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s all right.” And now we’re kissing again and one of her hands is on the back of my neck and the
other is buried in my hair. When we come up for breath, we’re both flushed, happy, almost shy with each other. She rests her face against mine and we sit quietly.

“Your dad was right about Rob. He still is. Neisha —”

I’m on the edge of telling her, but I hesitate, trying to find the right words. She puts her index finger up to my lips.

“He was right about Rob, but he’s wrong about you …”

And she leans close and we’re kissing again. And again. And again.

There’s a chill in the air. I want to stay here forever, but it’s going to be too cold soon.

“We need to find somewhere inside,” I say, thinking I could try forcing the lock on one of the huts.

“Okay,” she says, “show me your school.” There’s a sparkle in her eyes now, a glint of devilment.

“Break in?”

“Why not? I want to know all about you. The places you go. The people you know. Show me.”

We struggle to our feet, muscles stiff from being squashed into the chair. Holding hands, we walk past classroom trailers toward the heart of the school — the main building with the hall, the cafeteria, the library, the teacher’s lounge, and the principal’s office.

The windows are old metal-framed things, each pane crisscrossed into hundreds of little lozenges. Easy to slide a knife in and flick the catch … and, of course, I’ve got a knife …

We slope around to the back of the building, away from the road, away from prying eyes. The library windows are low down
and out of anyone’s view. I set to work. I’ve seen Rob do this many times. It was always his job to get in, not mine; I was just the lookout. He even knew how to disable alarms, not that he often needed to here with the caretaker being so slack.

Peering through the glass I can see that the catch at the side isn’t even in place, so it’s only the bottom one that’s keeping it shut at all. I wiggle the blade in and poke at the metal arm until I dislodge it. I grip the edge of the frame with the tips of my fingers and pull until it comes free and the window swings out toward me. There’s no alarm, as usual. We’re in.

I look at Neisha. She’s got her lips pressed tight together, eyes bright with excitement now, not tears.

“Should we do it?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “Give me a boost up.”

I put my hands on her waist and lift her up. She gets her feet on the window ledge, then steps onto a desk on the other side and jumps down. I follow.

The library’s got that smell, it’s not like anywhere else in the world. Books and dust, the polish they use on the wooden floor. It brings me back to the first time I walked in here. A whole room just for books — it boggled my mind. I liked coming here, taking a book off the shelves at random and seeing what was in it. Rob never saw the point in reading, but I came all the time. That’s how it will be now, if I want it. If I ever come back to school.

Neisha’s halfway to the door already. I hang back, run my fingers along the top of a row of books, enjoying the contrast of plastic-coated covers and worn, soft pages … wondering which one to pull out, what’s inside.

“Come on,” she hisses, and even that sounds too loud in this empty space. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just … nothing. I like this place, that’s all. It’s special. So many books.”

She shrugs. “We’ve got loads of books at home.” A house full of books, like Harry’s. A different sort of house than mine. “You should have a look, borrow some.” She walks back to me and takes my hand. “When my dad’s out,” she adds. “Come on.”

We walk into the corridor. It’s eerie without anyone else here. Our sneakers squeak on the smooth tiles of the floor. I want to like it, being here, to feel like The Man, breaking in, bringing my girl here, but I just feel small. The emptiness reminds me of all the people missing, of Rob, who used to fill these halls, but won’t ever be here again.

I start looking for something to chase this feeling away. I want to impress Neisha, hear her laughter echoing off the blank walls.

There’s nothing in the school hall. Everything’s been tidied away — it’s just a big empty space. There’s an air of boredom still clinging to the place, though. Nothing can get rid of that. Hundreds of kids packed in here day after day for assembly, sitting in rows on hard plastic chairs. Numb backsides, numb brains. Breathing in each other’s farts.

I lead her out of the hall and we find the corridor by the principal’s office. I try the door; it’s locked. There are three chairs outside; the place where you wait to be summoned. Death row.

“Here,” I say, and I sit down, pulling her down next to me. I fish in my jacket pocket and pull out the pack of cigarette and matches. “Do you fancy a smoke?”

I spark up a match and hold it carefully for Neisha. She draws her cigarette into life, takes a long drag, and then blows the smoke toward the ceiling.

“Aren’t you having one?”

I remember the last time I tried, choking on the harsh smoke.

“Nah,” I say, aware I’m probably losing cool points.

I flick the match toward the bin beside my chair, then strike another one and flick that, too. Neisha watches with approval as she smokes.

“Bet you’ve sat here plenty of times,” she says.

And I have. And I can remember, just like that. I don’t even have to try.

I remember what it was like waiting for my turn to go in. Sitting forward in my chair, keeping my eyes down, watching people’s legs as they walked past. And Rob next to me, sitting back, head against the wall, making eye contact with everyone. Telling them all, “Yeah, I’m here again. So what?” with every glance.

Is everything back now? Have I remembered it all?

“Yeah. They don’t do anything, though,” I say. “Give you a lecture. Suspend you. It’s nothing, is it? What’s your school like?”

She opens her mouth to reply, then stops. She looks past me. There’s smoke wisping out of the bin, and now an actual flame licking the balled-up paper inside.

“Oops,” she says, then catches my eye and laughs.

“Better put it out,” I say, looking around for a cloth or an extinguisher or something, but before I can find anything, there’s a noise so loud, so piercing, that it sets all the little bones in my ears rattling. At the same time it starts raining. Not pattering on the roof or the windows, but raining inside — spraying out from the ceiling, pissing onto the floor.

Neisha starts squealing. She’s laughing at the same time.

“Oh my God! Look at it!”

She spins around in the middle of the corridor, holding her hands out, catching the drops on her palms, on her face. Then she stops for a moment and looks at me.

I’m not laughing.

The water rains down on me and almost instantly he appears. Rob. He’s in the corridor behind Neisha. Cold hate radiates from him as he looks first at me, then her. The black holes where his eyes should be burn with a dark fire.

“This is crazy! It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Neisha shouts at me. “Carl?”

“We’ve got to get out of here, Neisha. We’ve got to get out now!”

S
he’s soaking, her long hair hanging in rats’ tails around her shoulders. Now she’s starting to shiver.

“Okay, okay. It’s just water. Bloody freezing, though!”

“No, you don’t understand! Just run, Neisha! Get out of here!”

She turns and starts running away from me, her feet making a slapping noise on the wet floor. She’s going to run straight into him.

“No! Stop!” I don’t know which of them I’m shouting at, but Neisha turns to glance back at me and slows down. Behind her, Rob’s face is immobile, set in a grim death mask.

“Not that way!”

“I’m getting soaked, Carl! I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“But he’s here! He’s right here!”

She turns her confused face to me and now they’re lined up: her in front, him behind. He’s still standing there — silent, staring.

“Who’s here? What are you on about?”

She’s so close to him. He could reach out and touch her …

“Rob,” I say.

She wheels around, then turns back again.

“There’s no one …”

“He’s right behind you, Neisha. Come back this way.” I beckon to her with both hands. Her face is still questioning, but she moves toward me, slowly. Behind her, Rob moves, too.

The water’s still spraying out from the ceiling. My clothes are saturated. It’s dripping off my hair, my nose, everywhere. The alarm’s blaring out, rattling my head. And he’s coming for us.

Neisha’s close now. “There’s no one here, Carl,” she says, trying to soothe me. But there’s no time to explain. As she reaches her hand up to stroke my hair, I grab it and start pulling her along the corridor, away from Rob.

“What are you — ? What’s going on?”

The water is starting to pool on the floor, there’s nowhere for it to go. It’s beginning to rise up the bottom of the tiled walls. And it’s not clean, it’s brown and foul.

“Come on. Come on!” I shout. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

I yank at her hand again and she starts to run with me. The water’s coming down so fast it’s almost ankle deep now. We run to the end of the corridor and Neisha slips on the wet tiles. It’s so sudden, I can’t keep hold of her. She’s down before I know it. For a moment she lies there, flat on her front, facedown in the water.

Frozen and horrified, I stare at her. A small wave washes over the back of her head. A layer of water that seems to cradle the curve of her neck, forming fingers that are pressing her down, forcing her face under.

She’s drowning.

Yesss!
Rob’s triumphant voice hisses in my ear.

“No!” I yell.

I reach down and pull her head and shoulders out of the water. There’s an awful moment when she doesn’t react. Her face is blank, her body limp in my hands. Then she retches, violently, and again, until at last her throat is clear and she’s breathing properly. Her hands grip my arms and I pull her onto her feet.

“Shit!” she gasps, wiping the water from her hands and mouth.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I hate having my face in the water. It’s like … it’s just like …”

“I know,” I say, realizing that in those few seconds she was back in the lake, out of her depth, fighting for her life. This time it was only a few inches deep, but it nearly had her.

I want to hug her, there and then. Hold on tight and never let her go. But the water’s still falling, the alarm’s still ringing, and Rob’s still here somewhere. “Come on,” I say. We need to get away, get out of here, get dry before he comes for us again.

Around the corner there are a couple of steps. We stagger up and I notice the difference at once: The floor’s dry. The sprinklers aren’t going in this section of the building. We’re both still drenched. We leave wet footprints as we run along together.

Rob’s still with us. Behind one moment, in front the next. He’s yelling at me.

You fucking traitor.

“How are we going to get out?” Neisha asks.

I’m getting stronger, little brother.

“We’ll try another window. Here —”

Help me kill her …

In a panic I push against the metal plate on the next door to the left. The door swings open and we bundle inside. It’s the girls’ bathroom.

The door swings shut behind us, rocking on its hinges until it settles, and Neisha and I look at each other. The alarm is fainter in here, but now we can hear a siren, maybe two, coming from outside.

“Fire engines,” I say. “Police, too, probably.”

… or I’ll kill you both.

I turn around and yank at the roller towel on the wall behind the door. It’s the sort that pulls out a little way before feeding back up into the metal box. I duck down and scrub at my wet hair, rubbing my ears to try and get all the water out. Get
him
out, away from me, away from her.

“Grab the other towel,” I say to Neisha. “Try and get dry.”

“It’s all right. I’ll do it when I get home. I just want to get out of here,” she says.

There’s a row of four stalls in the room, and we’re standing by a couple of sinks. They’ve got mirrors on the walls above them and farther up the wall, two little windows with frosted glass. The windows are pretty small.

“What do you think?” I say, looking up.

“No, Carl. Let’s go back. There must be an easier way.”

“There isn’t, Neisha, not without getting soaked again, and the cops will be here any minute. Trust me. I need to get you out of here. There’s a little yard on the other side with some benches and stuff. You might be able to drop onto one of them — it’s not so far down. Here, I’ll help you up.”

She puts one foot up on the edge of a sink and I give her a boost. I hold her legs steady as she unhooks the catch on the window and pushes it open. The tap at the sink is dripping.