Wind tore across the surface of the river. The water looked black and jagged and so, so cold. Lacey regretted not bringing her jacket.

It was a ridiculous thought, she knew. Crouched on the jagged end of what used to be a pylon, stars’ reflections flickering in the blackness of the water that would soon envelop her, and clothes were the thing that came to mind. Clothes. God, she was turning into Mara.

Rede would want the jacket, though. That was the important thing. Rede loved that thing. That’s why Lacey wore it so much, after all.

The thought of Rede’s face made Lacey’s head spin. That reaction was unacceptable. Lacey would do what she had to do, she would not let her feelings get in the way, and she would make it as painless for the others as possible. She had been intentionally vague in the note that she’d left. No details, nothing that would cause them suspicion. It pained her to be so vague, a guilt that chilled her like this nighttime wind. They would wonder why she’d done it. They would blame themselves. They would blame each other. They would blame her.

That was the way it had to be. She clenched her fists, dug her knuckles into the ragged concrete. She couldn’t make her actions comprehensible because then they’d end up. Well. Here.

Another gust of wind buffeted Lacey’s back. She lurched forward, body automatically catching her from falling into the water. She gritted her teeth. This was the exact sort of instinct that she had to suppress.

No time like the present. Lacey breathed in the night-sharp air and took one last look around. Wreckage, logs, debris, moonlight dancing on the water. On the opposite shore, she could make out the silhouette of a boat. Probably one of those hideous Frankenstein’s Monsters, anchored here for the night.

A pang of sorrow washed over her. She would miss those ugly things.

Christ, this was exactly the kind of thing she needed to avoid. Feelings, sentimentality, whatever. She was getting emotional over a fucking Frankenboat. Lacey shook her head violently. Time to do what she came here for.

Lacey stood on shaky legs. Wind whipped her hair into her face, tugged at her clothing. Bits of concrete crumbled away as she shifted her weight.

Out of instinct, Lacey took a deep breath as she let herself fall.

Her entire body tensed as the shocking cold of the water enveloped her. She felt herself turn toward the surface, survival instincts kicking in. It would be so easy: kick toward the pylon, reach out those few inches and drag herself to safety.

Lacey had never been known to do the easy thing. Her body bent and spasmed with strain, curling backward like a gymnast. Grunts of effort sent a spout of bubbles toward the surface. She scissored her legs, forced herself headfirst toward the river bottom. Though she didn’t open her eyes, Lacey felt herself descending. If she opened her mouth, she knew the increasing pressure would send water rushing in. So she did.

The river flooded her mouth, her nose, pressing against the back of her throat. A sputtering inhale drew in even more. She gagged weakly. At this point, she couldn’t expel the water from her lungs, even if she wanted to. It was everywhere now. It burned her chest like an iron brand. Was drowning supposed to be this painful?

Lacey was exploding and imploding at the same time. She was freezing and on fire. Her ribs were cracking, she was sure of it. She was so fucking cold.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

She should have brought a jacket.

#

Lacey was not cold anymore. Something hard pressed into her back. A low rumble permeated the air, so deep she felt it in her teeth. She frowned. Frankly, she had imagined that the afterlife would be more comfortable.

Opening her eyes was a momentous task. Her eyelids were gummed shut and so achey that she actually whined when they parted.

Wooden ceiling, faint but even light source, almost like an electric light. Lacey blinked. Also different than she’d imagined. Maybe this was purgatory.

Hissing in pain, Lacey turned onto her side. Every vertebra throbbed. She pressed her palm flat against whatever she was lying on: flat, smooth, brittle. Plastic?

“You need help with that?”

Lacey froze. Her eyes opened one after the other. She could see the edge of whatever she was lying on and the wooden floor beyond.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Footsteps, muttered curses, and a pair of work boots entered her field of vision. Hands closed around her shoulders and hoisted her upright.

Lacey stared dumbly at the person in front of her. Messy crew cut, big eyes, terrible stick and poke tattoos along the hairline.

The newcomer stared back, half annoyed and half expectant. “Hello?” They gave Lacey an experimental shake.

“Hi,” Lacey croaked. Speaking made her realize how sore her throat was. She doubled over in a coughing fit.

“Jesus.” More footsteps, a series of clunks, and a water bottle was shoved into Lacey’s hands. “Drink. Although I guess you’ve done plenty of that already, huh?” The person chuckled.

Lacey chose to ignore that. She drank greedily, water spilling down her chin.

“Hey! Don’t waste that shit!” Rough hands yanked away the bottle. “Fresh water is rare, okay? You can’t be messy like that.”

“Sorry,” Lacey said. Her voice still came out rough, but much more normal than before.

“Well, at least you’re talking now.” The person shook their head. “You’ve been out for a while. It’s been at least a day.”

Lacey’s head swam.

“Whoa!” The water bottle fell to the floor as the person grabbed Lacey by the shoulders. “No passing out. That’s a boat rule.”

“Boat?” Lacey was seeing stars.

“Oh my fucking Jesus Christ. Do not faint, seriously. You’ll hit your head, and I’m pretty sure you’ve fucked up your brain already.” The hands tightened. “Let’s go slow, okay? I’m Rivet.”

“Oh.” Lacey frowned. “Are you, uh…?”

Rivet rolled their eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you gonna ask if I’m a girl or a boy?”

Lacey closed her mouth. Embarrassment colored her cheeks. “That’s not how I was going to phrase it.”

“Sure,” Rivet drawled. “Whatever. The answer is who gives a fuck. Most people go for girl because of the tits, but I don’t really care.” Rivet pointed to their chest. The gesture didn’t say much, since Rivet’s body was currently obscured by a baggy shirt and a pair of very dirty overalls.

“I’m Lacey,” said Lacey.

Rivet didn’t even blink. “Duh.”

Lacey frowned.

“Most of us know who Lacey Alameda is,” Rivet snorted. “You’re just kind of hard to forget. Weirdo canoe girl with Esmerelda hair. Sticks in your memory.”

“Who’s most of us?”

“I’ll explain that later.” Rivet let go of Lacey’s shoulders and crossed the room. “Right now, I’ve gotta go find my sister.”

Lacey watched Rivet climb a set of rungs in the wall and disappear through what she assumed was a trapdoor. She was completely alone.

Now was a good time to survey the room. It was small, maybe twenty by thirty feet. Like the ceiling and the floors, the walls were also wood. She was sitting on a plastic folding table against the back wall. The other furniture was a set of cabinets, a very small futon, and an even smaller kitchenette. In the corner, two diving suits and SCUBA masks hung from the ceiling next to a pair of coiled hoses.

Lacey had been right earlier when she guessed that the light was electric. A fluorescent strip crossed the ceiling, like her high school classrooms. She stared at it in wonder. What kind of people were Rivet and their sister? Who could afford to run electric lights?

Also, where was she?

Lacey closed her eyes. The hum was still there. If she concentrated, she could feel it vibrating the tabletop. Focusing even harder allowed her to sense a slight rocking motion. The floor tilted beneath her feet. Rivet had said this was a boat, so that made sense.

Her eyes flew open. The electric lights, the hum. This boat had a motor. Only three kinds of people had those. Rivet obviously wasn’t police, and they definitely weren’t rich. That left one other option.

Lacey stared down at her hands. They had started to shake. She curled them into fists and breathed in deep. It hurt her lungs, but she didn’t care. She deserved it. Instead of air, Lacey wished she were breathing water again, washing away the tang of fear.