The pounding wouldn't stop. Last thing he needed to do was drink himself to sleep. Hangovers were a killer on the job. Why couldn't I be a weekend drunk like Dad? he lamented. Sure the old cow was a pain on Sundays, but at least it was predictable. A kid could avoid the worst of his father's behavior if he knew it was coming. Too bad he couldn't do the same for himself.

Staggering through the dark, he massaged his temples hoping to alleviate the pain to no effect. He could solider through a hangover back in the day, but that vanished with his bulging biceps. There was a time when women would grab a side of the bar and let him bench-press them for a few minutes. "Ah," he murmured to himself, winching at the sound of his own voice. "Those were the days."

A fresh thud jammed into his brain, but it wasn't from inside. Rubbing his forehead, he blinked, finding himself on the ground, staring at a light pole. As if mocking him, the light flickered on and off, making it easy for one to run into it in the night. Hankins needed to stop being such a cheapskate and get some lights working for a change. No point in telling him that now. Employers didn't like to be chastised or advised by new employees.

With only having a week's experience at the job, Ed thought he had a pretty good handle on it. Not that there was much to the position. All he had to do was trade places with the day guard, lock the gate behind him, and maintain the perimeter until his replacement came at dawn. Easy money. Simple task. Hardest part was keeping himself awake and entertained during the lonely nights. He had a boombox sitting at his stoop near the entrance, blasting ACDC. Right now, Bon was singing about cheap dirty deeds.

He cut it off. His pounding head couldn't take it anymore. Besides, Ed knew enough about dirty deeds. Not that he liked to dwell on the past. He preferred to think ahead, like his new job. Night guard at Avalon Lake. That was the best job someone like him could get around here. Hard to get work anywhere else with a record; sad fact of life. As luck would have it, Hankins was a trusting boss, even if most people found him a bit off-putting. It was strange for such a simple security job to require a firearm. He guarded a lake. It's not as if Hankins owned the crown jewels. "Try telling him that," he laughed to himself.

His aging employer had glared at him with his thin dark eyes. The owner's office was littered with medieval memorabilia. Broadswords, daggers, a crossbow, two quivers of arrows, a painting of knights in combat, and a coat of arms displaying five bright-colored seashells. Ed didn't know men Hankins age could be such fanatics. Looks like he plans to throw a crusade, he had mocked.

In a physical sense, the man was far from intimidating. His bald head and wrinkles gave him the appearance of a ball of wet paper. He needed a cane to walk anywhere, requiring both hands to hold him up. Coughing into a handkerchief, he barked, "You're the nightwatchman of Avalon. It is your duty to protect it no matter what. That gun is your sword. The flashlight is your guide in the darkness. No foe shall pass you."

Staggering to his feet, Ed kicked at the light pole before resuming his patrol. Other than squirrelly poles, Ed had no reason to complain. He didn't have to deal with all the tourists during the day. It made him weary just thinking about keeping people from littering in the lake or stopping kids from swimming. How can anyone keep that up all day? he wondered. His job was so easy by comparison. The night life was dead out here. His problems were few and far between. Worst situation was when a drunk kept trying to scale the fence, the main source deterring troublemakers. He fell and Ed had to call an ambulance. That was the most excitement he'd had yet.

Avalon Lake was one of the oldest tourist attractions on the island. According to Hankins, there was a time when the line stretched from the gate all the way down the hill on the dirt road, seeming to run into town. Those days were long gone. Nowadays, most tourists came for the beach. The townsfolk had capitalized on this by centralizing the shops and hotels near the gulf, creating a perfection getaway spot for mainlanders. A lot could change in ten years. With so much beach life in town, fewer people cared to travel up the hill and visit the lake. Still, there were enough for Hankins to afford his guards and make a little profit, but not enough to keep the lights working right.

In the brief flashes of the light pole, Ed caught some great glimpses of the lake. On the mainland, they might call it a pond, but with it being the biggest source of freshwater on the island. It might as well be a lake. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. At all hours, the water was a crystal-clear blue. One could see right to the muddy floor, which appeared so smooth and inviting. Ed wondered what it would feel like to wade in barefooted. At the center of the lake was a basalt rock, which was smooth as any gem. No animals lived in the water as if they did not wish to defile the crystal pool. It looked right out of a legend. Perhaps that was why it was given a name out of the King Arthur story. The lake had a legend of his own, going back long before the town's foundation. It held no interest to the lake's nightwatchman. Locals loved to invent stories to keep a tourist's wallet around.

Growing weary of walking, Ed staggered over to his post, unburdening his legs. The guard house was a simple chair, wooden shelter, a pedestal to sit behind, and a box to collect tickets. Adding a boombox was a massive improvement. If guarding this place was so important, one would think Hankins would put a little more money toward his guards' comfort.

His head's throbbing refused to subside. If only there was a way to relieve his pain. Leaning in his chair, he felt his fatigue begin to catch up with him. When was the last time I got some decent sleep? he asked himself, not knowing the answer. He fought it, getting up, but his head began to swim, forcing him to sit once more. His fatigue worsened.

Yawning, he murmured, "I can close my eyes for a minute. No harm in that." When his eyes opened again, he had no idea how much time had passed. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two minutes. Either way, his fatigue and headache were better, not much but anything was an improvement. That was all he needed to make it through the shift. Getting back on his feet, he stretched, bones popping. He froze. It was then that he saw it.

The outside gate was open. "No," he muttered. "No. No. No." As if possessed by a madman, he tore toward the gate, pulling it closed with strength far beyond his own. It slammed shut only to bounce open again. The lock was gone, no doubt cut. His stomach dropped. Hankins was going to find out. There was no way to hide it. His boss would notice if the lock was replaced, not that Ed could remember what the old lock looked it. A simple lie could help him avoid his immediate punishment, but that was preventing the inevitable. That was a basic lesson he learned on the mainland. No one can escape his fate.

Hankins would fire him. Didn't matter if it was sooner or later. Unemployment was coming all the same. The mere thought made his stomach churn. It was hard enough to get this gig. Who would want to hire him after this? A fired convict was a double strike against him. He might as well get one of those swell face tattoos that would make him a triple-threat, guaranteed to remain unemployed for the rest of his life.

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Standing in the depths of his despair, he looked at the open gate. Slip out, he thought. He could turn his back on it all now. It was not a great choice, but it had to be better than standing around and waiting to meet his fate. This way he could just quit and move on with his life. At least it was his choice to leave rather than someone else's decision to fire him.

A gasp burst into his ears. Someone's here. At once, he swung his flashlight behind him to reveal no one. He swung the light around, searching around the lake. I know what I heard. Whoever is here can't get far. He kept himself in the direct path of the gate. It was the only way out without climbing the fence. If they walked through the gate, they wanted to leave the same way. I won't let them escape, he resolved. If he could catch the intruder, there was a chance to save his job. Hankins will understand. He had to. Ed's job depended on it.

"Come on out," he shouted, his head pounding at the sound of his voice. He shook his head, combating his pain. Too much was at stake to let a hangover hinder him. His ears perked up, listening for any sound that would declare the intruder's location. The light moved around the fence, moving closer to the lake. He narrowed the hiding places until at last only the lake remained.

He jolted when a crop of red hair fell beneath his light. "There you are," he cried in excitement. The bop of red hair slipped under the surface, leaving ripples in the water. "You can't get away," he shouted, hurrying to the lake's edge. Whoever was in the water didn't know one of the first rules of Avalon Lake. There was no hiding under the surface. Though his flashlight couldn't pierce deep into the water, it gave him more than enough light to see a human form swimming fast as a fish.

He raced to where the figure wanted to reach the land. "Where do you think you're going?" he shouted, as a figured attempted to scramble away. Before Ed could caught it full in the face with his light, the figure grabbed something and leapt back into the water, splashing water into his face. Grunting in frustration, Ed struggled to wipe the water from his blurring eyes. He ran around again, struggling to keep up with the figure. You'll get tired soon enough, he puffed, and when you do, I'll be waiting. The game of cat and mouse went on longer than Ed wanted. It was not long before he was gasping for air with a sharp pang in his side. Still, he kept limping around, keeping up with the intruder, who seemed to swim slower by the minute.

At last, the figure got to the edge fast enough to climb out of the lake and begin racing for the gate. This is it, Ed realized through his blurry eyes, releasing his pistol from its hostler. "Both hands in the air. I have a gun and will shoot." The figure stopped running just short of the light post. A sigh of relief slipped from his lips. That was too close. A few more steps and it would've been too late. Edging forward with a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, he ordered, "Don't make any sudden moves. Put both hands on your head. I'm turning you over to the police."

"Umm," the figure asked. At once, Ed froze as the figure came into focus. Dripping wet, a red-haired woman stepped into the light, revealing herself to only be standing in a drenched towel. "Can I at least get decent first?"

Edmund thought his teenage days of being flustered by a woman's femininity was behind him. In his rebel days, he saw more than his fair share of women and believed he had them figured out. Still, here he was, heart pounding as he averted his eyes, turning his back to her. "Make it fast," he grumbled. His ears remained perked, listening out for any retreating steps. The awkward silence between them was only interrupted by the shuffling of a woman pulling her clothes back on.

"Okay, I'm dressed," she announced when she finished. She wore a tight black t-shirt, reading "Hey Ho, Let's Go," with a torn shoulder. Her short, form-fitting grey jeans cut off at the knees, revealing smooth legs. Wet spots dotted her clothes on her belly, at her knees, and under her armpits. She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail before raising her hands again. Despite her shambled appearance, Ed blushed again, taking a step back. She's beautiful.

"Now, what is this all about?" she asked with sweet innocence.

"You know what this is about," he retorted, snapping out of his stupor. He could not get distracted. "You're trespassing on private property," he stated, pointing at the open gate.

"Oh," she replied with a shrug. "That."

"Yes that," he spat. "Did the lock not clue you in?"

"I was going to ask about that," she said. "It's Thursday morning. That's my swim time."

"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed in confusion. How could she talk like it was the most natural thing in the world?

"Didn't Paul tell you?" she asked. He gapped at her, wondering who Paul was. Shaking her head, she groaned, "I told him to tell the new guy about Thursdays. This is what I get for not doing the deed myself." Dropping her hands back to her sides, she stepped toward Ed, hand extended. "I've been coming here every week for a little private swim. Paul's let me do it for..." She cut herself off, pausing for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Ed?" she blurted in sudden surprise. "It's you, right? Or am I getting people mixed up again?"

"Do I know?" he started, but as soon as he recognized the scar on her lip, he knew her at once. "Henrietta Roberts." The firecracker of Hurricane High. There was a time when no one found her looks appealing. She had a big chest but that was about it. Too many freckles with bad acne spots. Worse hair. What she did have was an explosive personality. One that too many guys found too attractive to pass up.

Who stood before him now was a different woman of a much higher grade. The rest of her body caught up with her chest, revealing her figure to have the curves in all the right place. In a word, she was perfect. "I go by Hettie now," she replied. "Still go by Ed or did ya do the opposite of me?"

"No, same old Ed."

She eyed him. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way." Even in the dim light, he caught a glint in her eye. He didn't say anything. If she knew he saw, who knew what she'd do, if under all the change she were the same old Henrietta.

"What are you doing out here?" he demanded, changing the subject. It was so long since they saw each other. It'd be great to catch up. He winced, remembering the situation they were in. She was the intruder and he caught her. He glanced at the gun in his hand. Why did his life have to mock him? Couldn't he have anything nice?

"I think we've already been over that," she replied with a giggle. "Paul forgot to relay the message."

There's no Paul, he thought. You're Henrietta. Rules weren't on your list of priorities. He struggled to think of something to say, but found himself lacking for words. It doesn't make sense, he hissed. One woman shouldn't throw you off-balance so much.

"Life is a tightrope. See the other side. Don't lose your balance. It's a long way to the bottom," an old face from the past reminded him. If he knew that years ago, Ed would've never landed behind bars. When a man couldn't walk the rope, it became a noose around his neck. A wise man knew where to keep his feet.

"So," Hettie said, tongue free of the cat's claws. "Are you going to take me in, old buddy?"

A warning bell rang in his mind. This was a woman who would send him into a freefall. Women had a bad habit of that. How many men sat in jail because of some dumb junk involving a woman? Still, when he looked into the eyes before him, something stirred inside him. An awakening desire that he was sure died long ago. A faint memory returned, one he had almost forgotten. His head stopped throbbing. At once, everything looked a little different and what was so important no longer mattered to him. Holstering his gun, he asked with a grin, "My shift is almost up. Wanna blow this place and get an early breakfast?"

Under any other circumstances, they would've enjoyed that breakfast. Over a couple plates of bacon and waffles, they'd catch up, discussing everyone they used to know. In time, they'd run out of common topics. All they would have left was to talk about one another, which always sparked interesting emotions. Who knows where they'd go after that? But these were not average circumstances as the fog rolled in.