Chapter 1 - I Walked Into The Ocean

Darryl and Kyle dragged Ryan from the backseat. Ryan could take his lumps, but felt no need to cooperate. Lloel had got off scot free, kept his position as the Cunt of Come By Close, and had chosen of all people, Darryl and Kyle to deal with Ryan. As close friends as Ryan had ever had, they were still a house of thieves and hooligans, and Darryl and Kyle weren’t about to die for Ryan’s fuck ups, not after Goff Street.

Ryan’s life to this point had been a poor one. Growing up in a violent home, taken by social services, returning to a broken family, all the while learning to rob, swindle and mug strangers, then friends, then family. When Ryan had joined the house in Come By Close by Darryl’s invite, he’d resigned himself to life as a thug.

Now, Ryan was going to die at the hands of “friends”, for a weak excuse for a good deed, one which wouldn’t even be given justice. Lloel had joined the house at Come By Close a few months ago, charismatic but cruel he’d found favour in most of the house, and drove them to commit more heinous crimes for more lucrative pay off. They were now armed muggers, racketeers, and burglars. Even stealing cars when opportune. It was only a matter of time before someone would get caught, but Ryan went along with these changes without much resistance. Lloel was a prick, but no one was dead and the money in Ryan's pocket was a fleeting, but worthwhile perk.

Then Goff Street happened, twice even. 2 houses either side of the street, both supposed to be empty, Lloel knew the neighbours and had heard they were going on holiday together. What Lloel had missed is that the trip was short, one house had left a babysitter, and the other a teenager keeping the house. Ryan had tried to tell the police after the fact by way of an anonymous tip, but after 24 hours in custody Lloel walked out of the police station without suspicion. Ryan wasn’t sure how Lloel had figured that Ryan was the rat, but it didn’t matter now, the blame had been set.

Ryan’s thoughts were interrupted as he collided with the ground, Darryl pulled him to his feet. Ryan’s gaze was met with a look of disgust, whether it was disgust at Ryan’s fate or Ryan’s transgression, Ryan couldn’t guess. A glance past Darryl and Ryan could see they were at the old Ship Break, a deconstruction yard 30 years out of service, 40 years out of repair, a long walk out to the deep water. Ryan pulled his face into a grimace, or he would if it wasn’t so swollen. After a few bangs, clanks, and a deep bung, the car boot slammed shut, Kyle rolling a wheelbarrow from behind it, a large concrete ball sat in it. Kyle struggled to steer the clumsy bucket, rolling it in a wide arc around to Ryan’s side.

Kyle pulled from the wheelbarrow a chain link cuff attached to the ball and Ryan broke out in laughter.

“It looks like something out of a cartoon- are you learning italian and suckin’ up to Don Lloel now?”

No one laughed, and Ryan’s face dropped, his words stopping in his gut again. Ryan glanced behind him knowing this was his last chance to escape, but after staring at the quiet of Nearport he gave up. Darryl’s tight squeeze on Ryan’s arm might have been meant to deter him, but it only reminded him of how hobbled his attempt to run would be. Even if he could sprint without a limp, all his escape would do is get Darryl and Kyle in the shit too. Ryan chuckled again under his breath. Had he just considered the consequences of his actions? He couldn’t remember if he’d ever bothered to do so before.

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It felt like it took a half hour to get to the yard's end, and between Ryan's stumbling and Kyles struggling to pilot the wheelbarrow it might have.

Ryan huffed “Now what?”

Ryan stood just shy of the yards edge as Darryl passed him, hoisted the concrete ball to his chest, and thrust it at Ryan, it was heavy. It took all of Ryan’s strength to not tumble over, and he suspects even were he well it’d be a struggle. Darryl let out a sound like he’d been punched in the throat, then pulled up rigid, looking like a toddler playing strong-man.

“Walk off”

The lack of Darryl’s conviction was as embarrassing as it was heart wrenching. Ryan sobbed, he shrugged the ball up and gripped it tight. Kyle, silent the whole while covered his face with a balled up hand.

Ryan whined “You’re all a bunch of fucking pricks”

Sounding less the man, and more a child. Then he rushed, 3 steps and almost a jump. A crash. A pull. Chest pain. Clarity. Dead at 26 years old, he’d never ride his bike down the motorway again, never stay out drinking until morning light again, never run from the police in panic and excitement again. He’d never bury a babysitter or a teenager again.

As his life was sure to leave him, and he dwelled on what a bastard he had been. A voice came to Ryan

“Would you like to try again?”

“What?” Ryan snapped.

“Would you like to try again?” The voice snapped back.

“Try what again?”

“Life” The voice said with warmth, a sure, and serious warmth.

“I don’t understand” Hesitation and fear seeped into Ryan's… voice? thoughts? intentions?.

“Do you know what happened?” The voice asked.

“I walked into the ocean”

“You did”

“I died?”

“You did”

The hesitation left Ryan, calm washed over him. Clarity again set on his mind.

“I’d like to try again” Ryan set out his intention, and then a moment later took to panic again ”is this just a question or can you make that happen?”

“I can make that happen” The voice said carrying that warmth again.

“And why would you?”

“It’s just what I do” The voice said calmly and then followed up “Treat him well, he’ll be as confused as you”

“Who will?” Ryan's mind jolted. His body surged, it felt like he’d worked every muscle he had to destruction. He was still in the water; The water was lit, had the night passed? Was it day already?

Ryan struggled to the surface, after some flailing and a break of the water Ryan found himself belly down on the shore of a river embankment. The ground was muddy, mulchy even. As he clawed up the bank he saw trees; Tall vine-laden trees the likes of which he’d never expect in Nearport. As the ground levelled out he took to his feet and took a deep breath. Strange, as he considered his situation, the past moments actions, the conversation; He came to understand. The conversation was not in voice, but in thought, or feeling. His waking was also strange, he hadn’t felt like he had moved, in fact for a while, he felt wholly numb, as if he didn’t have a body at all. Now that he thought of it, his body wasn’t battered anymore, it ached, but not feeling damaged, but worked, like he’d been training every muscle to exhaustion. Everything felt... new.