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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[HR] You Gotta Drown

Laying flat on his stomach underneath a raised,1980's Chris Craft Scorpion, the boat's scent of mildewed lake water strong in his nostrils, Justin couldn't stop seeing Laz die.

The memory played on repeat in his mind. The dark house that was supposed to be empty this summer. The wall safe. The sound of a creaking floorboard. The explosion of a shotgun. White hot incandescent light flashbanging him, sawing through his eyes. Meat and blood and bone exploding from Laz's back like a grotesque confetti popper, spraying viscera down Justin's front before he turned and ran out of there like the Devil was after him.

Sticky bits of Laz still covered Justin's neck and face, itchy where it had begun to dry like glue. His clothes were ruined now and before he could even think about making it out of this he'd have to find something clean to change into. Currently he resembled a walking talking Manson Family crime scene. One look at him and anyone with a cell phone would have the cops on him in minutes. Less.

Blood, bone, and guts. He cursed himself for not taking the keys to the truck off Laz before he ran out of there. Whoever had shot Laz had done it with no problem, though, not even a word of warning. As far as Justin's logic went, it stood to reason that the shooter had no issue with adding him to the body count as well.

Goddamnit, why wasn't the house empty? Laz had been certain it would be. Those were his exact words. "Hey, man, chill. Allie does the cleaning there on the weekends and she says these people are out in North Carolina for the summer, doing some sort of fuckin' timeshare shit. I'm certain, alright?"

And like a fool, Justin had believed him. Driving to the job at 2am, he actively ignored the nervous feeling churning in his stomach, the cold sweat making him shiver as they listened to the police scanner for patrols in the area. When they pulled up to the house there hadn't been any lights on in any of the windows and the driveway was devoid of cars. It was one of those big lake houses in a community of copycats, each with their own two acres leading down to a dock and the better side of Lake White Bear. Manicured lawns. Meticulously trimmed hedges. Even the trees looked rich. Justin had forced himself to block out the little pissant voice telling him that this seemed too good to be true.

In the distance he heard the faint whine of a police siren, maybe an ambulance too. Probably a couple of squad cars at least. Justin had been in this business long enough to know that cops didn't show up to shootings without a team. A whole swarm of bees with badges would arrive and get down to the brass tax of finding him. First, they'd find Laz dead, so certain about his misinformation. They'd see he still had the keys to the truck and that's when the shooter would explain, if he hadn't already, that there had been two burglars and that the one still breathing was on foot. Justin wasn't sure if Harrison County had a K-9 Unit or not, but he was betting they did. In less than a half-hour they'd have a dragnet set up to catch him. In a small upper class town like White Bear? They'd hunt him past the state line. He had to get out of there immediately.

As quietly as he could, Justin rolled out from underneath the Chris Craft and surveyed his surroundings. About fifty yards from where he had been hiding, an embankment sloped gradually downward toward crowded dock space. Beyond that the shimmering surface of Lake White Bear ebbed gently against the mooring with soft splashes and the occasional ghalump of water suction. Higher up on the hill was a large grey house, windows black and eerily still.

Justin scratched at his neck. He really needed to wash Laz's blood off of him and breaking into another occupied home to do it was miles away from smart right now. But the lake was right there.

With hyper-focused caution, Justin padded across the grass to the dock and sat down, exhaustion washing over him as he took off his shoes and socks. The sound of police sirens was much louder now. He did not know how far he had run from the crime scene, and although it felt like he'd been running for an hour, he knew he probably hadn't put enough distance between himself and Laz's body. If he didn't hurry he would soon be in handcuffs in the caged backseat of a cruiser wondering how it had all gone so wrongly.

The dock's damp wooden boards were chilly on the soles of his feet but when he eased himself into the water he found the lake to be surprisingly warm, even this late at night. Treading water as best he could, Justin dunked his head underneath and scrubbed the blood and brain off of his face. Lake went up his nostrils like fire ants making him cough and splutter, spitting into the water and splashing instinctively, much more than he figured was quiet and safe enough to do. After that he'd had it with the lake. The blood was washed off his face now, fine. It was never going to come out of his shirt. At least he'd had the sense to wear dark clothes, plus it was still pitch black out. If anyone did happen to spot him, they wouldn't be able to tell he had blood all down his front. These were small mental concessions but they helped improve Justin's optimism that maybe he might make it out of this after all.

Pulling himself out of the water and onto the dock as quietly as possible was no easy feat, but with some exertion he managed it. He lay on the cool wooden planks for a second, catching his breath, listening to the splash of water off boat hulls and the whisper of wind through grass and trees. A night bird called above in a branch behind him. All of Justin's senses seemed heightened, and yet, dulled. For a moment the trouble he was facing felt distant and unimportant. Chilliness brought him back to the panic, however, and with resigned reluctance he forced himself back onto his feet, his mind racing to plot his next move.

And in the darkness that swelled over the water rose a newer sound. A soft tinkling of what Justin placed to be sleigh bells. His ears pricked and his attention darted to the noise like a small animal catching the scent of an unseen predator. Over the lake he could partially make out a shadow gliding across the water, but only just. His heart thumping like a battle drum, he scrambled to grab his shoes and made a beeline across the wharf to where a small catamaran was moored, leaping onto the deck and once again diving onto his stomach near starboard, hoping he hadn't been seen by whatever it was that approached.

A wan, greyish blue light bloomed to life in the darkness, and though it was rather dim, to Justin it seemed as bright as a lighthouse lamp. He flattened himself even more against the boat's deck, squinting across the black lake.

A small rowboat came into view, coasting slowly toward the dock. A lantern hung from the bow, a thick candle burning dully, it's flame wavering silently as the boat came to a stop just at the end of the moor. A man was at the oars. Even in the dark Justin could see he was old. The shaggy silver beard knotted around the man's chin glittered in the moonlight and the way he rowed revealed the sort of back problems usually reserved for the elderly. When the boat came to a halt, bumping and scraping against the dock, the man pulled his oars in and tied it off to an unused cleat.

"Ya can quit hiding now, Justin." The man's voice was deep and raspy, almost like a cough stretched thin as a whisper. Justin felt The Fear return to the foreground of his mind. "I ain't here with them cops round yonder. I swear it. I'm here to take ya where'n ya need takin' to. Now come out here so we can be off."

Justin stayed flat. He had no idea what was going on or who this man was. For all he knew this guy was with the Coast Guard or something and this was all a trick. Sound travels a long way over water. Could be some boat cop heard him splashing and sputtering around in the lake and cooked up this old man's story upon investigation. He wasn't about to let them lure him out with tricks.

The old man reached into his long coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out of the pack, put the filter between his teeth and bit it off, spitting it into the lake. He leaned over his boat and lit the cigarette off the weak flame of the lantern's candle. The smell of the cigarette triggered Justin's nicotine addiction, but he stayed put.

The man ashed into the lake. "These I rolled myself. Got a box'a tubes and tobacco, one'a them hand rollers. Cheaper than buyin' them Winston's. But they taste a hell of a lot worse. Ya come on out, ya can have as many as ya need. Be quick about it though, boy. The law gon' be here before ya know it, and then it'll be a long while before you taste a Winston again. Ain't no smokes in county. Took 'em all out years back on account of lung cancer. But you know that. Ya been to county plenty. You'll be there before sunup if you don't get in this boat."

The old man was right about most of that. There weren't any cigarettes in county anymore. Hadn't been for nearly ten years now. And he had been there his fair share of times. And the way it was looking, he'd probably be there again before morning. This time though they'd have him segregated on the Felony Wing and he'd be going up State.

Justin slowly stood up. He couldn't have told you why he did it, not really. A part of him wanted to believe that the old man was here to help him. On the other side of things, if the old man was setting a trap, Justin just wanted to spring it and have this nightmare end. So he stood up from his hiding place and faced him.

"How do you know who I am, and who sent you here?"

The old man flicked his cigarette into the lake and motioned for Justin to get in the boat. "All these questions ya got be better answered once we out on the water. Trust me on this one, boy."

All Justin could think of was the feeling of cold handcuffs being latched to his wrists, too tightly, digging into his skin as he tried to find a comfortable sitting position in the back of a cop car. He'd take the rowboat over that every time. He padded quickly across the dock and stepped into the boat. The old man got in and sat across from him, taking up the oars once more.

They pushed off from the dock and with two strong beats of the oars they glided out into the clear distance of the lake. Soon the rhythmic splash of water on oars and oars on water began to make Justin drowsy. That, combined with the night's exhaustive series of events made it difficult to stay awake. Only the fear and uncertainty kept his eyes open.

For twenty minutes the stranger rowed and rowed. He was strong for an old man, Justin had to admit. He wasn't sure if he could have kept it up for even half that distance, even though he was decades more youthful.

The man stopped rowing. Darkness flooded every direction. The moon had been obscured by clouds and the candle had burnt out. The man pulled the oars in.

"You got questions." He rasped. "Here is the place to ask them."

"Okay," Justin started. "Who are you and what is this? How did you know where to find me and why are you helping me? Did Laz hire you or something?"

The old man pulled out the cigarettes and offered one to Justin who took it eagerly. Like the old man had done, Justin bit off the filter and spat it into the water. The old man did the same, only this time he lit Justin's cigarette with a match and then his own. Before the match burnt too far down he relit the candle inside of the lantern. The glow of it cast ghostly shadows across the man's face, a face that seemed oddly familiar to Justin.

The man exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "The answers I'm gonna give ya," he said, "ain't gonna be easy to accept. Matter fact, I promise ya they're gonna come out like insanity."

Justin nodded. The way the night was going, insanity seemed like the new normal. "Well go on then," he encouraged the man. "Explain it so it sounds sane."

The old man nodded back. "Well here it is and I swear it's the truth, so help me God." He hit the cigarette again and talked through the smoke. "Everybody who ever lived eventually dies. Just like Laz did tonight. You seen that much is true. The thing about dying' though, is not a whole lot of folks know what happens after that. But I do know what happens. I sure do."

Justin was already confused. "What does this have to do with anyth-"

"Just hold up and let me tell it. I said it wasn't gonna be pretty." The old man killed his cigarette and tossed it. "Like I was saying," he continued, " I happen to know what happens when the reaper comes knocking. I know you always wondered about God and heaven and hell. Well, all of that shit is real. When you die, you go to one of two places. Up, or down. And you don't wanna go down, trust me. But when you're going up, there are some bad folks who wanna stop that from happening. I guess they get brownie points or something for every soul they stop from gettin' into heaven. So when you're on your way in, they try to strike up a deal with you. I'm here tonight because I took the deal."

Nothing the man said made any logical sense. "What the hell are you talking about? Seriously, man. Who the hell are you?"

The old man laughed a small hoarse chuckle. "Boy, ain't it obvious? I'm you."

The old man was right. His story was completely insane. Justin laughed along with him.

"I told you it was crazy, right?"

Justin nodded laughing and then he reached across the boat and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket. "Who the fuck are you!" He growled.

The old man pulled Justin's hands from his coat with more of that surprising strength. The muscles in his hands felt like corded steel. He pushed Justin back to the other end of the rowboat, the force of it rocking the boat slightly and making the lantern swing on its perch.

"Like it or not, I'm you." The man said again.

"No. No you aren't."

"Justin Lee Washburn. Born December 22nd, 1987 in Duluth, Minnesota. When you were a kid you were in and out of juvie for running away from home because your daddy beat you up. They put you in that foster home and everybody started calling you Jail instead of J.L. like you wanted 'em to. You broke Casey Fitch's nose because of it out back of that little community park and he never ratted you out. Told Ms. Christine that he face planted falling off a jungle gym. Don't nobody know about that but us and Casey."

Justin's mind raced wildly trying to remember if he had told anyone else about that. It was an incredibly obscure piece of personal information for this man to have, regardless. He himself hadn't thought about it for two decades, let alone mentioned it to anyone.

"If you're me, then you know the first person I ever masturbated to."

"Sure do. Except it wasn't a person. It was Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons."

Holy fucking shit.

"Jesus Christ." Justin couldn't believe it, but he did.

"Nah, he's not real. Christ, I mean. There's a God, but Jesus ain't him. Same devil though."

"Okay, but why are you here then? Or fuck, why am I here? Am I dead too?"

The old man shook his head. "No you ain't dead. You don't die for another fifty seven years. After Laz got killed, we ran down to this dock and hid out for a while, but you fell asleep. When you wake up you got a cop's flashlight in your eyes and you're in prison not more than three months later doing 60. They gave you your's and Laz's time. A real piece of work, the Judge is."

"So, like what," Justin asked. "You're here to make sure I get away?"

"Sort of, but not exactly."

"Well then make it make sense, man."

"Well, when I was in prison I spent a lot of time working on building up my body and a whole lot more time than that getting religious. I guess I got so religious that when I was running on the exercise yard and had my heart attack, whoever keeps score decided I made it into heaven. But it's just like I told you. There's a lot of folks waiting just outside the gates and they all wanna make a deal with you. They'll do anything to stop you from choosing heaven, even if it's only for a little while."

Justin leaned in. "What do you mean, a little while?"

"What I mean is, they made me a deal. I could go back and try to change your mind about things and they'd get to stop me from entering Heaven. But that doesn't mean I can't still get into the pearly gates though. We, I mean. Because there's still yourself. You have time to change and put yourself on the correct path like I did when I was locked up. So they only delayed us. But after this, it's all on you. If you fuck it all up you could get on the wrong end of that scoreboard and lose your ticket for good. I got until sunrise to make up your mind. After that I go to Hell. But if you take the deal too, I just stop existing."

Justin held out his hands gesturing for a cigarette and his older doppelganger immediately translated it and obliged. He took a long drag of cheap tobacco and then asked, "What do you mean if I take the deal too? What's my part in all of this?"

The old man hesitated. "You ain't gonna like this."

"Just tell me."

"Alright," he went on. "For the deal to go through, you gotta drown."

"Wait, what? Why do I have to drown?"

"Look," defended the old man, "I don't know why you gotta do it, I just know that you gotta do it. These guys, the ones who make the deals, they aren't good guys, Justin. Matter fact, they're probably the worst guys there is. They make these deals and hedge their bets. Think about it. If you don't fulfill the deal on your end, I go to hell anyway. And since we're still the same person on the same timeline, you're gonna die in prison and go to hell too, because I already traded our sold for this opportunity. But, now hear me out. If you do take the deal, you get put into a new timeline, one where you listened to that gut feeling telling you not to go with Laz and you don't go to prison and you got a chance, Justin, a chance to turn it all around again because your soul ain't sold anymore. But, you have to drown first. That's the only way."

Justin sat quiet for a while, shivering in the cool air gusting off of the lake. The way he saw it, he was fucked no matter which direction he turned. On shore, the cops were waiting. He knew he couldn't run forever and they'd catch him eventually. He had spent enough time in the system to know that he didn't want to die in prison. So, he had a choice to either die like that, a long slow death with no reward to look forward to in the end, or he could take the bigger risk and die now. At least the bigger risk had a possible payoff.

"Okay," he said finally. "How we doing this?"

The old man pointed to the floor of the boat. "Rope and a cinder block. You'll go down fast. I'll tie your hands up so you won't be able to get loose. Take a lungful of water and it's over."

"Fuck me, man."

"I know how you feel." Said the old man. "Took me three minutes to die from my heart attack. Longest three minutes of my life."

"Well then we better get this over with," said Justin. "Before I change our mind."

The moon had shifted its position in the sky when it finally came out from behind it's cloud cover. The old man checked the knots on Justin's wrists and ankles and seemed satisfied by his work. He lit up another cigarette, took a few hits to get it going and put the butt in Justin's mouth. Then he picked up the cinder block and handed it to Justin who was able to clutch it to his chest even with his hands bound.

"I hope you live a better life than I did," the old man said. "And while you're at it, do us a favor and quit smoking these things. They'll kill ya."

Justin spat out the cigarette. "I can do that."

The old man chuckled again. "You ready?"

Justin was not. His belly was full of snakes and tar. He nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Yeah, me neither," said the old man and pushed Justin overboard.

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