HIS OTHER SON (13 page)

EXCERPT
FROM STRONGHOLD by MAYNARD SIMS available now on Amazon from
Samhain

79

“My God, we’ve killed him,” Lynda said.

           
“I
doubt it.” Jack tried to reassure her. “He’ll be shaken up all right, but I
don’t think it’s far enough to kill anyone.”

           
“We’d
better get down there in any case and find out.” Lynda moved along the platform
to the ladder.

           
“Careful…”

           
She
found her footing and started down. Jack played the light just ahead of her so
she could see the rungs for her handholds. She smiled her thanks. How a scumbag
like Franklin got a gutsy lady like her was a mystery for Jack. Like how it was
you saw gorgeous women walking along the street with short, bald, overweight
excuses for men. He shook his head and followed Lynda.

           
When
he dropped back into the corridor he found Debra comforting
Sybella
,
who seemed to have become hysterical.

           
‘she
heard the elevator crash…we can’t convince her Leo will be okay.”

           
Jack
patted Debra’s arm. “Listen,
Sybella
. Lynda and I
were up there, we both agree Leo will be fine. Maybe a little bruised, but
nothing serious. Trust me.”

           
Sybella
turned a mascara smeared face to him. “Sure?”

           
I
hope
, he thought. “Sure.”

           
“So
what do we do now?” Tony Franklin asked no-one in particular. That was exactly
who answered him.

           
“Lynda,”
Jack said, “Would you say those stairs will lead us to the basement area we
want?”

           
Lynda
was smoothing her dress back over her legs. “The elevator went down
there, that
must be north, so yes I’d say you’re right. Down
there somewhere should be the door for the basement.”

           
Sybella
freed herself from Debra’s arms. “Then what are we
waiting for? Let’s go.”

           
“Lynda,
you and
Sybella
keep together. Use this flashlight.
Debra and I will use this one…”

           
“And
we’ll keep together too.” She kissed Jack quickly on the lips in a welcome back
gesture.

           
“And what about me?”
Tony asked, though he was starting to
sound less and less sure.

           
“You’d
better follow close behind, buddy.”

           
They
all kept close together out of mutual respect for the dark. The stairs in fact
led down to a side entrance to the building. Signs at the entrance told them
where the basements were and they moved in that direction.

           
This
way led them round by the indoor swimming pool. Covered by a dome of glass,
reflections from the blue water painted the glass roof with a shifting pattern
of shapes, light and shadow. The flashlights were almost unnecessary under the
moonlight, but they still kept a firm hold on them.

           
They
walked single file around the edge of the pool. There was something eerie about
the moving water in the silence and the half dark.

           
Debra
watched the shadowed images the water created on the white tile walls.
Shapes of men, then not of men.
Fluid moving shapes that
were there, then gone before she could identify them.

           
“Oh god!”
Sybella
broke the
silence.

           
“What
is it?” Jack turned his flashlight round to see why she had called out.

           
She
was pointing to the water. “Are they dead?”

           
They
looked into the pool. To Debra it was just like the fish again. Jack could only
think of Redmond and his bunched fists.

Floating on the surface were two people.

Both
face
down,
one partially twisted on the steps of the shallow end, their contorted bodies
screaming in mute agony at the ceiling. Neither of them wore swimming costumes;
it looked like a party about to get wild. Something had stopped it first.

           
“Are
they dead?”
Sybella
repeated.
  

           
Jack
nodded. “Looks like it.”

           
“What
happened?” Debra said quietly. None of them felt like speaking loudly in the
presence of death so garishly portrayed.

“At a guess, when the power failed it
caused a short circuit and the pool became live.
Water and electricity…a
fatal combination.”

           
“Like
lobsters in a pot,” Tony said. For once no-one argued with him.

           
Heads
bowed in silent homage they stood at the water’s edge while the flotsam moved
gently, like twigs caught in a ripple.
A dead man and a dead
woman bumping into each other, apart again, then together.
They may have
been laughing when they died. They may have been lovers about to embrace, or
they may have been strangers about to become friends. Now they were just like
dead fish.

           
Jack
turned away and pointed his flashlight at the door to a staircase ahead of
them. An arrow pointed down. The others turned to follow him.

80

Not long before the two people now
floating lifeless on the surface of the pool were cradled in each other’s arms.

Slashes of cool light crackled over the
glass-domed roof of the swimming pool, the ochre colours mingling with the
dancing reflections of playful dots of colour from the blue water. The inside
of the glass roof was a shifting pattern of shapes, white, blue, pale and
shadow. Subdued wall lighting was a pale imitation of the glare of the full
moon, hanging like a judge in sessions from the dark sky.

There was something unsettling about the
movement of the water in the silence and half dark. Ripples like breathing
troubled the surface, lines of age on a flawless face. Soft liquid sounds of
gentle movement as water lapped against smooth stone sides. The water seemed to
whisper. It almost seemed to rustle, water can’t rustle, but to the woman that
was the sound she could most liken it to.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,”
Grace Toomey said.

Steve was already half undressed, hopping
from foot to foot as his trousers snagged on his ankles. “Of course it is.
You’re just nervous in case anyone comes in.”
An office
filing room, lunchtime, furtive fumbling with clothing and with feelings,
excited by the forbidden fruit, fearful of the consequences.
It was
always he who reassured her then as well.

Grace watched the shadowed images the
water created on the white tiled walls. Then she looked at her husband,
frantically disrobing, letting the moon’s rays play like mistresses fingers on
the hairs on his chest, on the firm muscles of his back. He was almost naked.

“Come on, you’re overdressed for a swim.”

It had been her idea, as the drinks had
given her courage, and the inhibitions had loosened. She had whispered in his
ear, and he had squeezed her thigh. Propelled along by this gesture of intimate
acquiescence, she had taken his hand and led him from the apartment.

The complex was quiet, still as the night
outside, lit with discreet wall-lights, stars in the sky. Everywhere was glass,
windows that by day gave light and space, but which at night gave back just
their own reflection.

She heard a splash and saw a pair of feet
disappear beneath the surface. As quickly as she could she unzipped her dress
and let it fall to the floor. She kicked off her shoes and reached behind her
to unhook. A sudden feeling overtook her. She was being watched. She spun round
but the door was closed, as they had left it. They would have heard if someone
had come in. The walls were mainly glass but she would be able to see if anyone
was outside looking in. Surely there was no one out there. She even looked up
to the ceiling, but only the lonely eye of the moon gazed back at her.

Steve burst from the water in a tangle of
droplets and spluttering. “Come on, slowcoach!” he called as he got back his
breath. “That’s lovely underwear but I’d rather see what’s inside it.”

“…and don’t wear anything underneath it.”
The little notes he used to pass to her inside files, or
“…are you
wearing what I bought you?”
The enquiries about the outrageous things he
would buy for her and expect her to wear under her office clothes.

Grace stripped off the
last of her clothing and, abandoning all vestiges of uncertainty, she dived
into the pool.

They played like mermaids in the warm
water.
Splashing as children, swimming in circles, pulling
one another under.
Ducking, jumping,
playing
with an innocence that was as natural as the day’s cycle. He pulled her legs
and floated her in circles; she put both her hands on his head and pushed him
under. They hugged and caressed, kissed and laughed.

“Right,” he called. “I’m going to get you
now.”

She
swam,
half
ran, away from him, towards the deep end. He created a shark’s fin with his
hand and made menacing noises. She screamed with delight. Then he
disappeared.
 

One moment he was there, fooling around,
the next when she turned to see why it had gone quiet, he was gone. Everything
was still. She trod water, pumping her legs slowly,
meandering
her hands over the surface, getting nervous.

“You’re scaring me.”

There was no reply, just the smooth
rustling of the water.

“I’m not joking now, I don’t like it.
Where are you?”

The water lapped teasingly against the
steps at the other end of the pool.
Footsteps out of the
fear, an escape.
Still she was treading water, trying to keep afloat and
not make any ripples at the same time. Not draw any attention to
herself
.

Then he burst from the bottom of the pool
where he had been holding his breath and showered her in crystals of blue,
white froths of surprise. He coughed and held her, laughing and hugging her.
Enjoying her naked breasts pressed against his skin.

She pushed him away. “You fool. I was
terrified.”

“I’m sorry. I was only playing around.”

“Well I don’t think it’s funny. I’m going
to have a swim. I’ve had enough of your messing about.” With that she struck
out with strong confident strokes, swimming away from him, towards the shallow
end.

Deflated, and out of breath from the
pressure of waiting a long enough time at the bottom of the pool, Steve pulled
out of the water and sat on the edge, feet dangling in, like floats on a
fishing line. His body warm from the exertions and the atmosphere.

Grace swam a lazy crawl, then flipped over
and did the backstroke for a while before stopping and letting her body float
into the shallows near the steps.

Steve looked around the pool, admiring the
diamonds of light and reflected water playing on the glass ceiling, and on the
white walls. Coated with the black of night the pool was a safe haven.

When he turned back to watch his wife, he
saw it immediately. A long grey shape, sleek and deadly, submerged beneath the
surface. It was swimming directly for her.

“Get out!” he yelled. “Grace, get out of
the water.”

Unable to act as fast as his words urged
her to she stopped swimming and stood. The water at this depth was just up to
her waist. She stood, droplets of silver suspended from her nipples, her hands
brushing the hair away from her eyes. Eyes that were half shut from the
chlorine stinging them.

“Get out now!” The grey shape was smooth
under the surface, moving with economic motions, moving incessantly towards the
woman.

He ran towards the shallow end, waving and
gesturing for his wife to get out.
Calling her, pleading with
her, but not actually diving in to assist her.

Panicked now by his tone and actions, she
was splashing frantically on the top of the water, causing noise and froth to
mask the bottom of the pool, to hide whatever it was he had seen.

Steve moved down two steps into the
shallow end, his ankles barely covered by the turbulent waters. His hand
reached out and she caught it, first time. They pulled together and she fell
into his arms, heart beating with the force of a waterfall. Gradually the water
subsided, calmed into a natural stillness.

There was nothing in the water.