The Drowning Read Online Free PDF

morning. I’m almost there, too — a big ledge overhanging the double doorway of a drugstore. All of a sudden I’m not sure if I want to put myself in that space with a stranger, but the rain pounding on my head persuades me. Water in my eyes, my nose, my mouth. Water forcing its way down my throat. I’ve got to get out of it.
    I duck into the doorway. It’s empty. They must have gone into the shop, but wouldn’t it be locked? There are no lights on inside, I can’t see any movement. I give a little shudder. Something’s not right. My face and hair and hands are wet. I’m starting to get cold.
    I look out at the street. It’s pouring now, noisy as the rain hits the road and dances up. I close my eyes and somehow I know that I used to like this sound, pattering on the window when I was safe and sound inside. Now it’s ringing alarm bells inside my head, it’s plucking at my stomach with nervous, busy fingers. A drop of water trickles down the side of my face from my hair.
    You bastard, Cee.
    The voice is close and threatening. Next to me, whispering in my ear. I open my eyes and look around. Who said that? Who’s here?
    I’m on my own, an empty street in front of me, solid glass and a dark shop behind. I give another shudder. I’m freaking out. Seeing things, hearing things, things thataren’t there. The rain’s showing no sign of easing off, but I make the decision to go for it, run through it and home. It’s not far.
    I turn my collar up and set off, sprinting down the pavement. The rain’s starting to make little rivers in the gutters. There’s water running down the back of my neck, between my shoulders. My feet slap on the pavement, smacking into the puddling water. Behind me I hear footsteps. I glance behind, but there’s no one there. The street is mine, just me and the rain. So it must be me I’m hearing. The sound of my own feet echoing off the buildings.
    The water hits my face and the top of my head. It drips and trickles and dribbles down. It feels like something’s alive in between me and my clothes. Something’s crawling on my skin. I let out a yell.
    There’s a flash of light and I can see the whole street in a split second of unnatural brightness. A few seconds later the deep rumble of thunder starts up.
    I skid around the corner by the bungalows, missing my footing and sliding onto the grass. My foot splays out at an angle and I fall awkwardly, wrenching the knee I hurt earlier, cursing as I go down. I put out my hands to stop myself and they slip forward in mud until I’m facedown in it. And I can smell it, wet mud in my nostrils and the rain battering on the back of my head. It’s happening again. I’m drowning.
    I turn my head and see Rob’s face: white, lifeless, streaked with mud. And the zipper moving up and over it.
    I scramble to my feet. He’s not there, of course. No one else is around, no one else is stupid enough to get caught ina rainstorm hours before dawn. I could be home in five minutes, but it’s lashing down now. The thunder is overhead, earsplitting explosions like the sky’s cracking open.
    I duck under the porch of the nearest bungalow, leaning against the dark-colored door. I go to wipe my face with my hands, but my palms are caked with mud. I rub them on my jeans instead and then stuff them in the pockets of the jacket, hoping for some tissues. The pockets are deep. My fingers find a crumpled tissue. It’s been used and I hesitate for a moment — my snot or his? Does it even matter? I make the best job I can of cleaning myself up with it. Then my hands dive back, because there aren’t just tissues in there.
    I pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Two boys by the lake. Drinking and smoking. Laughing in the sunshine. Me and Rob.
    My hands are shaking as I take a cigarette out. I can hardly hold the lighter still enough to get the paper to catch. I draw the smoke into me. It snags in my throat, just like the water did before, and suddenly I’m