The Harbinger Break Read Online Free PDF Page B

reflection of the kitchen light in his pool.
       "Poochie!" he whispered as loudly as possible. "Poochie, come!"
       Where was she? Sam softly closed the door and lurked deeper into his back patio, creeping past his only lawn chair towards the pool. He reasoned that Pat was inside, and if he came downstairs the shut door would give him a head start.
       Sam walked deeper, calling out.
       "Poochie! Come here now!"
       Deeper still into the darkness, he crouched low, calling out and glancing around. Leaves rustled–but it was just the wind.
       "Poochie!" he whispered again, to no discernible response.
       He wanted to laugh, stand, even yell "come and get me". Desperation engulfed him, blinded him, smothered his thoughts in molasses. Fucking Poochie, he thought, should've gotten a German Shepherd. He checked back towards the house, almost expecting to see Pat by the door–but saw nothing beside the kitchen light. He watched the light shimmer in his pool.
       Pat had to be here. But where?
       Sam skulked through his yard. His brain floundered for any means of safety but found nothing. He wondered why he wasn't just running around, screaming bloody murder.
       He crept alongside the pool and looked at the bright blue of the light dancing in its depths, wondering if Poochie had somehow sunk to its floor.
       Suddenly, a silent train crashed into him, sending him flying. He flew past the edge and plunged into the warm water, then hands grappled and held him down. He fought, floundering and crashing, twisting and splashing, but he had no leverage. He was on his back, and try as he might to get his feet down, someone held his legs up out of the water, and an opposite hand held him under by his neck. He needed air–he couldn't breathe.
       He thrashed and jolted, eyes blood red with tears from chlorine and panic. Water syphoned up his nose and burnt his tear ducts, and he saw the figure of a man standing above him. His mind turned to basic instinct, coherent thoughts left and were replaced by one: air. And he thrashed and kicked and clawed the arm restraining him, but to no avail, and felt his limbs burn and grow weak as he began to die, drowned at the shallow end. He couldn't fight, he couldn't breathe. He needed air.
       He felt his eyes roll back and his brain began shutting down. He twitched, his neck arched and mouth contorted to a soundless scream, and he cried out with his final breath, but as he did a hand snaked into his mouth, salty fingers crawled past his uvula, and nails scraped his tonsils, drawing blood. The hand pressed on his tongue, and then squeezed it down towards his jaw. Water flushed past his throat and into his stomach like a vacuum. Pain erupted and lit his heart on fire, it felt like the water was acid, melting him apart from the inside. He puked, gagged, swallowed his puke, then began absorbing his pool like a funnel. Water filled his stomach, bile coated his lungs, his limbs faltered, and the world turned black. He twitched one last time and was still.
     
       He saw Claire Waltz kissing him and decided that heaven wasn't too bad. She wore a white dress, her blonde hair draped her shoulders, and a bright light engulfed her from behind. She blinked and smiled. He smiled back. She lowered her head down towards him and–
       He awoke in a fit–coughing, vomiting and coughing again. His ribs felt broken, everywhere hurt. His chest was on fire, and he coughed.
       "Cough. Breathe," she said with a man's voice.
       Regardless, he coughed, choked, and breathed. He vomited more water, and coughed again.
       "Breathe."
       He breathed. He tried opening his eyes, but saw only the blurry outline of a person.
       "Fucking breathe, Sam."
       His brain screamed, "I'm trying! It's not that easy!"
       His vision began to clear, the person over him began to take a shape. A shape he recognized immediately.
       "Pat?"
       "Yep."
       "But–w-what?" He coughed, and