One In, One Out

Part I: 

It was going to be the greatest weekend at the lake ever.

“You’re taking your little brother with you, and that is that! End of discussion.”

And suddenly, just like that, snap, the “greatest weekend at the lake ever” had turned into “a big steaming pile of shit.”

Eldest son Eugene Blodgett had acquiesced to his mother’s demands before the argument devolved, once again, into a screaming match between his mom and his older sister, Ruby, about choices. About how their mother got knocked up with her at sixteen and no longer had any choices in life, to which Ruby would rebut, saying she never really had a say in the matter either. Then, things would be thrown, voices scorched, maybe a few punches, and then no one would be going to the lake. Thus and so, he had stepped in and said, yes, they would take to the lake with them one Thaddeus Dean. Also known as Thaddie. Also known as the Pudgy Little Turd-Nugget. Or, just plain Turd-Nugget if you were one for brevity.

Eugene had come along almost one year after Ruby, and, doing the math, he had traced that anomaly back to his father’s birthday. Turd-Nugget was a decade later surprise; a souvenir from the folks’ trip to Las Vegas, where they had seen Elvis before he got fat and stupid. The King was still fat and stupid when he died a couple years ago, trying to squeeze one out on the pot. Their father had died around the same time. An accident caused by a drunk driver. He was the drunk in this case. This was a confusing period for Eugene, as the man everyone was expressing their grief and condolences over did not really jive with the prick he knew. Sounded like a great guy, whoever the hell they were talking about. Anyhoo...

After the funeral there was a lawsuit and all the insurance money, their home, and then some went to the other driver, who had lost both of her legs. Seemed fair. Sucked. But it was fair. And so, a woman who had dropped out of high school, got married, shelled out three kids, and had been a stay-at-home mom was now the head of the household and bread winner – once she figured out what a resume was. And how to fake one. And somehow, between three jobs, she had finagled her own weekend off and she wasn’t about to put up with Turd-Nugget’s whining and bitching while these other two gallivanted off scot-free. And there ya go, and here we are. Thanks, mom.

The double-wide they currently lived in was a loaner from their grandparents, as was the ’71 Catalina Cruiser -- the car that thought it was a Sherman tank, which they were currently driving down U.S. 10, heading for the Beacon County Reservoir. Ruby was behind the wheel, Eugene had shotgun and Turd-Nugget was sulking in the back. With the air-conditioner on the fritz, the windows were down, but this did little to beat the oppressive heat-wave which had settled over the Great Plains that whole summer. It was barely past 7am and the mercury was already edging above 90 degrees, with triple digits expected all weekend and most of next week. The multitude of corn and soybean fields they passed looked parched and sickly, pitiful; row after shimmering row an unraveled kaleidoscope of thirst. Eugene couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. March, maybe. It had barely snowed that winter, either.

“I’m hungry,” said Turd-Nugget.

“Newsflash,” said Ruby. “Turd-Nugget’s hungry.” She pulled out an expired 8-Track from the deck and popped in another, a K-Tel Greatest Hits collection, which eventually coughed up Heart’s “Magic Man.” She had abandoned her Farrah Fawcett feathers for a simpler Daisy Duke style and it suited her longer hair better. And the loose plaid shirt she wore over her powder-blue bikini top did little to camouflage her ample bosom. Those and her long legs she got from their mother, her cute, delicate button of a face she’d gotten somewhere else. And for that, she was eternally grateful. She adjusted the volume, pushed her sunglasses back up her sweaty nose, said, in her best studio audience impersonation, “How hungry is it?”

“Goddammit, real hungry, you asshole.” His penchant for swearing had made their little brother a big novelty hit amongst their knot of friends. Until they got to know him. “How much longer is it gonna be?”

“About an hour,” Eugene said. “Beacon City’s another 70 miles.”

“I wanna eat at the Dairy Queen.” 

“They won’t be open yet,” said Ruby.

With this news, Turd-Nugget visibly deflated. He had been in a foul mood all morning. It began when his sister refused to let him bring along his Star Wars action figures. He had probably spent all night carefully packing them into the knock-off carrying case he and Ruby had gotten him last Christmas at the new K-Mart in Grand Island. As usual, he played peacemaker and had agreed to let him bring some comics along on the condition they were left in the car so he wouldn’t lose them and freak out.

Now, comic books were a passion Eugene actually shared with his younger brother, when there was no one else in the room. When they were alone, they would talk forever about The Avengers, The Defenders, the Hulk, Spider-Man, and Tomb of Dracula, and who was hotter: the Valkyrie or the Scarlet Witch. When they weren’t, Eugene would deny everything. (Except for the part about the Scarlet Witch being hotter, ‘cuz she was.) After they had packed up the car that morning and piled-in, Turd-Nugget quickly pushed the stack aside, leaned up over the front seat and asked if they would be stopping at Lucas’ place on the way. And there it was: the real reason for this whole debacle.

Lucas Jacowicz was Ruby’s boyfriend. They had been going steady for nearly a year now. His family also had an Atari, and Eugene had no doubt this was the entire reason for Turd-Nugget’s apocalyptic shit-fit to come along; to get his hands on a joystick and play the electronic game for as long as he could. And so addicted to that infernal thing was the little bastard, Eugene almost suggested they just drop him off and leave him there and let ‘em blow little electronic dot-monsters to smithereens all weekend. The Jacowicz’s probably wouldn’t even know he was there. 

But no, they were gonna meet Lucas and the others at the lake; and so, there he was, grumping in the backseat next to his re-assembled stack of comics. The Star Wars shirt he wore -- emblazoned with Han Solo and Chewbacca, blasters at the ready, a scene that was not in the movie Eugene had noted to his brother once and the resulting explosion of facts gleaned from a mountain of trading cards meant he knew now to never, ever, do anything like that again -- was already too small for him. As were the hand-me-down-trunks he wore. His arms and thighs bulged around the sleeves and cuffs, like defective sausage casings. Still, the shirt was his pride and joy and he wore it everywhere. Except to church, but that didn’t happen without a very prolonged fight. Odds are he wore it under his dress shirt anyway.

“I need to eat something or I’m gonna get car sick,” said Turd-Nugget. He probably would, too, the little shit-stain.

With that, as BTO queued up on the 8-Track, encouraging them to “Let it Roll,” Ruby pushed the gas pedal with a sandaled foot a little closer to the floor.

Luckily for all involved, about twenty minutes later, the combination of the early start and the oppressive heat put the Turd-Nugget to sleep. “You sure he’s out?” said Ruby.

Eugene twisted around and took a look. “Yeah,” he was out, slumped against the door, breathing heavily through his mouth; his pear-shaped face near the window to get whatever air the child-proof glass at half-mast would let in.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” she said. “I am not gonna spend the whole weekend watching him. You’re gonna have to help. Do your share, capisce?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“I mean it! No running off with Cassie, never to be heard from again.”

“Fine. Whatever. As long as that works both ways,” he said. He had heard a rumor.

Ruby thought for a moment, her mouth moving silently as she concocted some grand plan.

“Check your battery,” he said. “I can smell the copper-top burning from here.”

“Okay, how about this. You watch him for the rest of today, and I’ll take him all day tomorrow.”

So Lucas really did have a key to the Welker’s cabin. Eugene tried not to laugh. “Just be sure he wears a rubber. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

“He always has before,” she said without missing a beat. “Maybe he can loan you one. It’s all about choices, Eugene.”

Good lord, she sounded just like her. “Man, she uses that ah-lot doesn’t she?”

They both laughed.

 

Part II:

At a truck stop in Beacon City, Ruby had eggs and toast, Eugene had toast and eggs and bacon, and Turd-Nugget had a cinnamon roll the size of his own head that was more frosting than dough. He also called shotgun in the parking lot. It was about five more miles to the lake, so Eugene pushed several comics onto the floor and stretched out in the backseat, sticking his feet out the cramped window, draped an issue of Captain America over his face and dozed a little. He heard Turd-Nugget scream, “There it is,” and figured he must’ve meant the dam. The change in pitch of the tires confirmed this as they drove over it; an unhealthy, ghastly shriek. Then the car slowed and turned, following a winding path for a spell until it finally came to a stop and Ruby killed the engine.

“We’re here,” she said, thumping her prone brother on the stomach. “Up and at ‘em.”

They were in a designated parking area, roped off by railroad ties, about fifty feet from the beach. And there was a lot of beach at the end of the steep incline, Eugene noted, with at least another fifty feet till you hit the water. To the left was Darren’s old beater truck, a Frankensteinian contraption that began life as a Ford but now it was kinda hard to tell. He was one of the people they were supposed to meet, but there was no sign of the driver. There was also no sign of Cassie’s VW Bug. They’d also beaten the crowd because there was no one else around. He then managed to extricate himself from the car and did his best to defuse the sugar-bomb that used to be his baby brother. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Rubes’ll be happy to take you back into town tomorrow for lunch and you can get your Captain Marvel glass at the DQ. Right, Rubes?”

“You could do that tonight,” she countered, watching the road. Lucas was supposed to meet them here, too. She tried to sit on the car’s hood but the metal was way too hot. There was a lawn chair stowed in the trunk, and Ruby decided if he wasn’t there in five more minutes she’d break it out.

“Nah, tonight we’re gonna roast wieners,” said Eugene. He’d sent Turd-Nugget to go throw rocks into the water, who had made it down the slope, as far as the edge of the beach, and started throwing rocks into the sand. He then tried a stick but only managed to whack himself in the face. Both elder siblings shook their heads. He’d never make it to eight.

“Wiener-roast, huh,” she said.

“Yeah, you know, wieners on a stick? Oh, that’s right, you only know about putting wieners in your hole.”

“Beats beating off on your own little wiener.”

“Sausage! And a mighty sausage at that.”

“Vienna Sausage, maybe.”

There was no family love like Blodgett family love.

Then, they heard him before they saw him. Lucas was taking those lazy turns pretty fast in his Firebird, and then brought it to a faster stop next to them; the dirt he’d kicked up wafting behind him had refused to settle because, well, he was just that cool. Of course, Lucas sat there, shades on, running a finger through his starter-Burt Reynolds-as the Bandit mustache, listening to the motor tick, waiting for Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog'' to end before he would even think of abandoning the car. Ruby walked up to the driver’s side door and stuck herself partially through the window. After swapping some spit, she extricated herself, said, “Why don’t you and Turd-Nugget go look for Darren.”

Eugene wanted to wait there for Cassie but he didn’t really care to see the blowjob that would probably happen next, so, “Hey. Hey! Earth to Turd-Nugget. Come in, Turd-Nugget, over?!” His brother made it back up the incline, eventually, and Eugene gave him a moment to catch his breath. The gravel crunched under their feet as they abandoned the parking area and started down the road toward, according to the sign, the docks.

The sun was relentless, there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze, and the humidity was so high it was like navigating through a broth so thick it once again called into question mankind’s decision to give up their gills. At least they were going downhill. And the hike turned out to be a little longer than anticipated as the road zigged and zagged but, at last, the docks came into view, and then the stink of burnt oil, diesel, and dead fish added a whole new level of ick to what they were breathing in.

"There's Darren," said Turd-Nugget.

He was hard to miss. Decked out in a pair of ratty Chuck Taylors, denim cut-offs, and a ‘Keep on Truckin' tee with the sleeves long gone, Darren Westerkampf was an anthropomorphic cinder-block -- the empty space in the concrete was where his brain should've been, topped off with a blight of curly red hair and blazing sideburns. He was a jerk, an asshole, and a certified poon-hound. He was also Eugene's bestest friend since the third grade. He also had a girl with him. A girl Eugene didn't recognize at all. Darren had at least a foot on her. She looked cute enough from a distance, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, that bounced in rhythm with her happy bare feet, which never seemed to stop moving, and her 'I'm With Stupid' t-shirt couldn't have been any more appropriate. Darren pointed them out to the mystery girl, who waved and then sprung off down the pier. Darren watched her go, turned back, an eyebrow raised, just like Belushi, and mouthed 'wow', then, "How’s it hanging, clan Blodgett?"

A manly hug followed between Darren and Eugene, meaning Eugene’s feet were no longer molested by gravity for the duration, where Darren clandestinely asked what was up with the excess baggage, meaning Turd-Nugget, to which Eugene replied it was all or nothing, then, "Where's April?" 

"We're splittsville, man. Stick a fork in it. Done. Kaputzki." Darren scratched at the surly mass on his head, and then explained, "She dropped my sorry ass like a rock last night. Said she was looking for a ‘mature man’?"

"Too bad, D-man." No it wasn't. Nobody liked April. 

"Life's too short to worry. Besides," he turned and gazed down the docks and watched the girl rummage around on somebody's boat. Then, she stood and gave them a thumbs up. "I think I'm in love."

"So who is this chick? Seems … excitable."

"Aw, yeah, man, her name's Shelby. Local. Get this, I ran into her at the Gas 'n' Go in town, needed some Zingers, right? Some vanilla ones, not those fucking chocolate or strawberry ones. Told her I was headed to the lake to meet some friends, and, Shazam!, she invites herself along. And check it; her folks've got a boat. And better yet, she knows where her old man hides the spare key."

"Righteous, man." It truly was.

"Oh, hey, if we do this, we'll all need to pitch-in to replace the gas we use; that cool?"

"No problem-oh."

At that point, Lucas and Ruby had caught up, and Lucas slapped hands with the offering Darren, said, "What's up, m'man. You boys ready for two-a-days to start up Monday?"

"Shit. Don't remind me," said Eugene, of another fall with Coach “Little Hitler” Anderson, and another 2-10 campaign of futility on the gridiron for the Mighty Centurions. Lucas was an All-Heartland fullback, Darren starting center, and Eugene played free safety. Lucas was also the lucky one; as a senior it would be his last year to endure this hell. The others, two more years in the salt mines to go.

"That's Monday, man, let us worry about today," said Darren. "And, sorry, man, I gotta say it. Damn, Ruby, you are looking dy-no-mite!"

"My eyes are up here, pervert."

"Yeah, but your boobs are down there." And there it was: the patented Westerkampf laugh; a hyena strangling on a resisting cat.

Lucas cut in, "Hey, man..."

Darren raised his hands in surrender and changed the subject. "Where's uncle Bud?"

"In the car," in the trunk in a cooler and out of sight, said Lucas.

"How 'bout you," said Eugene to Darren. "Did you bring the Hulk?"

"Yeah, I got the big green."

"Which issues you got?"

"Shut up, Turd-Nugget," his siblings said in unison. Christ. The weed would have to wait until he fell asleep. The beer they could probably get away with if they gave him one, but the reefer chip was worth way too many brownie points to cash-in with the old lady. No one knew his source, but Westerkampf's weed was some real primo stuff and was most likely the only thing the others had smoked that wasn't genuine, authentic Nebraska ditch weed. And besides, judging by his eyes and behavior, there's a good chance Darren had smoked his whole stash already and forgot about it.

When Shelby rejoined the group, Eugene noted that somewhere and somehow she had lost her jeans for a one-piece swimsuit and was in the process of wrestling her stubborn ‘I'm With Stupid’ t-shirt back on before Darren properly introduced her to everyone and explained the new plan. 

"Is this everybody?" she asked.

"Nope," said Eugene, "waiting on one more."

"Is it cool if we bring some beer? Got a cooler," said Lucas.

Shelby hissed through her teeth, said, "Better not. At least not yet. See that boat right there in the channel. That's what passes for the harbor patrol. And see that prick over yonder with the porkpie hat in the piss-colored Starcraft staring at us already? That sorry excuse is one of my neighbors. We can swing around later and if they're gone, we can stock up."

Sounded like a good plan to everyone else. Well, save one. At some point, Ruby had snuck a hand into one of Lucas' back pockets and gave a squeeze. This, apparently, was a signal. "Tell ya what," he said. "I think Rubes and me are gonna scout around, maybe check out the other side of the lake. Okay with you, babe?"

The other side of the lake, where the cabins were.

Said Ruby, "If that's what you wanna do."

"You got a CB on the boat?" Lucas asked. Shelby said there was. "Alright, set it to channel nine, keep your ears on, and we'll catch up with you guys later for some brewskis."

As the couple retreated up the hill, Eugene stepped behind Turd-Nugget, who was watching them go, said, "If you see Cassie, send her down," and made a lewd gesture involving a thumb-circle with one hand and the middle-finger of the other going in and out of it over his oblivious little brother's head, and then made sure Ruby saw this when she turned around and acknowledged his request. 

"Oh, and one more thing, guys," said Shelby, leading Darren onto the pier by the hand. "Ya'll have to wear a life-jacket until we clear the harbor. Especially you, Squirt," meaning Turd-Nugget. "It's the law."

The Blodgett brothers lingered behind, waiting for Cassie to show. Said Turd Nugget, "Aren't we gonna set up the tent and stuff first?" 

 "Nah. We'll do that later."

Turd-Nugget snorted like a foundered pig and kicked at the gravel with his sneakers, digging himself quite the rut.

Not quite the day you had planned, was it, you little shit. Well, "Welcome to my world," mumbled Eugene.

"What?"

"Don't worry about it, Turd-Nugget."

"Asshole."

"Takes one to know one."

"Ah, go take a long walk off the pier, you nimrod."

This stimulating conversation continued for a piece, and then, there she was.

Cassie June Wegner was built in stature like the Valkyrie, a Nordic goddess, but had the looks of the Scarlet Witch, a gypsy spellbinder. She was almost as tall as Eugene, who stood six-foot-two. Her hair was long, loose, and Crayola brown; his was lighter, unkempt, with streaks of red in his sideburns. He was a beanpole, while she was a muscular freak of nature. He was rugged enough, and she deserved a statue for her beauty. He wore swim trunks, wrestling shoes, and an old football jersey; she had on a pair of jean shorts and a red Coca-Cola t-shirt, flip-flops, and, hot-damn, no bra. They had found each other at a junior high dance, and had been in love ever since.

"Hey, babe!" she said. 

"You made it!"

She broke into a trot, and he matched speeds to meet her halfway. She was currently bronzed, thanks to her job at the Concrete Oasis, teaching kids how to swim and subbing as a lifeguard. She dropped her bag, picked up the pace and jumped at him. He caught her and she wrapped her legs around his waist and then they kissed. Hungrily. A lot. “Mmmmm, bacon,” she said after finally pulling away. 

“Sorry, ran out of Bazooka Joe.”

"Barf!" said the Turd-Nugget, sticking his finger down his throat while he made more upchucking noises.

"Sit on it, Turd-Nugget," said Cassie. Eugene gently dropped her, making sure she had her feet before letting her go back for the bag. His younger brother watched her go. He had a huge crush on Cassie. Eugene knew it, and didn't blame him.

"Can you do me a favor?" said Turd-Nugget.

"Magic 8-Ball says, 'Doubtful.'"

"I mean it."

"Shoot."

"Will you please not call me Turd-Nugget in front of the girls?"

Ever since their dad had died, Turd-Nugget kind of retreated into his own head and stayed there, no matter where he was, and hadn't found his way out yet. It was moments like this that Eugene hoped that maybe, just maybe, his little brother would finally start giving a shit, have a growth spurt, lose the baby-fat and tune into things a little better. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe he just needed some help.

Maybe.

"I'll work on it. How's that?"

"Fine."

Fine.

"What's fine? Where's everybody else?" said Cassie.

"Well, Lucas and Ruby are off somewhere making the wang-doodle boom-boom. And Darren, well, Darren has finagled us a boat for the day."

"A boat? No way. Really?"

"Trust me," he said, putting an arm around his girl and led her toward the boats.

"As far as I can throw you."

"I bet that would be pretty far. Please aim for the water."

"You know it," she said. “I could take you. I am deceptively wiry."

"Of that I have no doubt. You coming, Thad?"

"When's lunch?"

Dammit, Turd-Nugget, Eugene thought. They almost had a moment there.

“Is it a nice boat?” she asked.

He answered, “I really have no idea.”

This was all Darren’s doing after all, which meant, despite all of the abundant water, this adventure would most likely end up with everything on fire.

 

Part III: 

Turned out it was a really nice boat. A sixteen-footer, open top, with lots of seating all-around the rectangular hull. And they all kept their life-jackets on as they puttered out of the harbor, right at the speed-limit, all looking as nonchalant as possible as they passed the patrol boat, without overdoing it, hopefully, but shed them once they were well out of sight with no sign of pursuit; except for Turd-Nugget, who was ordered to keep his on under penalty of death or a rat-out to their mom; as to which fate was worse was a toss-up. But after the fifth or sixth demand he stop screwin’ with the straps, Eugene had given up.

Meantime, as those two had bickered, Shelby navigated the Cherokee runabout about two miles southeast of the docks, toward the dam, then cut the motor, dropped anchor, and gave quick instructions to Darren and Eugene on how to install the metal ladder over the side so they could easily get back in after swimming.

Turd-Nugget, of course, had refused to get in the water. Thus he only watched as the others dove or cannonballed over the side. The water, though not very cool, or as cool as they all hoped it would be, was still a welcome change of scenery. The deeper you went, the cooler it got, so a merry-go-round procession soon formed of waiting at the ladder, standing by in the boat, and diving in again, and then swimming out of the way so the cycle could continue. About an hour of aquatic acrobatics followed, even Turd-Nugget got into the game, chucking empty pop bottles into the water for the others to dive after as they slowly sunk to the bottom. Cassie was the only one smart enough to bring goggles, and she gladly passed them around for each person’s turn. Once sufficiently pruned, they hauled themselves out for a break; though with the relative humidity so high, it was kinda hard to tell the difference.

Eugene watched as Cassie wrung her hair out over the side; it was watching the little things like this that rubberized his knees and drove him crazy about her, and then took a seat in the front of the boat. Shelby had called it the ‘cuddle seat’. When Cassie was done with her hair, he patted the vinyl cushion next to him. It was hot, so, “Grab my shirt.” She smiled, complied, and sauntered over, the goggles hanging loosely around her neck, past the small command deck, where Darren was quizzing Shelby over the speed and specs of the outboard, most likely a roundabout way to see if he could take the wheel and throttle later. Cassie handed him the jersey and he spread it out for her to sit on, which brought another smile, and Eugene’s heart melted a little more.

“What’s that over there,” said Turd-Nugget.

Since he was stuck on the boat Shelby had loaned him an old visor made of cracked green plastic with a faded Worlds of Fun sticker on it. It looked ridiculous but it must have helped because he still had it on. Beyond that, his little brother had morphed into a perspiration golem. Continents of sweat had formed on the globe of his stomach and pits, and his arms and knees were already lobster red. Cassie and the others looked to where he was indicating but Eugene was locked on the back of her neck, using a finger to trace lines between several freckles in a nonsensical pattern; a path that led to the canyon of her breasts that he looked forward to exploring again later that night.

“That’s what’s left of the grain elevator from the old town,” said Shelby.

Maybe twenty yards away several large slabs of broken concrete and corroded rod-iron were protruding out of the water. When Eugene finally looked, it brought to mind Godzilla’s dorsal fins as he cruised around Tokyo harbor. He also took a good long look at the shore beyond them, noting the four or five distinct water-lines as the lake gradually receded, like the age rings inside a log, exposing all kinds of long drowned trees the reservoir had claimed but had since given up. Even now more gnarled branches broke the surface, fingers from some unseen hands. He had never seen it this far down before.

“What old town?” said Turd-Nugget.

“What you came through to get here is new Beacon City,” explained Shelby. “Old Beacon City was right over there.” She pointed toward the water between them and the dam.

“There’s no town under the water.” Turd-Nugget was a bit skeptical, so Shelby’s history lesson continued, starting back in 1949, when there came a once in a 100-years rain; 35 inches in less than 24 hours, which flooded the entire river valley, wiping out the town and many surrounding farms. Hundreds were killed, and at least ten thousand head of livestock were lost. After the disaster, the government stepped in and helped rebuild on higher ground.

“Most of it was destroyed outright in the initial flood,” Shelby said. “But they say if it goes down any more, you’ll be able to see what’s left of the old schoolhouse. I can take us over for a closer look if you want?”

No one seemed all that interested at the moment. Maybe later.

Eugene was aware of the story and Shelby’s recollecting had triggered a few memories of a presentation on local history in his social studies class last year. The presenter was a relative of some people who had died in the flood. After the town was relocated, the Army or some such came in and built the dam so a flood like that couldn’t happen again, creating a lake nearly seven miles long and mile wide. How deep depended on the day. And today? Not very.

“A lot of people lost everything. Some more than others,” said Shelby. “There was this one guy who lost his whole family in the flood and then lost all his land in the valley to the reservoir. They say he went crazy and was so distraught he eventually threw himself off the dam and drowned. But, the body was never found.”

“Who was this guy?” said Darren, stroking the steering wheel, half listening.

“I don’t remember his name,” she said.

“Myron Hatcher,” said Eugene. Michelle Hatcher had given the speech. It was her dad’s uncle’s uncle or something. She even had a picture of him and his family; big bear of a man with a huge beard and wild eyes. He had lost his wife and eight kids. They also weren’t sure if he had committed suicide or just ran off.

Shelby snapped her fingers and pointed at him. He’d gotten it right.

“How'd you know that?” said Cassie.

“Because I know stuff and I’m a genius.”

She nodded sarcastically at him, then,“That seems kinda sad. Abandoned like that. Makes you wonder what’s all still down there in one piece.”

“Like a cemetery?” said Darren, adding a ghostly cackle. “Watch out for the ghost-farmer on your next dip.”

“And those meddling kids,” said Eugene.

“And those meddling kids,” parroted Darren. “And their stupid dog, too.”

“Or the dead body,” said Shelby.

“You mean that Hatcher guy?” said Cassie. “That was almost thirty years ago.”

“No, the other dead body.”

All eyes immediately snapped on Shelby, who derisively spluttered, as if they didn’t know what she was talking about, which they didn’t.

“Wait,” said Cassie, speaking for the group. “What?”

“There’s a dead guy in the lake?” said Turd-Nugget, eyes wide, scanning the waterline. And, great. They’d never get him in the water now.

Cassie took over. “You mean to tell me there’s a body in the water? Right now? The water I just swam in?” Then, consciously or not, she raised her feet up off the floor of the boat, away from the water, and then sat on them, settling more of her weight on Eugene, which suited him and Little Eugene just fine.

“Yep.” Shelby nodded, said, “Some lady wrecked her car into the water around the 4th of July a couple years ago, I think it was the Bicentennial.” She pointed to the south, then, “Right over there, by the point. Where the road curves around toward the picnic area, with the tire-swing, and there’s that break in the trees.” Everyone stared and squinted in that direction as she scooted Darren out of the way and then sat on the captain’s chair. “They put flowers out there every 4th since.”

“Was it a suicide?” said Darren.

“Who knows, crazy bitch’s crazy.”

“Waitaminute,” Cassie said. “You are so full of shit. I remember reading about that in the Trib and they found the body.”

“No, no,” she said. “They found a body, but, like, not the right body.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cassie, “The ‘right’ body?”

“Divers found her car but the body was gone. The dam was open when it happened and they figured she tried to get out and the current got her or something.”

“She got sucked through the dam?” said Turd Nugget, who looked like he might throw-up as his brain processed the physics of that particularly gruesome fate.

“Who knows, doubt it. They checked the grates but never found anything. Everybody thinks she’s still in here,” Shelby indicated the water, “somewhere.”

“Can we get back to the ‘not the right body’ part, please?” That was Cassie.

“Okay, okay,” Shelby said, getting excited to spin her tale, pulling her legs up, crossing them, then leaned in as if to share a secret. “So, the divers widen the search, right, and they pull up some bones and a skull. The Local Yokels turn it over to the State Smokies and dental records or some shit show it was some guy who drowned back in ’68.” She let that sink in, then, “Now here’s where it gets really weird.”

“Guh-reat,” said Cassie. “Can’t wait.”

“Turns out this happened before.” Shelby let that bait settle, then, “See, when that guy drowned, they didn’t find him at first but, guess what?”

“What?” said Turd-Nugget.

“No, really, what?” said Darren.

“No fucking way,” said Cassie.

“Yes fucking way.”

“Omigod that is so creepy,” Cassie said. And did she just squeal?

“For shit’s sake what?” demanded Turd-Nugget. 

“Yeah, what, for shit’s sake.” If Darren and Turd-Nugget were in agreement, Armageddon was surely upon them, so Eugene figured he’d might as well chime in.

“They didn’t find him but they found the remains of some kid who fell through the ice three winters before instead.”

“Jesus,” said Cassie, still speaking for the group. “How many people have drowned in this godforsaken place?”

“Let’s see,” Shelby counted off on her fingers, “that’s one, two, three, then there was that houseboat fire that killed a whole family in ’62 but everybody knows they blew up and burned before they drowned, propane tank went up like a Roman Candle, and they found them all anyway right away, so I don’t think they count, and there was one more in the 1950s, they found him after the spring thaw after, you know.”

They all knew. Even Turd-Nugget.

“So, four total. Five if you count Hatcher.”

“Wow,” said Cassie. And then put it all together, “So, one body in, another body comes out.”

Shelby nodded in agreement. “One in, one out.”

Then, the only sound was the water lazily lapping at the boat. Cassie shuddered, then Turd Nugget gave out a little squeak, and Eugene decided he’d best short-circuit this conversation before central Nebraska got its very own Bermuda Triangle. “But what about Hatcher?” he asked, trying to break the hoodoo cycle. “They never found him, right?

“Nope. He’s still around.” Shelby’s know-it-all smile faded as she looked back toward the water.

“So, wait, then, there’re two bodies in the water?” said Darren, thumbing over his shoulder, trying to catch up. Turd-Nugget squeaked again. And Eugene noisily blew air out of his lips and glared at his friend.

You’re not helping, he mentally screamed, then, “How come no one’s ever heard of this before?”

“Shit. All the locals know about it,” said Shelby, in spite of the stink-eye Eugene was currently casting on her. Then, as he blew another raspberry, “Well, would you want to spread it around? Traffic gets bad enough around here when there’s an accident on the lake. Worse, when there’s a bloated corpse just waiting to be found by some happy swimmer. How bad do you think it would be if people realized the only way to find a body, here, is for someone else to die?”

“It’s just a coincidence,” said Eugene.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” said Eugene. He forced a laugh and gave Cassie a reassuring squeeze. “Should’ve saved that one for the campfire tonight, Shelby. Shit. Better call In Search Of,” he mocked, breaking into the unknown mystery show’s theme song, then, “Call Mr. Spock and get his ass on the case.”

This display got him an elbow in the ribs from Cassie, cutting the song short. And while Shelby flipped him the bird, Darren stood up, clapped his hands and rubbed them together conspiratorially, said, “Welp, all this talk of dead bodies underwater, hell, who’s ready for another swim?”

“Not me,” said Turd-Nugget, throwing himself back against the cushions.

“Think I’ll sit this one out, too,” said Cassie. “Maybe we should head in and find some chow?”

That notion perked Turd-Nugget right up. “Aw, c’mon, guys,” said Darren. “We’re already out here.” He looked at Shelby. “You in?” She stood and peeled her t-shirt back off. “How ‘bout you, sport,” he asked, looking at Eugene, who waved him off. He was plenty comfortable as is. “I guess that means it’s just us three.”

Turd-Nugget quickly did the math on that, said, “No. No way, Darren! Eugene…”

“Sure you can,” said Darren, who grabbed onto Turd-Nugget before he could squirm away, picked him up and cradled his victim, no small feat, and started to give him the heave-ho. “Ah, one…”

“Stop it, you shithead, put me down, goddammit,” said Turd Nugget.

“Best put him down,” said Eugene, before he pissed himself.

“Ah, two…” said Darren, giving Turd-Nugget another fake heave, who lost his visor on the backswing.

Turd-Nugget was squealing now, flailing like a bloated tick stuck on its back, the others were laughing at the pathetic display, and Darren made his most exaggerated effort yet, rocking him back, then, “Ah, three,” and promptly chucked Turd-Nugget over the side.

His scream, cut short by the enormous splash, cut the others’ laughter off. There was suddenly nothing funny about it. It was that kind of scream.

 

Part IV:

“Goddammit, Darren,” Eugene said, pushing Cassie aside to free himself, making it to the stern in two quick steps, punching Darren, hard, in the shoulder blade without breaking stride. He honestly didn’t think Darren would do it. Or be that stupid. “He can’t swim!”

Looking over the side, there it was. Turd-Nugget’s life jacket, splayed atop the surface as if a giant hand had peeled back to reveal a squashed bug, the straps a mess of discombobulated legs, still twitching and gently bobbing in the fading wake of his brother’s impact, who was nowhere in sight. “Shit.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know,” said Darren, eyes locked in panic mode. “Christ, man, I think you broke my shoulder…”

“Oh, no,” said one of the girls, which one, Eugene wasn’t sure as his ears had suddenly developed tunnel-vision – or whatever the hell the audiological equivalent of that was. All he could really hear was his own muffled pulse, drowning – drowning “Fuck!” he was drowning – everything else out as the seconds glacially advanced and his brother still didn’t surface. But this last fact didn’t really register because Eugene was already over the side, breaking the surface, and quickly pulled his way into the gloom below. 

It was near noon, the sun right above them. The visibility was good, maybe three to four-feet, but closing fast as he kicked further down with no sign of Turd-Nugget. He heard two more muffled splashes behind him, then a third. The others were looking, too. Good. Find him. And fast.

He’d gotten a good breath, but it could’ve been better. Panic’ll do that to you. And still, no sign of Turd-Nugget. When he reached out again for another stroke his hands raked into the silty bottom, pulling up masses of sand in the process. Pushing off, he righted himself and looked around but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. He looked up and could make out the boat, to the right, nothing, to the left, even less. Looking up again, he judged he was down maybe 15 to 20 feet. Thrashing and spinning 360 degrees, Eugene tried to look everywhere at once but saw no sign of his brother. He watched another burst of bubbles from his nose head to the surface and could see several shapes against the sun near the boat. Had they found him? Then the shapes broke apart and disappeared. That answered that question. He would need air soon. His brother needed it more.

When he took swimming lessons as a kid Eugene could hold his breath for nearly three minutes. But that was stationary and at the bottom of a pool. And, that was a long time ago. Shaking this thought process off, the swimmer reached out and followed his leaking nose, pushing himself down, and crawled along the bottom, fearing his brother might’ve gotten tangled up in something. As he blindly groped around, the water started to get noticeably cooler. Current, probably, or irrigation run-off. Then, his left hand struck something solid and he grabbed onto it. It was metal, felt rusted, and listed badly. He grabbed it with both hands and shimmied along, careful not to cut himself, until he found the end, or top, turns out, as he felt around the geometric edges until he realized he’d most probably found an old STOP sign. Must be near the sunken town, he processed before pushing it aside. He let go and kicked forward, giving himself another minute before he would have to go for air.

As he counted off seconds with each stroke, he was down to 27 when something brushed against his leg and scraped along his calf and, for a moment, wrapped around his ankle before letting go when he reflexively kicked at it. Whatever it was had scared him. And he lost all his remaining air.

When he surfaced, Eugene tried to bring in as much air as he could to replace all the water he was hacking out of his lungs. Shelby popped up near the boat, then Cassie. “Anything?” his girl asked.

Eugene shook his head. “No.” His own panicked voice frightened him a little.

“Should one of us go for help?” Shelby asked, gathering up the discarded life-preserver and tossing it into the boat. It took her two tries.

“No time,” Eugene said. “Just keep looking, okay?” Was he crying? They both nodded and offered assurances and encouragement that his little brother would be fine, then Shelby said, “Wait,” but he failed to acknowledge her as he drew in several deep breaths and then corkscrewed around and kicked back toward the bottom, wondering less about how he could’ve missed whatever had grabbed at him and worrying more that it might have been Turd-Nugget. It was a hand. It felt like a goddamned hand had grabbed him. And the more he thought about it, the more certain he was. Eugene kicked harder at the water.

He reasoned he had gone straight up after the panic attack and so he tried to swim straight back down. He found the bottom and cruised around until he found the rusted STOP sign again. Which way had he gone? Well, he let the angle of the listing sign point the way, hopefully to where the contact had taken place. Maybe it would be better if he just swam around in an ever widening circle? How long had it been since Turd-Nugget had gone under. Didn’t matter now, just find him. Cassie was a lifeguard. She knew CPR. She could resuscitate him after they found him. And they would find him, dammit. 

He glanced up but Eugene could barely make out the boat anymore. But he couldn't have gone down that much farther? As he reached forward, digging his hands into the bottom silt, pulling forward, feeling around, uprooting weeds, losing air, searching by touch, the visibility was down to almost nothing, sometimes waving his hands in front of his face, hoping this would somehow cut through the darkening blot. And things had gotten darker, much darker, and the water had gone from gradually cooler to nearly freezing when something grabbed at his ankle again. This time, Eugene kept it together and held his air as he jackknifed his course. Blindly reaching around, trying to locate whatever had grabbed at him.

And then he screamed.

Through the violent discharge of bubbles, the horrible face Eugene had seen recessed back into the blackness. It had seemed to coalesce right in front him, nearly nose to nose before he really saw it. Except the thing’s nose was gone, as were the eyes, just four empty sockets; two slits and two gaping holes. It’s open, and mostly toothless mouth was full of worms and God knows what else, as was the beard, and the hands and arms that had reached out to embrace him had been mostly picked clean of tissue as well, with flakes still peeling off, adding still more grit to the surrounding cloud of discarded detritus and flaked human skin. 

All of this he saw because the bilious apparition gave off a pulsing, bluish phosphorescent glow that lit up out of nowhere and cut through the encompassing soup. And that was all he saw before he got his feet underneath him and sprung off the bottom for the surface, whatever it was seemingly dissipating in the thrash of his wake. He saw the boat and corrected his course, his blind panic impeding his progress. He closed his eyes, trying to flush the hideous apparition from them, and kicked and flailed, and kicked and flailed. And then his hands struck something, bending his fingers back. Was it the boat? But it wasn’t hard enough to be the boat. He opened his eyes in time to get a face full of silt as his momentum planted him into the bottom of the reservoir.

This made no sense as he fought to orient himself. How had he gotten turned around? He followed his air bubbles to find which way was up, and he could see the boat clearly now, and his friends feet slowly kicking back and forth as they bobbed on the surface. For a second, it seemed that he could almost reach out and touch them but in-between blinks they suddenly seemed miles away. 

Again, something brushed against the back of his legs, and in a flurry of knees and elbows, Eugene made for the ever receding surface, trying to get away from the thing. The terrible, grinning thing. The pulsing beat of the blood gushing in his ears had picked up the pace considerably, his lungs were all but empty, and his mouth reflexively sucked in water. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught a glimpse of the eerie glow reforming below him and Eugene kicked harder for the surface, but again, after what seemed like a long time, too long, he found his hands tangled up in the weeds and silt of the bottom again. And then, he grabbed onto something else. 

Thinking it might be that fucking thing again, he jerked back and let go until realizing it had been a hand. A real hand. A small pudgy hand. Turd-Nugget. He groped around, found it, and held on. There wasn’t much time. No, there was no time. 

He tried to pull his brother toward him but there was resistance. Little porker should float like a cork, he thought. He found the other hand and tried again, which netted the same result. The body appeared to be caught up on something. Blind, desperate, and not so slowly drowning, Eugene was also keenly aware of the faint glowing orb circling them, predatorily, fading in and out of the murk, in ever tightening circles, and that terrible face solidifying and then melting away before his very eyes over and over again at the center of it as the spectral malignancy moved. And was it screaming at him? Oh, fuck. Pull! And this he did but his brother still refused to budge. Dammit, Turd-Nugget! Work with me, here!

Changing tactics, Eugene felt around the torso, tugged at his shirt, his trunks, looking for whatever was tethering him down. This was time he did not have. And worse, there was nothing to be found. The roar inside his ears was deafening now, and Eugene felt himself slipping, the breakers inside his brain were being turned off one by one, and with each closed circuit something else inside his body refused to work anymore. What he feared would be his last conscious thought was to get into position for one last try. 

Using his anchored brother as leverage, he got into a crouch, straddling the prone form, and, using his legs and arms, back, whatever was still working, grasped both of his brother’s wrists and pulled. Then, the temperature of the water dropped even more, and seemed to invade every orifice with icy tendrils which oozed into every pore of his body, like poison; then the water around them seemed to ignite, a bluish-white flash that lit up the bottom and he saw Turd-Nugget, his eyes open, a few pitiful bubbles coming out of his mouth, unmoving. The light grew brighter still; the thing was almost upon them. They were out of time. 

But just as Eugene was ready to give up and just throw himself over his brother in a grand but futile effort to protect him, the light flickered and faded; more like receded, and the water suddenly turned lukewarm. Then, Turd-Nugget suddenly broke loose from the bottom. And as he floated free, Eugene grabbed him by the collar and his shorts and heaved him toward the surface, pushing himself downward with the recoil.

With that, his body no longer responded to any motor commands. And as he settled on the bottom, and blackness pooled over his eyes in multiple blotches, Eugene could still make out Turd-Nugget rising to the surface, which looked a lot closer now, through the flickering and fading light. The rocketing orb was retreating fast. It’s bluish tint replaced by flashes of a dull greenish-yellow; a stream, no, two streams; there were two streams that seemed like two lightsabers having an erratic duel as they haphazardly crisscrossed from one angle to another. 

His brain was still firing, barely. Thoughts, words, and memories a jumbled mess: Sorry, mom. I love you, Cassie. Fuck off, Ruby. Please don’t be dead, Turd-Nugget. Hope that thing doesn’t get you … wait, no, Hatcher, Myron Hatcher, it had to be. No, he won’t get him. That’s not how it works. You got me instead, you fucker. 

One in, one out. That’s how it works...

 

Part V: 

 … Slowly the breakers in his head started clicking back and forth. And some had to be flipped multiple times before the first light finally sparked back on.

“C’mon, dammit, breathe!” That sounded like Cassie. Why was she kissing him? He was dead. Wasn’t he? Wait. Was she dead, too? Was this heaven? If it was, he was ready to apologize for all those obscene thoughts on her breasts.

And as things went from definitive black to sorta white to not so definitive black to blurry, Eugene became aware of a repeated terrible pressure on his chest. Then another kiss as his lungs inflated once, then twice, and then they finally kicked over and started working by themselves.

He opened his eyes to a world smeared over with Miracle Whip. “That’s it! That’s it!” Cassie again. “Breathe!” He tried, but suddenly felt like he was drowning once more and tried to stop this but his body still seemed to have its own agenda. “Help me get him on his side.”

Several hands roughly turned him over and Eugene heaved until he was dry, and then heaved some more. On one stupidly stupendous occasion Eugene had consumed two pints of Mad Dog, then puke-rallied through a six pack of Old Milwaukee and half a bag of ‘shrooms in one sitting. That hangover was nothing compared to this. When the spasms finally subsided, they gently laid him back down, Cassie cradling his head in her lap and stuck a finger in his mouth to make sure everything was clear and then wiped the wet hair from his face.

He wished he could see her face more clearly, but just the sense of her made him feel better.

Then it hit him, then panic, then, “Where’s Thaddie?”

“He’s fine. It was touch and go with both of you, but he’s fine. How do you feel?” All she got was a moan.

His vision was clearing up a bit, and he saw Turd-Nugget with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He also had a death-hug on Shelby that Krazy-Glue might want to patent.

“She did it,” Shelby said, trying to get her head around it. “She brought you both back. Wouldn’t give up.”

“Don’t scare me like that, brother,” said Darren. “And sorry about your head, kinda dinged it hauling your sorry ass into the boat.”

Just add it to the tab, he thought. Then to Cassie, “What happened?”

“There were some flashlights in the boat.”

“Tried to tell you,” Shelby said.

“When you didn’t come back up, we got ‘em and headed back down. Found Thaddie there on his way up and I found you on the bottom.”

Told you she was a lifeguard.

“She was amazing.”

“Marry her, dude.”

“We got lucky,” she said, barking out a few happy tears. “You’d better take us in. These two should still get checked out at a hospital.”

Shelby tried to extricate herself from Turd-Nugget but he was having none of that. “Do you think you can drive us in,” she asked Darren, who quickly took position behind the wheel and smiled and then started singing the theme to Gilligan’s Island. This would be interesting.

As they motored back to the docks, Eugene kept fading in and out, despite Cassie’s encouragement to remain awake. As he drifted, he wondered if he had actually seen the apparition. Or was this the carbon-dioxide in his brain talking, and the blind panic, mixed with Shelby’s raconteuring. It had seemed real then, but now?

At some point, Turd-Nugget was overcome with a huge coughing fit, so Cassie and Shelby changed patients. She helped Eugene sit up and rest against the bulkhead and they watched as Cassie eased the boy through it as he wretched over the side. It was then he noticed Shelby was looking at him a little cock-eyed, and it went well beyond the fact that he’d almost died.

She placed a hand on his, asked directly, “Did you see him?”

Then he knew it was real.

“You kinda forgot to mention that part.”

“I’ll get Leonard Nimoy right on that.”

“On what?” said Cassie, who helped settle Turd-Nugget back in his seat, who then immediately wrapped his arms around her.

“Thank you,” he told her.

She rubbed his back, “You’re very welcome.”

Eugene half expected him to start purring. Again, he didn’t blame him. He’d thank her personally later.

It was good to be alive.

“Oh, shit,” said Darren as he throttled the engine back. “The fuzz is here.”

On the beach near the marina were four police cruisers and several officers milling around the docks. They had drawn a crowd.

Darren, confused, “Who called them?”

“Who cares,” said Shelby, taking over the wheel, and then navigated them in, waving wildly to get their attention.

After a brief explanation and a request for an ambulance, the Sheriff looked Eugene, Cassie, and Turd-Nugget over. Darren had ridden with Shelby to return the boat to the proper slip. “Have you all been drinking?”

“No sir,” thank god. “It was an accident,” said Eugene, getting steadier by the minute. “My brother fell overboard and things just got kinda complicated from there.”

“Why wasn’t he wearing a life-jacket?”

“He was. It just came off.”

Turd-Nugget tried to help. “The straps were too tight.”

They weren’t out of the woods yet, the Sheriff would want to talk to them again after they got checked out at the hospital. Then he thought long and hard for a moment, and then softened considerably. “I’m glad you all are okay.”

“Sheriff,” said one of the deputies stationed at a cruiser. “The boat just called in, they’re on their way back with the remains.”

“Not a good day to be at the lake is it?” the Sheriff said to everyone and no one in particular.

“Did somebody drown?” Cassie said, suddenly squeezing Eugene’s hand.

The Sheriff lit a fresh cigarette and took a long drag. “No. Some kids were doing some illegal seining in one of the coves and pulled some bones up in the net. Thought it was a deer or a cow until they found a skull.”

Now Eugene squeezed Cassie’s hand. That wasn’t how it worked. He almost drowned, but didn’t. Maybe it was close enough.

"Eugene!

It was Darren on the run, but Shelby outpaced him, and so, "Lucas called on the CB. He was out of his head and not making any sense. He wanted to talk to you." She meant Eugene. "I tried to tell him what happened but he kept screaming, wanting to know where you were. So, I told him and then he just stopped transmitting."

"He's coming here?" said Eugene, now more confused than ever. She shrugged. His guess was as good as hers.

Again, they heard him coming before they saw him. The Firebird was audibly being pushed past the limits through the winding curves as the driver finally came into view and cut the last turn too short, so short Eugene thought he was gonna roll it. But Lucas managed to pull out of that but had over-corrected, bounced off a huge Cottonwood, popping the hood, dislodging the bumper, tearing a whole front panel off, and detonated a tire; then, completely blind as the hinged hood smacked into the front windshield, he slammed on the brakes and lost it again in the deep gravel, sending the vehicle careening toward the boat ramp, where trailers were backed into the water to ease their buoyant cargo off, which the Firebird was not. Thus, the impact sent a geyser of water and a plume of steam into the air and the whole thing was half-submerged before this errant missile finally came to a blunt stop against one of the support pylons.

The crowd that had scattered at this maniacal approach slowly reformed and took in the steaming wreck, which was still sinking. "Christ Almighty," said the Sheriff. "Get him out of there!"

But Lucas had already managed to bail out of the car, and then fell again when the deputies reached him; and while one escorted him to drier ground the other checked the car and confirmed no one else was in it. Meantime, still in the grips of a five-alarm freak-out, so much so the Sheriff gave the order to restrain him, Lucas fought on, screaming "No! You don't understand. You have to help me. She's in the water! I couldn't find her!"

After instructing two of the deputies to "Keep those other people back,” the Sheriff turned his attention to Lucas, "Now calm down, son," then, "Okay, somebody's in the water. But who is it that's in the water?" Lucas had gone from hysterics to blubbering, and it appeared his mouth couldn't keep up with his train of thought as the Sheriff tried to piece the resulting gibberish together.

Herded back with the rest of the rubberneckers, Eugene, still fuzzy around the edges but sobering up fast, was about to ask the obvious but Cassie beat him to it. "Where's Ruby?"

Eugene didn't know but he was about to find out. He moved toward the Sheriff and Lucas but a deputy stepped up and pushed him back. "My sister was with him, man! Where is she?"

"Stay back," was the only answer he got to every question.

"I'm telling you my sister was with him!"

Cassie got in between them. "He's telling the truth."

"Where is she? Lucas!?"

"That's our friend over there," said Darren, stepping in and getting right in the obstructing officer's face. "Do you speak the English or what?"

And while Cassie and Darren ran interference, Eugene made his move. "Lucas! Lucas, where's Ruby?"

"...She was there, there was this light, a blue light, and then she wasn't there, in the water," he was saying, but when the distraught Lucas heard and recognized Eugene he stopped then started sobbing, "I'm sorry," over and over again and eventually collapsed in a fetal heap.

"Do you know him," the Sheriff asked Eugene, who nodded, and then motioned to the circumvented deputy it was OK to let him pass but keep the others back.

"My sister was with him."

"Was her name Ruby?"

Eugene didn't like where this was headed, and so, was terrified to answer. When he finally nodded an affirmative, the Sheriff put a hand on his shoulder, said, "I'm sorry, son."

He wasn't hearing this. If he didn't hear this, it didn't happen. He turned away from the Sheriff and lost all focus until he locked onto Cassie. The look on his face must've told her everything because she suddenly started crying. She tried to come to him but the deputy would not let her.

"... They were swimming on the other side of the reservoir, near Arapahoe Point, using an old tire swing to alley-oop into the water. Sounds like your sister went in and just didn't come back up. The water level is way down. It’s just not deep enough for that kind of thing. I'm sorry."

So was Lucas. So would everybody be.

Eugene continued his slow, wobbly circle, a spin-cycle of denial and disbelief, but stopped when he faced the water. Turd-Nugget was near the edge, watching as the last evidence of the Firebird slid and sunk out of sight. Behind him he heard a siren approaching. The ambulance was finally here. The Sheriff was instructing a deputy to put Lucas in one of the cruisers and then call in the State Patrol, and their dive team, to help them search. Search for Ruby.

They needn't have bothered. It was beyond them now. Ruby was gone. And when they got her back wasn't up to them.

"That's how it works."

 

One In, One Out, by Chad Plambeck. Copyright 2015. First published October, 2021.