Summer Shadows

The clear waters of the Dreyton's pool seemed to stare back at me as I dangled my feet over the edge. The water was cool, a nice relief from the heat of the southern coast and humidity. The breeze helped, don't get me wrong, but it in no way entirely fixed the problem. The sun above beat down brutally on my exposed shoulders; the past two days I'd spent hiding in the house, avoiding either one of the Dreytons I shared occupancy with as much as possible. I wasn't sure James knew how to approach me after what I had said to him; of course I had the same problem. My words hadn't exactly been kind, or appreciative. Oliver on the other hand, I was going out of my way not to see; but that wasn't difficult, as he seemed to have the same mindset.

Neither father nor son was around that morning when I woke up, weary from a night of tossing and turning due to dreams about flames and rubble, death and graveyards. I had felt stifled; smothered by my own desire to avoid everything, hide myself within the walls of my summer residence. So I had taken a risk, stepping outside and up to the pool I had passed by two days earlier on my return from the Windjammer after my awkward conversation with Oliver, and the sighting of Darren, yet again. Any remembrance of him seemed to leave my stomach clutched by a steely grip. My burning home; the funeral; even here. Was my mind actually beginning to unravel at the seams or was he actually...?

I shook my head; no, no. It couldn't be; I wouldn't let myself even think about it. That was enough to push me over the edge after everything that had happened the past few months. I wasn't in the right state of mind to deal with it; and coping mechanisms? I had absolutely none. Simon had been one thing; but he was gone, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. If Darren had become something similar, I had a feeling our interactions and his presence wouldn't be nearly as... friendly. Our last encounter had left me certain of that. That boy had resented me, up until the day he vanished. That boy had clearly lost his mind.

The heat on the back of my neck was beginning to bother me; pulling my attention elsewhere as I sat up a little; it didn't take long before I slumped back over again though, tugging lightly at the bikini's top. Katie had ordered me a few swim suits, the one I could bring myself to wear was a deep brown strapless bikini, it made my lack of tan even more apparent. But by the time I reached the pool's edge I had stopped caring how the sun was going to turn me into a walking tomato. Given what all was going on, sunburn was the least of my worries. I figured if I was going to be in Charleston the entire summer I might as well go on and get it over with. I edged a little closer to the water; it came halfway up my calves and took a bit of adjusting. I smiled to myself; I didn't remember the last time I'd gotten a tan, or a sunburn, or any color. As a child I had tanned startlingly well, but as I grew older, edged into my teenage years, the tans had stopped coming so easily, more often than not resulting in painful sunburns which left only sleepless nights and peeling skin. That wasn't appealing.

But what did sound nice was the cool water. I bit my lip before inhaling and pushing myself off the side and into the bright, clear water. It was a cruel shock to the rest of my body as I surfaced, pushing my hair out of my face, as I gripped the edge of the pool. I looked around, blinking the water out of my eyes before pushing myself through the water, towards the other side. The longer I swam, back and forth, up and down, cutting flips below the surface, doing hand stands in the pool’s shallow end, the better the water felt, and the clearer my mind became. Clearer, or distracted, I wasn’t sure. But the water helped me not to think, just to enjoy the sensation of its refreshing touch on my skin. Minutes passed, and after a little while I stopped, propping my arms up on the pool’s edge as I took a bit of time to relax, to try and enjoy the fact that I was currently in a house along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. But of course, that wouldn’t last very long.

There was a roar of a car's engine from the front of the house. With a sigh, I closed my eyes, dropping below the pool's ledge with only the upper half of my face protruding from the water. Someone I didn't want to deal with, one of two possible people I wanted to avoid with a passion, was now home. Grasping the ledge, I pushed myself completely underwater, letting myself sink towards the bottom as I tried to clear my mind, relax, and not focus on their presence. It was quiet, peaceful. Below the surface of the water I was content, opening my eyes I watched the water's ripples leave patterns along the pool's floor and walls, ever shifting and changing, constantly dancing. It was beautiful. A few bubble slipped from my nose as I realized just how poor of a lung capacity I had. Barely thirty seconds underwater and they felt ready to burst. My feet brushed the concrete base of the pool, lowering myself in preparation to shoot up for the surface. I had barely pushed off when I felt my right ankle jerked roughly to a stop by an unexpected, surprising cold grip.

Shock set in immediately along with confusion and a growing sensation of panic. I kicked, struggling to drag myself towards the surface of the pool; but the hold maintained. I could feel the alarm kicking in as my focus darted to below me. That quickly grew into something greater; sheer terror. Even with vision blurred by the water around me, I could see the tanned skin, the face pulled into a bitter, hateful mask, the brown eyes full of nothing but malice as he grasped my ankle, staring up at me viciously from the floor of the pool. The blood-curdling scream in my mind escaped my lips, turning into some distorted shriek under the water's surface. I thrashed frantically, trying to use the pool's smooth walls as a way to pull myself from his grip; a failed attempt for an impossible situation. Darren--the boy who shouldn't have been there--wouldn't let go.

My oxygen was running low; the panic leaving me to inhale. I felt like I was suffocating, smothered by a blanket of water that was beginning to make its way into my lungs. This could not be happening; there was no way. But couldn't and shouldn't were two different things; I had seen it before, with the phantom of Simon, and now at the bottom of a pool with a boy who no one had seen in five months. His touch was too real, too painful and cold to be imaginary; those hate-filled eyes to bright and burning to be an illusion. I couldn't wrench my own away from them as I struggled not to inhale more water. It was because of those eyes I barely noticed the splash in the pool beside me, the layer of bubbles that shot upwards from around the figure who wrapped an arm around my torso and gave me a sturdy tug. That was all it took for the figure of Darren to let go, and with the blink of an eye vanish as I was pulled to the surface of the pool, sputtering, shaking, and coughing as Oliver Dreyton drug me to the edge and out of the water.

I was on my side, one of his arms still around me as he let out a shaky breath, pushing his wet curls out of his face with his free hand. I caught a glimpse of utter fear in his blue eyes as he stared down at the concrete deck. I continued to cough, and he suddenly moved, pushing me up onto all fours as he gave my back a hard whack. I sputtered again as another hit came and I coughed up a decent amount of water onto the ground below. I shakily inhaled, drinking in the air, never appreciating such a simple, necessary function as I did in that moment. My limbs gave out, and I lay facedown on the deck as the hot summer sun shone down on us. Oxygen; I loved oxygen, even if his methods of getting the air back in my lungs was a little… unorthodox, incorrect form what I had seen.

"Maggie, are you okay? C'mon, say something, Maggie," Oliver demanded. There was a sense of urgency in his voice as I mustered the ability to focus on nodding my head, and pushing myself into a sitting position. I was alive; I was breathing. Physically I was a bit shaken but otherwise alright thanks to his sudden appearance, mentally though; mentally I couldn't say the same. My brain felt fried, the image of Darren at the forefront of my mind, glaring at me. "What the hell just happened, if I hadn't shown up when I did you would have fucking drowned just now, Maggie, so what the hell was that?"

"I don't--" I coughed again, struggling to find the right words, struggling to breathe. "I don't know."

"I mean, did you slip and hit your head or were you just being careless? Did you ever think about what kind of effect it would have if something actually happened to you? Did you?" He snapped. The fear was gone from his eyes, replaced with an icy rage as he watched me, clothes dripping wet. His forehead crinkled as he reached up, touching lightly the bridge of his nose, and just below his eyes. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Look, think about the answer to that while I get my glasses, and I am expecting an answer.”

He stood, and my eyes followed him as he stepped back to the pool, peeling his drenched shirt from his chest.

"Wait, no don't do that, there's something--" I stopped myself. Something what? Something in the water, like my missing ex-boyfriend? He watched me curiously from over his shoulder. I shook my head. "Just don't."

"There's nothing in there but my glasses, now if you'll excuse me." Before I could get out another word he was in the water. I scurried forward on all fours in time for him to surface again right in front of me, and pull himself up onto the pool's edge, sitting beside where I kneeled staring into the water's depths. There was nothing, absolutely nothing down there. He was right. Maybe I was crazy. I reached up shakily, pushing my hair away from my face. He had been there; plain as day, I had felt him. I wasn’t insane, was I? I searched the water carefully, looking for anything I could have gotten caught on. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the water.

“But I swear…” I muttered under my breath, in want of an explanation that wasn’t what I was beginning to believe, a thought that terrified me to no end.

“So, what just happened?”

My throat produced a quivering laugh, eyes fixed on the clear, glistening water. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You were drowning and you don’t know why?” There was a note of anger in his soft voice. “And you really expect me to believe that?”

I looked over at him; he sat dripping wet, shirtless, and glaring at my side. There was anger, anger and so much else burning brightly in his eyes from behind his glasses.

“No, I don’t. But out of the two answers I could have given you I chose the one that seemed more reasonable,” I said.

“So you’re basically telling me you just lied, that you actually know what happened? And you’re not going tell me?” The anger was becoming more distinguishable.

I nodded. “Sometimes the best option is to lie, especially when you know no one will believe you, or when the truth is going to cause more pain than good.”

Oliver fell silent, turning slowly, face becoming a placid mask.

“And which is the reason you lie?”

“That…” I thought. Simon’s face flashed through my mind; the enormous secret I’d been hiding from him about his own mother, just to keep him safe. “That honestly depends. I’m a bit of both. But this time was definitely under the first condition.”

“Funny, the second option seems so noble when you’re the one holding all the cards, but when you’re the one in the dark it isn’t quite as kind.” He sighed. “And yet…”

The air between us fell silent and I waited for the completion of his sentence. But it never came; the soft cry of the gulls and crash of the waves took its place. I watched as Oliver seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts, hair dripping, glasses dotted with water droplets, completely and utterly unfocused. Minutes passed as we sat there, Oliver blinking every once in a while, eyes never leaving the rolling ocean before us, me watching him carefully, uncertainly and occasionally looking towards the horizon as well.

“So I guess you don’t trust me enough to tell me what really happened,” He said finally, still focused on the ocean.

I paused momentarily, caught off-guard by the question. “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Oliver Dreyton, and every morning I go for a run across the Cooper River Br—Ah damn, I mean the Ravenel Bridge. Still can’t get used to that change,” He said. “After which I usually come home and go for a swim to cool off. Can’t say I want to get in after this little fiasco though.”

He shift slightly, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket with a grimace. I let out a startled “Oh” as he shook it lightly, fiddling with the power button.

“Actually I should probably go get a new one. There’s no way that survived submersion.” He sighed. “And you need a charger don’t you? Dad said something about Katie trying to get in contact with you. She called him three times while he was golfing the other day. I’ll get you a new one when I go.”

He looked over, blue eyes giving me a once over over the tops of his glasses. “And sunscreen. Definitely need sunscreen. You’re going to be a lobster, and I really don’t want to hear the whining.”

Oliver stood up then, walking back towards the house as he shook his curls out, sending clear drops of water everywhere. I shook my head as I turned back to the ocean. I didn’t understand him. I didn’t understand anything though in that moment. Flashes of Darren kept going through my mind. I couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t get it to leave me alone.

“Oh, here.”

I looked back over my shoulder, gasping as my hands shot up to catch the pair of glistening black and silver keys tossed at me. These boys needed to learn tossing objects at people wasn’t proper etiquette. Opening my palms I turned them over; they were the keys to my Mini Cooper, dripping with water. I looked back at Oliver, confused.

“Were you digging in my purse? Why did you have these?” I asked.

“If you go look I’m sure you’ll find yours are still right where you last saw them. That’s the spare pair my dad had made to get your car down here. It’s in the garage if you don’t believe me,” He shrugged, wringing his shirt out over the side of the deck.

“Wait,” I glanced from the keys to him and back. “Your dad got my car down here? You can’t be serious.”

Oliver looked over at me with an exasperated eye-roll. “Maggie, he’s the CEO of Keystone. If he wants it, he’ll get it. Trust me, I should know.”

He tossed his shirt over his shoulder then, walking in the house without another word. I stared down at my keys, a knot forming in my throat. That car had been my sixteenth birthday present from my dad. He had been so excited when he had shown it to me in the driveway that snowy morning, upset by the fact I wouldn’t actually be able to give the car a drive until the snow cleared up a few days later. I remembered how we had taken it to some of the services together, how the big speedometer in the middle of the dash had resulted in many throat clearings as I had pushed it up to ten and twenty miles over the speed limit at times; how I had returned his actions on the nights he drove us back home, me exhausted from the emotional strain some of the services had taken.

I blinked as the tears blurred my vision, wiping them away with my fingers as I stood, grabbing the towel I had brought with me before drying off a little, heading in the house and down a set of stairs hidden by a door in the parlor. I flicked the light switch in the garage, greeted by the shine of my car’s black hood. I stepped forward, trailing my fingers along it, the hood still warm from the drive. I smiled, fighting back a fit of tears. My car; my car parked right next to the black Stingray. Simon’s car; it had to be Simon’s car. I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. Did James really want me to get better? Was this his way of going about it? I could feel the ache in my chest, remembering my father, remembering Simon, the two most important things in my life I had lost without any chance of rescue. It wasn’t what I needed to get better, it wasn’t helping at all, only maintaining the pain that seemed intent on hanging on with a vice grip. I missed them; I missed them both with a bitter burning pain that refused to fade. Why? Why did they have to leave? Why did they have to be stolen from me in such brutal, scarring ways?

A low chuckle echoed from the corner of the room, strange and unnerving. The cold feeling at the bottom of my stomach started to roll in again, and when I opened my eyes it exploded.

Darren, the figure I had seen from a distance multiple times since the fire, the boy who went missing, the boy who I had seen clasping my ankle at the bottom of the pool stood across the garage, smile unnerving, eyes with deep, dark circles, irises bright and crazed. And for the first time he spoke; for the first time I was willing to admit that he was no figment of my imagination. I couldn’t imagine that voice if I tried.

“You’ve gotten lucky twice, babe. But trust me, third time’s a charm.”