She gasped loudly, pulling a deep funnel of air into her starved lungs, the sweetest, sweetest, most exquisite feeling.
Harsh water drizzled out of her nose as she rolled to her left side, paddling her arms as if she was in a canoe, again and again, forceful one-sided stroking in a rhythm that wasn’t perfect but kept her moving towards the edge of the pool.
The moon glowed bright enough that she could see the glint of the silver pool ladder’s handles. Pumping her tied arms to one side was taking too much chest power, she had to grunt with each paddle, and she worried the noise would alert Avery that she was still alive and he’d return and finish her off. She tried pumping her arms up and down in front of her but that was strenuous and hardly moving her.
So she rolled on her back and went into a frog kick that she remembered from childhood swimming lessons, keeping her tied hands pulled close to her chest. This slushed her forward through the water but with nothing that could be described as speed.
When she sensed she was close to the ledge, she turned her face and was about a foot from the ladder. Beaten with exhaustion, she grasped the top step with her fingers, pool water drooling from her nose and mouth. She bobbed there, not knowing what to do if he came back and pointed the gun at her.
She lay her head wearily on the top step, breathing hard, her lungs still grateful for air, still worried it might be taken away from her any moment, floating up and down with the slight undulation of the water.
A crack-pop split the air and she jerked her head up, adrenaline shooting through her body again. The sound hadn’t been very loud but it seared her soul, penetrated straight into her heart. For she knew what it was—the gun going off.
Avery had reached her house, and when Heath arrived, he’d been shot. The “murder-suicide” for which Avery planned to frame Heath. The sound of the gun had ricocheted down through the forest.
Heath, she cried out silently. Heath. I couldn’t save you this time.
She sank her head back to the top step, breath coming raggedly, salty tears spilling out of her eyes, and she tried to wail, to give voice to her grief but nothing came out of her mouth. This was the sadness Heath had experienced that night. The grief she’d always, shamefully, been grateful had not been hers to carry.
“Romy!”
Her bleary, stinging eyes went wide and she stared straight ahead down the length of the pool, not sure what was real and what wasn’t.
“Romy!”
It was Heath. It was Heath. But Avery had killed him. She was hearing him like she’d heard Misty. He was a spirit now, a vapor.
“Are you down here? Romy!”
Weakly, she turned her head and tried to see up over the ledge. She bent her right leg and fumbled her foot in the water until it found the bottom step of the short ladder. But with tied hands and unbearable hollowness, she didn’t have the strength or maneuverability to climb it.
“Huhhhhh…” The word came out foggy and desolate, like the last utterance of a dying person. He had a name that formed not on the tongue but almost solely inside the lungs, exactly where she had no power.
“Romy! Where are you?”
“Heeeeeeee…” she croaked as loud as she could, triggering a coughing fit that was louder than she could call. She kept coughing and hacking, watery phlegm jarring and rattling inside her chest.
“Oh my God, Romy!” One arm was grabbed, then the other. “I got you.” He was pulling and she was pushing her leg down, or at least trying to, and within a few seconds, he’d hauled her to the platform. “Stay on your side,” he said, propping her.
Chlorine-tasting water spurted out of her lungs and onto the platform. Keeping her on her side, Heath reached around and began working the knot on the rope. It came loose and he unwound it, sliding it off her wrists.
Then he wrapped his shirt around her chest, pulling it up close to her neck. That’s when she began to shiver, her teeth clacking so hard she worried she’d crack them.
“Yes, I need an ambulance,” Heath said authoritatively. She couldn’t see him but assumed he was speaking into his phone. “We’re at the country club pool on Country Club Lane. There’s been a near-drowning. … Yes, she’s breathing. Romy, can you speak?”
“Uhhhh…” she groaned.
“Yes, she can speak. Barely. Hurry. Okay, thank you.”
She tried to tip forward but he wouldn’t let her. “Stay on your side.”
“Maaaahhh…” she groaned, as close as she could get to “Mack.”
“I came to the house and all I could hear was Mack barking, barking. I found him in a room and let him out. He was crazed and had a leash on. Went tearing around the house. You weren’t anywhere. I saw your phone. He tore out to the porch and was scratching at the door. He dragged me around the yard. That’s when I heard you screaming. I thought you were in the woods.”
“Uhhhh…” she groaned.
“I started down with him straining at the leash. I was about halfway down when I saw this—this figure coming up the path. A man. Mack went berserk. The guy’s flashlight went in my eyes. I—I let the leash go. Mack shot off and the guy screamed. Last I saw, Mack was on top of him. But I had to keep looking for you. Was—was that a gunshot? What was that?”
“Aaaavvv-errrr… he… he... try… k-kill… kill…”
“Aver?”
“Saaaannnn… Saaaands…”
“Jesus Christ, the art teacher? Romy, what the hell happened?” He tightened his arms around her and her shivering subsided for a moment. All she could think was Avery had a gun and would return for them any second.
He must have killed Mack. Oh my God. Mack.
“He… cuh-come… guh-guh…”
“Okay, can you stand?”
She nodded. Heath stood and was pulling her up but her feet felt as if they wouldn’t work, only slabs of numb flesh. Leaning heavily on each other, they started slowly hobbling.
“Guhh,” she croaked. “Guh-guhn. Caaaall. Hellllp.”
“Hello, we need the police. There’s a guy with a gun in the woods. Avery Sands. The art teacher at Glass Town High. For some reason, he’s trying to kill my girlfriend. … Country Club Lane. We’re at the pool. I just called for an ambulance. I’m trying to get us out of here. … Yes, she says he has a gun. … No, I didn’t see it but I heard it. He’s going to come for us. … Uh, Caucasian. Forty-something. Dark hair. About five foot ten. … I don’t know what he’s wearing. If they see a pittie, he’s our dog. Tell them don’t shoot the dog, okay? Don’t shoot the dog!”
They faltered through the open gate and haltingly walked towards the road, dimly lit with a smattering of streetlamps.
“We’re on the road,” Heath said. “We’re coming up the road. If they see the dog, tell them not to shoot the dog, okay? Don’t shoot the dog!”
“Maaa…” she groaned. While Heath seemed convinced Mack was alive, Romy knew he wasn’t. Avery had kept threatening to kill him, and he’d done it. Oh God, what would she tell Bill?
The wail of an ambulance was getting louder and closer.
“Okay, I hear the ambulance,” Heath said into the phone. “Are the cops coming? … Okay. Oh shit! Holy shit!”
Romy followed his line of vision. At first, she thought the stooped, four-legged creature was a raccoon. But then she realized it was Mack, trotting out of the trees circling the pool’s perimeter. He appeared to be out for a casual stroll, his leash dragging behind him.
“Maaaa…” she cried, but it came out a croaking warble.
Heath whistled an ear-splitting whistle and Mack snapped his head in their direction. “Mack! Here, boy!”
Panting, Mack started towards them but the screech of the siren was growing louder and louder. Worried he would get startled and run, Romy drew all her breath up with every ounce of strength her lungs could muster, and rasped out, “Maaaack! Come herrrrre!”
She squatted and opened her arms. He trotted faster and faster until she had him in them, her head on his comforting, muscly body, inhaling his earthy scent.
She stayed on the ground with him, shivering, and holding him tight.