I’m under the ice in the blink of an eye. A hand touches mine, the fingers so cold I shiver. When I realise it’s him, my angel, I light up inside. Only he looks too tense, too pale. I see his mouth is moving but I can’t hear the words.
‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
Yet the more I talk, the less I hear. I stop. Wait. And it’s as if the answer is right inside my own head.
‘I can’t rest in peace until the truth is known.’
‘What truth?’ I say, confused.
He doesn’t answer.
It’s cold down here, too cold. His hand rests on mine like ice. I’m scared. He senses it almost before I do. I can’t bear him to look at me, and I try to turn away. But the lake bed is sticky. It sucks at my boots, grabs at my skirts. I’m held fast. I can’t move. The fear turns to panic. Inside my head I hear his voice again, clear as glass.
‘Now it’s your turn to save me,’ he says.
What on earth does he mean?
I see my own panic in his face. I almost feel his too-fast heartbeat. He moves back and begins to fade.
‘Who are you?’ I say, because no angel would be this unhappy.
I want to go to him but I’m still held fast. My skirts are tangled in a mass of weeds. The more I tug, the tighter they hold me. The boy stops. He doesn’t answer, but he comes back to me, and with one deft move frees my skirts.
I owe my life to this boy. It’s my turn to help him. And I would, if only I knew how.
Now he tries to tell me something. It’s something to do with my frock. I twist this way and that to see what he means, but it stirs up mud and the water turns so cloudy I can hardly make out a thing.
‘Who are you?’ I say again.
But my words are lost in the water.