Crime & Counterpoint by M.S. Daniel Read Free Book Online

Detective…?”)
     
    (((Ripple)))
     
    Opaque black.
    An army of wasps stung him all over. He didn’t really feel it. Because it wasn’t really happening. Was it?
    Warm fingers combed his hair, (“Sleep, dear. Growing boys need their rest.”) which floated like seaweed.
    His hands spread wide, arms lounging up and away. Legs stretched out in perfect repose. Face muscles at ease. Relaxing. (“That’s it. Close your eyes, and I’ll sing you a song.”)
    Tender arms carried him. A sweet, low voice crooned a haunting lullaby that soothed him. (“… It’s not your fault, dear. She just wasn’t strong like you.”)
    Then scathing pain. Crept upon him like the dawn.
     
    (((Ripple)))
     
    Cold. Ice. Fire. Burning, bone-numbing cold.
    Breathe. Breathe!
    Another stronger ebb of pain. It brought him into a measure of coherence, but it seemed like just another nightmare.
    Whispers of (“You killed her”) moonlight shone down on him.
    (“It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”)
    He was being pulled down … You don’t deserve to live… Sucked into a whirlpool. She’s dead because of me. A warm cyclone that was just as safe as it was dangerous.
    (“That’s right, son. You remember that now…”)
    (((Ripple))) (((Ripple)))
    (“He’s not moving… Get the medics over here…”)
    Rancid, glacial water filled his lungs – a tight mask stretching taut over his face. Gut-wrenching panic braced him and electrocuted his wiring.
    His eyes split wide.
    He kicked, struggling against the thick, twisting locks of crosscurrents, against the heavy weight of the river’s gown. He couldn’t push her off him. She had no form. She swirled around, clawing him downward with soft nails that left no mark.
    His lungs burned, beyond desperate for oxygen.
    His heart thudded with finality – loud pulses that deafened him. Like an internal clock counting down.
    Five seconds.
    The two halves of himself split with a crack of thunder, multiplying his cascade of horrors. Dividing him. Pitting body against soul. One urged him to the surface. But the other ((…“Shhh. This is what you wanted. Isn’t it? Just close your eyes, and forget…”))
    Four seconds.
    The agony returned, sapping him of his willpower, his energy. He wanted to scream, but there was no air.
    Three .
    Fire and ice intertwined in his core, a contrapuntal terror that he couldn’t process.
    Anger numbs the pain . ((… “That’s right. Just relax. It’ll be over soon.”…))
    Two.
    (“Come on, you son of a bitch. Hit me!”)
    One.
    (“HIT ME!!”)
    Zero.
    ((… “Time’s up”…))
     
    Zach jolted awake. Throat tight. Mouth dry. His bleary gaze darted around the hospital room before he remembered, realized he was alive. Evening sun streamed in through the blinds, and he had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. He was pretty sure he’d been in this same room before. Recognized that tacky wall print of the sail boat on frictionless waters. New York Presbyterian, no doubt. Yup. There it was on the menu lying on the adjustable tray next to his bed.
    He relaxed a little, but his body shook with the effects of the morphine drip they’d given him.
    He couldn’t feel much except a dull, distant ache every time he took a breath and when he tried to lift his left arm. Something was definitely torn there.
    He groped for the bed controls and pressed up. The jerky, whirring motion caused him to reconsider adjusting his incline. So he stopped.
    A light rap at the door jarred him. He looked over as Dr. Jared Greene, M.D. entered with a brilliant, straight smile that went right along with his $500 haircut and athletic, country club frame. He’d walked straight out of “General Hospital”. At least that’s how cousin Carrie described him after she’d fallen insanely in love. Key word: insanely.
    “Hey,” Jared greeted. “You’re finally awake. You slept for three days straight, man.”
    Zach wanted to say something to reflect his