up from the bottom of the tub. Breath exploded from his lungs, bubbling up toward the surface.
The Shepherd's hand plunged into the water, pushing down with enormous strength against Owen's sternum. He felt an ache from the man's strong hand like a bruise on his heart, a pain much like the loss of his sister, and he kicked out, soaking his attacker's shirt through to the undershirt beneath it, splashing the others, who stood huddled around the tub, watching without flinching, without mercy—even the child, the young blonde girl, didn't blink.
Only Lori turned away, apparently unable to watch.
Owen grasped the ghost's forearm. Horrifying images filled his head the moment his hand touched the man's bare skin—of fat, overfed beetles scrabbling out of skulls with scraps of withered gray flesh and a single eyeball floating in a red froth, its ocular nerve thrashing behind it like a fin, and of naked white bones strewn across a plain of sediment—and he jerked his hand away, strange black tendrils forming between the Shepherd's flesh and his palm and stretching out like saliva before being whisked away in the churning water. He gulped for air, desperately, his mouth filled with liquid. He tasted his own sweat, the dirt he'd unintentionally washed from his body, choking as it filled his nose, his throat, worse than the dream, worse than the nightmare. Strangely, the man's brown eyes held no malice; what Owen saw was something like bliss, a profound joy mirrored now in the faces of his flock, all except Lori—who, from her similar gown, was most certainly "one of them," just like it had said on the sign he'd thought he'd seen during the protest.
Joined them. Joined this cult. Joined her ghost. The man who walked on water.
Suddenly his vision shifted, and a very clear image that was either a hallucination or a vision overcame him. This same hand held Lori down, forcing her under the dark water. She kicked and screamed under its weight, unable to rise to the surface. The image vanished suddenly, returning him to the tub, where pinpricks of light danced before this vision. The room beyond began to gray, the witnesses to his death only visible in the whites of their eyes. He was losing consciousness.
Owen screamed, hoping for his neighbors to hear, hoping for the Shepherd and his flock to forgive whatever sin he'd committed against them. But the water stifled his cries.
The tub had grown impossibly deep. The Shepherd's arm seemed to stretch down to such an incredible depth that, even if the man let him go now, Owen wouldn't have the strength to swim to the surface. Far above the Shepherd's head, at an even greater distance, the ceiling split open like a wound, and the darkening sky began to show itself, rain pattering down on the surface of the water.
The lake was cool and dark and inviting, the sky overcast, the rain that had been threatening in the west all morning just beginning to drizzle down around them. Lori slipped under the water, disappearing in a wake of concentric ripples.
Owen gulped in another mouthful of water and followed her down.
CHAPTER 3
Lost and Found
1
OWEN SHIVERED, gasping for breath.
He was breathing again, his lungs taking in air instead of water, and the sensation made him realize he must have been dreaming. The water, the trees, the sky, all of it peeled back like a stage backdrop. Lori disappeared. He floated in a cold and shapeless void, an emptiness so thorough he couldn't feel his own body.
Am I dead…?
The thought seemed to arise from nowhere. His body was gone, his thoughts mere electrical impulses in the ether.
A moment later, his surroundings came into view as if illuminated by a flashbulb. Sensation returned to his limbs, his chest, neck, and head. He'd been floating in a senseless abyss, but now he felt he was lying down. His hair was damp, heavy on his head, wrapped in something from his knees to his chest, fuzzy and warm, and yet he still shivered. A scent
The Shepherd's hand plunged into the water, pushing down with enormous strength against Owen's sternum. He felt an ache from the man's strong hand like a bruise on his heart, a pain much like the loss of his sister, and he kicked out, soaking his attacker's shirt through to the undershirt beneath it, splashing the others, who stood huddled around the tub, watching without flinching, without mercy—even the child, the young blonde girl, didn't blink.
Only Lori turned away, apparently unable to watch.
Owen grasped the ghost's forearm. Horrifying images filled his head the moment his hand touched the man's bare skin—of fat, overfed beetles scrabbling out of skulls with scraps of withered gray flesh and a single eyeball floating in a red froth, its ocular nerve thrashing behind it like a fin, and of naked white bones strewn across a plain of sediment—and he jerked his hand away, strange black tendrils forming between the Shepherd's flesh and his palm and stretching out like saliva before being whisked away in the churning water. He gulped for air, desperately, his mouth filled with liquid. He tasted his own sweat, the dirt he'd unintentionally washed from his body, choking as it filled his nose, his throat, worse than the dream, worse than the nightmare. Strangely, the man's brown eyes held no malice; what Owen saw was something like bliss, a profound joy mirrored now in the faces of his flock, all except Lori—who, from her similar gown, was most certainly "one of them," just like it had said on the sign he'd thought he'd seen during the protest.
Joined them. Joined this cult. Joined her ghost. The man who walked on water.
Suddenly his vision shifted, and a very clear image that was either a hallucination or a vision overcame him. This same hand held Lori down, forcing her under the dark water. She kicked and screamed under its weight, unable to rise to the surface. The image vanished suddenly, returning him to the tub, where pinpricks of light danced before this vision. The room beyond began to gray, the witnesses to his death only visible in the whites of their eyes. He was losing consciousness.
Owen screamed, hoping for his neighbors to hear, hoping for the Shepherd and his flock to forgive whatever sin he'd committed against them. But the water stifled his cries.
The tub had grown impossibly deep. The Shepherd's arm seemed to stretch down to such an incredible depth that, even if the man let him go now, Owen wouldn't have the strength to swim to the surface. Far above the Shepherd's head, at an even greater distance, the ceiling split open like a wound, and the darkening sky began to show itself, rain pattering down on the surface of the water.
The lake was cool and dark and inviting, the sky overcast, the rain that had been threatening in the west all morning just beginning to drizzle down around them. Lori slipped under the water, disappearing in a wake of concentric ripples.
Owen gulped in another mouthful of water and followed her down.
CHAPTER 3
Lost and Found
1
OWEN SHIVERED, gasping for breath.
He was breathing again, his lungs taking in air instead of water, and the sensation made him realize he must have been dreaming. The water, the trees, the sky, all of it peeled back like a stage backdrop. Lori disappeared. He floated in a cold and shapeless void, an emptiness so thorough he couldn't feel his own body.
Am I dead…?
The thought seemed to arise from nowhere. His body was gone, his thoughts mere electrical impulses in the ether.
A moment later, his surroundings came into view as if illuminated by a flashbulb. Sensation returned to his limbs, his chest, neck, and head. He'd been floating in a senseless abyss, but now he felt he was lying down. His hair was damp, heavy on his head, wrapped in something from his knees to his chest, fuzzy and warm, and yet he still shivered. A scent
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