The Locker by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page B

Don’t move!”
    I wanted to tell him there was no danger at all of that, I was stuck fast. But my immediate concern wasn’t the weeds or the slime or even the throbbing in my head, it was suddenly remembering that slithery thing I’d seen earlier.
    â€œGet me out of here!” I yelled. “I think I saw a snake!”
    â€œIf you did, he never knew what hit him. Hang on—your foot’s caught.”
    I tried to lift myself up, but only sank back helplessly into the muck. I could feel Tyler’s fingers around my ankle, and as a terrible pressure suddenly disappeared, I saw him grin triumphantly and toss my sneaker into the water.
    â€œWhat are you doing to my shoe?” I cried, but his arms were around me now, tugging me to my feet. “I need that shoe!”
    â€œForget the shoe. Can you stand up?” He loosened his hold on me, and I started to crumple. “Negative on standing. Maybe something’s broken after all.”
    I winced and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder—”
    And then it happened.
    Just like before—only this time I was right in the middle of it— trapped in the middle of it—like suddenly finding myself in a movie scene, but not being able to get out because the film’s running on fast forward and no one can stop it—
    Panic … terror … pain pain pain bursting exploding darkness surging in swallowing me — something else — a smell again — only different this time — thick … clinging … suffocating wet slippery can’t breathe … oh, God, can’t breathe, what is it —
    â€œIt’s murder,” Tyler was saying.
    â€œWh-what?” I whispered.
    â€œI said it’s murder coming down that way. Next time I wish you’d use the steps.”
    I looked at him in dismay. I was standing up clutching the top of my head, and Tyler was still holding me. I was shaking all over, but I was also testing my weight on one foot, and everything was sharply back in focus. I was pressed up against his chest, and we were both covered in mud, and as I looked up into his face, a flash of memory came back to me— something hit my arm … his eyes were so dark … I didn’t know he was there …
    â€œYou okay?” Tyler asked. “Did you hurt your head?”
    â€œYou—” I broke off, suddenly confused. Anger and fear and pain roared through me, and I pulled back, pushing him away. “Something … something hit me.
    â€œDid it?” Tyler’s face was blank. “I saw you slip-ping, and I couldn’t believe it. I tried to get to you—tried to grab you, but you were already on your way down.”
    I stared at him. His clothes were filthy and torn, and there were streaks of dirt on his face. He ran a hand over one cheek, making it even worse.
    â€œSomething pushed me,” I mumbled, and I took another step back.
    â€œYou slipped,” he said quietly.
    I looked up into his eyes. He held my gaze with a steady one of his own, and with an effort I turned my attention to the riverbank.
    â€œYou can’t get up the same way you came down,” he deadpanned. “Here. Hold on to me.”
    â€œI can do it myself,” I said.
    He didn’t argue, only reached over and took my hand, leading the way carefully through the tall grass until he was able to touch the stairs with one shoe. Then, digging in his heels, he gave me an encouraging nod and pulled gently, guiding me to solid ground. Relieved, I felt the steps beneath my feet and Tyler’s hands around my waist, boosting me up. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice anything, but a curious tingle went through me, and I ended up stumbling.
    â€œYou’re okay,” he said, catching my elbow, steering me again. “I’m right behind you.”
    I didn’t want him to be right behind me. I especially didn’t want him right behind me