Rapture of the Deep, Chapter 6
Asleep under clouds of alcohol vapor, Charlie found himself floating in the land of a dream more vivid than anything he had ever experienced. He stood dressed in only swim trunks on the rocky shore of Torch Lake at the summer home where he spent so much time as a child. Sunset bloodied skies caressed the liquid horizon, meeting in a warm contrast of metallic orange and shimmering blue. He skipped rocks, although today the exercise seemed futile. Charlie was patient though, and never felt failure when a stone neglected to hop correctly; the shore provided him with an endless supply of eroded ammunition. He would grab a new rock, fire it sidearm at the surface of the crystalline water and watch as it plunked into the darkening blues below. Stone after stone did this, yet Charlie never grew frustrated. As an adult, he could skip almost any rock. But today, no matter how many tricks and flicks of his wrist, he could not get them to hop. Throw after twisting throw, each rock would take flight at the perfect angle, yet plunge like a dart into the water never to be seen again.
He could hear his father in the house. Lieutenant Sebastian Breslin had been drinking all day, and he was storming around the home, cursing his son’s name. His bellows sounded much closer than he knew them to be, at least a hundred yards from the shoreline to the back porch. Still, through the audible rage, Charlie could hear Tina inside, pleading with their Dad not to do this.
Don’t. Please. Not today. Don’t.
Words that he himself had given up on at all too early an age. God bless his sister though, she was always looking out for him. Tina would try to play to her father’s love in an effort to save Charlie from another fistful of discipline. Charlie knew better. The words were hollow when Sebastian had been at the sauce for too long. The blows would come, no matter what Tina had to say.
Charlie always knew things could have been different, had his mother been alive.
He continued his fruitless skipping efforts as the setting sun crested under the horizon line and set the sea ablaze. Streaks of red forced their way across the soft waves of the surface. Charlie lobbed his last rock up and down in his right hand, knowing that time was short. Dad would come out back soon, demanding that he go inside. Charlie would of course refuse, and his father would come for him. Tina would scream for her brother’s mercy, but Lieutenant Breslin knew of none. A lifetime of punishment would never be enough for his only son.
Times in this very yard that started with a game of catch and ended in trickles of blood-laced tears.
Times back at home in Georgia, when Charlie would walk three miles out of his way home from school just to minimize his “family” time.
And the times where his father would come looking for him.
The sun dipped below the water, and Charlie felt the air turn thin. Harsh winds picked up and needled his bare chest and legs with frosty fingers. The lake itself seemed to be turning winter, and Charlie quickly found himself shivering from the unnatural speed of relentlessly increasing cold. Biting air produced gooseflesh that crawled up past his neck and into his scalp. Even his eyebrows seemed to stand on end. As cold as he had become, Charlie had no intention of turning back to the home.
“Charles!” His father called for him from the back porch. Charlie realized he was now standing on the shore as he was then, a child. He felt a rush of years spent going through each and every day trying to avoid anything that would set his father off. Outside the cabin in this arctic dream, little Charlie knew there was nothing he could do. Responding to his father’s calls and returning to the house would not curtail what was to come. He learned long ago that nothing made the good Lieutenant pull his punches.
“Charlie! Get in the house!” The sun was gone now, replaced by a purplish twilight, perfectly accompanying the freezing air. A faint, misting rain began to fall. Charlie’s breathing picked up, forcing clouds of exhaled condensation out of his lungs. Long trails of puffy breath-clouds raced away from him and out to sea. They did not dissipate though. Charlie’s breaths remained suspended in the air, floating a few feet above the water, which had begun to churn. Aquatic plants along the shore swayed with the wind, and appeared to be growing. The grass under his feet joined those plants. He could feel it thickening and rising between his toes.
“Chaarrrlllieeeee!! NOW!” Waves fought back and fourth, breaking in all directions. The night winds were increasing to a howl of chilling, furious razors, cutting Charlie to the bone with unforgiving cold. He stood fixed though, his body quickly graduating from shiver to tremble to full blown shakes. His bare feet felt frozen to the grass, blades of which were crawling up over his toes and tying themselves to his ankles. His breathing picked up, and his exhaled haze was collecting and expanding over the water, growing into a nearly opaque mist. Charlie was terrified and oh so cold, but he would not turn. He couldn’t. Refusing to face his father was the last act of defiance he had to hold on to. No matter what he did, he always demanded that Charlie look at him. Now, in the icy glare of an impossible winter storm front, Charlie still would not turn.
“That son of a bitch can come and get me.”
The lake responded, sending a crash of waves up and over the shoreline. The water hit Charlie’s legs and he thought the cold would stop his heart. The rain picked up speed and size, slicking his body with what felt like ice. The wetness in the grass made him suddenly aware of the blades that had snaked up and over his ankles. Weeds now streaked up his calves. The shore itself held him locked in place. He heard his father roar again, and knew he was now much closer.
“Charlie! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Little Charlie had had enough. He snapped aware and decided that this time, he would run. Yet, he tried to pick his feet up and could not. Looking down, it was as if he wore socks made of grass. He was fastened by flora and fauna to this very place, and again paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t even turn around if he wanted to.
Another wave crested, this one much larger than the one before it. Charlie closed his eyes against the wall of icy water as is slammed into his body. He stood against it just enough and did not fall back. His eyes opened to a horizon of pure black. White cap waves wrestled violently throughout the water. The rain fell in buckets, nearly drowning out his father’s screams as it pounded the surface of the once calm lake. Charlie put his head down, and awaited his father or hypothermia, whichever would set in first.
“CHARLIE!!”
The water before him erupted in a rush of cold, frothy liquid. Out of it came his father, screaming his name. Dad had changed though. He was much taller. He was much louder.
And he was covered in a black, viscous fluid that seemed to drip from his skin without falling off. Oily fingers lashed out at him in thin tendrils of darkness. Faces sat perched on the end of the inky threads. Laughing. Scowling. Crying.
Charlie woke up, howling in terror.
