We will rise, p.1
We Will Rise, page 1
Tim Waggoner
We Will Rise
FLAME TREE PRESS
London & New York
*
This one’s for you.
Whether you’re new to my fiction or you’ve
been reading my stuff for a while now, know that
I’m grateful for each and every one of you.
Except that bastard Jerry.
He knows what he did.
*
From dust we came, to dust we returned, and from dust we rise again.
The Monad
Chapter One
In Echo Springs, it started with Eddie Herrera.
Eddie worked third shift at Steiner Tire and Rubber. STR, as the town’s residents referred to it, was the largest employer in Echo Springs, and had been since the 1950s. The company had been downsizing some in recent years, and Eddie – who was on the wrong side of forty – was grateful he still had a job. A lot of his coworkers had been laid off, and he kept wondering when his time would come. He had a family to support, and the thought of losing his job made him feel sick. So he did his damnedest not to think about it.
He was always exhausted by the time he got home in the morning, but despite how much he wanted to, he didn’t fall into bed right away. He and Anna had two boys, ages six and eight, and he liked to see them off to school in the mornings. He often made breakfast for everyone, and today it had been waffles. Once the boys were on the bus and headed to school, Anna had taken his hand and led him to the bedroom. He was never too tired to spend time with his love. An hour later, Anna got dressed, gave him a quick kiss goodbye, and headed off to do the week’s grocery shopping, while he hit the shower. He liked to wash the night’s work off him before he slept, and standing under the water relaxed him, got him ready for sleep.
As he stepped under the warm-almost-hot spray, he sighed in contentment. His balls ached pleasantly, and he was sorry Anna had gone. It would’ve been nice to go for round two. Maybe if he was still awake when she got home….
Smiling, he squeezed body wash onto his hands and began rubbing it on his skin and hair. He still marveled that he was capable of enjoying water like this. For a large part of his life, he’d loathed water and had wanted as little to do with it as possible. But thanks to Anna’s love, support, and understanding – not to mention a significant amount of therapy – not only could he tolerate being in water, he actually liked it. It was practically a goddamned miracle. In fact, he liked standing in the shower and feeling the warm spray caress his body so much that he often lost track of time and would remain in the shower until the water started to grow cold. He knew it was a waste of money – water wasn’t free, after all – but he couldn’t help himself. It just felt so damn good.
As he began scrubbing his hair, he started singing Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. He was an admittedly terrible singer, but he was alone in the house right now, so he could belt out tunes at whatever volume he wanted, without either Anna or the boys saying he sounded like a dying dog. After a couple lines, he noticed something smelled strange, and he broke off his song. He inhaled deeply through his nose and detected the fruit-mixed-with-menthol odor of his body wash. But there was a second smell beneath that, a rank scent of dead fish and rotting vegetation that he hadn’t smelled for almost thirty years, but which he instantly recognized. His bowels turned to ice, his pulse galloped, and his stomach gave a queasy lurch, as if it were going to eject the waffles he’d eaten. It was a struggle, but he managed to keep his food down.
God, that smell….
Lake water. And not just any lake: White Stone Lake.
He had to get out of here – now. He didn’t bother turning the water off, didn’t even consider doing so. All he wanted was to get away from this horrible stench, grab a towel, and rub his skin raw until he got the stink off him. But the shower door wouldn’t budge. It was a simple door – two overlapping panes of clear glass that ran along a metal track, the same as millions of others. It had no lock. Who the hell would need to lock themselves inside a shower? But no matter how hard he pulled, he couldn’t move either pane, couldn’t even make the glass shake. It was like the bottoms of the panes were embedded in concrete. While he fought with the door, the rancid lake water smell grew stronger, and the spray coming from the showerhead began to grow cold, the water turning thick and brackish. He heard a voice then, the words distorted and wavery, as if the speaker were underwater.
Hey, Eddie. Miss me?
The water was ice-cold now, but the chill that gripped Eddie’s heart upon hearing his brother’s voice was far colder. A memory came to him unbidden: a small boat in the middle of a large lake, a man sitting at the stern, fishing rod resting easily in his hands, his gaze fixed on the red tip of the bobber twenty feet away. Two young boys were also in the boat, one sitting in the middle, the other at the bow. They both had simple cane poles, and their bobbers floated only ten feet from the boat, if that.
Eddie – who at seven was the older brother by four years – hated sitting in the middle. He should be at the bow, not Randy. It was a much more awesome place to sit, and as the oldest, it should’ve been his place by right. But before they’d left the dock, Randy had whined and begged until Dad let him sit at the bow. As bad as giving up the bow seat was, being forced to fish with a cane pole was worse. He was big enough to use a rod and reel, but on shore Dad had taken him aside and explained that Randy wasn’t old enough to use anything but a cane pole, and a small one at that.
He’s not strong enough yet, not coordinated.
Eddie hadn’t seen what any of this had to do with him, but then his father had added, Randy will be jealous of you if you get to use a rod-and-reel and he doesn’t. So I need you to use a cane pole too.
Eddie had protested that he’d been allowed to use a rod-and-reel the last time he’d gone fishing with his dad.
It was just the two of us then, Dad had said. Now Randy is with us, and I need you to step up and be a good big brother. Can you do that for me?
Randy had wanted to ask Dad why he wasn’t going to use a cane pole too. Wouldn’t Randy get jealous of him as well? But he knew better than to backtalk his father. The man was kind and gentle – until you showed him any disrespect. Then he got mad. Really mad. So Eddie had nodded, reluctantly, and Dad had smiled and put one of his big hands on Eddie’s shoulder.
Good boy.
The boys both wore puffy orange lifejackets, but their father didn’t. I’m a strong swimmer, he’d explained. Eddie thought he was a good swimmer too, so why did he need a lifejacket? But he didn’t argue that point either.
They’d been out on the water for what seemed like hours, and none of them had caught anything. Even more irritating, Randy kept casting his line too hard, and the worm – which Eddie had to slide onto the hook for him – would fly off every time. Whenever Randy pulled in his line to check the hook, which was often, Eddie had to bait it again. Randy also had a habit of humming tunelessly as he watched his bobber rising up and down with the motion of the water, and the sound was driving Eddie crazy. If Dad hadn’t been there, he would’ve shouted for Randy to shut the hell up – and he would definitely say hell to underscore how angry he was. But all he could do now was glare at his little brother and grind his teeth. He was so irritated at his brother that when he noticed Randy fiddling with the buckles on his lifejacket, he didn’t say anything about it, although as a good big brother, he knew he should have. But right then he didn’t care if the little jerk fell into the water, sank, and never came back up. Eddie’s life had been so much less complicated, so much better, before Randy’s arrival.
So Eddie did his best to ignore his brother, and he didn’t know anything was wrong until he felt the boat rock and heard a splash. Maybe Randy had gotten bored, tried to look over the side of the boat to see if he could spot any fish, and fell in. Or maybe he’d gotten a bite – or thought he had – stood up to try to pull his line in, lost his balance, and fell overboard. Whichever was the case, Randy was no longer seated in the bow. His cane pole floated on the lake’s surface, and an instant later it was joined by Randy’s lifejacket. Randy had messed with the buckles and straps so much that the jacket had slipped off of him in the water.
Eddie had heard that drowning people always rose to the surface three times before sinking for good, but Randy didn’t come up even once. Dad jumped into the water immediately after Randy went overboard, and dove downward, searching for his younger son, but it was no use. Eddie’s brother was gone. Later, a rescue crew would drag that part of the lake and recover Randy’s body, so at least his family could bury him, but it wouldn’t be much comfort.
Neither of Eddie’s parents blamed him for Randy’s death. At least, they never said so out loud. But Eddie had blamed himself, and although as the years passed he’d come to understand that what had happened had been a terrible accident and there was nothing he could’ve done to prevent it, he still blamed himself deep down. It was why he’d made sure the boys had started swimming lessons early on – so they wouldn’t end up like poor Randy. Sometimes his guilt manifested in his dreams, and he’d be the one who fell into the lake and drowned instead of his brother, and as he sank down in the cold, dark depths, he’d hear – from a great distance – Randy laughing.
After that day, he’d never gone out onto the water in a boat again, had never gone swimming. When he took his boys to the pool, he always made sure to stay several feet from the edge. It was as i f he feared that if he got too close, the water might surge forth, grab hold of him, and pull him in and drag him down and hold him under until he died the same way Randy had.
The brackish water blasting from the showerhead grew even colder, and the shock of it brought Eddie back to the present. Water pooled around his feet, the level rising fast, and he realized that the drain was clogged. He shouted for Anna, even though he knew she probably wasn’t home yet, and when she didn’t answer, he began pounding on the shower door with his fists. He knew that if he managed to break the glass, there was a good chance he’d be seriously cut, but right then he didn’t care. He was in the grip of full-blown panic, and his body reacted on its own. He slammed his fists against the glass over and over, continually shouting Anna’s name, his voice eventually devolving into wordless cries of despair. The shower door shook under the impact of his blows, but the glass didn’t so much as crack. The water level in the shower had risen to his ankles by now, and frigid water continued blasting from the showerhead in an arctic torrent. His body shivered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered, and he wondered if the cold would kill him before the water rose high enough to drown him. He hoped it would. Any death would be better than drowning.
Drowning’s not so bad. Let me show you.
A pair of small hands gripped Eddie’s ankles and with surprising strength yanked him downward. The shower floor seemed to melt away to nothing, and Eddie found himself descending into cold darkness. He gasped reflexively as he went down and drew water into his lungs. He coughed, inhaled, coughed again, took in more water. His lungs burned, became heavy, and his panic gave way to animalistic terror. He hadn’t gone swimming since Randy’s death, but his body remembered how, and it thrashed in the water, trying desperately to push itself toward air. But those small hands – a boy’s hands, Randy’s hands – were clamped tight around his ankles, and it was as if a great weight was dragging him downward, one so heavy that he could not fight it. Water roared in his ears, but despite this, he had no trouble hearing his brother’s voice, the sound that of a boy, the words eerily adult.
Try to relax. Even if I let you go, it wouldn’t matter. There’s no surface here. No bottom, either. Just water in all directions, extending outward forever and ever. Once you get used to it, it’s really quite peaceful.
Eddie couldn’t make a sound. His mouth, throat, and lungs were filled with water, but he spoke to Randy in his mind.
Don’t do this. Please! I have a wife and two sons….
He’d been descending deeper the entire time, but now he picked up speed, as if Randy was pulling him faster, eager to take him as far into the inky blackness as possible before he died.
I’m sorry, Eddie. But this is the way it has to be. Your time has come. Everybody’s has. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.
A pause, and then—
Who am I kidding? I’m not sorry. I fucking love this! You’re just getting what you deserve, brother. And so will everyone else.
Eddie’s lungs spasmed as they attempted vainly to draw in one final breath of air, and then they grew still. A darkness came for him then, one that was blacker than the water that surrounded him, the water that had become his entire universe. This darkness filled him, swept him away, and he was gone. And in his last seconds, did he feel some small measure of relief that it was over, that he’d finally repaid a debt to his brother that was long overdue?
Maybe.
* * *
When Anna came home, she carried in plastic bags filled with groceries, placed them on a kitchen counter, and began putting items away in cupboards and the refrigerator. She was surprised to hear the muffled sound of the running shower drifting down the hall from the master bedroom. Eddie didn’t usually take showers this long. His back muscles must’ve really gotten jacked up at work last night, and he wanted to spend as much time as possible beneath the hot spray to ease the soreness. He was increasingly having trouble with his back as he got older, and although she’d gently urged – not nagged – him to see a doctor about it, he’d ignored her advice. She supposed she would have to be a bit more forceful, maybe even make an appointment for him and drag his ass there if she had to.
When the groceries were all put away, she headed to their bedroom. She went inside and decided that it might be a good idea to give Eddie a spoonful of sugar before she started in on his needing to see a doctor about his back. They’d already made love once this morning, but tired as Eddie might be, she knew he wouldn’t turn down a repeat performance. She stepped out of her clothes and padded barefoot to the master bathroom. She opened the door, expecting to be met with a wave of hot air, but instead she shivered. It was goddamned cold in here! What the hell?
Eddie lay on the shower floor, curled into a fetal position, shower spray blasting his unmoving body, and even before she threw open the door, she knew her husband was dead.
Chapter Two
The baby was crying, Mari was sure of it. The only problem was, there was no baby.
She stood at the kitchen stove cooking eggs in a pan – over easy, just the way her husband liked them – body frozen, listening. Eggs sizzled and popped, the stove fan whirred, Lewis opened and closed the fridge as he got creamer out for his coffee. And above all of this, the soft, mournful wail of a baby, upset that it was alone and not understanding why.
Not real, she told herself. Not. Real.
She took hold of a plastic spatula with a shaky hand, flipped the eggs, put the spatula back down on the counter. She reached up and switched the stove fan to high, hoping to block out the sound that didn’t exist. It didn’t help. The baby continued crying, even louder now as if it knew what she was doing and refused to be blocked out.
Not it.
Noelle.
Soft lips brushed the back of Mari’s neck, and she spun around to see who it was. Lewis, mug in hand, stepped back, expression a mix of amusement and apology.
“Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Of course he didn’t, but that didn’t stop her snapping at him.
“Give a girl a warning next time.”
“I said I was sorry.”
She scrutinized her husband’s face, searching for any sign that he heard the baby crying. She saw none, but maybe he was doing his best to ignore it, like she was. The only way to know for certain would be to ask, but if she did that and he didn’t hear the baby, he’d think something was wrong with her, that she might need her medication adjusted, should return to therapy. She didn’t want to deal with that right now, didn’t want to face the possibility that she was losing it again, so she said nothing about the baby.
“The eggs will be done in a minute. Go sit at the table and I’ll bring them to you.”
Lewis was a tall Black man in his forties, stocky, with a round face and mustache. He wasn’t what most people would call handsome, but she thought he was good looking in a big teddy-bear kind of way. He was dressed for work in a black polo shirt with the Car-Care logo stitched on the left side and jeans. He wore only white socks on his feet, though. His heavy work boots, stained with motor oil, were waiting for him in the garage. Mari wouldn’t let him bring the filthy things into her house.
Lewis left the kitchen and entered the dining room. He liked to read the news on his phone and sip his coffee in the morning. Mari was a substitute elementary school teacher, and on the days she was called in to work, she left much earlier than Lewis, whose business didn’t open until 10:00 a.m. He often skipped breakfast on those days, which was why, when the school didn’t need her, she always made sure to make him a little something – eggs or pancakes – in the morning before he left. She wasn’t a big breakfast eater, but she would usually have a little of whatever she served Lewis. One egg, a single pancake, and sometimes she wouldn’t finish that. But she liked sitting with him at the table, sipping her own coffee, and watching him eat.
Today, however, she didn’t intend to sit with him. The baby’s cries had grown louder, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her distress from Lewis. If he thought something was wrong, he’d insist on her calling the doctor. She’d refuse – she was goddamned sick to death of doctors – and they’d end up in a shouting match and the morning would be ruined.
