The Play Underwater

To my mother, who will always be both Tina Fay and Barefoot Contessa.

To my father, who taught me how to play cards.

To my brother, who helped me finish this book by telling me I should finish it.

To the cat, who stayed out of my way.

To Christine Gillespie at Penguin Random House, who I believe helped get this work published years ahead of when it otherwise would have been.

To Ed Bower, who was more important to this effort than the cat despite being mentioned after it (do not tell the cat).

All credit for the cover art goes to Andrei Bat, whose work can be seen on 99designs.com and elsewhere.

The Play Underwater

Gregory Pentz

1: Looking Glass

When you find yourself sinking into the city, dive.~ Proverbs 3:22

Oh Frankie, Frankie what have you done to me? I feel... feel light and weird and strange and warm and... and I don't even know what. I feel.... fine I guess. How are you? Frankie I feel awful. I don't know where I am or what I'm going... sorry, doing. It's like- Pod fell back into one of the cushions littering the floor of her room. She started to feel herself down. Then stopped, feeling bad again for some reason. The phone now lay on the floor with her, though some feet away. She motioned for it to come to her, then laughed when it didn't come, the silly thing. Crawling on all fours and slipping on the occasional pillow, Pod finally managed to insert the receiver back up to her mouth. She got up on her knees, tilting the porous bowl of plastic and ozone to her lips as if drinking from a ladle. Frankie, Frankie, honey where'd you go? She fell over again, this time with more of a pout than a laugh. The dial tone of the phone droned out into space. As did she.

Franklin Orion was busily trying to fish his keys out of his pocket when his ass started buzzing. Frank held up the small brick of hardware and software to his soft ear, temporarily jacking back into the world, to hear Pod breathing huskily into the phone. Oh no, oh Jesus please. He was sorry, alright? He wasn't even going to do it. He bailed out, he still had his soul. Why did she have to call now of all times? He-he-hiya Frankie. Oh Joseph Mary mother of God, why?

Hello Pod. The words gradually dribbled out of him, like it was just another day. Nothing out of order here officer, just two friends talking.

You ran out on me, Frankie. You know, I should be mad at you. But i-it's ok, I'm not mad or anything.

Well, I... don't want to make you mad or anything Pod. Pod's voice rose and fell like a sine wave and she sounded a little drunk. If her's was like water, ebbing and flowing into little tight jets and wide downpours, Frank's voice was like gravel, sharp and strong feeling and probably layered over something. It had to be now of all times, she just had to call now. Listen, uh, Pod, I-

Oh, Frankie what have you done to me? I feel... feel light and weird and- Frank hung up. That was really the only option for him at this point in his eyes; just hang up and throw the phone away and maybe throw himself away too. If he couldn't hear her he couldn't deal with her. Finally, Frank managed to yank the key chain out from the grip of his pants and jammed one of the larger keys into the side of his station wagon. The driver side popped open with a placid click and Frank tore it wide open with all his strength, causing the door to rebound heavily off its hinges and kick him in the abdomen as he got in. He slammed the door shut and checked his messages; nothing from anybody. Great, he wouldn't want to leave unfinished business. It was three AM on a Friday and the sun was still high in the October sky. It made the lake the car was parked out in front of shine too bright and Frank found himself cursing the sun, and the sun he was born under, and himself. He sat in the worn out polyester seat for what felt like an hour, but couldn't tell for certain. Time flies when you're having fun. What he did know was that the sun was a good bit lower when he finally stopped starring out at the lake and put his key in the ignition. The station wagon hummed to life with a familiarity that almost made him sad about what he was about to do. It was an older car, no internet or GPS or anything. His dad had owned it before him, and he had kept it running as if it was the only thing he owned, largely because it was. Gingerly, Frank tested the accelerator, like he was prodding the earth in front of him for land mines. The engine roared with all the power that could be expected out of a machine manufactured in the eighties. Sparks flew back and forth inside his head as he rested his palm on the stick shift. The lake remained, radiant as ever, before him. Frank thought back to a couple hours ago; about the party, about what his mother and stepfather had looked like as they had said goodbye that morning, about the party and the little bag of pills Roco had slipped to him with a shit-guzzling grin, and about Pod and how amazing she had looked under the starlight. That last one had been too much. Frank pushed the stick forward with every measure of determination he had left. Whatever happened next, at least he chose this. He was so sorry.

The station wagon screamed as fast-spinning gears collided with a stationary axle. The initial acceleration wasn't as bad as he had expected. It was kind of like being on a roller coaster. Hell, for all intents and purposes that was what it was. The initial approach to the lake lasted half an eternity before the splash of wheels on water could be heard. As the car charged deeper, Frank got the sensation, rather than the abrupt crash he had expected, of gently sliding under the surface like a fish diving back under after flopping around on a dock. Fear gripped him, but pure and absolute horror for what he left behind on that fishing access kept his hands melded to the leather wheel grip. His windshield filled with the rising gush of water, then the murky tea-brown wash of the lake's interior. Then it was just black, black and he was still sinking, he could feel it. It was about then that Frank realized that he was immersed in water almost up to his collarbone. Desperate, he tried to push the tide away with one hand as if fending off some feral animal. His other hand remained locked onto the wheel in a doomed attempt to steer back to shore, back away from the dark and the sinking. Yet the water remained, and kept coming in ever-faster. Frank could hear it rushing through cracks in the windows. He reached down and tried to open the door only to find it clamped down tight by sheer force of pressure. It was at his throat now, now it had a hand over his mouth to stifle any screams, now it was in his eyes and he had to close them because the cold stung. He had about half a breath in him and most of that was expended when the windshield finally gave way. Broken glass shards caressed his upper body and if he was cut up at all, he was far too numb at that point to care. Frank's mind was a torrent of confusion and instinct; desperately lusting for fresh oxygen and yet at a complete loss as to where to find it. He thrashed around there in the dark for a second, maybe sinking, maybe not, he couldn't tell any more. His shriveled, screaming lungs made one last call on the little piece of primordial fire that burned in him and indeed burns in all of us, summoning up the strength of discarded hairy and scale-covered forms of ages past to launch Frank's pink and relatively hairless frame out through the now-absent windshield into the wider lake. He ascended, half floating and half kicking, fast to the point where he could see the murky sun again some yards above. However, at that point his fire had been expended, squelched by the weight of the lake and by the weight of the pills that only now were probably working their way out of Pod's system. In those moments, a dark, cold cloud began to manifest at the edge of Frank's freezing vision. Darker than any bottom of any lake ever could be. Water was coming into his lungs now, carrying him down into the lake's breast. Soon he would be a part of it, and it a part of him. Cold seeped into every pore. He could no longer move, only bear terrible witness to what was taking place, his head still tilted up towards the sun as the rest of him sank back down. Something big and alive nudged up against his back.

2: Folks

The faith of a child is a rainbow that cuts you.~ Proverbs 5:52

Frank woke up a very dry but very confused man under a checkered blanket, in what looked to be a cabin. Light poured in from the window, filtered through the surrounding curtains into a dull yellow, but something was... off. More than the fact that Frank was naked. Wait... he was naked. Why was he naked? Who or what had made him naked? What the hell was going-?

Patches! Davey's awake! Y'all owe me five dollars! Frank saw a small green shape fly out into the room- well, more of a compartment- adjacent to his. He almost jumped off of the couch he had been sleeping on, only to rediscover that he was without any underwear and quickly fell back under the blanket. It was hot inside this trailer and the checkerboard patterning stunk of his sweat. How long had he been like this, lying in a strange bed in a strange place with nothing but some thin scrap of knitting between him and the world? It was quiet for some time, Frank couldn't say how long for certain, as the whoever-it-was had apparently ran outside. What was it that they were calling him? Davey? They had to have his wallet, they knew his name, they- oh son of a bitch they knew his name. If Pod ever reported him... How long had he been like this?

Foregoing caution for the time being, Frank gathered the blanket around himself as one would a bath towel and set off into what seemed to be a small unkept kitchen, complete with dirty dishes cluttering the counter and the smell of used food pervading everything like gossamer. To his right was a plain wooden screen door. Frank decided to take his chances, opened the screen, and walked right smack into a second glass door. Either he was still groggy from sleep or these people put a lot more effort into glass cleaning than any other kind. The glass now spattered with a fair amount of his spit, Frank triumphantly took his first few steps down a wooden step and onto a motely of grass and fine dirt. As he looked up, the light stung his eyes. He had known something about his initial assessment was off.  This wasn't a cabin it was a parked trailer, currently sitting in the middle of a power station, with floodlights exterminating every natural shadow behind the rusted fence that seemed to surround it and casting a few more. Beyond the lights, Frank thought he could make out the faint outlines of pine tree branches, although the lights themselves made it impossible to be sure. Transformer boxes flanked either side of the vehicle, grotesque plated antennae jutting out and connecting them to the taller fixtures overhead. How did these people even get in here, Frank thought to himself?       It was right about then that he noticed the man standing in the center of the station's main yard, watching him through a pair of owl spectacles. He was a thin one, almost waiflike even under his thick stitch-covered jacket and turtleneck. This combined with the scarf he was wearing and the sharp features of his cheekbones and nose gave him a somewhat surgical feel: As if to say to deal with me is to deal with an instrument of precision. Holding the man's hand and half-immersed in shadow was a little girl in a green sweater that almost covered her entire body and whose sleeves ran well past her wrists. Frank suddenly looked down and recoiled upon realizing that he was steaming. It was freezing that October night.

Good evening sir... I'm sure you're a bit turned around. If you'll just come back inside, I can answer any questions you might have. I'd do it out here just as well, the man laughed, but I'm sure neither of us are comfortable with the temperature out here. You of all people need to stay warm.

A big fish spat you out onto the beach while Malbourne was fishing and we brought you up to the trailer so you wouldn't die, the girl piped in.

Quiet child, we don't want to overwhelm the man. He began to lead her by the hand towards Frank, presumably on their way to the trailer. Frank stepped forward. He needed to find out how much they knew, and fast. What did he know, for that matter? He knew they were in the woods. He knew they were probably near the lake he had had his... incident in- processing that later- and he knew there were at least two of them, maybe three. These two could be stalling for time while the others were calling the cops. But then why would there be a kid with them? The thin man, now in front of him -how had he crossed the distance so fast? He needed to stop spacing out- reached out a hand, the boniness of which gave it the eerie look almost of a claw.

I am Pastor Franz-Joseph O'Connor by the way.

'Round here we just call him patches. The girl again. Maybe she was a ploy. Dangle a cute kid in front of you to get your guard down and then in swoop the handcuffs. Frank realized he had been staring at O'Connor's outstretched hand for just long enough to make it awkward. What the hell was wrong with him today? Quickly, Frank took up the thin man's arm and tried not to crack it like a twig. I-I'm Franklin Orion. They probably had his