Splash

Splash by KIL Kenny

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2010 by KIL Kenny First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

2

Splash by KIL Kenny

CONTENTS Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter

Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight ****

3

Splash by KIL Kenny

Splash by K.I.L. Kenny Chapter One It had been one of those autumn weeks that happen far less often than the postcards let on. No rain, no strong winds. Just a high bowl of blue sky, and foliage ripening steadily toward its spectacular last hurrah. The path from the house was already beginning to clutter with leaves that had fought the good fight. Sometimes in early October they were still nearly perfect lying there, when rain hadn't pulverized their brittle memory. They scuffled crisply under Alex Woolcott's old leather Rockports. The pond was sheeted with sun, fully exposed as it was to the west. To the east, where an increasingly popular commuter route lay, the trees had been left to grow—part of a windbreak, originally, but invaluable for the privacy now. The path itself was made from the local fieldstone, and that alone was somber in the rich evening light. Taken all in all, the old man had done well by the place. When the pressure of growing tax assessments had gotten to be too much, Ezekiel Woolcott had driven the best deal with the devil that Alex had ever seen. There were only twentytwo acres left of the hundred and eighty that the Woolcotts had owned three generations ago, but rolling folds in the landscape hid the developments that had come in to the north and the south. A state forest guarded the western flank of the property, separated from the pond by a broad stretch of open 4

Splash by KIL Kenny

pasture. Only that commuter road was a bit of a nuisance, and the trees took care of the worst of it. The path swept in a gentle arc to accommodate some beautiful paper birch, and the pond was momentarily shielded from view. The old man had had a sense of drama, too. Alex was always appreciative of how the trees, teasing the eye with peekaboo glimpses of water, distracted a visitor from the way the path itself was curving and dipping. Then suddenly the trees stopped and there you were, bare on a ledge of fieldstone that overhung the water's edge. "But, Grandpa," a young Alex had said when this bit of rocky artistry was first created, "it's a cow pond." "Haven't got but the two cows left anymore," Ezekiel had countered. "Can't harm 'em for me to sit up here in the evenin'." Which wasn't the point, of course. Sit he had, though, most evenings, on an ugly box of a stone bench that he had mortared together himself. Alex still didn't think much of the bench, but twenty years on, he had grown to understand his grandfather's love for a mere cow pond. Now his. For a little while longer, anyway. Ezekiel had told him that, once upon a long time ago, this pond had been part of an oxbow that had looped the nearby river for miles around a granite outcrop. The advent of high explosives had enabled the next town over to blast a more efficient route for the river, sometime around the end of the first world war. These days, all that remained of the oxbow were a handful of long, skinny ponds like this one, plus some areas the developers had had to clandestinely drain the hell out of to 5

Splash by KIL Kenny

make plots suitable for building. Ponds were a sales feature; swamps weren't. This pond was pretty. Longer than most, and not entirely stagnant. There was, maybe, a crack in the granite here, a patch of looser soil. Something that let the water swirl and trickle away, little by little. A couple tiny drainage creeks ran into the pond during the spring, and over the winter the water got low, waiting for the melt to replenish it. The well by the house was exceptionally sweet. Good water, good land. That didn't change the fact that all those acres out here, even with a pond taking up space, were worth millions to the developers. Boston was just too close, and so was Providence. The zoning was changing along with the assessments. Alex made a good living, but not good enough to pay those kind of taxes on a place he visited once a month or so—never mind the maintenance. Thirty years ago, Ezekiel had taken the property down as small as it could go without compromising the house. The proceeds had provided the old man with a comfortable retirement, even through the cancer and the congestive heart failure, but now the money from Ezekiel's will was about gone. The time was coming for Alex to fold his hand, admit he was out, and let it go. The place would be transformed, yes, from a burden into his ticket. But not yet. He loved the winter out here, loved how it was quiet and cold outside, and inside there was a powerful woodstove and an unbelievably comfortable rocking chair. In latter years, the old man had turned the dining room into a bedroom, and Alex had kept it that way. Kept it simple. A 6

Splash by KIL Kenny

kitchen, a bath, and a front parlor set off from the rest with pocket doors, in case company stopped in. This winter, he was going to commit. Every weekend. He'd already set up a flex schedule with his boss, forty hours a week in four days. Chris, the caretaker, would keep the kitchen stocked and the woodshed full. Alex would drive out late every Thursday, drive back early on Mondays, and only a nor'easter would be allowed to stop him. If the farm was going down, he wanted to weave the memory of it into his future. For a long time now, he'd wanted to start his own business. Nothing fancy, nothing original; just a hookup with some of his college buddies who were working hither and yon, people who could put him in touch with local products from interesting places. A wholesale operation to start, but he could see an Internet boutique coming out of it. All it needed was some really good planning, a little luck with the financing, and a consistent effort to plug in to his latent connections. He could do a lot of that from here. The weatherman had said it might get down to freezing that night, but with only a light breeze, the sunset air hadn't chilled yet. Alex sat down on the ledge and trailed his fingers through the water. It was an old habit. His grandfather, sitting behind him on the bench, would joke about testing the water before jumping in. "It's good to take the temperature, boy." Six thirty on a Friday. To the east, traffic noise was quieting as people got home for the weekend. The surface of the water was absolutely still, once it recovered from the 7

Splash by KIL Kenny

disturbance his fingers had made. The water bugs were pretty much gone. There had already been a few overnight frosts. He wondered idly what the fish did for the winter. Something he'd never bothered to ask Ezekiel. There were always fish in the spring, so they must have figured it out somehow. A quiet 'plip' caught his attention. He could see a ripple arcing out from some center point hidden from his view by the ledge. A shady something—like an irregular bit of disturbed silt—was visible right below the surface. He leaned closer, trying to make it out. A pair of round blue eyes blinked open, looking straight up into his own. Alex flung himself back, cracking an elbow against the fieldstone. He thought he might have shrieked. He hoped not. His heart was hammering like a manic blacksmith in his chest, and his throat felt raw as he panted for air. It took several moments, and a standing position, before he dared return to the edge. Nothing. The sun was down, the water was still, and the air was turning brisk. He stood for a long time, staring down at the dark, blank surface. **** "You're sure that's the one?" asked the trout. "Trust me," said the sunfish. **** Saturday was unproductive. Alex knew there was a rational explanation for what he'd seen. Phosphorescent algae, say. Not that there'd ever been 8

Splash by KIL Kenny

any such thing in Ezekiel's cow pond before, but invasive foreign species were everywhere these days. You never knew what those developers were dumping. Or maybe commuters had tossed some weird trash. He kept one of those swimming pool skimmers handy for exactly that kind of thing—disgusting, the number of plastic bags and Dunkin' Donuts coffee cups that came blowing off the road. It could have been anything. He hadn't stayed put long enough to study the phenomenon, after all. At about that point in his thought process, he'd get mad all over again and stomp down to the pond to show his weenieass self that there was nothing, absolutely nothing scary about a cow pond. Not in sunlight. Not in cloud. Not in the morning, nor yet after lunch. A cow pond. He even dunked the skimmer in a few times and caught a soda can, two sandwich wrappers, and a bunch of leaves. Then he went back to the house and put more arnica on his aching elbow. Eyes in the pond; right. Obviously, the tenhour workdays were already getting to him. Still, at sunset he went down the path again. He told himself it was in the spirit of good scientific inquiry. He would reproduce the exact conditions as nearly as possible, and really prove to himself that it had been a one-time, fluke thing. So to speak. At first, he hung over the ledge, staring until he had a headache, even poking a finger in to see if anything poked back. Then he thought maybe that was frightening the thing away. He'd been sitting back the first time, and whatever-itwas hadn't been able to see him. So then he sat back, 9

Splash by KIL Kenny

bracing himself on the arm with the good elbow, and strained his ears instead. Plip. Aw, shit. He could see the ripple bobbing away into the pond, just like before. Mocking him with its merry up and down. Gritting his teeth, he inched forward again and looked. There, that irregular blob of silty something. As before, he couldn't make sense of it, no matter how he looked. He realized he was holding his breath. The eyes opened. Well, not exactly that. It was just... one minute there was nothing, and the next, there they were. No nose or anything, no face. Eyes. Alex realized he was trying to dig his nails into solid fieldstone, and took a sobbing gasp of a breath. The pupils in the eyes swiveled to follow his movement, and he sobbed again. But he stayed. They were fish eyes, is what they were. Staring and expressionless, perfectly round. He couldn't remember if any kind of local fish had bright blue irises like that, but probably. If they were fish eyes, though, why were they side by side, like human eyes? And where was the fish? Even Alex knew that the eyes were the first thing to go on a dead fish. You didn't just find disembodied fish eyes floating around. Especially disembodied fish eyes that were over an inch across. Especially disembodied, one-inch-plus fish eyes that were very definitely looking at you. 10

Splash by KIL Kenny

He had to. He had to scramble back and get away. This time he heard a second 'plip,' which he hadn't before, and knew that that meant there would be nothing there when he looked again. And there wasn't. **** "Not happening," mocked the trout. "Keep watching," said the sunfish. **** On Sunday he forced himself to do at least some mundane tasks. Paste a contact list into a spreadsheet. Track down names on Facebook and LinkedIn and a few other sites where respectable grownups might network. Not hallucinating losers like some he could mention. Real, professional, pragmatic adults worth cultivating. He'd thought he was one of those already, but never mind. He could aspire. Just before sunset, he went to the pond. It was a good thing there weren't any neighbors close enough to see him. What excuse could he give for mooning over a cow pond? If he was that enamored of his own reflection, there were far more functional mirrors in the house. He sat on the ledge and hugged his knees, staring morosely at the water beyond the rock rim. The sun had beaten down all day, pretty but not very effective, and now the high pressure system was moving out. The wind was kicking up, and the water lapped audibly against the bank. Plip. 11

Splash by KIL Kenny

No way in hell could he have heard a noise that soft. It was, quite distinctly, not a lapping sound. He shouldn't have heard it. He scooted forward, letting his knees fall to one side. There was no helping the little jerk of surprise his body gave when he saw the eyes already there. Surprise, but he was angry, too. What were they staring at? He was normal, damn it, a normal guy with a normal job and normal dreams and there should not be eyes in his stupid cow pond. He stared into them and they stared back, just as round and blank as ever. Alex thrust out a hand with some halfformed notion of splashing them away. But the shadow that his arm cast on the water caught his attention a split second before his fingers reached the surface. No. Not a shadow. One dark form mirrored his arm, it was true. There was nothing to cast a shadow on the other side, the side where Alex's hand was firmly gripping the rock. Forearms stretched on either side of those eyes, ending in blobby, fist-like protuberances. "Damn you," he howled, and smacked the water as hard as he could drive his hand. His human, palpable hand. It hurt like hell. The vision in the water disappeared. **** He told himself he was glad. He told himself that the sick feeling was leftover adrenaline. He told himself that four days in Cambridge were exactly what he needed to chase away watery bogey-men. 12

Splash by KIL Kenny

He snuck out early the next Thursday to make it back to the farm before sunset. Still in his suit slacks and loafers, he ran down to the pond, racing the last clear gleam of sunlight. It slipped behind the distant treetops of the state preserve just as he reached the fieldstone path. Alex slowed. At the bench, he stopped. His car keys were in his palm; he tucked them into his pocket. It was too late. He was reluctant now even to approach the water's edge. He'd ruined it already, so what did it matter if he was late today? Why was he even here? Polished leather loafers were the wrong shoes for wearing down to a cow pond. Their smooth soles felt unstable against the fieldstone. Besides, he didn't want to scratch the leather when he knelt down. He took the shoes off, then his socks. Pointless, really, the whole thing was pointless, but... He walked to the water's edge. Nothing. Going down on one knee, he peered through the twilight into the water. Nothing. Of course. That's what there should be. Absolutely nothing. He dipped his hand in the water. It was cold. There were a few leaves drifting on the surface, brushing at his knuckles; he nudged them away. Brush, brush, nudge. Brush, brush, nudge. Brush— He started to draw his hand back, and felt the wet cling of vegetation against his skin. Shaking his fingers, he tried to lift them clear, and the crude circle of something like a head rose up after, leafy limbs 13

Splash by KIL Kenny

unable to keep their clammy hold on Alex. Only the eyes were definite, almost glowing in the half-gone light. Alex choked, scuttling back on arms and legs that felt as boneless as the monstrosity in the water. The thing flopped over the ledge, moaning. It lay collapsed. Almost... pathetic? Could Swamp Thing be pathetic? Alex's shoulder bumped the bench, and he stopped. "Szeeeeekl," the thing moaned. A silence. "Szeeeeeekl." "What did you say?" Alex whispered. A mud-leaf, sort-of arm slapped weakly against the stone. "Szeekl." The sound was fainter. "Are you calling Ezekiel?" The thing moaned. Just a moan this time, an "oooooooohn" that sounded bad. Bad how, Alex wasn't sure. Not threatening, he thought. He leaned forward. "Ezekiel?" he asked again. The thing seemed to be oozing slowly back into the water. As if making a last-hope effort, it slapped twice, arm stretching forward even as the head slid down. Moaning. Instinctively, Alex reached out to catch the pathetic thing. He lost his balance and went down on his stomach, bashing his chin, narrowly avoiding biting through his tongue. Shaken, he closed his eyes, straining to sense through his fingertips the leafy, slimy mess he was sure he had touched. For three long breaths he gathered himself, realizing that his hand was warm and dry, and not wanting to face his failure just yet. But, finally, he brought his other hand under himself and pushed up. 14

Splash by KIL Kenny

A strong grip caught him under his arms and lifted him to his feet in one quick flip, as if he were a cardboard cutout. Blue eyes and a white smile gleamed down at him. "Ezekiel," said the silt-brown, smooth-skinned man, whose hands were as warm as Alex's own. "No..." said Alex. He hoped it wasn't as much of a whimper as it had sounded like. "Yes," said the man. "I'm Alex." "Ezekiel Alexander Woolcott. I know," said the man. He had to be seven feet tall. Those gleaming blue eyes were still bizarrely round. The easiest thing to do at that moment was faint. So Alex did. **** "Keep that up and you're going to be all dried out," said the trout. "You're just jealous," said the sunfish.

15

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Two He woke up in his battered maple sleigh bed, under the ugly but warm scrap quilt some female ancestor had pieced. It was a lowering, dark day, the kind where you can never be sure whether it's time to get up, nor do you really want to. He was curled on his side, blinking at the scudding clouds. The dining room windows looked north toward a small grove of trees, which hid the— Cow pond. Alex closed his eyes tight and decided that, quite definitely, he did not want to get up. He was awake, however, and the house was silent. He strategized. First, clothes, the civilizing armor. If he was liable to be ambushed by Swamp Thing, he felt certain that being clothed would improve his chances. His for-the-weekend gear was still in the car, but there was plenty to wear in the closet. He pulled out some jeans, a thermal undershirt, and Ezekiel's old barn coat lined with plaid wool. Boots seemed excessive; the Rockports would do. The loafers and socks had somehow made it back to the house with him. Those, he nudged out of sight under the bed. Loins thus girded, he did a slow circuit of the house, upstairs and down. It was as empty as it was silent. And chilled through—the woodstove had never been lit. He edged out of the kitchen door, which looked benignly south. The lean-to shed had a long, open wall, giving easy 16

Splash by KIL Kenny

access to the woodpile. Chris had stocked it for him weeks ago with beautifully aged hardwood logs. After a nervous glance around, he loaded up the canvas carrier with smaller stuff to get a fire started, and began to let himself think about breakfast. Not anything else. Breakfast. The day was quiet and determinedly normal. The clouds came and went. When the house had warmed up enough for Alex to shed the barn coat, he fetched in his gear and went to work. Autumn Fridays were a good time to be productive; people were atoning for summer indulgence and stayed at their desks until four at least. Working a couple different realtors, he was able to book every lunch hour for the next week, looking at prospective warehouse space. Then he went through an interactive Web demo with a sales guy who was hawking the inventory control system he was thinking about. After that, the sun was low enough in the sky to get into his eyes as he sat at the kitchen table, and he knew it was time. Normal was over. He saved all of his open files meticulously and shut the laptop down. It hadn't managed to rain, but it felt raw outside nonetheless. The barn coat went back on. Alex looked around the kitchen, feeling at a loss. Was there anything one should take when going to have it out with a googly-eyed monster? He thought about that round, unblinking stare and shuddered. It knew his name. Still, all the evidence was that the thing meant him no harm. Otherwise, he'd have been at the bottom of the pond by now. 17

Splash by KIL Kenny

He went out of the kitchen door into the back yard, just to stretch the walk a little, and trudged across the leaf-strewn grass. The artful design of the path held no charm for him today. All he could think about was what lay beyond the rock ledge. He knelt and touched a fingertip to the surface of the water. The eyes appeared instantly. The thing was as shapeless as before, a silt nebula with just two stars. Alex's hand twitched back involuntarily; he locked eyes with the thing. "Well, come on, then," he muttered, and splayed his fingers so that all five tips dented the surface. It took a few heartbeats until he felt an answering pressure. Then a wet, squashy grasp. Finally, the eyes broke the surface, situated now in a sleek brown head. Alex's hand was firmly in the grip of warm, smooth fingers. "Ezekiel," said the thing. "Are you feeling better?" Its voice was oddly clear and light and quick, not muddy at all. "Stop calling me that," Alex said, using annoyance to strangle his panic. "I'm Alex." "It's always been Ezekiel," the thing said, showing no inclination to let go of Alex's hand. "You're uneasy. What's wrong?" "Ummm..." The potential folly of responding "You are," was obvious, but Alex couldn't think of another reply that would get the conversation moving in the direction he wanted it to go. "It's a little unusual to have a..." Uh-oh. A what? "A being such as yourself appear in a pond," Alex finished. 18

Splash by KIL Kenny

"True," the thing agreed amiably. "I am meant for running water." It let go of Alex's hand at last and propped its elbows on the rock ledge. "You're very big," Alex ventured. "Am I? How big should I be?" "What do you mean, should you be? You are what you are." "Ah, but you don't seem to know what I am. And I haven't been this very much, so I may be getting it wrong. I'm sure I am; I've got a tail this time." "What?" The thing smiled, which was unnerving since its eyes remained as bulging and unblinking as ever. It heaved itself out of the water with one swift jerk. The shape thus exposed was human down almost to the knees, but from there it had a length of spotted, blue-green scales and a sharp tail fin. It. He. A naked and definite he. Alex edged back. "Oh, don't. Come here and help me." "How?" "I need to touch you to get this right. If you want me to be human." "Be human?" The thing sighed. "Look human," it amended. He. Alex stood up. The thing couldn't do that, so Alex thought he might have some kind of advantage that way. "What do you want me to do?" "It would be best to let me put my arms around you, but it doesn't really matter. I need to maintain the contact until the image stabilizes, that's all." 19

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex stepped back farther. "Why can't you just look at me if you want an image?" The blue stare was as blank as ever, but there was a definite edge in the quick voice. "Because it doesn't work that way. I can't see you like that." He might have pushed this conversation in the direction he wanted it to go, but Alex wasn't finding the enlightenment he was seeking. "Okay. Let's try it with just the hands again." "Certainly," said the thing. Damn it, he couldn't keep calling it 'the thing,' either. "What's your name?" Alex asked. "Ezekiel called me Jordan." "What do you call yourself?" "I don't." Alex drew an exasperated breath and leveled a stare at the thing. At Jordan. The googly eyes were turned away while Jordan leaned out to splash some water on his upper body. A hint of gills ridged the side of his neck. His hands as he ran them over his arms were human, though; Alex remembered the warmth of their grasp. Jordan's expressions were unreadable, the logic of his words inscrutable, but there was something real about those hands. "How did you get me back to the house last night? Alex demanded abruptly. "What makes you think I did?" "You were there." Jordan laughed. The sound skipped and rang joyfully over the water. "True. Well, you did most of it yourself. I just... 20

Splash by KIL Kenny

encouraged you." He extended a hand over the water. In a quicksilver flash, a fish leaped over it. Alex gaped. "Do that again." Jordan obliged. The fish somersaulted this time. "Mind control," Alex whispered. "Not at all," Jordan said. "Water calls to water, that's all." Alex wrestled with that statement for a bit, trying to make himself feel the danger his mind told him was there. He didn't. None of it made sense, but it was the sweet laugh lodging in his belly that convinced him. Jordan finished splashing and glanced back. Alex looked away before their gazes met. Maybe this touching that Jordan wanted to try would get rid of that fishy stare. He felt sure everything would make more sense if only Jordan would blink once in awhile. Crouching, Alex extended his hand. It took a full stretch from Jordan to close the gap. As those wet, warm fingers folded around his own, Alex shut his eyes. The hand on his was human—fingers, knuckles, palm cupped against his palm. "Oh..." Jordan said. Alex's eyes flew open. "What?" "You will say yes, won't you?" Jordan pulled at him, and Alex stumbled. "Let me, please." Momentum carried Alex within easy reach of both of Jordan's hands. They wrapped around his elbows, drawing him in. It was all Alex could do to go down awkwardly on one knee, bracing his own hands against Jordan's chest so their bodies did not quite touch. Their forearms lay along each other; Alex's knee pressed against Jordan's thigh. 21

Splash by KIL Kenny

They breathed into one another's faces for a moment. Nothing dreadful happened. "Not Ezekiel," Jordan said. "I told you—" "But I must die in this land, I must not go over Jordan: but ye shall go over, and possess that good land." "What?" "The last Ezekiel always said that when I asked to touch him. He said it was a promise, but I never believed him." It sounded like something out of the big family Bible that Alex had wrapped up and put in the attic. "Pro—" The mouth that covered his wasn't dreadful, either. **** "Why didn't you just tell him?" asked the trout. "You wouldn't get it," said the sunfish. **** It was like the ocean at a Caribbean beach. Body-warm, buoyant, rushing with incessant movement to caress all of his skin at once. Touching him everywhere, without regard for clothes. The weight of it pressing against his closed eyes, into his mouth, filling— Water. He was drowning. Flailing, he arched his back hard and heard, rather than felt, the rough catch of fieldstone against the canvas shell of the barn coat. Shhh, shhh. Looking for leverage. But he couldn't raise his knees, find traction with the soles of his 22

Splash by KIL Kenny

shoes. Too heavy. The weight of the water pinned him helpless. He opened his eyes and saw only Jordan. That alien gaze still shone blue, but the shape of the eyes was human now, with gently-slanting lids that blinked slowly. Provocatively. Jordan's body was snugly, nakedly warm all over his own, no longer gigantic, but matched perfectly to his own proportions. A very palpable baton pressed into the crease of Alex's left thigh. Alex could feel himself rising to that challenge. Christ, he hadn't even cleared his head yet and here he was, halfhard and wholly willing. Jordan must have felt it, too, because he grinned and rubbed slowly up and down against Alex's fly. Alex groaned, and Jordan kissed him. "Put your arms around me," he whispered. "Please." Alex wrapped his arms around Jordan's shoulders, his clasp jerking tight in a sudden spasm of need. Smothered against Alex's collarbone, Jordan laughed. Rubbed. He nuzzled down to a nipple, opening a small gap between their bodies as he took his weight on his knees and lifted his hips. And when had Alex's coat and shirt fallen open like that? Jordan's hair was a silken brown waterfall, gliding endlessly between Alex's seeking fingers, sliding over Alex's chest. There was no hesitation in Jordan's touch as he unzipped Alex's jeans, pulling the layers of cloth down to free that burgeoning shaft. He pressed his tongue on Alex's nipple, flat and hot and wet. He dropped his hips again and gathered both of their erections in one fist, stroking. 23

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex could hear his own moaning pants, "Uh... uh... unnh..." keeping time with Jordan's hand, but the sound seemed to come from somewhere else. Where he was, the surge of his blood made the only sound, roaring through his body, pounding in his groin. Quick and delighted, Jordan's laughter gleamed like light on the waves. Alex snatched at it, knowing against all logic that such joy was strong enough to save them both from drowning. Jordan raised his head and knelt up, pulling his own cock out of his grasp but keeping firm hold of Alex. With a twitch of his hips, he aligned himself over Alex's shaft and sank. "Shit! Jordan, no—" The protest died on Alex's lips. The flesh surrounding him was as silken-slick as Jordan's hair, gliding up and down. "If one would be slippery, one could have no better tutor than the fish," Jordan said, chuckling. He leaned back, gripping the denim bunched around Alex's knees, and began pumping in earnest. The phallic prow of him curved high before Alex's eyes, shining wet, rising and falling. Alex groaned a little, reaching out, but Jordan forestalled the motion with an effortless shift of balance. "Close your eyes," he said. "Like hell," Alex gasped. Jordan eased all the way down and rocked there for a moment. Inhumanly agile muscles milked Alex gently. Then Jordan leaned forward, catching Alex's hands in his own and pressing them to the fieldstone far above Alex's head. Alex knew himself; the long stretch of Jordan's movement should 24

Splash by KIL Kenny

have unsheathed him completely. It did not. He shivered, and involuntarily closed his eyes. "Yessss..." whispered Jordan. Then came more rocking, and the warm, seeking pressure of Jordan's lips, dissolving into that frightening, heady rush of Caribbean surf. There was water all around Alex, insistent on his belly, his balls. There was water within him, rippling like a tsunami in the open ocean, an unseen force, gathering strength. Then it roared. The hot, liquid burst of his orgasm surged out, and he heard Jordan laugh like a groan this time. He couldn't breathe. He didn't care. The sound of Jordan's pleasure followed him as he sank under the wave. **** The damp cold of the fieldstone woke him, its chill creeping into calves, buttocks, skull. There was no laughter, no heat. Only incipient frost, clutching at his marrow. Alex sat up stiffly, tugging the barn coat closed. The cloth was dry. The rest of his clothing was... neat. He hesitated to call it "undisturbed" when his mind was so very disturbed. Where...? He crawled to the lip of the ledge. In the twilight, the water was opaque and gray. He leaned over. No gleam flashed up at him. He felt like some horrible parody kneeling there, a Maxfield Parrish cherubic boy re-imagined as "American Gothic." Narcissus shouldn't be wearing Rockports and a barn coat. What he really needed were the pitchfork and the wirerimmed glasses. 25

Splash by KIL Kenny

Where was Jordan? He dipped a hand in the water. It was uncomfortably cold. He persisted, holding himself as still as he could. So gently, a leaf brushed his palm. No leaves were floating near. Back. Forth. Back. Alex closed his eyes and felt. **** Saturday was dismal, with an autumnal humidity that carried no heat but promised drizzle. Alex drank his coffee with his legs straight out in front of him, leaning into the stretch from time to time. His butt felt bruised against the rock maple chair, and lying around on fieldstone in October sure made the hammies tight. Funny that he hadn't even noticed he was lying on rock until he'd woken up to find Jordan gone. With all that had happened before that, he should be feeling downright battered. Mentally, he was. He'd been awake half the night. The sex had been revelatory, but had left no dreamy lassitude behind, nor a welcoming body to cuddle down into sleep. The sheets had been frigid when he finally crawled into bed, and it had been forever before he alone could warm them. He was brooding over his third cup when he heard the tincan rattle of Chris's ancient pickup racketing up the drive. He winced and grinned at the same time. Chris had a perfectly good SUV, only a couple years old, but persisted in driving that rusting deathtrap. It had ferried Ezekiel to and from the Congregational church for the last five years of his life, once the medications had proven too much for the old man's 26

Splash by KIL Kenny

driving skills. It was Chris who had taken the car keys at last, and promised that Ezekiel would never miss them. "Ho!" Chris called when Alex appeared at the front door. "Hadn't seen you for a bit. Wanted to stop by and make sure there was nothin'." "Not a thing. It's good to see you, Chris. Come in and have some coffee." "A'right. You bring that good stuff from town?" "Like I'd dare to offer you anything else!" Alex chuckled, leading the way to the kitchen. "Organic, shade-grown, and fair trade." "Man's got his standards," Chris replied, and Alex could hear the smile in the gruff voice. He gestured Chris toward the rocker with the worn caned seat and poured another mug. Chris accepted it with a nod and sat down. They sipped. "Stove's been drawing like a beauty," Alex offered. "Yuh. Snow's lookin' late this year, but you'll be glad of 'er eventually." "No question." Alex put his mug down. Picked it up. Wrapped both hands around it. Chris continued to sip tranquilly. "I've been spending some time down by the pond. Remember how my grandfather loved that place?" "Yuh." "Did he ever talk about it with you? Why he did all that work?" Chris snorted. "No." After a moment, he added, "No need, really. I helped supervise that crew he brought in. A man that 27

Splash by KIL Kenny

focused, the why don't matter much. Not like anyone 'ud talk him out of it." "I don't think anyone ever out-talked Ezekiel." "You're right. Seventy if he was a day, and had me showin' him how to mortar up that bench. Arguin' over whether the path should dodge this tree or that that one. Dead set on every detail." "Worth it," Alex said. "Yuh." Alex set his mug down with finality and leaned forward. "Do you know anything about how to take care of a pond, Chris?" The older man nodded. "Some." He drained the last of his coffee. "You makin' plans? I thought you were sellin' this place." "Just thinking, right now." "A'right. I'll leave you a thing or two with the groceries next week." "Thanks." Alex was grateful. Search engines weren't going to give him much he could use unless he had more than "maintain pond" to go on. He'd tried that already. Apparently, decorative koi habitats with plastic liners were all the rage among computer-literate suburbanites. The rain had started to fall by the time he waved goodbye to Chris. He made a dash back to the house, then stood in the doorway, looking across the property. Mist was rising from the pond to meet the raindrops. The vista was so dankly gray that it was hard to believe the sun had ever come up. 28

Splash by KIL Kenny

If nothing else, it was a terrific encouragement to work. He'd amassed nearly a hundred names of potential contacts, which meant an awful lot of "Hi, how are ya?" messages to be sent. And answered, because a surprising number of people were hopping on and off Facebook for a Saturday. Not wanting to think about anything beyond the immediate here and now was also helpful. He hoped that forcing his questions to the back of his mind would cause some sort of collective-unconscious thingie to work on them for him. There was no change in the light to tell him when the time had come, but he knew. The rain had stopped, and that was all that could be said for the weather as he stepped outside again. He was, if possible, even more nervous than before. It had never occurred to him that the known could be more unsettling than the unknown. It was only the edge of sweetness to his anxiety that made it bearable. At the ledge, he stood looking down into the pond for a few minutes. The gray light got grayer. There was nothing to see except water. He gave in and knelt, but still nothing happened. "Jordan," he said. The water might have sloshed a little. Might. "Jordan?" But he couldn't fool himself a second time. Nothing was happening. He leaned and splashed the surface lightly with a couple fingertips. "C'mon, Jordan. I'd like to talk with you again." The silty water ran down his fingers and back into the pond. Drip. Drip. The dampness left in the rock by the rain 29

Splash by KIL Kenny

seeped into the fabric of his trousers. He knelt there until the air went dark, then unbent his stiff knees and walked away. **** "This is going to make him sad," said the sunfish. "About time one of them faced up to it," said the trout. [Back to Table of Contents]

30

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Three Sunday, Alex found he could think. At least enough to acknowledge that a daily rendezvous in the October twilight was not going to get him very far in figuring out what the hell was going on. Especially if the object of his affections didn't consider it a standing date. He swallowed the dregs of his second cup of coffee. Time to admit that it stunk to have to wait all day. Or did he have to? The wind was whirling leaves in droves across the front yard; the rain had brought the first big batch down. Slanting morning sun was breaking sharply through the trees along the road. It was barely eight o'clock—he could justify another half hour of procrastination before getting down to work. There was nothing, not even a leaf-touch brushing by, when he immersed his hands. He squinted across the water. The pond covered about five acres of the property. He was pretty sure he could do a good, thorough circuit of it in half an hour. So he did. Aside from a bit of leaf-loose footing between the trees on the eastern side, it was an easy walk. Ezekiel's cows had approached the pond at the end farthest from the house, where there was virtually no slope to the bank. The water stayed shallow there for a ways out. In the cows' day, the approach had been clear, but now that part of the bank was thick with cattails and less picturesque weeds. 31

Splash by KIL Kenny

The terrain varied on the western side, but Alex's favorite spot had always been one where the bank was a little steeper, a little drier most of the time, so that meadow grasses rather than water weeds grew down to the verge. Here, the pond's granite bottom had never completely silted over, and a boy's strong toes could find rocky purchase if he wanted to try catching a few minnows or the occasional fish. Sunfish, mostly, and never big enough to be worth keeping. It was more fun to scoop a few minnows into a jar and watch them for a day or two, until his mother pestered him to dump them back where they belonged. He waded out ankle-deep and stared into the brown-green dimness, but there was no Jordan to be seen. Circuit complete and enlightenment still elusive, he trudged up to the house. **** At three o'clock, he was back. Though the breeze had harried the leaves all day, it was warm in the sun; nearly seventy degrees, Alex guessed. He'd spent the afternoon working in a chair out back, out of sight of the pond, soaking up the rare October light. Then he had suddenly remembered. Ezekiel had a pair of hip-waders stored in the basement from thirty years back, when he and his cronies used to take occasional fishing trips to Maine. Alex dug them out and carried them down to the pond. There was no way they'd be waterproof after all this time, but maybe, if there were just a few small, slow leaks, they'd keep him dry enough to try something. 32

Splash by KIL Kenny

He went the short way to his minnow hole, where the rocky bottom ran for ten or fifteen feet. The water wouldn't get much higher than mid-thigh, he thought, before the bottom dropped off into muck and became effectively impassable. He stepped off the verge and hissed as an icy little geyser sprang to life against his toe. Predictable. He took another three or four steps and activated a second gusher behind his left knee. Stopped. Waited. Nothing else. Okay. He could survive with two leaks for fifteen minutes or so. Splashing lightly with his fingertips, he called, "Jordan! Joooor-dan!" Not too loudly. This was an attention-getting exercise, true, but not for the whole county. After a couple minutes he began scooping palmfuls of water, flinging them high so the drops scattered over a wider area. Then he added the good, sharp, cow-calling whistle Ezekiel had taught him. Twelve feet from shore, the footing became problematic, and six inches of water had accumulated inside the waders. When he let his arms drop, they submerged wrist-deep. He could see his hands, a greeny-browny waver below the water's surface. No eyes. No muck-man. No Jordan. This was accomplishing nothing. He turned toward the shore, burying his hands in his armpits to dry and warm the chilled fingers. 33

Splash by KIL Kenny

Something like a giant, steel-toed boot drove in hard behind his knees, buckling them. He staggered forward, only the resistance of the water giving him any chance to regain his balance. As he lifted his foot to take that stabilizing step, though, it was yanked out from under him and he went down. In these shallows, he landed hard enough to bruise his ass on the rock and jar his teeth together. The water was freezing. Jordan, he thought, furious and rejoicing. From under the surface, the water glowed. He could sense the impossible brightness of it even behind his scrunchedshut eyelids. Something swished past, pressing his lips in a lightning-quick kiss. It felt like a thousand minnows were nibbling at the saturated folds of his clothing. Breaking the surface with a gasp, Alex let his eyes open. There was still a glow coming from beneath the water, brighter on the crests of the tiny whirlpools that rose and fell before him. He snatched at one, watching it dodge his hand. "Jordan!" A few feet away, a gleaming fish breached and flipped. A big fish. Far too big to survive in a neglected cow pond. "Jordan! Show yourself, you jerk!" A dozen fish breached and flipped, smoothly, perfectly synchronized. Then again. Yet a third time. Their iridescent scales and gaping jaws shone in the autumn sun. "Jordan!" Then there was a wall of dazzling water, a standing wave that seemed to go straight up and hang from the sky. A radiantly clear blue wall, darkened at its center with siltbrown dimness that swirled. From out of the susurration of 34

Splash by KIL Kenny

moving liquid, there came the sound of sweet laughter. Then Alex was drawn under again. **** They lay naked, drying, on the gentle slope of mown meadow. Or, rather, Alex propped himself on both elbows to look down along Jordan, who was stretched out full length on the grass. He didn't know how they had gotten there, or how his clothes had wound up spread on the grass above them where the bank flattened out. Had it been this warm when he first waded into the pond? The silken mass of Jordan's hair pooled on Alex's chest, curling ends making arabesques along his ribs. Jordan's head nestled just above Alex's solar plexus. One of Jordan's feet dipped into the water, and if the leg to which that foot was attached had to be disproportionately long to reach the pond from here, Alex was not going to notice. Not at all. Instead, he was noticing how his breathing rocked the warm weight of Jordan's head, and how Jordan's right hand was gliding slowly back and forth across his knee. Jordan's breath tickled over the angles of his groin, the limp curve of his penis. That was all. For long minutes, Jordan lay silent. Alex grew steadily more self-conscious. There was, he knew, nothing worth that much attention down there. "What—" "Shh," Jordan said. His hand moved upward, however. Its trajectory was obscured by the contours of his skull, but its arrival at its destination was not. A fingertip slid purposefully under Alex's quiescent shaft and pressed. 35

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex sucked in a breath. Intimate as it was, the touch felt more dangerous than erotic, his balls almost pinched. His thighs went tight. "You didn't like that," Jordan noted. "No." "Hm." Jordan sounded unperturbed. The pressure from the fingertip eased more gently over Alex's sac, brushing the coarse hairs there. Jordan softly manipulated each hidden sphere, testing the way they shifted, how far they would separate before Alex would make a little warning sound. Alex could tell that Jordan intended no threat; had, perhaps, no idea that there could be a threat. Alex could not be so nonchalant, however. "Stop, please," he said finally. "Stop it, Jordan." Jordan stopped, palming Alex's vulnerable flesh with reassuring stillness. Alex let himself lie back, breathing deeply again. He felt a twitch of life in his gently cradled genitals. Jordan's thumb stroked him. "Someone will see us," he said weakly. "No." The tone was not confident, it was merely matter-offact. Alex decided there was no point in asking how Jordan knew. His real curiosity concerned something more personal. "What were you doing?" "Form," said Jordan, dreamily this time. "Yeah?" When Jordan said nothing further, Alex wrapped two fingers in the nearest silken strands and tugged. "What about form?" 36

Splash by KIL Kenny

"You never go in the water," Jordan said, in a tone that sounded explanatory. Then silence. Alex tugged again. "I was just in it, moron. Besides, why would anyone in their right mind go into a muddy little wallow like this?" 'That's my home you're calling a wallow," Jordan warned, and squeezed. "Truce—shit!" The pressure eased. "I don't understand what going into the water has to do with form," Alex said humbly, when he could breathe. "So I can see you." "You have eyes." "That's form," said Jordan again. Alex sighed. On a tiny catch of laughter, Jordan lifted his head and rolled onto his belly. Alex wouldn't let go of that amazing hair, but let it run between curved fingers to permit the motion. Jordan's mouth closed around the still-soft head of Alex's firming cock, and the noise Alex made this time was anything but a protest. The rippling, wet pressure intensified as Alex closed his eyes and sank into the feeling. He rocked, rising and falling, tossed and anchored by sensation until Jordan's mouth had pulled the pulse of orgasm from him. His breathing calmed. "You were explaining about form," Alex said. "I don't think I was..." "I'm quite sure you were." He sat all the way up, pulling Jordan back against him in a demanding embrace. 37

Splash by KIL Kenny

Though obviously reluctant to talk, Jordan used none of the resistant, touch-me-not body language Alex would have expected under the circumstances. The muscled back melted against his chest with ready ease. The warm weight in his arms, the satiety in his bones—there wasn't much more Alex felt he could ever ask for. "Looking at me and learning my form," he prompted— suggested, really—in Jordan's ear, and licked it slowly after. "Looking now." "Looking at the water now." "Looking at you. Here and here and here." With each repetition, a little nudge pressed into Alex—groin and sternum and collarbone—though Jordan did not appear to move. "Form," Jordan repeated. "When I touch that spot, I see only that spot. If you were in the water, I would know every bit of you. I could wrap myself around you, everywhere. I could be that form perfectly." "How...?" "Pour water into a cup, and what shape is the water?" Jordan asked. "The... the shape of the cup, I guess." "Exactly, precisely that shape. Down to the tiniest droplet, it becomes that shape. But it is not the cup. It is water. Water, with the form of a cup. You see?" "But your eyes...?" Alex covered them with one hand, and shivered when Jordan's tongue made the long stretch to taste him. "Form," said Jordan again. "Only that? You mean you don't see with your eyes?" 38

Splash by KIL Kenny

"These are not 'my' eyes. I can use them as you do, now that I have learned them. Eyes are very easy; so much water." Jordan wriggled suddenly in Alex's hold and pushed him down. The dark outline that loomed above him was abruptly twice as broad as it had been a moment earlier. "Bones, on the other hand, mean very little," Jordan said. "Sometimes I almost forget about bones." Alex shivered and closed his eyes, uncomfortably reminded of that first Swamp Thing encounter. The kiss that came was quiet on his lips, and warm, fluid nakedness wrapped around him as it had before. When he opened his eyes again, there was Jordan, precisely his size, only the long brown hair casting a shadow as Jordan kissed him again. "You scared the shit out of me with those weird fish. And that huge wave." Jordan made a tiny shrugging motion. "You asked to see." "I wanted to see you." "You did." Alex reached up to squeeze the gently rounded shoulders above him. "You're not all scales or water any more than I am." "You asked to see. I gave you what I can give you to see." Alex looked into the blue, blue eyes. Let himself stare. The pupils weren't truly black. They were dark brown, with the hint of a silty swirl. Dark matter silhouetted against two glowing blue stars. Jordan's bent knees were pressed close to his own, a yard or more from the pond's edge, yet he heard the splash of Jordan's foot in the water. He was warm and 39

Splash by KIL Kenny

comfortable lying naked on the October ground. None of it made sense. "Why do you kiss me?" Alex whispered. "It feels so good to kiss you," Jordan whispered back. "But you're telling me... Your eyes aren't the eyes I see. Lips... what difference does it make if you touch me with your lips or your elbow? Are you just humoring me? Why?" "I choose," Jordan said, strongly now. "I choose to have eyes to see you, lips to kiss you. I choose. Why shouldn't I choose this? Haven't you?" "God, yes." "So you already have your why. Kiss me again before the sun sets." "Stay a little," Alex murmured, and kissed the full lips with all the invitation he could lick and nibble and probe. "There is not enough energy in this water to sustain me once the sun goes down." Jordan thrust his tongue deeply into Alex's mouth, his body shuddering with the rise and fall of Alex's moan. Alex's head fell back, and Jordan pressed his lips to the exposed throat. "Then promise you'll come back to me," Alex murmured, and forgot the words in a gasp as Jordan's hand closed over his shaft. **** "You're not getting anywhere," said the trout. "You'll get what you want," said the sunfish. [Back to Table of Contents] 40

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Four The work week was a long, aching howl. He needed to be on the farm. Needed it. The fleetingness of what Jordan gave him made Alex afraid. The agreement with his boss about the flex time meant, unofficially, that he wasn't supposed to take vacation until after the first of the year. He put in a formal request anyway. His boss sat him down for a "quick chat." Alex made rash promises. It didn't matter. The October days were growing shorter, and November loomed. The year was passing. He needed time now. In fairness, he had to work his full hours on Thursday before leaving town, which meant Alex didn't reach the farm until after dark. He sat by the woodstove, alternately trying to patch Ezekiel's waders and read the articles about pond maintenance that Chris had marked in a few agricultural journals. It turned out to be difficult to Google fish species with fingers that were glued together by rubber cement. The flannel sheets felt as cold as pond water that night. In the morning, he went wading. The weak sun didn't warm the air as it had the previous weekend, and the hem of the barn jacket got wet while he splashed and strode and called out. The fact that he felt like an idiot was merely incidental. After half an hour, unnerved by the sight of a dead fish bobbing in the middle of the pond, beyond his reach, he went back to the house to regroup. 41

Splash by KIL Kenny

There is not enough energy in this water to sustain me once the sun goes down. Was it the light of the sun or the heat that Jordan needed? It appeared to come to the same thing in the end, but Alex hadn't been able to make sense of anything up to this point, so he wasn't sure he could trust his logic. Still, there was no way to run electricity down to the pond on short notice, so lights were beyond him. Heat, however... The memory of a something glimpsed from the corner of his eye led him into the basement again, where he found a battered washtub of galvanized steel, some enamelware pans, and a couple metal buckets. He filled the buckets with kindling and toted the load down to the ledge. Did fieldstone scorch in a permanent kind of way? He'd risk it. It seemed to take forever, plus three trips to the woodpile, to get a makeshift ring of fire burning around the washtub. He set the motley assortment of containers in another circle outside the flames, using one of the buckets to fill each one with water from the pond. Maybe it was forty gallons in all. Was that enough to make a difference? Alex admitted that he wasn't going to get anything else done until he'd tried, and focused on keeping the fire burning. When the water in the washtub was uncomfortably warm to the touch, he pulled on the waders and some gloves and quickly dumped each of the containers into the pond. Then he kicked the glowing brands in after, sat on the edge, and began to splash as mightily as he could. Like an arrow shot straight into the heavens, Jordan launched from the water at Alex's feet, laughing. He 42

Splash by KIL Kenny

somersaulted delicately onto the fieldstone. "Damn! Why did you want to go pouring all that rust into the pond, anyway?" Alex lay back, stripping off the gloves. "There's gratitude." Jordan knelt and kissed him. "No, there's gratitude. Just keep that stuff away from me when I'm up here, okay?" "Gladly. Why?" "When I have skin, the metal burns it." Alex thought about that. "How about zippers? Buttons?" "Yes." Jordan touched Alex's hair, and a stinging crackle of static made Alex yelp. Jordan grinned. "Like that. A zipper is worth it. A bucket doesn't have nearly the payoff of a zipper." He reached for Alex's waistband. "No, no, wait," Alex said. Jordan sat back on his heels and looked quizzical. Alex stood awkwardly. "Can you... make it warm?" "I can." With the words, the humid air touching Alex's skin became at least ten degrees warmer. "Can anyone see?" "No," Jordan said. Alex swallowed. Jordan's bright and hungry gaze stayed on him, and he was afraid to admit how delicious it felt. Deliberately, he turned away, walking to the bench. His barn coat thumped gracelessly over the wide, backless seat. Chippendale material he wasn't, but at least the jeans Alex wore fit him well. He stepped out of the waders and lifted one foot to the stone slab, bending without haste to unlace his shoe. The denim strained over the curve of his ass. Straightening, he lowered the first foot, drew the second one up, his jeans shifting snugly with each movement. Then, 43

Splash by KIL Kenny

bending again, he untied the second shoe, dipping deep to tuck all the footwear under the bench. Still with his back to Jordan, he pulled his sweater over his head in a leisurely full extension. The sleeveless T-shirt underneath tugged out of his waistband, exposing skin. He stretched a little more before letting the sweater drop. The Tshirt followed. Then he put his hand on his belt buckle. There was an indrawn breath just inches from his ear. "Do it. Now." Slowly, Alex pulled the leather over and freed it from the metal pin. The button at the top of his fly slipped loose beneath the coaxing of his fingers. He popped the tab of his zipper. And waited. There was a suspended moment. "Payoff," he whispered. Jordan's laughter tumbled around his ears. One big hand yanked the tab down, and the other took down the jeans. For a confused moment, gravity seemed to become optional, and then Alex found himself stretched naked on top of his barn coat, clinging for dear life to Jordan's shoulders. Alex sucked in a breath, transfixed by the clear blue eyes with their swirling pupils. Jordan held still as Alex's hands caressed smooth, muscled shoulders, the wet silk of Jordan's waterfall hair, all of it warm, so warm, a luxurious bath of sensation. Seeking and finding Jordan's lips, Alex submerged himself in their languorous kiss. "I want to wrap myself around all of you," Jordan whispered. "No," Alex said. "I want you inside me." 44

Splash by KIL Kenny

"Why?" "You're always paying too much attention to me. I want you to really let go for once." Jordan chuckled. "That won't end the way you expect it to." "I don't expect anything about you, you're a constant surprise." "Even so." But Jordan straddled the bench, lifting Alex's legs so they rested thigh on thigh over his own. The nowfamiliar sense of being lovingly studied brought color to Alex's face, but he didn't look away. Crooning, Jordan wrapped Alex's cock in a firm grip and brought it to attention with a few quick strokes. Alex didn't bother to muffle the sharp "ah!' of his pleasure, and the sound rang out over the pond. Jordan's hands slid around the points of Alex's hip bones to clasp each buttock in a broad palm. Cool air kissed the hidden skin between, and then something hard and hot pressed against the tightly puckered opening. "Jordan!" Jordan smiled into Alex's eyes. "I haven't forgotten how breakable humans are." He shifted, and Alex felt that hard heat gently painting wet strokes over hi flesh, the touch no wider than a finger. "No way," Alex panted. "I know you're not built that small." Jordan laughed out loud. "I am 'built' however I choose." The finger of flesh slid home. Alex gasped. "Why not like this? I would rather use my hands on the rest of you." "Please," Alex said, tiny shudders rippling through him. Penetration always unnerved him, shook his control, and this 45

Splash by KIL Kenny

strange intrusion only accentuated that sense of dizzying free fall. It was deep. Smooth. Perfect. He tightened around it, and when he relaxed again, an expanding pressure followed his easing muscles. Jordan rocked, just a little, and Alex could feel himself opening, slick and welcoming. "Oh..." "Mm," Jordan agreed, massaging Alex's nipples gently and rocking harder. Bigger. Accepting every bit of welcome that Alex's body offered, and nudging for more. Alex moaned and opened, filled with swelling heat. The tempo quickened, rolling him back, and then Jordan breathed, "Hang on," and brought Alex's knees over both shoulders. A silken curtain of hair swept the curl of Alex's body. The cool weight of it caressing his skin made Alex cry out. "Close your eyes," came the familiar instruction. "No," Alex groaned, and tightened his grip. Jordan just chuckled and thrust. Unmoored, only the rub of the plaid wool against his spine connecting him to any reality at all, Alex clung to Jordan like a limpet at low tide, wholly exposed and not sure he could survive this. But oh, it was worth the risk, worth the precarious vulnerability as his body sang with every stroke—the slick sounds of sliding flesh, the slap of his hard cock against his belly, his ragged breathing so loud in his ears. The sweet, primal pleasure thundered through him. Then Jordan wrapped a palm around his shaft and he was lost. Eyes squeezing shut, he overflowed, pouring himself out in an endless, weightless moment. A flow of heat bathed his skin. The world went still. 46

Splash by KIL Kenny

He opened his eyes. It was quiet, save for the occasional car on the commuter road, and the sun was noticeably low in the sky. "Jordan?" he croaked. No answer. He raised himself weakly on one elbow and looked toward the pond. Water was trickling fast over the fieldstone, as if some invisible cataract had drenched the ledge. Dazed, Alex put out a hand and patted for his clothes, which turned out to be behind his head on the bench. They were dry. As was the barn coat. Dry and a little warm. He dressed quickly, watching the last of the water on the ledge evaporate, and made for the pond. "Jordan?" With a splash, Jordan surfaced, grinning. "Told ya." "Told me what?" "That it wouldn't be what you expected." His nerve endings were still firing spasmodically; Alex was sure they would be twitching hours from now. He knelt down so that he could keep his voice lowered. "Nobody expects something that incredible. But you..." "I?" Alex could feel a blush rising fast. Nevertheless, this was important. "You didn't..." "Didn't...?" Jordan looked puzzled. "Come," Alex finished. "Come? Oh!" Jordan burst into the familiar, delighted laugh that made the blush burn hotter on Alex's cheeks. "Well, you didn't," he muttered.

47

Splash by KIL Kenny

Anchoring himself with his elbows, Jordan hoisted his face level with Alex's and kissed Alex lingeringly. Smiling, he said, "You're remembering what I am, right?" "Uh," Alex said. He was pretty certain that what I am had never been defined in the first place. "And that it takes concentration and will for me to maintain this form." Alex nodded. "So, when I lose that concentration, then...?" "Then..." Alex's eyes widened. "Bwoosh?" Jordan's laughter rang over the pond. "Told ya." **** On Saturday, Alex rejoiced in the golden fullness of the sunlight. By noon, it was wonderfully easy to lure Jordan onto the mown meadow slope. Alex had brought blankets to lie on, and a picnic. Jordan rejected the food but enjoyed the wine languorously and well. As always, the air around them felt warmer than it should have been, and Jordan kept one foot in the water. Alex wondered about these things. But the less tangible questions felt more urgent. Even with Jordan's arms wrapped close around him and the afternoon stretching before them like a tawny, lazy cat, Alex felt the hastening beat of time. "Jordan," he murmured, trying to work things out, "how long have you been here?" Jordan shrugged. "You are the third Ezekiel." "Whoa." Alex's father, dead for twenty years now, had not been an Ezekiel—he'd been Benjamin Alexander. So that 48

Splash by KIL Kenny

meant... When had Alex's great-grandfather died, anyway? Somewhere around 1960, he thought. Then he thought of his grandfather's story about the oxbow and the dynamite. "Do you remember a river?" Jordan laughed. "Do I remember a river? Alex, I remember many rivers. I remember the ocean. I remember when I was part of all the running waters for two hundred miles around." The quick, light voice turned thoughtful. "Most of me is still out there, I believe. Like when the arm of the starfish is cut off, and both the arm and the starfish live on." "They regenerate, don't they? Both of them become whole starfish again?" "I don't remember. Perhaps. The analogy is imperfect, I suppose." Jordan sighed, a rare sound from him. "What I feel is not wholeness, only fear of the winter. I've grown sluggish, and the pond will freeze over soon." "I'll be coming here all winter long," Alex assured him, sitting up. "If we can just keep the ice clear in one spot—" "No," Jordan said. "Maybe one of those ice-fishing huts. We could rig something—" "No." "No..." Alex didn't look at him. "No, why?" In the slanting afternoon light, the pond seemed to glow, concentrating brightness in defiance of the wooded shadows. Alex didn't feel anything yet. He knew he would. Not yet. Jordan's voice was hesitant, as if seeking the words. "The pond water is still in the winter. Frozen on top, and still below as well." 49

Splash by KIL Kenny

"It's still now." "Autumn is not winter, Alex." Alex sketched a frustrated gesture. Jordan captured the hand between both of his own. "All right. Autumn is not winter, Mr. Zen Koan. What's the difference you want me to understand?" Jordan played with the captive fingers as he always did, exploring with confident eroticism and naive curiosity, sensitizing the fine, cross-hatched skin over Alex's knuckles, the dry curve of each cuticle. "Motion," he said at last. "Light. Energy. All frozen. I can't move in the winter. Not even these fingers can stir me then." "What do you do?" Alex whispered, so that he would not moan aloud from Jordan's touch. "I take my chances with the fish. We go to the bottom, and we wait. The young and vigorous fish will come to the surface in the spring. The others, not." Alex could feel the movement through Jordan's hands as Jordan shrugged again. "The silt and rotting leaves get heavier every season. Get into my core. They weigh me down and slow me. The ice makes it worse. And now, before winter is even here, I can't take form without your help." Jordan hesitated. "I think... maybe I am an old fish." "You're not a goddamn fish!" Alex wrenched his hand away and glared. "If not this winter, then next." "But why? You're not... fading, not weak. You could wipe me out without really trying. Why now?" 50

Splash by KIL Kenny

Jordan held out one hand. Alex stared at it, feeling the burn of tears behind his eyes even though his mind remained defiantly blank. He grabbed the hand and let Jordan pull him down again. "When I touch you," Jordan said, with an undercurrent of laughter warm in his voice, "I am never weak." He molded himself to Alex's back, arms wrapping snugly around Alex's ribs. He seemed just a little bigger than usual, enfolding. "Why?" Alex repeated. Jordan sighed. "Do you think there is always an answer? I can't tell you how I know. The water of this pond was once in motion, but it has learned to be still. Maybe I have learned a little, too. I could never have been so quiet with my other Ezekiels the way I am with you." He kissed the side of Alex's neck. "Some part of me has never learned quiet, and fights this pond. It can't win in such a quiet place. But it can prevent the quiet from winning, too. And if neither side wins, then..." "The pond is killing you," Alex paraphrased. Jordan actually chuckled. "I don't think the pond would agree with you. The pond accepts what it has become. It is simply defending the new order against the holdout." Alex tilted his head back, trying to see Jordan's expression, but the angle was all wrong. Jordan's hand came up to press, open-palmed, against the pulse at the base of Alex's throat. "Seeing," Alex thought, and he realized all over again that Jordan had no idea of any threat implicit in the pressure. Or maybe it was that Alex could never really share a point of view that saw threat not in any fleshly vulnerability, but 51

Splash by KIL Kenny

rather in the simple peace of this moment, one step away from the stillness of death. "We need to get you back to the river," Alex said, and he knew it was true even if he couldn't feel it. Wouldn't. "Before the winter sets in." **** "You did it!" said the trout. "Don't gloat," said the sunfish. [Back to Table of Contents]

52

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Five It wasn't as simple as it sounded. First was the matter of worked metal. They would have to use something that was made entirely of plastic. While it was easy enough to get an all-plastic bin, there was no way something off the shelf from Walmart or Home Depot was going to hold a man-sized body plus enough water to move around in. Moving was important. "We can't even think about doing this unless we can keep the water in motion the whole time," Jordan said. "You do all right in the pond," Alex pointed out. "It's big. And it's never perfectly still. There's a breeze, there's seepage, there's runoff, there's creatures swimming. But in a small container..." "'Small' is the real problem here, I think. We can't get something much bigger than, say, thirty gallons at a regular store. You won't fit in that. The only other thing I can think of is finding an old bathtub, or maybe one of those kiddie pools. Whatever it is, I'm not going to be able to lift it when it's full of water, so we'll have to get it into the truck before we fill it. Because I don't think you want me calling in help on this." "Definitely not." Jordan frowned into the middle distance. There was a silence. "Well, I don't see why that wouldn't work." "Getting help?" "I just said definitely not. No, the thirty-gallon containers. Six of them, maybe? And some towels." 53

Splash by KIL Kenny

"The bins usually have tops on them, if you're thinking about how to cover them." "No tops. Open to the air. Rain, I hope, if we can time it that way. The towels will drape over the sides and into the water, so the water all stays connected. I'd rather push water through cloth than risk a machine doing it. Machines have metal, anyway. I think it would work. If we're fast." "How fast? Jordan splashed some water over his shoulders and seemed to consider. "An hour, maybe? A little longer if it's raining. Not much time once you stop. Ten minutes at most. Once you start to empty the bins, a minute or two. When the water is no longer connected, it will be like an amputation. You have to bring the parts together quickly, or they'll never reconnect." Alex thought about this. "Jordan, how did you survive being cut off from the river?" For the first time, Jordan's laughter sounded bleak. "It hurt like an amputation, believe me." He didn't want to say it. He had to. "What if... what if you can't reconnect with the river?" Jordan snorted. "Then it's going to be a spectacular finale." **** Chris gave Alex a measuring kind of look. "Sure, you can borrow 'er," he said. "She can't haul the moon. But she'll run." "Would fifteen hundred pounds be too much?" Alex ventured hopefully. 54

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chris squinted. "Mm. That's a fair bit." After a pause, he said, "Load 'er careful. If it's evenly balanced, she should be a'right." Alex didn't know if a hundred and eighty gallons of sloshing water could count as "balanced." He comforted himself that the bins wouldn't be full right up to the brim—at least, not for long—and the water would be split up. So, kind of balanced. "You want me to come by and drop 'er off? The missus can fetch me back in the other." That was how Chris always referred to the SUV. "No, thanks," said Alex hastily. "Er, if you don't mind me leaving my car in your drive for a while? It's much less inconvenient for you if I just stop by and swap vehicles." "A'right. Give a call when you know when you're coming, and I'll leave the keys in 'er." "Thanks, Chris." The handshake was solid, and then the old Yankee turned to go. "Aren't you going to tell me to take good care of her?" Chris stopped walking. One of his shoulders twitched, as if he'd thought about hunching and then thought better. The silence stretched out a little uncomfortably. "Be good to 'er. She'll take care of you," he said finally. Alex wondered how he knew. **** Jordan leaned on the fieldstone ledge and tapped the side of the bin gingerly. "Huh. So this is what you meant by 'plastic'? It's nothing like those bags that blow into the pond." 55

Splash by KIL Kenny

"Oh, God, don't tell me you wanted that flimsy stuff!" Alex tried to imagine how they could rig a cheap plastic tarp full of water in the half-rusted old truck bed, and started to boggle. The sweet laugh was more welcome than usual. "No, no, this is much better. I was trusting you, but I didn't know how you were going to get thirty gallons of water into plastic. I understand now." Alex exhaled. "Okay. What I don't get is how you are going to split yourself up into six plastic bins for an hour." "Oh, you know," Jordan replied. He would not say more. **** It was lovely on Wednesday, but chillier than any day yet. Jordan could not come out of the pond. If he lay on the gentle bank by the meadow and stretched his arm down, Alex could hold Jordan's hand without getting wet. That was all. It was wretched. "We need to do this soon," Alex whispered around the lump in his throat. "I know. I just... I imagine it, and then I cannot imagine it." The sweet laugh sounded almost like a sob. Blankness, the saving blankness, came down before Alex's heart could break. There wasn't time yet for breaking; a job had to be done. "Do we have everything we need?" Alex asked. "I believe." "Then what's left?"

56

Splash by KIL Kenny

Jordan squeezed his hand and let go. Sliding back without a ripple, he disappeared beneath the opaque surface of the pond. Bewildered, Alex groped for the waders, preparing to go in after Jordan if he had to. They couldn't part like that; there were too few partings left. As he pulled the left boot on, however, a fountain of water soared before his eyes, and he dropped back gaping. Higher, and higher again, water jetted and seemed to catch the breeze and sway before splattering down. Before Alex had really registered what he was seeing, he was soaked to the skin and slipping in mud. The waterworks had stopped. Jordan popped to the surface. Then laughed. "Very amusing," Alex growled. "What the hell was that for?" "You've never heard of using a column of water to measure atmospheric pressure?" "Oh, so now you're freakin' Stan the Weatherman? What difference does the air pressure make?" All signs of amusement were wiped suddenly from Jordan's face. "There will be a storm on Saturday, " he said. "That is our chance." That is the end. Alex didn't say it. **** "Bright lights, big city!" said the trout. "You're not even paying attention, are you?" said the sunfish. 57

Splash by KIL Kenny

[Back to Table of Contents]

58

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Six Alex sat in his Honda, poring over the map. He didn't know this part of Watertown very well; there had never been any reason to. It seemed nice enough. The street was quiet, the houses unpretentious, with a comfortable look to them. Some of them had enclosed, second-story porches, and he hoped to God those had been shut up for the winter already. He didn't need a local with a bird's eye view to witness what he was plotting. Jordan had warned him, "Find a smooth, wide part of the river. It will be bad enough without white water." Alex hadn't asked what "it" was. If it was bad, he didn't want to know. The Charles ran slow and broad here before it narrowed again near the Cambridge/Watertown line, so here was the place to look. To his right, there was a tree-thick strip between the road and the river. He had glimpsed marinas through occasional gaps in the woods, their docks nearly empty this late in the season. Sturdy docks, well-maintained—perfect. If he could get the truck down there. Guardrails ran the entire length of the river road. Obviously, there were driveways here and there, ones the habitues of the marinas used. He had "accidentally" pulled into a couple of those already, and they were guarded and fortified. Okay: there were chains across the tarmac and manned kiosks. Things he thought were cameras. Probably alarms. There wasn't any way he could out-think a 59

Splash by KIL Kenny

professional security system, not with a single day to plan. He would have to take his chances about setting off the alarms and dealing with the law afterward. But he couldn't take a chance about being delayed on his way to the dock. Jordan had been very clear about that. There would be no time for chains or guards. The map wasn't giving him a thing. It showed the stretch between the river road and the river itself as just an irregular, green blob where the streets ended. He tossed the map on the passenger's seat and put the car in gear. There was no one around to see him pull a U-turn and creep down the road one more time. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. As he rounded the gentle curve about halfway along, however, there were definite signs of something: flashing lights, ambulance, and police. Christ, how could that have happened so fast? It wasn't fifteen minutes since he'd driven by that spot. A minivan had gone through the guardrail and into the trees, at a pretty fair clip judging from the damage. There was a hubbub going on and a stretcher on the asphalt. Alex pulled into a side street and parked the Honda where it would be out of easy sight for a preoccupied cop. Grabbing his cell phone, he strolled back to the river road. In fact, the minivan had taken out two full sections of guardrail and part of a third. Alex turned left, walking away from the accident scene after just a glance. A section of guardrail was maybe four, five feet long? Plenty of room for the truck to get through—as long as a work crew didn't come right away to fix the damage on this Friday afternoon. 60

Splash by KIL Kenny

When the ambulance had passed him at full blare, he went around the block and made his way back toward the scene. A youngish cop was sitting in the cruiser, apparently doing some paperwork. The minivan remained in the trees. The tow operator didn't have much of a sense of urgency about these things, it seemed. There was about five feet of grassy space between the mangled opening in the guardrail and the edge of the trees. Keeping his back to the cop, Alex quickly snapped a picture with his cell phone. The opening didn't line up with any of those gaps in the trees that had a clear view of the river, but it wasn't too far from one. Call it thirty feet. And Alex could see docks through that gap. He took another picture. Chris' truck could do it. Even if all four tires went flat going over the accident debris, even if every resident of the neighborhood gathered on their second-floor porches to watch, Alex could get the truck through the opening, over to the gap in the trees, and down the bank to the docks. He was certain of it. Just, please God, let the D.O.T. or whoever it was wait until Monday to do the repairs on that guardrail. **** Another Saturday. Alex hadn't slept much to speak of, maybe an hour or two toward dawn. As Jordan had promised, there were swell-bellied gray clouds massing as far as the eye could see. Nor'easter clouds, blowing up from the south. Too warm to snow, fortunately. Rain was going to be enough to cope with. 61

Splash by KIL Kenny

He called Chris as soon as the hour became decent and drove down to swap the Honda for the truck. Chris' wife, Nan, waved from the kitchen window as Alex hopped between drivers' seats, but that was all. He knew Chris had a feeling about the whole business, and since that feeling was essentially right, Alex was just as glad to be spared any conversation. He still didn't know exactly what kind of plan Jordan had in mind. He'd bought five more thirty-gallon plastic bins on the way home from the river the previous day. They just fit, three across and two deep, in the bed of the truck, with enough space left over that Alex could hop up behind the cab and shove. Obviously, Jordan planned to be in the bins, and the bins would have to be dumped into the river. Exactly how Jordan intended to be in six bins at once was a mystery. Ripping open the packaging on the cheap towels he'd bought with the bins, Alex began knotting them into pairs and draping the pairs from bin to bin, everything connected the way Jordan had said. He wished he was handier with motors and things; he would have preferred to have pumps going, too, maybe powered off a little gas generator. But a quick pass through the hardware department at Walmart hadn't yielded any possibilities, just an array of metal this and metal that. "No payoff there," he muttered, and left the gizmos on the shelf. So, plastic bins. Towels. Wading boots. He put his wallet in a Ziploc bag, just in case, and tucked it into one of the button-top breast pockets of his coat. His cell phone went into the other. The coat itself he left on the passenger seat for 62

Splash by KIL Kenny

now; it wasn't all that warm out, but the rising humidity made the extra layer of cloth uncomfortable. He drove the loaded truck carefully over the lawn and down to the meadow, the bins clattering agitatedly behind him. He parked it on the level top of the bank. No need to risk those elderly brakes on the slope for any longer than absolutely necessary. Clambering down from the cab, Alex called, but without the sunlight, there wasn't much chance of rousing Jordan unless he lit a fire. After a few fruitless tries, Alex gave up and hiked back to the fieldstone ledge. Once again the laborious flame. Once again the metal buckets and pans. He'd done this so often in the past week or so that there was no way for him to believe this was the end. It couldn't be. If he heated the water enough, churned the pond enough, then Jordan would always spring from the surface with that joyous laugh. Always. Alex let the water heat almost to boiling before dumping it in, the hot metal painful even through the gloves. He knocked the glowing brands in after, then sat down to kick. His legs had begun to tire before he felt, not the surge of Jordan's imminent burst from the water, but rather a clinging around one ankle. He stopped splashing, but couldn't see what held him. His leg continued to sway back and forth, back and forth, the grip on it persistent but gentle. Like a child, Alex thought. A small, scared child. He'd been such a child once, clinging to his grandfather's leg when they carried his father's coffin past. It was an unsettling thought. 63

Splash by KIL Kenny

"C'mon, Jordan," he said, flicking the surface of the water with a fingertip. Come distract me for a little while longer. Another moment, and then Jordan let go and surfaced, beautiful as ever, but with no laughter anywhere in the bright blue eyes. Lifting himself easily onto the ledge, he settled with one leg pressed tightly to Alex's from hip to ankle. He said nothing. "We've got some time." For what good it did them, Alex thought. He almost wished there was urgency, no time to waste, an insistence on now. There wasn't; Jordan would get stronger as the afternoon went on, even with the overcast, and they needed to muster all of that strength for this gamble. "What... what do you want to do? Is there anything else I can help with?" Jordan studied the water. "Do you have a net?" "Uh." Alex had never come across most of Ezekiel's fishing gear. It had probably been gifted to Chris before the old man's final illness. "Just the skimmer, I guess." He pointed to the sugar maple a few yards away, where the pool skimmer hung from its hook. "May I look at it?" "Sure." Alex clambered to his feet and fetched the implement. "It's metal," he warned. "Wear my gloves." He picked them up and tossed them to Jordan, not approaching with the skimmer until the long-fingered hands were completely covered. Jordan examined the netting first, then the pole. "The net is shallow." "Yeah. It's hard to flip the trash out if the net's too deep." 64

Splash by KIL Kenny

"That part is all plastic," Jordan mused. "Only the pole is metal. Could you detach the net?" "Let me look." Alex took the pole carefully and swung the long end away from Jordan. Two screws held the net to the pole. Chris probably had tools stashed in the truck, but... Alex leaned back and dug into his pocket for the truck keys. The ring had a flat metal disc on it stamped with a dealership name. It was thin enough to fit in the slot at the top of each screw. "Bingo. Yep, I can get it off. But go back into the pond, okay? If it's all right. I don't want this thing to slip and hit you while I'm working on the screws." "Yes, it's all right." Jordan rolled forward into the water and disappeared. Alex looked after him until the ripples smoothed, but Jordan did not surface. Alex shook his head and refocused on his task. The screws, like the pole, were aluminum, so rust wasn't an issue. Accidentally gouging the slot with the harder metal disc was the real concern, so he had to coax gently. It took a while, but the net came free cleanly. He threw the aluminum parts as far up the path as his arm could send them, and set the plastic net on the ledge "Done!" Alex called. Nothing. He scanned the water, looking for a hint of Jordan. There was no sound, no motion Weirdly none. With the wind scudding in advance of the storm, there should have been little waves scuttling over the pond. Nothing. Then there was something, nearly at the far end. A rising ridge, gathering speed. It skittered and thrashed toward Alex, shooting upward in an angry coruscation of brown-green, 65

Splash by KIL Kenny

framed in a corona of purest blue. Then it poured down in a white froth that jumped with iridescent scales and fins, only to rise again higher than before. Alex knew that it could smash him where he stood, defenseless on the rock. "Jordan!" The water roared forward. "Jordan, come back!" It was, in its way, a beautiful thing, this mad swirl of brown and blue that bore down on him in fury. He couldn't see Jordan in it, but he could feel the pulse of vividness that was Jordan's essence. Laughter turned to screaming, mischief turned to wild grief. Still Jordan. "Jordan!" The water dropped. The wind drove fluttering ripples across the pond's surface, and leaves floated gently. Jordan crept over the lip of the fieldstone. Alex went down on one knee, opening his arms. **** The rain pattered softly around them. Jordan was crumpled over him, long brown fingers clenched in Alex's shirt. "You need to go," Alex muttered, unshed tears burning all the way down his throat. Jordan gasped, rolling his head in futile denial against Alex's shoulder. "You're not dying on my watch." Alex sat them up slowly, one hand out for balance, the other buried deep in Jordan's 66

Splash by KIL Kenny

waterfall hair. He waited for the shuddering hitch in Jordan's breathing to ease, then brought their mouths together. "You have to tell me how to do it," he whispered against Jordan's lips. "Now. Or we'll lose our chance." Jordan wrenched his head away and pressed his face into Alex's bicep. "Let me stay. I would rather... I am afraid!" "Tell me," Alex repeated, his voice hard in order to stay steady. Too much pain. Too much fucking pain. Jordan rocked for a moment. "When I go back to the water," he said finally, tonelessly, "there will be many fish. Do you know what a trout looks like?" "Yeah, but there's never been any—" "There will be. There may be others, but all you care about are the trout. Do not, under any circumstances, take anything but the trout. Take all of them. Lift them in your net, put them in the bins, and make sure they can swim freely. Do it as quickly as you can. Keep the truck running. Let the rain fall in. Do whatever you can to keep the water in motion, because if it grows still..." "It won't." "No," Jordan whispered. Then, more strongly, "Go to the river and release the trout." Alex waited. "That's it?" "That's it." "If it works... will you come back to the dock and tell me?" Jordan shrugged. The barb of pain that dug through Alex's heart with that gesture would have been predictable, if Alex had suspected his laughing Jordan could respond in such a way. As it was, 67

Splash by KIL Kenny

he found it nearly impossible to catch his breath around the jagged tear. He swallowed, gasped a little. "Please?" Jordan moaned, a low sound rising to keen that rang in Alex's ears. Throwing both arms around Alex, Jordan wrapped them together one more time. "I see you now," Jordan said fiercely. "Here, now, I see you. Don't forget." Then, without a splash, he was gone. **** "Parting is such sweet sorrow." The trout smirked and turned away. That mouthful of arrogant tail fin was the most satisfying meal of the sunfish's life. [Back to Table of Contents]

68

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Seven Alex staggered along the bank toward the truck, net in hand. The rain was falling harder, and the light was failing early. The gentle slope seemed to have become a mud-cliff. He couldn't imagine how the truck would keep from slipping into the water. Reaching the vehicle at last, he eyeballed the most gradual part of the bank and began backing the truck down. It skidded. It lurched. It even got stuck once, so that Alex, sickeningly, had to gun it toward the water to get it free. But it made the journey and stopped on command, rear tires just touching the spot where the bank turned from mostly solid to mush. The wind had kicked up by the time Alex got out again. And the pond... The pond was possessed. Not with some glittering, high wall this time, but with dense, sloshing power, like liquid in a tilting bowl, back and forth, smacking the sides and threatening to overflow. Except the bowl of the earth was as solid as always; it was the water alone that tilted, the sinuous wave smashing against the ledge, then rolling all the way back to the cattle wallow before rumbling to the ledge again. The noise was like the wrath of Zeus smashing down, or maybe Thor's thunder-hammer crashing on the rock: an inhuman, apocalyptic assault of sound.

69

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex thought, with a hint of bitter satisfaction, that the development-dwellers must be huddled in terror right about now. Near the truck, however, the water was improbably calm. He kept one eye on the rampaging wave and began to fill the bins, soaking the towels as he worked. Six or seven gallons was as much as he could heft over and over again. After that, he worked with a plastic bucket to top up the bins. He turned for another bucketful, nearly done, and there was no water anymore. Only fish. It seemed like thousands, their bodies packed close and wriggling frenziedly. The entire shoreline heaved and struggled. He was afraid to go near them. The mass gradually resolved into two kinds of fish: one long and blue-green, stippled in black and striped in pink; the other rounder, a complex, speckled brown with gleaming green edges. Trout and sunfish. There were many, many more sunfish than trout, but it was the trout whose mouths gaped wider, snapping dangerously. Alex took a deep breath and grabbed the net. He tried to count the trout, and thought there might be about thirty of them. Or maybe he was kidding himself that he could make order out of such chaos. Nevertheless, five fish per bin was as good a goal as any. Shallow or not, the net seemed to work. The trout calmed when he lifted them clear of the water, rather than thrashing harder as ordinary fish would do. Seven. Twelve. Eighteen. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. 70

Splash by KIL Kenny

Number thirty really was the last one. That was a relief, but attached to its tail was a sunfish, gripping like a bulldog and flipping madly. The trout was still, as the other trout had been, but the much smaller sunfish was jerking it back as though to force it into the pond again. One hand wasn't enough to dislodge the sunfish. Alex could hear the time ticking away as he wrestled with the damned thing. Nothing but trout in the bins. Jordan had been very clear. The plastic slipped in his hands as the sunfish thrashed again. With a lurch, he just got the net balanced across the top of the final bin before it fell to the mud. He grabbed the sunfish in both hands, not bothering to be gentle. The sunfish didn't let go. But the tail fin of the trout gave way, and with a soundless gape, it fell into the bin. Alex flung the sunfish at the pond and ran for the truck. **** Please God, let there be no cops. Alex tapped the brakes again and listened for the slide-thump of the bins behind him. Rain was sheeting down, the truck's wipers going whack whack whack at top speed to keep up. It was impossible to tell where they were on the river road, so Alex kept their speed to a crawl, hoping the deluge of water from the sky and the hiccupping stops would keep the bins sloshing. If that guardrail had been repaired, they were screwed. He'd forgotten to check the mileage when they turned off Route Sixteen. What good was all that careful photo-taking and odometer-reading now? He might as well have spent 71

Splash by KIL Kenny

those hours on Friday with Jordan. A waste, an utter waste. He was a fool with delusions of heroism. What kind of idiot stumbled on joy and threw it away? And here they were at the guardrail. The jagged ends of ripped metal were untouched, though it looked like the bigger pieces of debris had been removed. Eight clear feet of space, and the goal in sight. Barely stopping, Alex reversed into a K-turn that would let him gun the engine straight at the curbing. The tires on the truck weren't sport-rugged; she was a workhorse, not an offroading play vehicle. But she had an eight-cylinder engine, and she responded to Alex's foot on the gas with enthusiasm, revving across the quiet street and bouncing hard as her front tires took the cement. There was a gut-knotting squeal from the undercarriage as it dragged over, and then they were on the grass. He had to keep their speed up so there wouldn't be a chance for the wheels to sink. The gap in the trees was to the right, he knew. Adrenaline was suddenly popping through him, nerve endings sizzling as he brushed the tree branches, looking for the gap. There. He turned left, down the embankment toward the water. Branches shrieked over the roof , rattling against the windows: it was only wishing that made the gap passable for something the size of the truck. Alex clung to the steering wheel with a death-grip and waited for a tire to blow. The twenty feet or so through the trees felt like one of those eternal, roller-coaster drops. The truck picked up speed as it burst out of the trees onto the last bit of slope. He skirted a drainage ditch that suddenly yawned 72

Splash by KIL Kenny

before the tires, yanking the wheels left onto a reinforced pipe whose top was only just wider than the truck. Keep your eyes on the road ahead. The speedometer was not his friend at that moment. They flew across the culvert. Gravel. Oh, blessed gravel. He expelled a huge breath and scanned quickly for a guard kiosk. There was one, and he was downhill from it—safely past whatever barriers there were, though there was no doubt he would trigger an alarm somewhere at some point. Only one security floodlight glowed above the kiosk; the rest of the marina was in the near-dusk of five o'clock. The truck jiggled and swayed over the gravel path to the tarmac strip that ran to the boat ramps and the docks. Alex debated choosing the boat ramps, but he feared the possibility of trout smashing onto the ramp in the rush to dump the bins. All in all, he preferred to risk losing the truck to losing the cargo. So he tried to pick the shortest dock he could in the murky gray twilight and driving rain. He'd been parallel parking in Boston for nearly fifteen years, and counted that wretched backward creep along the slippery wooden slats as the biggest automotive nightmare of his life. And so slow. Agonizingly slow. Even the rain seemed to slow down as he fixed his gaze in the rearview mirror and tried to judge where the end of the dock really was. It seemed, maybe... Well, the only way was to check. Alex flung himself out of the cab and saw too much space. He wrestled with the unfamiliar latch on the tailgate, fingers rapidly numbing. The rain was beginning to freeze, slushy 73

Splash by KIL Kenny

projectiles battering his face. Salt-eaten metal crumbled under his touch. He slammed the gate down at last—and the dock's edge was still a foot and a half away. Too far to risk; he didn't know what trajectory the loaded bins would have, how far his shove would push them into space. He could see the fish bumping agitatedly into the translucent plastic walls confining them. The truck hadn't moved to speak of for nearly two minutes. Vaulting into the truck bed, he plunged his hands into the water of each bin in turn and churned as deeply as his flesh could bear before the freezing submersion became too much. He jumped down again, fell bruisingly to his knees, and swore. Was it blood or rain soaking his jeans? No time. He ran for the driver's door and lurched across the seat, scrabbling for the gear shift. Neutral. Neutral. He could feel the slight give as the wheels unlocked, and pushed back on the seat as hard as he could. One... step... The tailgate hung over now. He could make out the raindrops as they dripped off the rusted metal, missed the edge of the dock, and disappeared into the river below. He yanked the emergency brake into position. Getting over the side of the bed cost him another ten seconds. No time. No time! He braced his feet against the back of the cab and began to heave, shoving the center bin forward against its partner. The double weight of loaded plastic made a nasty shrieking sound as he propelled it over the corrugated bed liner. He could feel the bump, bump, bump of the fish, not with his 74

Splash by KIL Kenny

frozen fingers clutching the rim, but far up in his forearms as the vibrations echoed through his flesh. Edge. Edge. Edge. Over. The sudden unbalancing of his load made Alex's stomach lurch in terror, even though he'd been praying for it. For a sickening moment, he watched the leading bin tilt, the water and the dark, wriggling shadows in it suspended before the splash. Jordan. Then two bins were bobbing away on the river current. He was committed now. Jordan was ripped apart. Four bins left. He couldn't tell, in the storm-driven agitation of the river's surface, whether the dumped trout were keeping together, or if this was all folly. Two more bins over. Splash. His hands had ceased to register that it was cold, and he knew, dimly, that that was not a good thing. Last two bins. He gave the water in the near one a quick churn, brushing the lethargic fish. Their tails were swaying. Not too late. Move. He lost his leverage as the fifth bin tipped and fell to his knees again. Found the wheel well with one foot and pushed that way instead. Splash. As the last bin went over, he went down hard on his belly, his chin slicing open in a jarring impact with the rusty-edged crevice between bed and tailgate. He felt the gush of blood and was simply grateful that it didn't obscure his vision. It was hard to get his balance on numb hands, hard to stagger to his feet and peer into the darkness. Yes. The trout were schooling. They were. Winding around and over one another in a tight mass that glittered even without light. And they were moving downstream to do it— 75

Splash by KIL Kenny

already the leading edge of churning silver had moved beyond his range of vision. "Jordan!" he cried. "Jordan!" Wind and rain gutted his voice. The hollowed sound seemed to be driven back into his throat. More than half the school was out of sight now. Leaving. Like his usefulness was over. Like he didn't matter anymore. He groped to either side and came up with a rusted tire iron. It was a good weight; it arced high, crashing mightily at the very edge of the school. Water sprayed up. "You son of a bitch!" Alex screamed, and he knew he was screaming, and he didn't care. "Say something! I loved you, and I had to throw you away! I threw you away, goddamnit! You wanted this—now say something!" The water seethed with a hiss even louder than the wind. Jets of froth soared into the darkness, spiraling and dancing: a water spout that shone white in the darkness. It swayed and grew, taller, wider. The spray of it stung Alex's face, even though it was thirty or more feet away. Then, like an eerie flower, the top of the column blossomed, the outlines of a beautiful, familiar figure taking shape, transparently blue against the seething water. Only the eyes were solid—or, perhaps, those jet black pits that turned toward Alex were the ultimate in nothing. In all the roaring motion, the blackness of that gaze was the only steady, certain point. No bright blue gaze. No laughter. Not Jordan. Not. 76

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex stepped back. He couldn't look away from the dreadful, wonderful thing in the water. Like flame, like wind, like the earth when it shook—the power of what Jordan was had a terrifying beauty, an inhuman totality that swept away memories of warm autumn afternoons and enfolding arms. The river was in a frenzy, waves flung high in every direction as the rain battered pockmarks in the liquid crests. Alex stumbled forward suddenly, not intending it. Not blown by the wind or unbalanced by the teetering, groaning dock below him. No; he felt impelled, like something inside his skin was straining forward. With sudden dread, he remembered Jordan's outstretched hand, the somersaulting fish. Water calls to water, that's all. He could feel the pressure swelling toward the figure in the water, itself drawing closer, one hand outstretched. The tips of those fingers glittered, pointed and wet like fangs. "Jordan!" Alex cried hopelessly. Then a glare of yellow light knifed through the darkness. Waves crashed over the tailgate, knocking Alex to his knees. The awful pressure inside him eased. He sobbed, staring out into the now-empty river, then turned to squint brokenly into the light. "Hooo, boy," the cop sighed. **** After it was all said and done, he couldn't drive the truck home. After the arrest, the stop at urgent care, the night in the lockup when he refused to talk. After cooking up a plausible lie for the change of shift, the release on his own 77

Splash by KIL Kenny

recognizance, the fine. After taking a cab to the impound lot and waiting for the on-call weekend attendant and trying to feel grateful that he could get in on a Sunday at all. After paying the tow fee and the storage fee so he could cross the muddy, cold lot to where the truck sat, listing sadly to the right. After climbing stiffly into the cab and turning the key in the ignition with numb fingers, suppressing the deja vu as best he could. After all of that, she wouldn't start. She was done. Alex resisted the urge to have the body shipped home. Chris wouldn't thank him for that. Instead, he prepaid more fees with the last of his cash and promised to call on Monday to arrange for the scrap. The indifferent attendant made no note, but let Alex call another cab from the office phone. Alex's cell was gone; one more casualty of the evening. It was late on Sunday afternoon when he finally pulled in to Chris' driveway in a nondescript rental sedan with no guts. Chris' wife Nan opened the kitchen door to warmth and light and the smell of good stew steaming on the woodstove. Chris, ensconced in a threadbare armchair, set down his newspaper and stood as Alex came through the door. The craggy face was calm, expectant. It broke through Alex at last, smashed the little fairy tale of rescue and redemption he had woven around all of this pain. No matter how necessary it might have seemed to him, he had brought loss upon the man whose respect he so valued. Chris had not deserved that. "The truck is dead," he blurted. 78

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chris shot a glance at his wife. She tightened her hold on Alex's arm and tried to draw him farther inside. "Come in and tell us, then," she said. "I—" Alex said, and stumbled. Another strong grip caught hold of him, and together Nan and Chris lowered him into a rocker near the stove. Just like home. "Well, get the afghan, old man," Nan chided her husband. "This boy is frozen stiff." "It doesn't matter," Alex said, rocking, doubled over, face in his hands. "I don't care. Jordan almost killed me." **** They didn't not believe him. Alex wondered about that. The whole situation had never stopped feeling crazy to him. Nan, however, seemed to accept his story from the moment he told them about what Ezekiel had said to Jordan: I must not go over Jordan: but ye shall go over, and possess that good land. "Deuteronomy," she said, and nodded. "Who?" said Alex. "It's a Bible verse 'Zekiel was fond of. He kept the card from his wife's funeral by that page," she told him. Then she listened in silence to the rest of his story. After stew and homemade biscuits and coffee, they sent him home in his own car and brushed aside his protests. "We'll get this one back to the office," Chris said, gesturing with a hint of disdain at the rental.

79

Splash by KIL Kenny

"Best you not get out of that bed tomorrow," Nan added. "I'll put a bit of dinner in the kitchen if you just leave the door unlocked." "I will. Thank you," Alex said, and slid into the Honda before his eyes could well up yet again. Good thing the road between Chris' place and his own was more or less straight. He couldn't have seen clearly enough to negotiate any real turns. The farmhouse was dark, looking abandoned in the last of the afternoon sun. Alex leaned against the hood and stared at it for a moment. Then he turned away and sought the fieldstone path. The leaves were all off the trees now. Even from the car, he could see the fallen bits of yellow and rust choking the water's surface. He walked slowly; there was no hope to hurry for. The shapely curves of the birch trunks were worth a long look. So, too, the handful of evergreens that stood out against the bare branches of the other trees. Anything that could distract his attention was welcome to it, in fact. He didn't want to reach his destination. Nevertheless, there it was. The pond, more like a choked sewer drain with its mass of floating leaves. The fieldstone ledge, scorched. The pile of rubble where the bench used to be. Rubble? Alex picked up his pace. The shards of rock were as ugly in pieces as they had been intact, sharp-edged and threatening. Alex stood at the edge of the debris field and let himself feel something new. 80

Splash by KIL Kenny

Rage. He felt rage. On the worst night of his life, some little rat had decided to make it all just that much worse by destroying his grandfather's labor of love. The thing Ezekiel had valued enough to strain a cancer-ravaged, aging body to build. Picking up a fist-sized chunk, Alex heaved it at the pond with a roar. He'd never been a violent man, but the sheer physical release of it felt good. Really good. He heaved another, shouting an obscenity after it, and then another, raining debris on the leaves and howling triumphantly as they sank and did not resurface. "Die!" he screamed. "All of you! DIE!" He struggled to lift a big chunk, one that would make a really satisfying splash, but his hand slipped where there should have been a rough, tactile surface to grip. He kicked the chunk instead, intending to send it over the edge, but it was too heavy to do more than roll once. There was a Ziploc bag on the other side, neatly ducttaped to the stone. His own name was the only thing visible through the plastic, scrawled in large block letters. His grandfather's writing. Alex stopped. After a moment, he bent and picked at the tape. His nail slipped just like his hand had, and he realized he was bleeding. He blotted the cut against the barn coat, which was already much the worse for wear from the previous night's adventures. It took more patience than he would have guessed he still had, but eventually he worked the bag free, 81

Splash by KIL Kenny

wiping his hand dry one more time before separating the plastic ridges and pulling out the paper. The top sheet was a life insurance policy. It named him as the primary beneficiary and the Nature Conservancy as the secondary beneficiary. There were terms, a bunch of them. He wasn't interested. He flipped past the typescript, looking for more of his grandfather's writing. There was just one sheet. Grandson~ You're reading this, so I don't need to explain much. I kept him for you. I wanted you to see magic. You were such a practical, serious boy after Benjamin died. But it wasn't right. Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's. Something like that isn't meant for us to keep. I'm glad you did the right thing. Always yours most sincerely, Ezekiel Alexander Woolcott Jr. **** I kept him for you. Bullshit, Alex thought with ferocious clarity. The old man had kept Jordan for years before Alex ever came along. You kept him for yourself, Grandpa, and found a great excuse after the fact. The gravel left behind from the destruction of the bench was digging into his butt. He got to his feet wearily, scanning the letter again. He wished Ezekiel hadn't assumed things would be crystal-clear when this little revelation—he checked the cover page on the policy again—this little three-milliondollar revelation came to light. God, how much had Ezekiel 82

Splash by KIL Kenny

gotten for those acres sold so long ago? Or had canny investing fattened the capital? Wherever the money had come from, one thing was clear: the bench's demise wasn't vandalism. He recalled the relentless assault of the water rocking back and forth across the length of the pond, and understood that it hadn't been mere raw emotion. Jordan had exposed the treasure inside the bench because Alex had kept Ezekiel's promise. Had given up what Ezekiel never could. Had allowed himself to become the one who was utterly bereft. Alex could keep the house now if he wanted. He just wasn't sure he would ever set foot in it again. [Back to Table of Contents]

83

Splash by KIL Kenny

Chapter Eight Thanksgiving wasn't one of Alex's favorite holidays. Once, when he'd been with a boyfriend for a couple years and had been invited over for a gathering of the clan, the event had felt like it used to when he was very young—crowded, warm, fragrant, jovial. The next year, that relationship was over, and he was back to the choice of being an awkward "guest" at a friend's family meal, or spending the day watching football by himself. He'd been in Cambridge for more than three weeks, long enough for his ancestral Puritan conscience to awaken and prod him. He hadn't touched base with Chris and Nan. The note he'd left tacked on the kitchen door had been a pretty poor return for their kindness. He hadn't shut the house down before he left, and the pipes were going to freeze if he didn't do something about them soon. Chris won't let that happen, the angry part of him said, but he wasn't going to be governed by that part of himself anymore. The Honda welcomed him with its practical comfort, as it always did. He'd thought about upgrading to an Acura when the lawyer had verified the legitimacy of the insurance policy. He'd thought about a lot of little splurges. Big ones, too. He wasn't ashamed to admit that retail therapy worked for him. In the end, though, Alex hadn't done it. He'd kept out enough money for next year's property tax bill, and some 84

Splash by KIL Kenny

more for his business plans. Then he'd put the rest into mutual funds and decided to think about it later. Traffic heading out of the city was horrific, as he'd expected on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Hypothesizing about how many grandmothers ended up strangled after their uber-stressed offspring made it over the river and through the woods kept him amused in the stop and go traffic of Cambridge proper, but once he came to the Western Avenue Bridge and saw the Charles before him, he didn't want to think about rivers anymore. So he turned up the stereo on Enter the Haggis and hoped the traffic on the Mass Pike was moving faster. Wrong wish. All too soon, Alex was turning off the commuter road onto the access lane that led to the farmhouse, regretting the drive wasn't half an hour longer. He sat in the car for a few more minutes, determinedly not thinking, but sighed at last and grabbed his coat. The nice cashmere one, not the war-torn barn coat. His note was gone from the door. That was good. There was stuff on the kitchen table. Even better. He'd known Chris wouldn't completely give up on him, but it was comforting to see the evidence. Chris' note was dated Sunday. Call if you can come to dinner Thursday. Mac and cheese in the freezer. Smiling, Alex looked down at the stack of agricultural journals Chris had left. The smile turned to a frown. Surely Chris didn't think Alex was going to put effort into rehabilitating the pond at this point? He shoved the journals to the middle of the table. 85

Splash by KIL Kenny

There was another, smallish book on the table, much battered. Alex picked it up, and the heaviness of it sparked his memory even before he ran his fingers over the embossing on the soft leather cover. It was the Bible his grandfather had carried to the Congregational church week after week for as long as Alex could remember. He'd never seen it since Ezekiel's death. Chris must have had it all this time. Which made sense; it was Chris who'd taken the old man to church. The note peeking out of the top wasn't in Chris' writing, though. Scanning down, Alex saw it was signed by Nan instead. Behind it was the folded paper containing his grandfather's letter; he'd left it for her to read. Had halfhoped she'd lose it somehow, or throw it away for him, but a woman like Nan would never do that. Her note said, Your grandfather was a cantankerous old coot. I like this much better. What? Damn, he'd pulled the note out without paying attention to the page where it had been. No; trust Nan. There was a sticky tab marking the spot. He opened the book with a care for the frail binding. It fell open first on his grandmother's funeral card, and just as Nan had said, the verse about Jordan was there. Nan's sticky tab was further on. Ecclesiastes. Oh, he knew this one. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. He could practically hear the guitars jangling. But that wasn't the part Nan had underlined with the lightest possible pencil mark. I know that, whatsoever God 86

Splash by KIL Kenny

doeth, it shall be forever, her passage read. Nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it... That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been. He closed the book. It baffled him how the old folks could somehow... faith things into making sense. He was sure of one thing: Jordan had never made any kind of sense. Alex thought he'd call Chris and Nan even so. A real Thanksgiving dinner sounded kind of nice. **** "Consider it," Chris said. "I will," Alex responded. "But I'm not a farmer, Chris. It's not something you can just treat like a casual hobby, from all I've heard." "'S true." They sat on the screened porch, huddled in their winter coats while Chris indulged in an after-dinner pipe. Nan had chased them out so she and her daughter-in-law could "take care of this kitchen in peace," and the clink of dishes being rinsed punctuated the little silence that fell. Chris' son Jake was rocking his own son to sleep somewhere in the upper reaches of the house. The newly-strung Christmas lights glowed before them. Alex could feel the tryptophan from the turkey kicking in. Dozy and optimistic as he felt, though, he couldn't fool himself that farming was a realistic option. "Organic," he murmured. "Just a few vegetables, see how it goes," Chris said. "While you think things over." "I'll think about it." 87

Splash by KIL Kenny

"Maybe a couple animals. Big demand for fiber around here, all the arty types. You've got enough pasture for a few fancy sheep. Alpaca." "Um." "And the pond." "Let's not discuss the pond, please." "A'right." Chris puffed meditatively. Alex left with another stack of agricultural journals under one arm, and wondered if he was completely out of his mind. **** The only one who was surprised when he submitted his resignation at work was Alex. His boss nodded matter-offactly and asked him for thirty days. The friends who'd heard about Alex's previous plans assumed the import business was ready to go, and Alex didn't set them straight. After all... farming. Odds were good that he'd have a bunch of brown stalks by May and go back to looking at warehouse space again. He was driving out of Cambridge on Groundhog Day, with the radio reporting that Punxsutawney Phil had seen the dreaded shadow and another six weeks of winter were due. More like eight, Alex thought, with the number of late storms they'd shivered through during the past few years. Sure enough, he was snowed in for three days at the beginning of March. He didn't mind; the local HVAC tech had gotten the old oil furnace running again without blowing anything up, and Alex was busy bringing the whole house back to livability, one room at a time. The giant metal 88

Splash by KIL Kenny

radiators clanked and groaned companionably through the cold days, re-acclimating to the work of keeping twelve rooms warm at once. The month went out like a lamb by comparison, sunny and breezy. The front lawn was a standing army of daffodils and grape hyacinth by then, and when he looked out the dining room window, Alex could see the pond sparkling behind the green-tipped trees. He'd hired a guy before the snow fell to clear the bench debris away and scrub at the scorch marks on the fieldstone with an environmentally-sound cleanser. "Vinegar," Chris had scoffed. Alex hadn't cared. He knew he couldn't avoid the pond forever, but he didn't want to see any more reminders than necessary when the day of reckoning came. Something about the preternaturally vivid green of those first cracking buds told him that the day was here. It had been above freezing every night for the past week; the first hatch of insects would have lured the fish to the surface again. Chris wanted him to take some water samples and think about re-stocking the pond with more than sunfish and minnows. He needed to see what was necessary to make the cattle end of the pond safe for smaller livestock. Alpaca, maybe. The idea of llama-things in Ezekiel's cow pasture charmed him somehow. It was time. He pulled on the clean and mended barn jacket, laced up the old leather Rockports. Outside the kitchen door, he picked a handful of daffodils, then made his way to the path with 89

Splash by KIL Kenny

steps that were slow without being entirely reluctant. It was spring. The pond was beautiful. He could make his peace. It was all right for his heart to ache at the sight of the birches. Perfectly understandable that he should stoop when he saw a glint among the leaf litter, and put the aluminum screw in his pocket like a memento. It wasn't silly to lay a daffodil where the bench used to squat in unlovely majesty. He walked the perimeter slowly, pausing a couple times to scoop water into plastic containers for the ag lab. Where the meadow sloped, unmown as yet so early in the season, he poked among the weeds and found the plastic bucket he'd abandoned in the autumn's mad rush. It made a nice vase for the rest of the daffodils. He hung it from a low branch so he could see it from anywhere around the pond. The ledge felt serene to him when he returned. The spring sunlight came down the path behind him, warming Alex's back and scattering over the water. There were indeed tiny bugs skittering over the surface, the perfect lure for, say, a sunfish. An old sunfish with a taste for trout, maybe. He could imagine he heard his grandfather's creaky voice nudging him along. "It's good to take the temperature, boy." Alex grinned a little, and didn't blame the light reflecting off the water for the tears gathering in his eyes. That was all right, too. He had loved the pond, and his grandfather, before he ever suspected what else dwelled here. He could love them still. He sat down on the rock and took off the Rockports, stuffing his socks inside and rolling up his pant legs. Then he eased his feet into the water and sucked in a shocked, happy 90

Splash by KIL Kenny

breath. Cold, cold, cold. Oh, that was a good feeling. He lay back, pillowing his head on his folded arms, and looked up at the new buds. They danced for him in the breeze. A light touch against his calf felt like one of those sunfish coming to investigate. Alex chuckled and swung his leg. "No lunch there, buddy." The rush of water against his skin was another good feeling, and he kept swinging, letting his eyes close so he could feel it more. The water rocked around his knees and splashed up against the ledge. He knew his pants were probably getting wet, but who cared? A single large drop fell on his face. That was a bit much. He wiped it away and opened his eyes. The look on the face hovering above his own could only be described as mischievous. Sleek, waterfall hair fell in cascades over smooth brown shoulders, the white teeth gleaming, the slanting eyes crinkled at the corners. Brown eyes. The irises swirled like rich, peaty silt, and the pupils were a steady rock-gray. "Oh, my God," Alex whispered. The vision bent and kissed him, and Alex clutched it close. It was solid. Real. Strong fingers tugging his hair, stroking his jaw. "Jordan," he said. "Jordan." "Ah, no," said the brown man, lifting his head. "No?" Alex said dazedly. "No." Alex made to disentangle himself, but this man enfolded him as easily as Jordan always had. Exactly as Jordan always had. "Then... who are you? What are you?" 91

Splash by KIL Kenny

"The starfish," the man said, and laughed, a huskier laugh than Jordan's but every bit as joyous. "The sunfish took a pretty big bite out of that trout, you know." "I don't understand." Alex ran his hands down the muscled back anyway. No matter what the man was saying, this felt exactly the same. "Alex." The big hands brought Alex's face up. "You brought the river home. It had to be so; the river could not be other than what it is. But the pond remains, and it was here all along, too. Look at me." Alex looked. There was a green glint in those brown irises, and steadiness in the rock-gray pupils. So nearly the same, and yet not the same. He realized suddenly that he felt anchored—there was no ticking clock now, no uneasiness. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders. The wave was there, warm and ready to take him beyond himself. "I see you now," Alex said. "I see you. I won't forget." ****

92