Submersion Read Online Free Page B

question left my lips. ‘Did the police think we took her?’
    Ronan shook his head.
    ‘They don’t think she was taken, Tristan. They know she wasn’t taken by anyone. You see, there’s been an accident. A tragic accident. You aren’t to blame yourself.’
    ‘Blame my-. Christ, Ronan, what happened?’ A key word he used caught in my throat as I repeated it: ‘Tragic – is she dead?’
    Ronan looked to the floor and nodded, but he wouldn’t look at me.
    ‘It looks that way.’
    ‘And what accident? Why would I blame myself?’
    It was then that he looked up at me, his grey-blue eyes magnified with tears.
    ‘The police were after you both,’ he told me. ‘After you and Jessie.’
     
    Within five minutes, I was back in the boat.
    ‘Is he going to the police?’ Aunt Penny asked Ronan, as I descended the stairs.
    ‘No,’ he told her, before following me. ‘We’re going to the scene. Get Jimmy to try Jessie’s number again and, if you can get through, tell him to meet us there. There’s water damage on his line, apparently.’
    Whatever Aunt Penny replied with, I didn’t hear. I was in the boat, ready to row, waiting whilst Ronan put on his protective gear.
    ‘Ready,’ he told me, finally stepping in and rocking the wooden vessel.
     
    The area surrounding the speedboat stop felt very different at night. It was still, abandoned. Not just the water, but the buildings around us. Nobody lived here and nobody passed through, not in the dark, and you sensed the cold isolation. The lack of humanity there gave me a chill.
    Jessie was already there when we arrived; living further away was no disadvantage when you had your own speedboat. As well as the lights on his boat, his torch beam gave him away. As we rowed closer, he flashed the beam towards us, momentarily blinding us. When we finally drew up against him, he was visibly relieved to see us.
    ‘Just had to check you weren’t the authorities,’ he said, his words projecting an outer organised calm. His eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. He continued speaking, his voice given a further clinical, emotionless edge as it vibrated through the gas mask over his mouth and nose. ‘Was it like this when you left her?’
    To ensure I didn’t miss an inch of the scene, Jessie ran his torch beam over the area where the makeshift speedboat pick-up stop had been constructed. The platform was gone. Washed away, had been Ronan’s words back at the house; had been the police’s words before him; the words of a higher authority before that, I suspected. Washed away. ‘How?’ had been my question. How had it simply washed away? It was secure; a firmly welded construction, the wooden planks that formed its floor treated to avoid rot.
    ‘Even the bolts holding it to that old shop front were treated with anti-rust,’ Jessie voiced, his breath jutting out of the face mask like smoke, as it hit the cold night.
    You see, he had expert insight to the merits of this particular piece of work – Jessie and I had been responsible for its initial build several years back, one of our earliest jobs together.
    ‘Who knows what’s in this water,’ Ronan added, hoping to reassure us, I guess, but Jessie just shook his head. ‘Shall we carry on, get to the police station before they come out for you both again?’
    ‘It’s not the water,’ Jessie responded, shaking his head, running his torch over the scene again. He stopped on one particular spot. ‘Look.’ He illuminated one of the brackets, still attached to the boarded up shop front.
    ‘What are we looking at Jessie,’ I asked, wanting him to specify his point, sensing unease and impatience creeping across Ronan’s face.
    ‘I replaced them last week. Did a job with Bobby,’ he explained, moving the beam to another bracket. ‘So, no Ronan, it’s not the water. Look closer.’
    We continued to stare. There was no sign of decay, it was true; no rusting, no ageing at all.
    ‘Jess, let’s go. Let’s talk to the