The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome Read Online Free Page A

him a little. David wanted to hold her close, but his muscles were melting away, losing their flattering volume. Suddenly his clothes hung loose on him, and it occurred to him he must look like a child in his father’s raincoat. He tried to hunch forward and found his pecs had completely disappeared. He was nearing the surface; the process was irreversible. He knew if he stuck his hand in his pocket for his revolver (a huge Kass-Wrengler .357 magnum, blue steel with a ventilated rib and a stopping distance of …) he’d pull out something weird, even absurd: a water pistol, a suction dart gun for kids, maybe even a half-peeled banana. Or just a handful of sand. Or a tiny creature,very fragile and almost dead. A kind of hairless kitten, blind and deaf … blind and deaf.
    “I’m taking off,” he gasped, grabbing Nadia by the shoulders. “Hold on to me!” But his fingers sank into the young woman’s flesh, meeting no resistance. All he held now was a ghost.
    “Remember!” Nadia cried, her face shrinking. “Diseases, accidents—don’t stay up there too long!”
    He wanted to say something in return, but the pull from the surface sucked him into the sky just as Jorgo came tearing through the empty lot on a motorcycle. He closed his eyes. He was waking up, and that wasn’t the least bit reassuring.

[ 2 ]
Surface: Zero Point/Apparent Calm
    David was suffocating under sheets that covered him head to toe. He jerked instinctively, tossing them off. He hated coming back to reality under a shroud; it always made him feel like he’d woken from being buried alive only to slam his head against a coffin lid firmly nailed shut.
    All he managed to emit—mouth gaping, neck muscles distended with effort—was a barely audible wail. He milled his arms and legs about in the middle of the bed in something like the crude breaststroke of a drowning man trying desperately to stay above water.
Swim!
cried a voice somewhere deep in his head.
Swim or you’ll drown!
Awash in sweat, he tossed sheets and pillows around, dreading the cramps that might seize him any secondnow. He didn’t want to drown, to sink like a rock into the mattress whose supple depths terrified him.
    His eyelids were stuck shut as if sewn to his cheeks with the catgut of his lashes. He had to use his fingers to pry them open. His vision was still blurry, and he made out shapes in the room around him only through a flickering fog. The uniformly blue walls, the furniture and sheets of the same color, all contributed to an atmosphere of deep sea depths, and for a moment he thought he was still
down below
 … he was beached on his back, sideways across the bed, legs hanging off the edge, still kicking weakly, from reflex. The blue sheets stank of sweat … and something else. An indefinable odor.
Electric
. Dumb, but it was the only word that came to mind. An electric smell. Something reminiscent of copper, ozone, the air after lightning. It was a clear sign he’d brought back something of value. This time he’d ascended without letting go of his booty from the depths. He wanted to stand up, but it was all he could do to roll over on his side. His head was spinning. There it was
—the thing
—at the foot of the bed, a prisoner of the crumpled sheets, palpitating faintly. He couldn’t make out its exact shape. David reached out for it, but it was too far away. He sighed. He rarely ever saw them. He was the one who gave them life, but they always felt the need to hide beneath sheets, blankets, like frightened animals. What was it that scared them? Light? He’d carefully painted the room dark blue from floor to ceiling. Even the nightstand, the wardrobe, the rug were blue. When sun shone through the curtains, it was like being in a sea grotto. Very relaxing, conducive to sleep.
They
should have felt right at home …
    “Are you awake?” Marianne said sharply, opening the door. “About time, the fridge was almost empty.”
    As usual, she had pulled her dark