Page 10 of Beneath the Surface

Quinn tensed, instinctively, terrified the connection would snap, but the filaments only gripped tighter, transmitting a pulse of contentment so fierce it nearly brought him to tears.

He lay in the water, half-drowned and wholly remade. The gossamer filaments at his palms lingered, weaving between his fingers, plaiting themselves in intricate knots of memory and yearning. Each twist and furl was a tether, a way of holding himin place even as the mass of the creature began to sink back toward the depthless cold.

He clung to those threads, refusing to let them slip free. The raw, open place where the tentacle had fucked him throbbed with a pleasant ache, a reminder of the communion that would not fade with the morning’s light. The water around his hips was warm, faintly viscous, still carrying traces of the creature’s essence, and as it swirled against his skin, he realized with a shudder that he was—God help him—hungry for more.

The tiny tentacles released him by degrees, smoothing their retreat with soft, pulsing strokes that massaged his hands, his chest, the tender grooves at his throat. The water whispered against his skin, the current gentle, as if cradling him in the aftermath of a storm. The lake was silent, the violence erased; all that remained was the hum of the connection, the bright, golden ache of having been needed, truly needed, even if only for a moment. Quinn floated in the shallows, limp and open and filled with a strange, buoyant hope. The filaments unraveled from his fingers with exquisite care, trailing up his arm in a final, tactile goodbye, and then slipped below the surface. He watched them disappear, the delicate ripples fading outward in concentric rings, until the lake was just a lake again—mirror-bright, blue, and bottomless.

Quinn lay in the shallows for a moment, feeling the gentle embrace of the water as the pieces of himself slowly reassembled. He sat forward, the soft, silty mud tenderly supporting him, a reminder of the bond he had formed with the creature that had made love to him so intimately. It was more than just a physical connection; it was a profound intertwining of souls. His mind continued to "glow" with the connection to the entity, a warm presence still nestled within him, offering comfort and companionship. As he crawled to his feet, he marveled at how the pain he once thought unbearablehad nearly disappeared, soothed away by the creature's healing touch. Gratitude and affection for the entity flooded his thoughts, leaving him with a profound sense of peace and wonder.

On the pebbled shore, Quinn's eyes fell upon the scattered clothes and boots belonging to the men, lying abandoned near his own. The garments lay crumpled in a haphazard manner, as if hastily discarded. As he fixed his gaze on them, the lake's surface began to ripple gently, sending small waves lapping against the shoreline. Quinn methodically collected the evidence of the men’s presence—shirts, trousers, and sturdy leather boots—and flung them into the water with a decisive motion. A delicate whirlpool formed, swirling around the floating items with a graceful yet relentless pull, gradually swallowing them beneath the surface until no traces of the men remained.

As Quinn dressed, he felt a profound numbness, not from the chill of the water or crispness of the air, but from the ethereal experience that enveloped him, as though it were still unfolding within him—replaying like a cherished memory he longed to hold close. Each moment felt precious, a tender whisper of something beautiful and fleeting.

As time passed, Quinn wondered whether he would eventually question the reality of what had transpired... come to believe it was nothing more than a peculiar, exotic dream.

After collecting the items the broad-shouldered man had extracted from his pack, Quinn returned them to the backpack, tucking the magazine inside before closing the zipper with a finality. He then stood, gazing out over the lake, its surface now serene and undisturbed, a silent witness to the secrets it held beneath.

He felt the magnetic pull of the entity resonating deep within his mind, reaching out with an invisible hand. Quinn closed his eyes, allowing himself to reach back into the depths of hisconsciousness, sensing the creature's palpable fear—a fear that whispered the terror of being forgotten. A tight lump formed in Quinn's throat, his body warming with the vivid memory of the entity's ethereal touch. The heat unfurled in his loins, igniting a gentle, persistent throb at his core.

“I won’t forget,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible as his eyes fluttered open. A cool breeze, redolent of pine and the freshness of the forest, brushed gently against his face, like a soothing caress. “I’ll come back. I won’t leave you alone.”

He moved with purpose toward the edge of the shore, the pebbles crunching beneath his feet, and then sank to his heels. His fingers reached out, caressing the lake’s surface with a delicate touch. The water responded with a series of ripples that danced and quivered beneath his fingertips. “I promise,” he vowed, the words a solemn oath carried by the whispering wind.

It demanded immense strength of will for Quinn to turn away from the shimmering lake, while the mysterious entity held fast to his mind... his very heart. As he stepped into the dappled shadows of the trees, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in delicate patterns, tears streamed down his face. The trees towered around him, their branches whispering secrets in the gentle breeze as he found the familiar path leading back to his secluded campsite.

The tears continued to trickle down his cheeks as he meticulously packed away his tent, folding the fabric with care, and rolled up his sleeping bag with practiced precision. These were not tears of sorrow, but of profound awe and revelation. Never before had anyone, or anything, touched him so deeply on a spiritual and emotional level. It was an experience that transcended the ordinary and overwhelmed his senses in a way only something vast and incomprehensible could—like being enveloped in the boundless love of a force beyond human understanding. Was this the reason people wept whencommuning with the divine? Because their finite minds and hearts were unable to fully grasp and contain the infinite love of something so much greater than themselves?

Quinn knelt amidst the soft, fragrant bed of pine needles, his belongings neatly packed and ready for departure. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, feeling the immense pressure within him, as if he might burst from the overwhelming intensity of the experience.

What if it’s too much for me to handle?he wondered, his thoughts a swirling tempest of doubt.What if I can’t contain this… emotion?Would his heart simply explode like a firework in the night sky? His mind implode like a collapsing star? Even as these turbulent reflections drifted through his consciousness, the presence of the entity washed over him, soothing his fears with a gentle calm that spread like a warm balm, relieving the pressure that had threatened to overwhelm him.

Quinn inhaled deeply, his breath quivering as he filled his lungs with the crisp, invigorating air, and stood up with renewed resolve. He hoisted his pack onto his shoulders, carefully adjusting the folded tent and rolled sleeping bag to balance the weight evenly across his back. He sniffed again, clearing his throat, feeling a touch lighter than moments before, despite the physical burden he carried.

As he retraced his steps along the winding path through the dense, whispering forest, Quinn paused at the turnoff to the lake. He gazed through the towering, sentinel-like trees at the water beyond. The early afternoon sunlight danced and played across the surface, transforming it into a shimmering expanse of light, like millions of tiny diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth. Yet beneath that dazzling facade lay something far more precious than any gemstone. A priceless treasure he’d never believed he would uncover in his lifetime.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. “I won’t forget.”

The soft, cool breeze embraced his words, carrying them across the lake’s surface, which responded with a gentle, hopeful shiver, as if acknowledging and affirming his vow.

15

Quinn kept his promise and returned to the lake two weeks later. It wasn’t easy to get away from Emily again after she saw his bruised face when he got home. Although the lake had healed the worst of his bruises and they no longer ached, the evidence of his beating still showed, making Emily worried. Quinn assured her he was fine and, for the first time in his life, lied, saying he slipped and fell down a hillside, banging up his face and parts of his body.

Emily remained skeptical of his story while reluctantly accepting it. When she changed the subject and asked if he knew yet what he wanted to do with his grandfather’s inheritance, he finally had a definite answer, whereas he’d been uncertain before.

“I do,” he told her.

Emily looked surprised and happy. “Really? What? Tell me.” His making plans for the money meant—for Emily—that he was looking forward, something he had struggled with for years. His writing had helped, providing an outlet for his emotions, for his hopes and dreams of what he wished his life to be someday. But he didn’t write about his pain, and therefore it had remained trapped inside, quietly—sometimes not so quietly—tormenting him.

Not anymore.

“I, um…” Quinn smiled warmly as all the sensations of the lake experience washed over him again, reviving the wonder and amazement. “I discovered a small lake up where I was camping. I thought maybe I could buy the property around it and build a cabin, a place of peace and solitude, where I could go to write.”

“Like your own personal writer’s retreat?” Emily beamed.

“Yeah.” Quinn’s smile stretched, and he lowered his eyes. “Just like that.”

“I think it’s a great idea.”

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