Page 5 of Beneath the Surface

From the murky depths, more shapes coiled, fins and ribbons and long, muscular arms looping around him, gentle but inescapable. The thing in his mouth undulated, feeding him—oxygen, chemicals, a cocktail that made his vision burst and his heartbeat thunder back to full, frantic life. He felt every cell of his body, the roots and pulsing nodes of nerves he had never before considered, and somewhere at the edge of this green-lit panic, he understood that he was still alive—if only because the thing in his mouth willed it.

Other shapes closed in, slick and smooth, no longer water but arms or legs, appendages that wrapped him in a kind of gentle caul. They slid over his wrists and ankles, unspooling the twine with a touch so precise and deliberate it could only be intelligent. The twine unwound like a snake losing interest in its prey, and the tentacles—he had no other word for them—held him as tenderly as a mother cups her newborn.

There was no violence, no choking, only the subtle and absolute pressure of being enveloped. He was lifted, not by force but by a coordinated ballet of touch, propelled upward through the viscous green shimmer, up and up, until his head breached the surface.

Quinn sucked in a desperate gasp, the tendril still slick and throbbing in his throat, and spat lake water and the taste of raw, ancient things onto the air. His face bobbed just above the surface, vision hazy as he blinked against the white daylight, starlings of pain firing through his temples. His naked body bobbed awkwardly, his skin marbled with cold and bruised purple along the ribs and hips, his chest and back a single, solid mass of pain. The tentacle—no, more like a living, muscular hose—retracted from his mouth with a gentle, shivering pop, and Quinn coughed up a pint of brackish snot before sucking in another greedy, impossible breath.

He hovered there at the surface, mouth open, drawing air. The gentle waves lapped his face, spilling into his mouth, causing him to sputter and cough weakly, his pain-wracked body too limp and broken for even a good, stronghackto dispel the water from his throat.

Beneath the surface, the other tendrils—of varying sizes—held him at the crest, preventing him from sinking again. He floated there, the sun on his bruised and bleeding face, and it was almost serene—until he heard the men on shore. Their voices were a faraway hum, dulled by the water lapping his ears, and muffled by the pain racking his head and body. Thoughts of escape drifted through his head as his mind struggled to function, to strategize, but Quinn didn’t move, couldn’t move as he simply bobbed there in the water.

The men’s nearly muted voices heightened in pitch, growing slightly louder.Getting closer.Words began to form out of incoherent, garbled noise:

“Fuck, there he is—”

“He’s floating! He is a faggot—”

“Let’s finish him—”

Quinn didn’t try to swim for his life. There was nothing left in him, not even a survival instinct—they had beateneverythingout of him. So, he floated… and waited for them to reach him… and finish what they started.

6

Can’t fuckin’ believe he didn’t drown.” Brad unlaced his boots, yanked them off, then peeled away his socks. He dumped his drenched jacket on the ground and took off his two layers of shirts.

“Maybe he did,” Jake countered as he glanced at the lake with clear aversion to taking a swim. “Bodies float.”

“I heard him cough,” Brad muttered, removed his trousers, and stood on the shoreline in just his briefs. His dick was already shriveling at the thought of entering the cold water. He hadn’t noticed it so much while they were beating the faggot, his adrenaline pumping and his focus elsewhere. But now, with the water lapping his feet, he realized just how fucking cold it actually was.

“We’ll freeze our dicks off if we go out there,” Jake said, taking his time shedding his clothes. Yet, Brad was the dominant in their friendship, and Jake would do whatever the fuck Brad told him to do.

Brad huffed. “If we don’t go out there and finish the job, and he makes it out alive, we’ll be up shit creek. You wanna spend the rest of your life in prison for attempted murder? Getting your ass reamed by every inmate cock in there?”

Jake looked a bit horrified at the notion.

“Yeah,” Brad scoffed. “Me either. So, suck it up and let’s finish this.”

The two men waded carefully into the water, both taking deep, quick breaths. Jake swore and shook his head. “How the fuck did he not drown from hypothermia?”

“Beats the fuck outta me,” Brad muttered, his jaw tightening as the icy water rose above his knees, licking at his thighs. “Holy fuck,” he gasped when his package dipped below the surface. “Fucking hell.” A slight worry crept in that they might drown trying to swim farther out. His limbs were already starting to lock up from the cold.

We can’t just leave that faggot out there, alive.

“I don’t know if I can swim in this.” Jake’s teeth chattered a little with each word. “Man, there’s no way he’ll make it out. Beaten to rat shit like he is. He was practically dead when we threw him out there.” His face pinched as he cupped his privates. “How the fuck did he get so far out anyway? There’s no current really. How’d he get all the way the fuck out there?”

Brad shook his head; he wondered the same thing. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s an underwater current.”

“Has to be,” Jake mumbled. “He sure as fuck didn’tswim.Not tied up like that.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Brad took a deep breath and dove in. For a brief moment, his body jerked from the cold, his chest tightening as if a thick band was squeezing around him. He floated, letting his system adjust to the icy water.

“Fuck!” Jake gasped as he submerged himself in the lake. He took quick, ragged breaths, nearly hyperventilating.“Brad... I can’t... it’s too fucking... cold...”

“Calm the fuck down,” Brad snapped. “Just give it a second, you’ll be fine. I’m not doing this alone. We’re both in it.” He swam forward, a tightness still in his body but not debilitating. “Come on!”

Behind him, Jake paddled unevenly, breath catching.

Fucking faggot,Brad cursed at their victim in his head.Why couldn’t you just die like a good little queer? You have to make us swim all the way out here after you? Maybe Iwillfuck you for this.

---