They the Drowned

They all had different stories. Different professions, creeds, and backgrounds but all were similar. All had been baptized, baptized then born again. Each of them awakened in the embrace of our lord, his will pressed upon them, a sinister crooning lullaby. Sweet whispering of comforting promises came to them, indoctrinations from the depths.

It had always been like this before. He’d never met any of them, strangers all. Their mutual strangeness bound them together in their dark brotherhood. Gerald Pettus PhD was the first to arrive, as it had been before, first to heed the call, herald of the Unmaker.

Professor Pettus put his briefcase down on the mahogany desk. He’d come to the office building on impulse, the first door he’d tried inexplicably unlocked, gone up the stairwell, and procured an office without being molested. The building seemed deserted. How peculiar it all was never crossed his mind. His thoughts were astir, excitement building as he pondered the task his Lord had entrusted. 

Gerald shuffled through some papers from his briefcase as he waited for the others to arrive. He eyed some of his sketches: two geometric spheres, notes scribbled in the margins noting the orbs’ possible characteristics, and an effigy comprised of twin draconic serpents entwined upon each other, the style reminiscent of the orient. Rough as the sketches were, they weren’t bad for an anthropologist; although history and archeology weren’t as respected as some of the math and sciences, he was glad he wasn’t a professor of fine arts. He lingered on a photograph, a picture of a mountainside lake, the supposed site of their objective. Rapt, he gawped at the dark water, recounting his own commencement.

                                                                       

               .   .   .

He’d taken Shawna, the girl he’d been courting, to the lake. Picnic lunch in one hand, Gerald’s hand in the other, she led them, picking a spot by the water. Gerald scowled at a couple kids playing and splashing nearby, wishing she’d picked a more secluded spot. Shawna wore the new bathing suit he’d bought her. She’d agreed to wear it, as long as her mother would never see her. It was of a new style, no long trunks or sewn-in modesty shorts, just bare shoulders and more milky thigh than Gerald had seen outside a bordello.

As they spread their blanket on the beach, Shawna told him all they would be having today was salad. She’d laughed at his response and began divvying out portions, egg salad sandwiches, three-bean salad, and potato salad. He didn’t find it as funny, but she didn’t mind, laughing at her own joke as she watched the children at their noisy horseplay. The food was very satisfying, and Gerald had extra helpings of the three-bean salad. Hawthorn in the Biology department had told him, lima beans are excellent for the constitution. They made small talk and later Shawna let him hold her hand. Gerald decided it had been a pleasant afternoon and was considering a short nap when the splashing stopped.

Then the screaming began.  

The high-pitched squeal of a young girl started them. A frantic mother rushed toward the water, her tone degraded quickly from anxiously questioning her daughter to outright hysteria.

“Somebody save my boy! My boy is drowning! Somebody help!” she screamed between choking sobs.

Shawna stared at him expectantly. He began to open his mouth in protest, but the look in her eye gave him pause. Coward, her eyes called him. He jumped up, rushing towards the water.

It was much colder than he’d expected, the water knocking the wind from him as he dove in. He returned to the surface in a matter of seconds, desperate to catch his breath, seeing nothing in the murky lake water. He dove and searched twice more, his limbs flailing, hoping to grasp something, anything.

‘Stupid child,’ Gerald thought, swimming farther out, diving again despite the futility. Cold currents drew him down, caressed him without him knowing. When he spun, preparing to surface, the sun was much dimmer through the muddy water. The fear grabbed hold of him then, its grip more terrible than the under current. Frenzied he swam against it, but the lake still pulled him down. The sun only becoming more muted.

Gerald hated himself. Why had he been dumb enough to even attempt to save such a worthless child? He never should have attempted to aid such a neglectful mother. ‘I should have let him drown, let him take himself out of the gene pool, Darwin would have objected,’ Gerald chastised himself. He resigned hope of saving himself and stopped swimming, praying came soon after.

He begged and pleaded—hoped for intervention, divine or profane he made no distinction. Gerald had been church going in his youth, but this time was different.  For the first time something was listening, a clammy pervasive consciousness occupied his mind. An alien perspective seeped into him, altering his perceptions. He felt the presence of a god and was forever changed. Proselytizing, Gerald laid all that he was down before his savior. He served a new master now, and dark purpose filled him. Gerald was whole. He thanked his lord. And with his last gulp of air he exalted, “Gligg Glugg…” he gurgled. Then Gerald drowned.

Shawna leapt into action as Gerald dragged the boy onto the sand, her nurse training applied to great affect. His lips slowly turning from violet to a healthy pink, then he began coughing up water. The boy joined the living.

“My baby, you’ve saved my baby,” the mother said, crushing her son with hugs. “Are you okay?” examining him as she asked.

The boy looked at Gerald, holding his gaze for a long while. “Yes, I’m okay thanks to him.” He said, looking down. His mother and Shawna smiled, beaming at their hero, but Gerald knew the gratitude wasn’t proffered to him. Silently he gave his own thanks. As onlookers came to congratulate him, salty tears blurred his vision. He shook all their hands but saw none of them, they’d all become dark wet blobs. With modesty he expressed to the bystanders, he was only doing his duty.

                                                                               .   .   .           

Gerald started. The door to the procured office swung open. A large man entered, obviously from the orient. Most would have called him a chinaman, but Gerald noted his darker complexion. Without acknowledging Gerald, the man took a seat in the back of the office and began staring down at his hands blankly. Gerald reciprocated, ignoring the man and going back to his papers.

More came in with a scuffle, a man dragging a young women, her hands bound and mouth gagged; he dumped her on the floor like a sack of so many potatoes.

She wriggled like a worm on a hook, snot bubbled from her nose as she tried to scream but it came out little more than a muffled whimper. Her terrified eyes pleaded with the easterner, but there was little change in his demeanor. He only stopped looking at his hands and stared placidly at his feet. Her abductor greeted Gerald, offered his hand and introduced himself as Phil Radke.

A trio of encumbered wise guys sauntered in, five large suitcases and a viola case distributed amongst them. They set the cases in front of Gerald and Phil, opening one to reveal nice, neat stacks of greenbacks.

Although their lord was ageless, patient beyond fathoming, he required initiative from his ilk. And while they relinquished their will to their Master, they gained strengthened willpower in other aspects of their life. All of them benefited, becoming more successful in each of their individual professions. The confidence their lord bestowed made each of them a veritable man of action. It pleased the great Gligg Glugg to see his pets do well, as long as they came running when called.

Phil Radke picked up the phone, quickly dialing a familiar number into the rotary. He idly fingered a large stack of cash as he waited for the call to connect.

“Joe, hey Joe buddy, it’s Phil. Sorry for calling you so late, but I knew you’d still be at the office. If I had a wife as ugly as yours, I wouldn’t go home neither,” Phil laughed at his own joke, then laughed again at Joe’s retort. “You got that dish of a secretary there burning the midnight oil with you?” Phil jeered his old business acquaintance, “I know, I know, as the owner and operator of Liberty Travel, you’re not at liberty to say, you old dog!”

A squirrelly but well dressed man brought in a cardboard box, purple fabric visible from the top. Seeing the desk was covered with money, he grumbled and set the box on the floor. Gerald and the others waited to be sized up by the man and each was handed a plush robe the color of a drowned man’s lips.

“Remember when you sent me that wedding party?” Phil reminded Joe, his travel agent. “You suggested they make use of my quant lakeside cabins. I’ll show you quant, Ha! Well I made a killing and remember I said I owed you one. Today old friend, I’m returning the favor,” said Phil, setting down the phone and donning his own vestment while Joe responded.

Phil lied into the phone, “I got a group staying with me here at the lake. They’ve gotten bored hunting & fishing, now they’re talking about going on a grand adventure. Some manufacturing heir is bank rolling the whole expedition. They want to tour southwest China. I guess he read about it in some pulp rag,” Phil said convincingly.  “Yeah, I explained it’s not exactly safe in that part of the world at the moment, but they’d have none of it. You know the types; they think danger is part of the excitement. Nepal, Tibet, Bangladesh, just get them close. They can hire their own guides from that point and charter planes if need be. How many?” Phil counted everyone in the room. There was eight counting the girl, his brothers, and himself. “It’ll be a party of seven. Stuff them all into a tin can with wings for all I care. They’ll be sauced up on whisky the whole trip anyway.”

“Just get the ball rolling and I’ll call you tomorrow to see what you’ve come up with. Tell your ugly wife I said hello,” Phil said, waiting to for Joe respond in kind. “You know women, can’t live with’em,” he glared narrowly at the girl on the floor, “can’t kill’em. Glad I decided to stay a life long bachelor. Ha! You’re right, no one would have me anyway. Remember to cut yourself in an extra ten percent for your troubles; they’ll be none the wiser. Thanks again Joe, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Phil said hanging up the phone.

Now that logistics had been taken care of, they could move onto other matters. The seven of them gathered around her. The masks veiled their faces but couldn’t hide the smiles in their eyes.