Chapter 5: THE DROWNING POOL
The pool complex was dark when I arrived.
9:45 PM. Closing time had been an hour ago. The last lifeguard's car was pulling out of the parking lot as I walked up, maintenance key in hand.
Getting the key had been easier than expected. A phone call to the municipal services office, a story about Father Mancini needing access for a blessing ceremony after the accidents. People wanted to believe someone was doing something about the drownings. They practically threw the key at me.
I let myself in through the service entrance.
The smell hit first. Chlorine, thick and sharp. Underneath it, something else. Something wrong. The kind of smell that lived in basements and abandoned buildings, in places where things had died and been forgotten.
The main pool area was cavernous. High ceiling lost in shadows. Emergency lights casting weak yellow circles on the tile floor. The water itself was a black mirror, perfectly still, reflecting nothing.
I stood at the edge and looked down.
My reflection stared back. Pale face. Dark circles under the eyes. A man who should probably be anywhere else.
"Okay. Let's see what we're dealing with."
I activated Sense Presence.
The world shifted.
Not visually—the pool looked the same. But I could feel it now. The space around me had texture, like fabric with different weights and densities. The tile beneath my feet was normal. The air was normal. The bleachers were normal.
The water was screaming.
Cold hit me like a fist to the chest. I staggered back, breaking concentration, and the sensation vanished. But I'd felt it. Something in there. Something angry and old and hungry.
[ENTITY DETECTED: VENGEFUL SPIRIT]
[THREAT LEVEL: C-RANK]
[CAUTION: COMBAT NOT RECOMMENDED AT CURRENT LEVEL]
"Thanks for the warning."
I crouched at the pool's edge, peering into the darkness. The water was opaque. Couldn't see the bottom. Couldn't see anything past the first few feet.
"Maybe if I just—"
I leaned closer.
Hands burst from the surface.
Gray. Rotted. Child-sized. They grabbed my jacket before I could react and pulled.
The water closed over my head.
Cold. Colder than anything should be. My lungs seized. My eyes burned with chlorine. I kicked, thrashed, tried to break free, but the hands were everywhere now—grabbing my arms, my legs, dragging me down.
A face appeared in the murky darkness. A boy's face. Maybe ten years old. Bloated and wrong, skin sloughing off in pale ribbons, but the eyes were alive with fury.
"YOU LET ME DIE!"
The words came through the water, impossibly clear, echoing in my skull.
"YOU WATCHED AND YOU DID NOTHING!"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The bottom of the pool was coming up fast, concrete waiting to catch me.
"Move. Fight. Something."
I grabbed the rosary around my neck and shoved it toward the ghost's face.
The reaction was instant. The spirit recoiled, hands releasing me, and I kicked toward the surface with everything I had.
Air. Sweet, chlorine-tainted air. I grabbed the pool's edge and hauled myself out, coughing water, lungs burning, body shaking.
The ghost surfaced behind me.
He didn't attack again. Just floated there, watching me with those terrible eyes. Waiting.
"I'm not—" I coughed, spat water on the tile. "I'm not who you think I am."
The boy's face twisted. "Liar. You came here. You saw. You did nothing."
"I wasn't alive in 1945." The words came out hoarse, desperate. "I'm trying to help. Tell me what happened. Tell me who hurt you."
Silence. The ghost drifted closer, studying me with something other than rage.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"...Danny."
"Danny what?"
"Miller." The anger was fading, replaced by something else. Confusion. Pain. "Danny Miller. I was ten."
"What happened to you, Danny?"
The ghost's form flickered. For a moment he looked almost solid—a normal boy in swimming trunks, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Then the rot crept back in.
"They held me under. The older boys. They said it was a game." His voice cracked. "It wasn't a game. They watched me drown. They laughed."
"Jesus Christ."
"And now you think—what? That the people drowning here are those boys?"
"They have to be. This is where it happened. This is where they killed me."
"Danny, that was twenty-three years ago. Those boys are grown men now. The people drowning here—they're not your killers. They're just swimmers. Innocent people."
The ghost's face contorted. "No. No, they have to—they came back. They always come back. To laugh at me. To watch me drown again."
I pushed myself to my feet, legs unsteady, water dripping onto the tile. My chest ached. My lungs were full of chlorine. But I could see it now—the shape of the problem.
Danny Miller had been murdered. His killers had never been caught, never been punished. And now he was trapped here, reliving his death, lashing out at anyone who entered his water.
He wasn't evil. He was hurt. And he was wrong.
"I believe you," I said. "About what happened. About the boys who killed you. But the people in this pool—they're not them, Danny. I can prove it. Give me time. I'll find out what happened to your killers. I'll bring you the truth."
The ghost stared at me for a long moment.
"Why?"
"Because someone should have helped you a long time ago. And because if I don't, you're going to keep hurting innocent people. That's not who you want to be."
Danny's form flickered again. When he spoke, his voice was small. Young. The voice of a scared ten-year-old boy.
"I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want them to pay. I want someone to know what they did."
"I'll find out. I promise."
The ghost sank beneath the surface. The water went still.
I stood there for a long time, shivering in my soaked clothes, watching the black mirror of the pool.
Then I grabbed a towel from the locker room and got to work.
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