A distant memory scratches at the back of my brain. Something so distant I can’t remember if it was real or if I had just imagined it. I remember Lucy beckoning to me from the community inground pool. I remember the feeling of the sun on my skin, burning. Behind her stood Aunt Silva with her handheld camera, capturing a mundane moment in late August. Aunt Silva was not actually our aunt. But we were young enough not to know the difference between love and familial bonds. And she was the closest Lucy and I had to real family at the time. “Fly, Aiden! Fly!” she shouted from over the lens. And Lucy tried to get me wet as I trembled at the edge, afraid of the body of water below me, but more afraid to show it. I took a breath and-

“Fly, Aiden! Fly!”

Water rushes around my ears, around my mouth, over my eyes and head. My bones are heavy as I thrash around, vision clouded in a murky abyss. As a child I was baptized, submerged in water to give myself to God. How could something so merciless be a symbol of salvation? I’ve hated the water ever since.

I fight with all the oxygen I have left, burning my hands against the rope. I can’t untie it. I can’t do anything. Just before panic completely suffocates me and I lose the last of my air, hands reach down to grab me and the chair I’m tied to, lifting me out of the tank.

I cough, my burning lungs taking in both water and oxygen as I do. I cough again, sputtering until I’m red in the face, gasping until I can breathe again. I look at the set of arms that rescued me. They are the same ones that pushed me under. Men on each side of me hold the head of the chair I am sitting on, ready to submerge me again. And again. And again.

“Are you ready to talk?”

I avoid his eyes and choke out an elegant, “Fuck you. I already told you I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” The man looked at me with an apathetic, almost bored look on his face. Like my life was just as expendable as that of an insect’s. To him it probably was. To anyone…

“I’ll ask again, Aiden. And I’d watch your tone around me if I were you-”

“I don’t know shit about shit! I'm innocent, man,” I plead. It’s the truth. Not a very convincing one apparently. All I know is I shouldn’t have gone to work today. I shouldn’t have taken Jordan’s shift and I shouldn’t have followed that customer out just to give him his change. Maybe if I called in sick. Maybe if I biked to work instead of walking. Maybe if I worked a kitchen shift instead of a counter shift.

The man sighs, rises from the chair he was perched on. He examines the gun in his gloved hand like it could tell him what I'm not. He walks closer, until I can feel his breath on my face. His expression remains bored but there is something in his eyes. Something I can only describe as bloodlust. My heart palpitates, beating wildly against my throat. He slams the body of the gun against the side of my head, hard enough for me to feel warmth on my face the second he retracts his hand. My vision blacks out for a moment, coming back only in bits and pieces. I’m still recovering from the recoil when he gathers a fistful of my work uniform and yanks me forward. His eyes are empty and cold. Astute. My head feels just about to split but he doesn’t relent. I can barely breathe as he grins.

“What do you know about Atlas?”

<<<>>>

I don’t recall much about my mother but I do remember that she had a beautiful voice. I was always captivated by her singing. Even by her scolding. I remember her arms hoisting me in the air like a bird. “Higher, higher!” I’d beg, as high as her small frame could reach. Fly, Aiden. Fly.

“Any higher and you’ll get burned by the sun,” she laughed. I remember the frown in my cheeks, the defiance in my eyes as I replied,

“The sun won’t burn me! It’ll make me stronger!”

Well maybe I could have learned a thing or two from Icarus. Because I sure as hell am eating those words now. I’ve definitely flown too close to the sun this time.

<<<>>>

“What do you know about Atlas?”

“I swear. I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” The man clicks his teeth, running a hand along the stubble on his face. He slaps me hard enough for me to see stars. I know I should cooperate more, especially because he has a gun and a few lackeys who I could also assume are armed. But I’m tired and angry. And right now those emotions are much stronger than my fear.

I cough, taste blood pooling in my mouth, and I spit, aiming right at his feet. His eyes flair beneath those shades, burning bright enough to catch fire. He grips my chin roughly and yanks my head closer to him.

“They told me a boy, the Son of Fire, will overthrow his position and tear down those walls.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you smoking? I have never heard of Atlas before in my life, besides Greek Literature II in my junior year.”

The man smiles a wicked grin that cuts deep into his cheeks. His eyes make me uncomfortable. They feel like black holes if I look in them too long; like empty pits, devoid of life.

“You may think yourself brave, boy. But it is your bravery that will get you killed. Dump him.”

The large hands grip my chair and move to resubmerge me in the pit of water. I yell, attempting to break free of my restraints. Water quickly envelopes me, stealing the fight from me, until all I can do is whimper and shut my eyes tight, clutching my fists and my breath for as long as I can. 

My chest burns, my eyes burn. I have to calm down. I don’t know what’s happening but panicking will only make this worse. I feel the water on my skin, distracting myself from the burning in my lungs. I try to remember that memory I was trying so desperately to grab hold of. I try to remember that feeling, the reassurance that, wherever I was in the water, it was never too far for Lucy to save me. 

I was almost able to calm down. Almost. But then the panic washed over me twice as hard. I hate the water. I hate it. I’m going to drown here. I’m drowning. I’m drowning. I can’t swim. I can’t do anything. I’m going to die.

I yell under the water, watching as the last of my air leaves me in giant bubbles. Help me, I beg. Someone. Anyone. Help me. Help.

I shut my eyes again and feel my body shake with a lack of oxygen. I realize no one is coming for me. I’m alone. I’m going to die.

And then the panic dissipates instantly. A strange peace washes over me instead. I’m going to die. No more student loans. No more lonely nights spent drinking until I can’t stand. No more reliving the same day over and over. It’ll all end soon. Like going to sleep. Just a little pain and it’ll all be over.

I open my mouth, trying to suck in water to end it quicker. But I am a coward. I don’t let water fill my lungs, but I know it’ll be any second now. Any second.

As my vision starts to fray, I hear what sounds like gunshots. And screaming. But it all sounds so far away. I almost laugh. And then I feel arms around my shoulder, freeing me from my chair and my underwater incarceration. Carrying me into the afterlife.

There are long moments of stretched out silence and darkness. And then I am immersed in white light. It hurts. Everything hurts. Am I dead?

My eyes pry open and I turn on my side, coughing water violently out of my lungs. I gasp and cough and cough even though my lungs feel heavy, like there is too much water to ever breathe again. But I have enough air to cough and so I focus on exerting all my energy on that.

“That’s it,” a voice says. “Just a little more.” A gentle hand rubs my back in circular motions, like Aunt Silva did when we would feed the birds in the park.

I gag and choke up the rest of the water, wheezing in air until it no longer burns so bad. I look at my rescuer, an angel with blond hair and wide brown eyes. His whole body glows with warm golden light in my hazy vision.

“Well done, Aiden. You did a good job. You can rest now.”

I am so tired, too tired to keep my eyes open. Suddenly I no longer care if I am dead or alive, if I am anything at all. You can rest now. That voice sounded safe. I can rest now.

My heavy eyelids flutter shut. I feel protected in this stranger’s arms.

I can finally rest.

<<<>>>