Wednesday, 11:38 a.m. PST

THE WATER WAS COMING FOR HER.

Rainie could feel its steady onslaught, rising from her toes to her ankles, licking languorously at her shins. Originally, progress had seemed slow, the water creeping up quarter inch by quarter inch. Something to worry about, but no cause for immediate panic.

Circumstances, however, were changing. Perhaps the pipe had sprung a second leak, or the force of the gushing water had enlarged the existing hole. The sound had gained force now, changing from a mewling hiss to a charging roar.

Rainie knew about water. She’d worked drowning cases, pulled bloaters out of the engorged rapids of freshly thawed rivers, even retrieved an auto or two that had taken the wrong turn in a sharply curved road. She had seen the torn nails and broken, curled fingers of the people who had fought to the bitter end. In one of the vehicles, the woman had managed to work her arm through a two-inch crack in the passenger window. The image had haunted Rainie for weeks. That pale face plastered against the glass, bloody arm reaching frantically for life.

Water was a force, governed by its own laws, feeding its own needs. It started by saturating Rainie’s clothes, weighing down the hem of her jeans. Cold tendrils then wrapped around her ankles, rubbed against her skin, sending the chill deep into her bones.

Soon, the water would be lapping against her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Ironically enough, the air would start to feel cold and the water warm. So it would be easier to sink down into its depths. Let the water tickle her lips, slide down her throat.

By the time it rushed into her lungs, triggering a last-minute coughing fit, it would be too late. The water would have closed over the top of her head, suspending her and Dougie in its final, chilly embrace.

Water destroyed. But as part of its seduction, it also revived. She felt its coolness against the angry heat in her knee. She splashed refreshing drops against the pain in her arms, the throbbing in her temples. She drank from the dank, oily depths, and the liquid soothed her parched throat. The water would kill her, most definitely. But at least it made her feel better first.

Slowly but surely, she pulled herself off the basement steps. She rose shakily to her feet. And she reached into her pocket for the only hope they had left.

“Dougie,” she called out softly.

“Y-y-yes.”

“Have you ever played Marco Polo?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

She found his huddled body, tied to the pipe in the dark.

“Dougie,” she said, “hold very still.”

Wednesday, 11:45 a.m. PST

SHE HAD PALMED THE SHARD OF GLASS during their failed attempt at escape. Frantically reaching out with her fingertips, she had hoped for a possible weapon. Maybe a five-inch shank she could slash against their captor’s throat or stab into his kidneys. No such luck. All she had found was a slender shard, perhaps half an inch thick. It felt unbelievably fragile between her thick, swollen fingers. It also felt sharp.

She had to work to get the piece positioned between her numb, frozen fingertips. She started rubbing the zip tie binding Dougie’s wrists and promptly dropped the shard. She grappled in the water for the delicate piece, only to drop it again. By the time she finally got the glass into place again, the water had hit Dougie’s knees and he was shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re drunk,” Dougie accused.

“No.”

“I saw you with that bottle.”

“I wasn’t looking for booze, Dougie. I was looking for a weapon.”

She worked the sharp edge against the plastic band. She thought she felt it give. Right at that moment, of course, she dropped the piece of glass again.

“Liar,” Dougie said.

Rainie reached down, sifting through water with her fingers. The shard bumped lazily against the back of her hand, washed away. She frantically fished after it.

“Would you like to know the truth, Dougie? I am a liar. Every time my mother beat me, I lied to my teachers and told them I fell off my bike. Every time I took a drink, I lied to myself and told myself it was the last one. I’ve lied to my husband. I’ve lied to my friends. And yes, I’ve lied to you. There are a million lies in the world, Dougie. Lies we tell to protect others, lies we tell to protect ourselves. I’m pretty sure I’ve told each and every one. And I’m pretty sure, so have you.”

Dougie didn’t say anything. She’d found the piece of glass, trapped it between her fingertips. The water was past Dougie’s knees, approaching his thighs. She could hear more gurgling, old water seeking new ways to burst free.

“A few months ago,” she continued evenly, “I started taking some pills. I hoped they would help me stop feeling sad all the time. Maybe they would even help me not want to drink. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of drug you can just stop taking. And when our kidnapper snatched me, he was not kind enough to also grab my meds. What you see now is not me being drunk. You’re seeing my withdrawal symptoms. They’re going to get worse.”

“Oh,” Dougie said in a small voice. Then, more curiously, “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“Do you want a drink?”

Rainie was back at work, sawing on the binding. “You know how you feel about matches, Dougie?”

“I wish I had a match right now!” the boy said immediately.

“Well, that’s how I feel about booze. But I don’t have to drink, Dougie. Just like you don’t have to play with fire.”

Her fingers slipped. The shard drove into the palm of her hand. She winced, grateful for once for the lack of sensation in her blood-deprived fingers, then dug the slippery spike of glass out of the meat of her thumb. She was trembling again. Cold, shock, she didn’t know. She was very tired. It would be so nice to retreat to the stairs. Sit a while. Rest. She’d get back to Dougie soon enough…

“Rainie, do you believe in Heaven?”

Rainie was so startled, she nearly cut herself again. She answered, carefully, “I want to.”

“My first second family, they said my mother went to Heaven. They said she’s waiting for me. Do you think my mommy watches over me?”

“I think it’s a nice idea,” she said quietly.

“Stanley said my mother’s disappointed in me. Stanley said every time I set a fire, I make Mom cry. Rainie, does my mom hate me?”

“Oh, Dougie.” She floundered, honestly at a loss for words. “A mother never stops loving her child.”

“I burned her picture.”

“A picture is just a picture. I’m sure she understands.”

“I burned my first second parents’ house and my second second parents’ house. If I could get a match, I would burn this house. But it’s wet.” He frowned. “Wet doesn’t burn so well.”

Rainie arched a brow, returning to work on the binding. “You know what, Dougie? Mothers always love their children; they just don’t always love what their children do. Think of it this way: Your mother loves you, but I’m sure she doesn’t like you setting things on fire.”

“I am a bad boy,” Dougie said matter-of-factly. “I’m very naughty. Nobody loves a naughty boy.”

“You saved a cracker for me. I don’t think a naughty boy would save a cracker for his friend.”

“I drank all the water.”

“You didn’t know I was thirsty. You also tried to get us help. You ran when I asked you to run. I don’t think a naughty boy would be so brave to help his friend.”

Dougie didn’t say anything.

“I think, Dougie,” Rainie said after a moment, “that you’re just like the rest of us. You’re a good boy and you’re a bad boy. Just like I’m a good girl and I’m a bad girl. Every day, we have to make a decision: Which person will we be-good or bad? But it’s our choice. Your choice. My choice. Personally, I’m trying to choose better these days.”

“Stanley never hit me,” Dougie said quietly.

“I know, Dougie, I know.”

She heard a snap. The plastic tie split, fell into the water. And Dougie was finally free.

Wednesday, 11:53 a.m. PST

“MY TURN, DOUGIE. ” Rainie held out the glass shard. Dougie was dancing around, splashing through the water merrily. She was dismayed to realize that the water was already at his waist.

She spoke up more sharply. “Cut the tie around my wrists, Dougie. Then we’re gettin’ out of here.”

The boy stopped dancing, but he didn’t take the piece of glass. For a moment, both of them just stood there. Rainie could feel Dougie watching her, but at this distance, she couldn’t see the look on his face.

“Dougie,” she prompted.

Nothing.

“Dougie, the water is rising very fast. I’m going to climb up the stairs now. I think you should, too.”

But even after she was halfway up the stairs, Dougie refused to follow.

“Dougie, what are you doing?”

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t. I made a promise. Cross my heart, hope to die. I can’t.”

“Dougie?”

“I didn’t know,” he said mournfully. “I didn’t know.”

Rainie came down a step. “Did he threaten you, Dougie? Did the man tell you he would hurt you if we escaped? You don’t need to be afraid of him anymore. When we get out of here, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I didn’t want to burn my mom’s stuff,” Dougie said. “But I did. And once a fire starts, you can’t go back again. Fire is forever, you know. Fire is real.”

“Help me, Dougie.” Rainie could hear the urgency in her voice, the growing edge of panic. She tried to swallow it back down, to sound forceful. “Cut the tie around my wrists. I’m going to get us out of here!”

Nothing.

“Dougie?”

Nothing.

“Dougie!”

And then, out of the dark: “I killed her,” Dougie whispered. “I didn’t mean to. But now she’s gone and can’t come back again. Because I was a naughty boy. Nobody loves a naughty boy. Except maybe my mommy. I miss my mommy. I just want to see her again.”

Rainie heard a splash.

She raced down the stairs. She plunged back into the water. “Dougie? Dougie? Dougie? ”

But the water remained unbroken. Dougie had sunk beneath the chilly depths. He did not come up again.