Free The Video Watcher by Shawn Curtis Stibbards Page B

except for the muffled sound of the music and the gurgling of the pool’s filtration system. Still under, I remembered Paul Ramsey, my friend’s older brother, doing this. He had seen some documentary about Polynesian skin divers—the ones who go six or seven minutes without air—and began to practice himself. His parents figured that was what he had been doing when it happened—at least, that’s what they told people. No one really knows though, because no one else was at home. They returned from Hawaii and the body was floating in the pool.
    My throat and lungs now burned. I held my breath longer and thought of what it would be like if I lost consciousness—passed out, died. I could imagine Damien and Cam and Alex standing around and looking at my casket. But what I couldn’t imagine was where it would be. When my parents died they were cremated, I remember being told that, and told that we were going to do something with the ashes—but I can’t remember if we ever did. And my grandparents, they both had small graveside services, but that was because they’d requested them.
    If I died, what would Kris do? Cremate me? Bury me?
    I shot up to the surface.
    Taking deep breaths, I got out, towelled myself dry, then lay on one of the green chaises. Tea Party’s “Temptation” had come on. I clicked off the radio and settled back in the chaise. There was a light breeze. The faint drone of a neighbour’s mower and sunlight filtering through the hemlocks made me drowsy. As I lay there, struggling not to drift off, more images of neighbours’ deaths flickered through my memory: the son of Dr. Haroldson, the psychiatrist, who hanged himself from the chandelier in the front hall; the Korean family that after a whole summer day of the RCMP going in and out of their silent Tudor-style house was never seen again; the renter in the house next door who was found asphyxiated during Expo 86—all these things had happened in the summer.
    I went inside.
    When it started to get dark, I put on a pair of chinos and T-shirt and went down to Burger King for dinner. After, I rented Magic and Sleep Away Camp II.
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    â€œSo—how do you know this place?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe place, the Cave.”
    â€œEveryone knows about it,” she said. She turned up the volume on the car stereo. “I love this song.”
    â€œEveryone?”
    â€œYeah,” she said. “Listen.”
    The lyrics were about penetration and violation, and I didn’t think I recognized the song. But when the chorus began I remembered Alex playing the song for me in her room, telling me that it was Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer.”
    â€œThis place we’re going, it’s not like that apartment on Lonsdale?”
    Alex looked at me, her eyes wide. “How do you know about that place?”
    â€œEveryone knows about it,” I said trying to imitate her insouciant tone.
    â€œNo—seriously—how do you know?”
    â€œSome girls at your party, they were talking.”
    â€œWhat did they say?”
    â€œDon’t you have this CD?”
    â€œTell me,” she said, turning off the radio. “What did they say?”
    â€œNothing. Just that some guy—”
    â€œThey didn’t say anything about me?”
    â€œNo. Why? Do you go there?”
    â€œYou promise they didn’t say anything about me.”
    â€œYes—why? Have you been there?”
    â€œShhh. I want to hear this,” Alex said and turned back on the radio.
    â€œDon’t you have the CD?”
    â€œYeah. But it’s better on the radio.”
    â€œWhy? How?”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s like you’re connected to all those people. The people you know are listening to it.”
    â€œSure,” I said, but then thought about it and realized it made sense.
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    The house we were going to