Free Cradle Lake by Ronald Malfi

surface of the water. A third man climbed into the lake. Hank smoothed the boy’s hair back on his forehead. The boy’s skin looked sickly white and bloodless, the underbelly of a boa constrictor. When a fourth man tried to get into the water, Hank and Gary held up their hands and shook their heads. Don took the man by the elbow, as if to make sure he abided by the command to stop. The man looked around, wide-eyed and confused. Again, Don firmly yanked the man’s elbow. Then Hank and Gary pressed down on the boy’s chest, submerging him.
    Alan uttered a strangled moan, which succeeded only in causing Don to turn and shoot a cold glance in his direction. Alan hurried over to the edge of the lake, finally managing an articulate “Hey!”
    Don was quick for a man of his girth, whirling around to catch Alan by both shoulders just as he reached the huddle of men.
    â€œGet the fuck
off
me,” he groaned, knocking Don’s hands free.
    â€œCalm down.” Don’s voice sounded impeccably calm. “Just take a few deep breaths and relax.”
    â€œThe
fuck
do you—?”
    The boy’s face broke the surface of the water. A gout of water burst from his lips as he coughed.
    Alan stared in disbelief at the boy, who was now rapidly blinking, his mouth working soundlessly as he floated on his back in the water.
    There was a collective sigh from the populace.
    Hank gathered the boy against his chest, still smoothing back the child’s wet hair. He hugged the boy to his chest, and Alan could see that both he and the child were shivering, their teeth rattling like—
    (maracas)
    â€”slot machines despite the summery temperature. Fleetingly, Alan recalled how cold the water had been when he’d touched its surface that night.
    â€œHere, here, here,” beckoned one of the men as he leaned over the edge of the lake. He took hold of one of the boy’s hands, pulling him from Hank’s grasp. Hank placed his hands on the boy’s buttocks and hoisted him out of the water. The boy went limply but he was very much conscious.
    Off to the side, both Gary and the third fellow climbed out of the lake. Their skin looked an ungodly grayish blue, and they were hugging themselves. Gary peeled off his shirt as one of the other men handed him his.
    The boy’s eyes were wide, roving around the circle of men. Disoriented, he groped blindly at Hank’s sopping pant leg as Hank pulled himself from the lake. In a sour and gravelly voice, the boy muttered, “Lost my … glove …”
    Hank laughed nervously and embraced the kid’s head in a one-armed hug.
    It was then that Alan noticed all the men staring at him. Their glares seemed to linger for an eternity, almost accusatory in their gravitas, as if he’d been the one behind the wheel of the red Audi. Even Hank glanced in his direction with a look of disapproval.
    â€œTowels!” someone yelled, breaking the spell. “Anyone bring any towels? These guys are freezing their asses off!”
    Don shot Alan an angry look. Don had told him to get the towels, of course. However, this hardly registered with him. He was rendered too dense and stupid to think or speak. Because of what he’d just seen … what he’d just
seen …

CHAPTER SEVEN
    They wrapped Cory up in extra shirts, and someone draped a Windbreaker over his shaking shoulders. The boy followed them back through the woods along the path, his hands clenched together and pressed to his breastbone as if in prayer. His lips were colorless and they shivered feverishly, even in the heat of midday. The blood on his clothes had faded to a pinkish smear from the water, and his skin, to which the color was quickly returning, glistened with water diamonds. Despite his disorientation, the boy seemed to be wholly unfazed.
    Alan followed them. Hank came up beside him and lightly squeezed his elbow.
    â€œYou okay?” Hank’s voice was solemn.