Free Discretion by David Balzarini

hear even my own breathing. My legs move a little to keep me above the surface. I struggle to aim the gun at the bow of the cruiser, but know that I must be able to defend myself.
    What do I do now?
    Get on the boat. You have another target.
    I reach the swimming deck at the back of the cruiser and climb on board. A tingle at the back of my head begins. Nerves come alive like a current. Narrow white stairs lead to the bow. Slow movement, intent stealth, firearm held in both hands. The gun shakes. At the top, the surfer is lying on his back, blood everywhere, wriggling about like a fish out of water.
    You feel nothing. Kill him.
    The gun shakes. It takes a firm grip with both hands to steady it. The back of the surfer’s skull in sight. Fire. The movement stops. I can’t hear a damn thing—I can only feel pain in my ears from the blast. I’m crouched down to the deck, but the other man is not in sight.
    So where is he?
    Noise from behind me draws my attention and Mike is on the swimming deck. I wave him to the opposite side.
    Then a splash from the far side of the boat draws my attention. I run for the rail along the deck and the dark-haired man is swimming away. Mayra stands on the bow of our boat, pistol following him through the water. She takes a shot and he screams out in agony. An impressive hit, considering the distance.
    She holds a handheld to her face, and her lips are moving.
    “Since when did we become ruthless assassins?” I ask myself. I shot someone in the head a minute ago. A man is now dead because of me. What has happened? What have I become?
    Look in the cabin. Back of the boat.
    I hustle down the stairs to the cabin door. On opening the door, I don’t believe my eyes. Seeing her is like a dream. Three days gone—of tears and strife. It’s over at last.
    Natalie.

TWELVE
    T his is heartbreaking. I’m nauseous seeing Natalie this helpless.
    She is unconscious. Her head hangs to the side; her hair is a mess with clumps tangled together. Tied to a small metal chair with a sturdy brown rope, her hands are behind her back. She’s bruised and cut in several places with dried blood on the side of her face, her legs and arms. A series of red marks on her right forearm, with swelling and bruises, comes into focus. Her chest moves slowly up and down, reassuring me she’s alive. Her pink bikini top is untied at the neck strap, her jewels mostly exposed. I retie it, and then check for a pulse, while dialing 9-1-1 on my phone, but no call is made—the swim killed the device. My heart wants nothing of this ugliness. Bittersweet tears run without my consent or care. God only knows what dignity she forever lost.
    She’s alive, but needs attention. Hard to know what’s been done to her for the past few days. I start cutting the thick ropes with a pocketknife, clenched tightly in my hand. It occurs to me I should leave the scene untouched, as it may be helpful to the police. Can I really just leave her like this?
    Mayra called the sheriff. Deputy Reed will be here in twenty seconds.
    I nod, as if I heard someone speak to me.
    “Drop the gun, Colin,” says a familiar man’s voice behind me.
    My hand releases the pistol without hesitation or thought and it lands with a thud.
    Deputy Reed picks it up and two EMTs go in to work on Natalie. Reed yells into a handheld. Mike and Mayra and I are to be taken into custody for questioning, Reed tells me as if he’s my father telling me not to say something stupid. Because I’m under eighteen, I can’t be questioned until my father is present, who will bring his attorney along.
    The EMTs make short work of her ropes and place her on a stretcher, strap her down and haul her to a long deck boat. My surroundings feel like a movie, as if none of this is reality and I’m going to wake up. If this isn’t real and Natalie is still missing, then I want to stay in dreamland.
    “You’re either lucky or crazy, kid,” Reed says to me, pausing a moment. “But I’m glad you