SUMMER CHILLER CONTESTANT

Prudence climbed the pool gate, hiding again.  The house windows were dark, the pool abandoned, greened with algae and speckled with dead insects.

A place to cry.

Beyond the fence she could see over Williams, the freeway and hazy plains that stretched towards the Grand Canyon.  Her mother’s home was just visible behind some young pines.

She watched a cockchafer clawing across the water.  As she reached out to help the insect, she glanced up and saw a man inside the dark house staring at her.

Prudence slipped on the slick tiles, made it to the gate and scraped over.  She ran, dodging pines and bushes until she could hardly breathe.

***
Cuttrell watched the girl flee.  He’d been sipping coffee as she sat on the pool edge in tears.  She was probably sixteen and he wondered what would make her so sad.  Before he could step out to offer comfort, she ran off, leaping the fence and racing through the ponderosas.  He sighed and finished his coffee.

In his bedroom he began unpacking.  He’d slept all day after his flights from Christchurch, and now had the night to tidy and catch up on baseball.  It was always hard, arriving back, remembering why he felt so driven away.
***
Prudence stood in the breezeway, her moment of panic over.  She could see the neighbour’s roof.  All winter the pool had festered, then suddenly there was someone in the house.  Watching.

“Prudence, you out there?” her Mom yelled.  “You done your homework?”
Prudence sighed.  At least her father had gone out. 
***
Around midnight, baseball done, Cuttrell examined the pool.  He knew he should winterize it each August, but always left it too late.  Just as coming back was hard, leaving again tore at his heart.  Memories of the night he couldn’t stop the killer from asphyxiating them.

With a siphon he drained the pool.  He scrubbed and hosed it down, conscious of keeping quiet.  A little grout and it was ready.  At 3am he stood on the edge looking across the slowly filling pool.  Time to turn in.  Last year he’d stayed on New Zealand time for the eight weeks in Arizona and hadn’t had any jetlag when he returned.  If he could get residency he would move down permanently.  Arizona was not far enough away from Massachusetts.
***
The bus dropped Prudence and she walked to the end of Adobe Drive.  At least she could enjoy the forest before going home.  The neighbour’s back gate was open.  Unusual.  Was the owner out walking?  She went across and looked through.

The pool was full.  Clean, rippling, icy-looking water.
***
Cuttrell had jogged through the forest trails, breathing hard.  At 3.30pm he called the lab; it was mid-morning in Christchurch.  He talked to Andy briefly, got the usual clichés about how lucky he was to have two summers.  Christchurch was frosted over again.

Really Cuttrell wanted to be far far away from where Daphne and Claire had breathed their last.

But he just said, “See, we wouldn’t be doing any diving anyway.”  After a few more minutes, he rang off and looked outside.  That girl was back.
***
Prudence dipped her foot in.  Warmer than she’d expected.  She couldn’t see anyone.

She could get her things and go for a swim.

Would they mind?

She ran through the gate and back home.  Her father was yelling and her mother yelling back, then that sound of flesh smacking flesh, and her mother hitting the wall.

Her father shot past her and leapt into his car, speeding off.

“Mom?” Prudence turned to the living room.

He mother was upright, straightening her hair.  “He’s trying hard,” she said.

“We should leave,” Prudence said.  “Somewhere he can’t find us this time.”

“He just needs to cool off.  He loves us.  He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You’ve never seen my bruises?”

“Oh baby,” her mother said.  “He doesn’t mean it.”  She hugged Prudence, squeezing much too hard, weeping.

Prudence edged back to sit on the sofa.  She stroked her Mom’s hair and eventually the tears stopped.

Prudence woke after dark, her mother asleep on her lap, face swollen and mottled.

I wish he was dead, Prudence thought.  She slipped out from under and went to her room, remembered her plan to swim.  She grabbed her bikini, changed and wrapped herself in a towel.  She hesitated, seeing her clock.  11.30pm.

Screw it, she thought.
***
After he’d seen her come through the gate and depart, Cuttrell watched some baseball and traded some shares.  Strange to be home, but never feel at home.  But after the strangler had been freed Cuttrell could barely stand to be stateside.

He put his bathing trunks on and went to the pool.  Water rejuvenates, he thought.

Soon after, she came to the gate and stood a moment before stepping onto the tiles.  “Late swim,” she said.

“It’s cooler.”  He trod water.  “John Cuttrell.”

“Prudence.  You were watching me.”

“You were trespassing.”

“I thought the place was abandoned.  But you filled the pool.”

“Just got back.”

“From?”

“New Zealand.  Did you come to swim?”

“Sure.”  She dropped the towel, then cocked her head at a sound.  “That’s Dad.  Probably come back to apologise to Mom.”

“Apologise?”

“We got away for a while, but Mom’s pathetic.  He found us and moved in.”

Then there was a man at the gate, in denims, cowboy boots and a scuffed Cardinals cap.  He stared for a moment.

“What,” he said, “is going on here?” He strode over and grabbed Prudence’s arm.

Prudence squealed, stumbling.

“Hey,” Cuttrell said.

“I’ll take care of you later, Mr midnight fucking swimmer.”  He pushed Prudence towards the gate.

Cuttrell kicked and hauled himself from the pool as Prudence pushed the man.  “You can’t do this anymore,” she yelled.

The man punched her across the face.  Prudence collapsed into the rough garden.  Breathing hard, Cuttrell rushed over.  He knew whatever happened was going to hurt.

“Huh,” the man said and shunted Cuttrell towards the pool.  Prudence launched herself and as the man collected Cuttrell, Prudence hit them from behind. 

They all fell into the pool.

Cuttrell wrapped his arms around him and the man struggled, but he had a lot of lean mass and they dropped to the bottom.  Cuttrell clung on and the man screamed, sending out a vortex of bubbles.  The killer was disoriented, frightened even.  Cuttrell could stay down for minutes.  Not a record time, but long enough.

The man squirmed, but his strength had drained away in panic.  Breathe in, you bastard, Cuttrell thought, breath in.  In another few moments it would be over.

Then Prudence was pounding on Cuttrell’s shoulder, tugging at his elbow, trying to drag them apart.

Cuttrell released and the man exploded for the surface.  Cuttrell came up beside them, watched Prudence help her father to the side.

“He might be a bad man,” she said, “But he’s still my father.”

“Yeah,” Cuttrell said.  He’d nearly taken revenge on the wrong person. 

He watched the gasping, frightened man, who’d never even known Daphne and Claire, clutching at the edge and realised that Prudence would be okay.

2009 Sean Monaghan

Sean Monaghan spends most seasons in New Zealand, enjoys swimming, running and visits to Arizona.  Sean’s stories have appeared in New Flesh Magazine, MicroHorror and 365Tomorrows, among others.  More information at his website: http://www.venusvulture.com”>www.venusvulture.com

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