[The Lake: Atticus & Cass]
Was early, but Atticus was familiar with early. Wasn't a morning person, but classes began at 8:30, which meant he was at the high school by 8:00, after two cups of coffee, a smoke, and a shower. Meant he was used to early, even if he hated early. No school to go to these days, but old habits died hard. More than that, had been going to sleep early, as bored people do, and that meant waking up early. Found it easier to fill the silent hours during sunlight than the ones during nighttime. In short, Atticus was bored. Was funny, he thought. Had never allowed himself to get close to people, sure the haunts would kill them all, and now he was lamenting the lack of people. Even missed the haunts, his haunts. Had been with him all his life, but they weren't on this island. The haunts on the island were angry military that wanted to possess real bodies. Weren't interested in his ability to make them tangible for moments at a time. They had bigger plans. Couldn't possess him, apparently. Had tried. Didn't work. Joke was on them. They mostly ignored him as he went around learning their secrets.
This morning, he'd gone for his own swim. The water here wasn't anything like the bays back home, but was still cooling. Was hot as balls in the old house in summer, and a dip always killed time and made him feel better. Was dry now, dressed, hair wild, beard stubbly, and he'd opted for a simple, aluminum fishing boat, "Cerrito" painted on the side. Was less work than the ferry or sailboat, and he wasn't planning on being out very long. Just enough to get close to the shore. Maybe hear some voices, something to remind himself he wasn't alone in the world.
Wasn't expecting the floating girl. Didn't think she was dead, even when he first noticed her floating. Knew the dead too well. Was familiar with the differences, even from afar. Was a girl floating in a slip. Guessed that wasn't surprising, especially on these hot summer days. Had picked a good time, the girl. The water was still cool this early in the morning. Atticus silenced the trolling motor. Didn't pull it up, but did allow himself to drift. Grabbed one of the oars he kept in the bottom of the boat, and he pushed himself far enough away that he wouldn't hurt her, but still close enough to be heard over the music playing on an old boombox in the boat's belly. "Good morning for swimming," he called out.