Watery Grave

"What was your business at the crime scene?" That seemed like an odd and rather stupid question to Samson, though he kept that to himself. Who has business at a beach?
     "Swimming," he answered vaguely. The officer looked at him doubtfully. He was a portly man whose baby blue uniform clung to him painfully tight. He had beady eyes and heavy eyebrows giving him a permanent scowl.
 The temperature was barely above zero and Samson was dressed in nothing but shorts meaning his skinny torso was on show with skin so pale and thin you could almost see his innards. While this did make him look fish-like, it was clear the officer was sceptical about his survival chances in the choppy midnight waters. The officer, Samson thought, would be nice and toasty with his rolls of seal blubber. 
     "Okay," the policeman said drawing out the O. Samson could tell the man was uncomfortable by his the lack of eye contact. It was clear his red eyes unsettled the officer. "Do you know the victim in question?"
 That one was a little more tricky. Perhaps he once had but it was hard to identify the skull with what was left of the flesh that had once been there.  The grotesque image of the bloodied skull attached to the water bloated body, had now floated to the top of his mind and he needed to escape that train of thought. It was the cold dead eyes that were the most disturbing, he could see their chalk white sockets. 
   He knew it was a man, perhaps by stature, perhaps by instinct. That did not seem to matter anymore though, in death everyone is the same in a way. Only circumstance really matters and for this nameless man that meant being washed up on the sand like a beached whale. 
  "No, I don't know him." The officer just sighed. 
"Fine. I don't suppose you have any idea what the two T's on his wrist stand for. We assume it's his initials but if you'd like to enlighten us we'd be grateful." Samson remembered those most vividly of all. He saw the letters carved into the body's wrist and he had felt like he was suddenly free falling endlessly in a void. Of course he knew what they stood for, after all it was The Truth and Samson had always been good at finding the truth in a tightly knit safety net of lies. It's what got him into this mess in the first place. 
      "No I don't...sorry." The officer nodded, his flabby jowls quivering as he did so. Then he waved Samson away and he left with relief. Although he would probably be seeing officer blubber again. 
   As he drove home thoughts buzzed like angry bees in his head. The police hadn't found out though and that was the main thing. He was a suspect of course but that didn't matter because they hadn't found the vital piece of evidence linking him to the body. He had pried the photo of himself from the stiff, icy hands of the body with his own quivering. It was what confirmed to him that this was no coincidence. 
    He walked down that same stretch of beach every night. He enjoyed the crisp, salty air on his face and the feeling of the cool sand between his toes as well as the sensation of being blissfully alone in the inky blackness. At the same spot each night at exactly midnight he'd plunge into the ocean for a brisk swim. Tonight at precisely the same spot the hideous body had lain with the waves lapping around the man's bloated ankles. That was disturbing enough but the photo of him and the initials were the proof. They  were looking for him. 
     They always made sure that you couldn't ignore their summons by shooting the messenger. Phone calls are easily declined but bodies are messier and draw more attention. Samson knew he'd have no choice but to see them otherwise more people would share that same watery grave and then the eyes of the law would turn to him. Fingers would start to point and he couldn't afford that happening. 
    The rattle of his keys as he turned them in the lock of his front door made Samson shudder. The sounds of clanking chains and the frantic rattling of cell bars filled his ears reminding him of what was to come. Inside it was cool and airy, just how he liked it. He wandered to the bathroom, his eyes lazily travelling along the blueish grey walls punctuated by photographs of waterside nature, all taken by himself. 
     He splashed wave after wave of water over his face until he felt some relief. Still in his core though was the deep ache to be in the sea. He felt as though there was a rope around his heart and it was tugging him back the way he came to those deep, dark depths. That thought made him want to cry but he held the tears back knowing they would be of little use. If They were looking for him, he'd need to be strong. 
       In the mirror though what he saw was not strength. A ghostly, pinched face stared out at him that he almost did not recognise. His dull red eyes stood out starkly against his canvas of white skin and with a shudder he noticed how prominent his sockets were.  On the white skin too ran a map of all too prominent blood vessels, so stark you could see the blood travelling along them.  His shock of ashen hair also lay limply over his face looking like a scribbled child's drawing of what hair should look like. He looked just as cadaverous as the messenger. 
    He turned away in disgust loping moodily to the kitchen to fix himself a drink. Normally he'd have a snifter of whiskey to chase away the remaining chill from his swim but his shaking hand sloshed a generous quantity out which he greedily gulped down. He felt marginally better and his thoughts organised themselves from a rioting crowd into a more orderly que. 
     Samson wondered briefly whether the others had got a deceased summons too.  That thought actually brought the ghost of an old smile to his lips. Was there a body up on a mountain? Was there a body on a volcano? Was there a body in a forest somewhere? Or perhaps would that be a little too much effort. After all they only had so many disposables at The facility. Yes they had probably just received a raven, a harbinger of death rather than death itself. The others probably had got off more lightly, he had always been the hardest to coerce. Not because of bravery, or cunning but because of fear. Samson was the most scarred from that place because of the cunning and bravery he used to have. 
      He flicked on the new plasma screen to the news. He knew the story of the body or bodies wouldn't be broadcast but he was looking for something else. Samson wanted, no needed, to know why They wanted him at The facility. There had to be some sort of crisis that would lead them to take such drastic action. Despite all the bravado and the guise of omnipotence They didn't want to see Samson and the others any more than Samson wanted to see them. Something had to have made them desperate. 
   There it was, the cause of his summons. The news reporter was a woman in her forties who looked very composed but Samson could see beneath the makeup and the pearly smile. Her frown lines were too deep for this persona and no amount of makeup could cover the purple bags under her eyes. 
    "Tonight reports have surfaced from all over the world about that are reported to be major incidents. Nobody seems to know the nature of these incidents or the scale of the damage they have cause. What we do know though, is that this has gotten a lot of people spooked. Everyone is advised to stay in their homes and await further news."
    He flicked the TV remote irritably and the news reporters , too white, too wide smile was smothered away by blackness. His feet clicked on the tiled floor as he went through to the kitchen, making the empty house seem all the more eerie. Samson liked alone time but nobody wants total isolation, everyone gets lonely. 
      He stopped when he got to a shiny red phone hooked to the wall looking both old fashioned and modern at the same time. It was the only colour in the place and had turned up one day as a blood red reminder of debts he'd one day be called to repay.  His hands shook more than ever as his long, slender fingers reached out to unhook the earpiece from its bindings. He clutched it with whitened knuckles before tentatively dialling. 
    "Took you long enough," a rough voice said after what seemed like aeons. There was a pause. 
"Am I the last."
"Of course." He checked his watch, it was five o'clock in the morning. That meant he'd resisted the call up for five hours since the body was discovered. 
"I'm ready," the words were choked and hoarse, not the sturdy reply he wanted to give.
"Then you know where to find us. I'll send someone down." The line went dead and once again the only company Samson had was the angry drone of the dial tone. 
    The car ride felt like the longest journey of his life. All of a sudden he felt like a kid in the backseat again, wondering how much longer it was going to be. Instead of excitement for some holiday or another though his body ached with dread, right down to his all too prominent bones. He tried the radio to ease the mood but found the late night ramblings of the radio presenters depressing. They were probably as lonely as him in their little rooms with only microphones for company at this unsociable hour. 
Down at the beach it was surprisingly quiet given that a body had been discovered here just hours ago. A police van sat motionless on a sand bank within watching distance from the scene but Samson doubted anyone was inside. Even if they were they'd probably be sleeping on the job, who could really blame them.  
   It was a cold night bringing with it the first chills of winter yet Samson didn't so much as quiver in his T-shirt. The wind howled mournfully as the waves crashed repeatedly onto the sand. The sounds were melodious to Samson and made the longing inside of him burn all the stronger until it felt as though a molten ball of iron sat in his chest. Soon, he told himself, soon. 
     Police tape writhed and thrashed  in the wind until it became just harsh, foreign words flickering on an agony of yellow. Samson was tempted to rip it down but instead he held it above his head with slender fingers and continued on his way. He was heading to the spot where the body had been earlier. It had been taken now for forensic examination but a deep indentation remained on the sand where the bloated corpse had lain to rest in torment. He heard it had been so soft with water that the flesh tore like paper when they lifted it. The smell of rot in the air seemed to confirm this. 
    The man they had sent was rat-like. He had small black eyes and a nose which was too sharp for the rest of his face. A light tan showed he worked outside every so often but his well-manicured nails gave away how he felt about this. Indeed much of his appearance was well kept from his pristine suit to the carefully sculpted edges to his light shave. 
    Ratty was looking over his sunglasses at Samson with smug contempt which he tried his best to ignore. "Lets get on with this," he sighed trying his best to stick to the speak only when spoken to protocol. Those who knew The Truth where expected to keep there mouths shut more often than most. 
    "We'll go as soon as you show me you're still valuable. There is no place at The facility for those with no use. You got them red eyes but I've got no way of tellin if you are the right guy. " The man said this with a cruel smile that held no humour, Samson tried to hide a grin of his own as he headed towards the thick, black waters. He waded in with the torturous longing ebbing away to leave satisfaction and anticipation. If this man wanted a show then he was going to give the prim bastard what he wanted. 
    His fingers tingled as he slowly raised his hands up and slowly but surely the water followed them. The torrent rose high yet thin like a beanstalk until it stood expectantly to attention. He allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he manipulated the water with strange movements of his hands until a tall rose had sprouted from the ocean. This would have been enough but Samson was having fun so he allowed himself to show off. He threw the rose up and turned it to ice before allowing the crystal structure to fall. As it hit the water he clicked his fingers, (a sound that echoed strangely in the night) and it turned instantly to steam rising high into the air and dissipating. 
   A wave deposited him back on the shore bone dry and smirking like the cat that got the cream. Rat man was not looking at him though but at a baby blue clad man who was gaping at Samson like he was the Devil himself. Upon closer inspection he recognised the man as the fat officer who had questioned him. Now the man had no words however and was opening and closing his mouth like a huge fish stranded on land. 
    "Fuck," rat man said running a had through his wiry hair. Samson shared that sentiment but remained silent as rat man thought . "Can you still do that thing."  Samson was surprised and put-out that the news of that had travelled. It was not a talent he was particularly proud of and certainly not one he wanted to perform on the officer who had not been unkind to him.
"The human body is still mostly water isn't it?" 
Rat man rolled his eyes impatiently. "Well do it then." Reluctantly Samson raised his pointer finger and even more reluctantly beckoned.
The fat man instantly froze with a strangled noise of fear mixed with pain. Slowly but surely his body began to swell as pressure built on the inside, it looked like worms trying to eat there way back out from carrion. Pressure continued to build until eventually the skin itself began to groan and something had to give. The officer's body burst open like a balloon releasing a great shower of water and blood, staining the pale sand crimson. The officer slumped to his knees mouth still gaping with it's thick flabby lips flopping and his little eyes rolling. Rat man went over and kicked him in the head, one sharp blow with his polished boots and the policeman went still and silent. He lay with the water lapping round his ankles sharing the messengers watery grave. Soon his body would be water bloated as well and he'd rip open as he was carried away for forensics. 
  Rat man seemed satisfied if a little irritated, as if it was the officer's fault that his brains would stain Rat's boots. "Right now come along...the others are waiting." Samson was comforted by the thought of his three red eyed friends and he happily followed the man away from the scene of the crime, trying to shake off the guilt of what he had just done. 

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