Throat Cut

"The moment you discover your brother has been lying, you realise you never really knew him at all."

Waking up to the gentle, albeit unexpected, affection from Henri was disorienting yet oddly comforting. The small, furry face peering into mine, followed by a quick lick on the cheek, was a jolt back to reality from the depths of an unintended slumber. For a moment, I didn't know where I was — the dust beneath me, the unfamiliar sky above, the absence of Claire's warmth beside me all combining into a puzzle my sleep-fogged brain struggled to assemble.

Then memory returned, unwelcome and complete. Clivilius. The fire. The watch I was supposed to keep.

I gently pushed Henri away, my movements sluggish as I fought the fog of sleep that clung stubbornly to my senses. The little dog's tail wagged with an enthusiasm that seemed almost offensive given the circumstances — I had failed at the one simple task I'd been assigned, and here he was, treating the morning like any other. Sitting up, I felt the stiffness in my neck protest, a physical reminder of the makeshift bed of dust I had chosen over vigilance.

The fire. My eyes snapped to where it should have been, dreading what I would find. Somehow, impossibly, embers still glowed in the pit — not the roaring blaze I'd built up before sleep claimed me, but not dead either. Small mercies. The night had passed without incident, or at least without incident that I was aware of.

"You must have been tired."

Glenda's voice reached me, laced with a mix of amusement and concern. The amusement stung more than any criticism would have. I had been trusted with a simple task, and I had failed it.

Looking up, I found her standing just outside the supply tent, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of our nascent settlement.

"Yeah, I was," I admitted, the acknowledgment coming with a tinge of embarrassment. I had not intended to fall asleep; the realisation that I had done so without noticing the transition from night to day unsettled me. One moment I had been fighting to keep my eyes open, the next Henri was licking my face in the harsh light of morning. The hours between had simply vanished, stolen by exhaustion.

As Glenda approached, her presence seemed to anchor me back into the moment, her steps stirring up small clouds of dust that danced in the morning air. She moved with that same calm competence I was learning to associate with her — unhurried but purposeful, as if every action had been considered and approved before execution.

"You fell asleep pretty quick," she observed, her words doing little to fill the gaps in my memory of the previous night.

I wondered what she had seen when she came out to check on Jamie — me sprawled on my back, mouth probably open, snoring into the starless void like a man without a care in the world. The image made me cringe internally.

The mention of breakfast, offered in the form of a muesli bar, was a welcome distraction, yet my thoughts were already drifting towards the idea of cleansing the night's weariness from my body and spirit. The dust had worked its way into every crevice of my clothing, my hair, my skin. I could feel it grinding between my teeth when I clenched my jaw.

"Thanks, but I think I might go have a quick wash first," I said, my decision made as I shook the dust from my hair, feeling it cascade down in fine particles that glittered momentarily in the morning light. The sensation of grit against my scalp was almost unbearable now that I was fully awake and aware of it.

"In the river?"

Glenda's question, though expected, carried a note of caution. As if the river might hold dangers we hadn't yet discovered. As if anything in this place could be trusted.

"Yeah. It's all we've got," I replied, the simple truth of our situation laid bare in those few words. No showers. No bathtubs. No hot water heaters or fluffy towels. Just a river that might or might not be safe, in a world that had already proven itself hostile in a dozen different ways.

"Fair enough," Glenda conceded, her voice softening. "But make sure you eat when you get back. You need to keep your strength up."

"Oh," was all I could manage, the weight of the tasks ahead settling on my shoulders like a physical burden.

"Yes. I found your concrete instructions," Glenda said, her smile conveying a mix of reassurance and determination.

The concrete instructions. The ones that had led to our first spectacular failure. Perhaps with Glenda's involvement, the second attempt would go better. Perhaps we wouldn't create another monument to our incompetence.

As I stood, the ritual of brushing dust from my clothes had become almost second nature. My face contorted involuntarily as I took in the sight of my attire, each layer of dust a testament to the day's, or rather, the night's slumber. My skin felt coated in a fine grit that no amount of brushing could remove.

The realisation of my own need for cleanliness was immediate and undeniable as I raised my arm for a quick, confirming sniff.

Yep.

The verdict was clear in my mind. A wash was not just needed; it was essential. I smelled like something that had died and been left in the sun — a comparison that felt more apt than I would have liked.

With a sense of purpose, I entered the tent, my anticipation of a quick grab-and-go for my washing essentials halted by the sight that greeted me. The mattress lay empty, an unspoken question hanging in the air, its usual occupant nowhere to be seen.

"Where are Jamie and Duke?"

The query was out before I could temper my surprise, directed towards Glenda as I poked my head back outside, seeking reassurance or at least an explanation. The empty mattress had sent a spike of alarm through me — after everything we'd been through to keep Jamie alive, the idea that he might have wandered off and gotten himself into trouble felt almost inevitable.

"They've gone for a walk. He seems much better this morning."

Came Glenda's response, her words floating back to me with a casualness that belied the underlying relief. The news that Jamie was feeling well enough to venture out was a bright spot in the otherwise mundane start to the day. Whatever magic Glenda had worked with her medical supplies, whatever healing had happened in the night while I slept, it had been enough to get Jamie on his feet again.

"That's good," I replied, the sentiment genuine as I retreated back into the tent. The relief I felt at Jamie's improvement was a small buoy of hope in the ongoing saga of our survival.

My attention then turned to the task at hand — locating fresh clothes and a towel amidst the organised chaos of our supplies. My fingers eventually found what they were searching for, but not without a brief battle with the various items that had become our makeshift home's décor.

Lifting the towel I had managed to unearth, I brought it to my nose, the action instinctive. The smell that greeted me was an unpleasant reminder of our current living conditions — stale and slightly damp, the scent of use without the luxury of proper drying.

We need to find a way to hang up wet belongings soon, I mused, the thought more a mental note to address later. The realisation was a practical one, born from the necessity of maintaining not just personal hygiene but a semblance of broader cleanliness in our day-to-day lives. Civilisation, I was learning, was built on a thousand small conveniences we never thought about until they were gone.

Stepping outside, the contrast between the dim interior of the tent and the bright world beyond was striking. For the first time since I had awoken, I fully registered the warmth of the sun's rays, a comforting presence in the vastness of the blue sky above. It was a moment of unexpected beauty, a gentle reminder of nature's indifference to our struggles and fears. The sun hung in a sky that could almost have been Earth's, if you didn't look too closely.

"Do you know which way they went?" I asked, my voice carrying a hint of apprehension. The last thing I wanted was an awkward encounter with Jamie on his return. The man had made his feelings about unwanted company abundantly clear, and walking in on him bathing would probably result in another dog bite, or worse.

"They've headed downstream," Glenda responded, her finger pointing towards the gentle flow of the river, her casual mention of a lagoon sparking my interest.

At first, I was hesitant to share the treasured location, but part of me was curious whether the lagoon had the same surreal effect on everyone.

"Yeah. It's a nice spot. There's nothing there except water and dust, but you should check it out sometime," I replied, my voice carrying across to Glenda with a note of encouragement.

Glenda's reaction, a nod filled with contemplation, signalled her interest, yet her practicality shone through in her response.

"I might wait until I have some clothes to change into," she said, her words reflecting a pragmatic approach to the adventure.

Fair point. She had arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back, prepared for a medical emergency rather than an extended stay in an alien dimension.

As I walked past Glenda and the campfire, embarking on my journey towards the river, I could feel the weight of her gaze on me. It was an unsettling sensation, a silent scrutiny that seemed to pierce through the back of my head, making my steps feel heavier than usual.

My discomfort peaked when the realisation hit me — I had chosen the direction leading towards the lagoon, where Jamie and Duke had ventured. The thought of potentially encountering them, especially in a state of undress, sent a wave of embarrassment crashing over me.

"Oh," I scoffed under my breath, the absurdity of my oversight dawning on me. In an attempt to correct my course, I spun around, my cheeks aflame with a flush that felt hot enough to rival the warmth of the morning sun.

"I'll go upstream," I announced to Glenda, my voice a mix of determination and chagrin. The gesture of pointing, as if to solidify my new decision, was more for my benefit than hers. Upstream. Away from Jamie. Away from potential humiliation.

Glenda's response was a smile, a simple, understanding curve of her lips that offered a semblance of comfort amidst my self-conscious fluster. Then, turning away, she headed towards the Portal, her movements marking a return to the tasks at hand and leaving me to my revised plan.

I gave myself a mental shrug, trying to shake off the residual embarrassment. I'd circle back to Glenda later, perhaps after regaining a bit of dignity along the riverbank. Not wanting to venture too far, my eyes began to scan the landscape ahead with increased scrutiny, searching for a spot that offered both privacy and proximity to the water. The task of finding a suitable place to undress and cleanse myself, while seemingly simple, carried with it a heightened sense of awareness of my surroundings. Every shift in the breeze became a signal to be interpreted, a potential indicator of privacy or exposure.

The decision to stop was born out of frustration more than satisfaction with the location. The landscape around me offered little in the way of privacy, just the modest shield of small hills dotting the otherwise open and unforgiving terrain. With resignation setting in, I began the awkward process of disrobing in what felt like an expanse of vulnerability, the barren land stretching out in all directions with not nearly enough coverage for comfort.

As the zipper of my jeans hissed open, a sudden bark shattered the quiet, slicing through the stillness and immediately seizing my attention. It was a sound unmistakably familiar, yet alarmingly out of place in the serenity of my intended solitude.

"Henri?"

The name slipped out as a whisper, a query into the silence as I paused, my senses heightened, straining against the distance for any further sign. Henri wasn't supposed to be here. Henri was supposed to be back at camp, or with Jamie and Duke at the lagoon. Henri being here, barking with that particular urgency, meant something was wrong.

Then, as realisation dawned with the clarity of the danger it suggested, a single, emphatic "Shit," escaped me. The bark wasn't just a call; it was a warning, a harbinger of something amiss. My actions became frantic, the previously leisurely task of undressing now a rushed attempt to make myself presentable in the face of urgency. The zip was yanked carelessly, a hasty movement born of the sudden fear that coursed through me, igniting a cascade of alarm bells in my mind.

Shoving my feet back into my shoes with an urgency that bordered on panic, the thought of something seriously wrong back at camp propelled me forward. Each second seemed to stretch, elongating with the growing dread that something had happened in my brief absence. Had the night terror returned in daylight? Had something attacked Glenda? Had Jamie collapsed again, his recovery proving temporary?

With my heart hammering against my ribcage, I turned back towards camp, the need to understand and possibly confront whatever had prompted Henri's alarm consuming all other thoughts.

Racing back to camp, the urgency in my voice carried across the distance as I called out for Henri, my concern for the little dog now intertwined with a deeper sense of alarm.

"Henri! Henri!"

My shouts echoed, a desperate attempt to locate him, to assure myself he was safe. The burned foot screamed with every impact, a pain I was learning to ignore through sheer necessity.

As the camp came into view, Henri's form materialised at the river's edge, his small frame tense, barking incessantly in a display of distress that was impossible to ignore. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, the cause of his agitation quickly becoming horrifyingly clear.

There, in the shallow embrace of the river, lay a young man, his body partially submerged, face down in the water.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. For a moment, I couldn't process what I was seeing — my brain refused to accept the information my eyes were sending. A body. A human body. In the river. Face down. Not moving.

The gentle bobbing of the current, in stark contrast to the scene's gravity, seemed to mock the perilous situation with its calmness. The water lapped at him like it might lap at a fallen log, indifferent to the difference between wood and flesh. His boots, caught on a rock, prevented him from being carried further downstream, an accidental anchor to this grim tableau.

"Shit!"

The expletive burst from me as I rushed forward, adrenaline propelling me to action. Dropping to my knees at the riverbank, I was overcome with a mixture of fear and determination. The need to act was immediate, every second crucial. CPR. I knew CPR. I'd taken a course years ago, at Claire's insistence, when the children were young. The knowledge felt distant now, buried under layers of panic, but it was there.

"Paul, what's going on?"

Luke's voice, tinged with concern and confusion, reached me from a distance. I hadn't heard him arrive — hadn't registered his presence through the Portal or across the camp. He was simply there, as he always seemed to be when disaster struck.

"Help me! Hurry, he needs help!"

My scream was a plea for immediate assistance, my voice straining with the effort.

Luke joined me without a moment's delay, sinking to his knees beside me.

"Shit," he whispered, the curse a shared sentiment of shock and realisation. His face had gone pale, I noticed — paler than the situation warranted, perhaps. As if he knew something I didn't.

Reaching across the water, my initial attempt to roll the man was clumsy, resulting in little more than nudging the body closer to Luke. The water made everything difficult — the resistance, the way the current kept pushing against me, the slippery uncertainty of the riverbed beneath my hands. Without hesitation, I found myself entering the river, the coolness of the water enveloping me as it quickly rose to my waist, its depth catching me off guard.

"Help me roll him," I urged.

Luke joined me in the water, his movements hesitant in a way that felt wrong, that felt like reluctance rather than shock.

"Go. I've got him," he said, ready to assist.

Glenda's count down, "Three. Two. One. Roll," might have seemed superfluous in the urgency of the moment, but it provided a necessary cadence to our actions. When had she arrived? I hadn't noticed her approach, too focused on the body, on the desperate hope that we might still save this stranger. As we turned the body, Glenda worked to free the man's feet from the entrapment of the rocks.

The sudden exclamation, "Who the fuck is that?" jolted us, an unexpected voice piercing the tense air. I spun to see a young man standing on the bank — someone I'd never seen before, someone who had no business being in Clivilius, someone whose presence added another layer of impossibility to an already impossible morning.

The young man's face, now visible and bobbing in the water, was unfamiliar, his identity a mystery that only deepened the urgency and confusion of the moment.

"No idea," I found myself whispering, a response more to myself than to the question posed by the unknown voice. Who was he? Where had he come from? How had he ended up in our river, in our sanctuary, dead?

"Is he breathing?"

Glenda's question, filled with concern, cut through the chaos.

"I don't think so."

Luke's grim assessment came as he checked for signs of life. His hands moved over the body with a familiarity that seemed strange — not the awkward fumbling of someone confronting death for the first time, but something more practised, more resigned.

"Quick, bring him to shore," Glenda urged.

"No," I countered abruptly, my discovery halting any further attempts at rescue. My eyes, wide with shock, were fixed on the young man. The water had washed away enough blood to reveal what lay beneath, and now I could see it clearly — the gaping wound across his throat, the flesh parted in a way that no accident could explain.

"I don't think it will help," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, the revelation of the cause of death — a slit throat — rendering any attempt at resuscitation futile. This man hadn't drowned. This man had been murdered. Someone had taken a blade to his throat and opened it like a second mouth, and then they had dumped him in the river like refuse.

"Fuck!"

The unknown voice exclaimed again, the terror and disbelief palpable in the air.

The tension hung in the air as Glenda's gasp sliced through the grim silence.

"We should bring the body in anyway."

"What good will that do?" Luke questioned, his voice laced with apprehension. "If he's been murdered and someone comes looking for him, perhaps we shouldn't be the ones caught with his body."

His words painted a grim picture of the potential dangers we faced, not just from the elements, but from other, more malevolent human forces. Murderers. There were murderers in Clivilius. People who killed and disposed of bodies in rivers. The implications cascaded through my mind like dominoes falling.

My hands, betraying my inner turmoil, began to tremble uncontrollably. The reality of murder, of other people out there capable of such violence, was a shock to my system.

What the hell is going on?

The questions whirled through my mind, a maelstrom of fear, confusion, and disbelief. We had thought ourselves alone here. We had thought the dangers were natural — the night terrors, the elements, the challenges of survival. But this? This was human evil. This was something far worse.

The nameless voice, aligning with Luke's cautious stance, only added to the weight of the decision before us. Yet, despite the fear and the logical arguments for caution, I found myself agreeing with Glenda.

"Yes. Regardless, he deserves a proper burial," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. The assertion was a reflection of a fundamental belief in human dignity, a conviction that even in death, especially under such tragic circumstances, respect was owed. We couldn't just let him float away, couldn't pretend we hadn't seen him, couldn't treat him like debris to be ignored.

Luke's scoff, "Proper burial! You don't even know the guy," highlighted the divide in our perspectives. His pragmatism, though understandable, clashed with the more humanistic approach Glenda and I seemed to be leaning towards.

"If we bring him in, I can do a rough autopsy," Glenda suggested, her voice steady.

"Is that really necessary?" Luke's challenge was predictable, his focus on the pragmatic, the immediate. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened to him."

The conversation, the debate over what to do next, was almost too much to bear. A wave of acidic bile rose in my throat, a physical manifestation of the horror and revulsion that the situation evoked within me. My stomach, already empty, clenched violently against the images flooding my brain — the wound, the blood, the pallor of death.

"A rough autopsy might be able to tell us more of a story of how he met his fate," Glenda explained, her rationale clear.

The sensation was overwhelming, a visceral reaction that I couldn't control. The taste of bile, acidic and relentless, clawed its way up my throat as the surrounding arguments became a distant cacophony. My focus narrowed to the internal battle raging within me, the imminent expulsion of my stomach's contents becoming my sole reality. The tears that blurred my vision, a mixture of physical reaction and emotional overload, were a testament to the severity of the moment.

Just as the nausea reached its peak, I managed to turn away, a small mercy to spare my companions from the brunt of my sickness. However, the riverbed beneath me proved to be an unreliable ally, shifting unexpectedly and sending me beneath the water. The shock of the cold water compounded my distress, leaving me gasping and disoriented.

As I floundered, my arms and legs moved of their own accord, desperate to right myself and regain some semblance of control. The river water, an unwelcome intruder, forced its way into my mouth, adding insult to injury. When I finally managed to surface, coughing and spluttering, my immediate concern was for the young man we had been trying to save.

"Where's the body?"

The question burst from me, a mix of panic and confusion. My eyes sought out Luke. The sight of him, as drenched and dishevelled as I felt, somehow brought a momentary flicker of solidarity. We were both in this river. We were both covered in water that had touched a dead man.

"Shit… shit!"

The words echoed in the thick, humid air, a chaotic mantra that seemed to amplify the panic setting into our bones. Luke's voice cut through the clamour, desperate and tinged with an urgency that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Where's Jamie?" He asked, his voice laced with panic.

I stared at him, feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion. My eyes narrowed instinctively, as I tried to decipher the sudden shift in his demeanour.

Why the sudden concern for Jamie? What had changed in the mere moments since we had last spoken about him?

"He went for a walk to the lagoon."

Glenda's voice broke through my thoughts, calm yet carrying an undercurrent of worry that I hadn't detected before.

"Lagoon?" Luke's voice quivered slightly, betraying his confusion.

"Downstream," I found myself saying, the word leaving my lips with a mixture of reluctance and resolve. Downstream. Where the body was now floating. Where Jamie had gone for his morning walk.

"Shit," Luke muttered under his breath, his eyes darting back to meet mine, wide with realisation and fear. "We need to retrieve that body. Now!"

I felt a jolt of surprise at his words, a sharp contrast to his earlier stance.

"But... but you just said," I stammered, my voice faltering as I grappled to keep up with Luke's thinking.

"Forget what I said. You were right. We are better off keeping the body," Luke interjected, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument as he clambered onto the riverbank with a sense of purpose that was almost palpable.

And then, without another word, he took off in a sprint, his figure quickly distancing himself, following the body as it bobbed and floated downstream.

I stood there for a moment, stunned, wiping a smidge of vomit from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. The acrid taste lingered, a distasteful reminder of the horror we were now facing. My mind raced to catch up with what was happening — Luke's sudden reversal, his panic about Jamie, the body floating toward the lagoon.

"Go!"

Glenda's voice snapped me out of my daze, her hand pushing against the back of the young man who stood frozen, caught in the headlights of the unfolding chaos.

"Fuck off," he muttered, dodging Glenda's second attempt with a deftness that spoke of his desire to remain uninvolved.

I didn't have time to wonder who he was or where he'd come from. That mystery would have to wait. I felt a surge of determination as I pulled myself from the river, the water clinging to my clothes, adding weight to my already heavy heart.

"I'll go," I announced, stepping forward, my voice carrying a resolve I wasn't sure I felt.

"Introductions can wait," Glenda said, her eyes urging me to follow Luke without delay.

Brushing past the young man, who looked at me with a mix of confusion and relief, I took off in a sprint. Luke wasn't too far ahead, despite his head start. Ignoring the sharp twang of pain that shot through my foot with every step, I kept my focus steady. Luke had always been the faster one, but this wasn't a race I was willing to lose. Not now.

"Luke! Stop!" I cried out. My heart pounded in my chest, a relentless drumbeat that echoed my racing thoughts.

What were we doing?

Luke didn't stop, but his pace slowed considerably, a tacit acknowledgment of my presence as I caught up within seconds. Our footsteps synchronised, a rhythmic thud against the soft dust.

"Why is that body suddenly so important to you?" I asked, my voice strained from both the run and the weight of confusion pressing down on me.

"He's Jamie's son," Luke replied, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the air with the sharpness of a knife.

I slowed my pace, my feet dragging as if the ground beneath them had turned to quicksand. I shook my head, trying to dispel the fog of disbelief clouding my mind.

"Are you serious? Since when did Jamie have a son?"

The words felt foreign, as if I was talking about a stranger rather than someone I had known for the good part of a decade. Jamie. My brother's partner. The man I'd watched recover from near-death in our tent. The man who had a son I knew nothing about — a son who was now floating dead in our river with his throat cut.

"Long story," Luke said, his eyes fixed ahead, as if the answers lay just beyond our sight. "And Jamie doesn't know he's dead."

The weight of his words anchored me to the spot. Grabbing Luke's arm, I yanked us both to a sudden stop, our momentum halting as abruptly as my racing heart. I glared at my brother, the brother I thought I knew inside and out.

"But you already knew," I accused, the words heavy with betrayal and hurt. The pieces were falling into place now — Luke's strange behaviour at the riverbank, his initial reluctance to bring in the body, his sudden panic when he realised where Jamie had gone. He had known. He had recognised the dead man. He had known all along.

Luke swallowed hard.

"Yes," he slowly replied, his admission hanging between us like a dense fog.

"Shit," I said, the word a mere whisper, as the shock of the news began to settle in the pit of my stomach. I gradually released my grip on Luke's arm, my fingers uncurling as the initial surge of anger gave way to a deep, gnawing sense of betrayal.

I thought we told each other everything.

But now, standing here in the shadow of this revelation, I wasn't so certain anymore. How many other secrets was Luke keeping? How many other lies had he told me, had he told all of us?

Luke pulled himself free, a gesture that felt symbolic of the growing distance between us.

"I had nothing to do with it. I swear."

His voice was earnest, desperate even, but it did little to bridge the chasm that had opened up between us.

"I highly doubt that," I replied, my words laced with a bitterness that surprised even me. The brother I had followed into an alien dimension. The brother I had trusted with my life. The brother who had secrets so dark they included murdered sons and slit throats.

Luke huffed with frustration, the sound harsh in the quiet that surrounded us.

"We don't have time for this, Paul," he said, his voice urgent, as he tried to coax me back into motion.

But I resisted, firmly planted in my spot, my heart racing not from the run but from the tumult of emotions raging within me.

How could he do this?

I asked myself, incredulously, the question echoing in my mind. How could he keep something like this from me? How could he bring us all here, to this place of murder and secrets, without warning?

"I'll tell you about it later," Luke urged, his gaze imploring me to understand, to trust him despite the secrets he'd kept. "There's a lot you don't know."

"Obviously," I sneered, the bitterness of the situation coating my words like a thick, unpalatable syrup. The revelation Luke had dropped on me cast a long, dark shadow not just on our immediate mission, but on the very foundation of trust and brotherhood I had always believed was indestructible between us.

As the reality of the situation sank in, my eyes widened in a mix of shock and begrudging acceptance.

Now that, I had to concede silently, Luke was most certainly correct about.

The landscape around us began to change as we neared our destination. The river widened, its banks spreading out as if to welcome us into the open jaws of the lagoon.

"There it is!" I cried out, my voice laced with desperation, as I spotted the body floating downstream.

"We're never going to catch it before it reaches the lagoon," Luke huffed beside me, his breath heavy with exertion and a hint of defeat. His words felt like a cold splash of water, dampening the flicker of hope that had ignited within me at the sight of our morbid target.

"What do we do?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribcage, the fear of the consequences if Jamie were to spiral further out of control becoming a tangible presence that threatened to choke the very air around me. If Jamie saw this — saw his son's body floating in the water, throat cut, dead — what would happen to him? He had barely survived a charcoal splinter. How could he survive this?

"I'll run ahead. If Jamie is there, I can distract him," Luke suggested, his plan sounding more like a desperate gamble than a well-thought-out strategy.

"Distract him?" I echoed, the confusion evident in my tone.

"Yes," Luke answered, his voice carrying a determination that seemed to cut through the uncertainty of the moment. "You need to make sure the body doesn't stop. It has to keep going downstream."

The very thought made my stomach churn. The dead body, now a silent player in our twisted scenario, floating downstream to an unknown destination was a morbid image that would likely haunt me for years to come.

Where would he end up? The question echoed ominously in my mind. We have no idea what's out there.

"Are you sure, Luke?" I found myself asking, the doubt in my voice a clear reflection of the turmoil swirling within me. "You know nothing stays hidden forever."

"Yes," Luke said firmly. "I'm sure."

His assurance did little to quell the storm of emotions raging within me. As I watched Luke prepare to sprint ahead, a sense of foreboding settled over me, a dark cloud that seemed to whisper that we were stepping further into a web of lies and secrets from which there would be no easy escape.

Duke's bark, a familiar sound that usually brought a sense of comfort, now carried an ominous note as it drifted towards us on the gentle breeze. The situation we were in, the mission we had embarked upon, lent a sinister undertone to even the most mundane of sounds.

Luke and I jogged to the top of the final hill, our bodies tense with anticipation and dread for what awaited us. The crest of the hill offered us a panoramic view of the lagoon, a natural beauty that under different circumstances would have been a sight to behold. Instead, it was the backdrop to a grim tableau that I was reluctantly a part of.

"Look, there's Duke and Jamie," I pointed out, my voice strained as I spotted them on the far side of the lagoon.

"Shit," Luke cursed under his breath, his gaze locked onto something beyond them. "And there's the body."

My eyes quickly followed the direction of Luke's pointing finger, and a knot formed in my stomach. He was right. The relentless current had carried the body to the mouth of the lagoon, where it had unceremoniously washed up, getting caught on a shallow dune that lurked just below the surface of the water.

"Go!" Luke insisted, his urgency palpable as he shoved me in the direction of Jamie's lifeless son. The physical push felt like a jolt, not just to my body but to my psyche as well. I was being propelled towards a reality I wasn't sure I was ready to face.

The weight of the situation bore down on me as I made my way towards the lagoon. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very earth beneath me was trying to hold me back, or perhaps, give me a moment to gather the courage I would need to face what was coming.

Somewhere ahead, a dead man waited. Somewhere behind, secrets multiplied. And somewhere in between, I was running toward a truth I wasn't sure any of us would survive.