Chapter FiveMy feet hit the water first; then the rest of me sinks into the chilly depths.
The shock of the cold water clears my daze enough for me to remember to hold my breath.
For many years now, I’ve practiced holding my breath for an underwater escape I might do one day. All that practice probably saves my life as I keep holding my breath and swim up.
Just like I’ve done during my practice, I begin counting Mississippis in my head—my record thus far is seventy-eight.
Was I just pushed, or did I slip? And if I was pushed, who did it?
If someone’s after me, it might be dangerous for me to resurface.
Then again, given what I’ve read about the experience of drowning, I might choose the ambiguous danger of whoever pushed me over that infamous agony.
Fifteen seconds.
People have an
