The Play Underwater

Chapter 3

2: Folks

“The faith of a child is a rainbow that cuts you.”~ Proverbs 5:52

Frank woke up a very dry but very confused man under a checkered blanket, in what looked to be a cabin. Light poured in from the window, filtered through the surrounding curtains into a dull yellow, but something was... off. More than the fact that Frank was naked. Wait... he was naked. Why was he naked? Who or what had made him naked? What the hell was going-?

"Patches! Davey's awake! Y'all owe me five dollars!" Frank saw a small green shape fly out into the room- well, more of a compartment- adjacent to his. He almost jumped off of the couch he had been sleeping on, only to rediscover that he was without any underwear and quickly fell back under the blanket. It was hot inside this trailer and the checkerboard patterning stunk of his sweat. How long had he been like this, lying in a strange bed in a strange place with nothing but some thin scrap of knitting between him and the world? It was quiet for some time, Frank couldn't say how long for certain, as the whoever-it-was had apparently ran outside. What was it that they were calling him? Davey? They had to have his wallet, they knew his name, they- oh son of a b***h they knew his name. If Pod ever reported him... How long had he been like this?

Foregoing caution for the time being, Frank gathered the blanket around himself as one would a bath towel and set off into what seemed to be a small unkept kitchen, complete with dirty dishes cluttering the counter and the smell of used food pervading everything like gossamer. To his right was a plain wooden screen door. Frank decided to take his chances, opened the screen, and walked right smack into a second glass door. Either he was still groggy from sleep or these people put a lot more effort into glass cleaning than any other kind. The glass now spattered with a fair amount of his spit, Frank triumphantly took his first few steps down a wooden step and onto a motely of grass and fine dirt. As he looked up, the light stung his eyes. He had known something about his initial assessment was off. This wasn't a cabin it was a parked trailer, currently sitting in the middle of a power station, with floodlights exterminating every natural shadow behind the rusted fence that seemed to surround it and casting a few more. Beyond the lights, Frank thought he could make out the faint outlines of pine tree branches, although the lights themselves made it impossible to be sure. Transformer boxes flanked either side of the vehicle, grotesque plated antennae jutting out and connecting them to the taller fixtures overhead. How did these people even get in here, Frank thought to himself? It was right about then that he noticed the man standing in the center of the station's main yard, watching him through a pair of owl spectacles. He was a thin one, almost waiflike even under his thick stitch-covered jacket and turtleneck. This combined with the scarf he was wearing and the sharp features of his cheekbones and nose gave him a somewhat surgical feel: As if to say "to deal with me is to deal with an instrument of precision." Holding the man's hand and half-immersed in shadow was a little girl in a green sweater that almost covered her entire body and whose sleeves ran well past her wrists. Frank suddenly looked down and recoiled upon realizing that he was steaming. It was freezing that October night.

"Good evening sir... I'm sure you're a bit turned around. If you'll just come back inside, I can answer any questions you might have. I'd do it out here just as well," the man laughed, "but I'm sure neither of us are comfortable with the temperature out here. You of all people need to stay warm."

"A big fish spat you out onto the beach while Malbourne was fishing and we brought you up to the trailer so you wouldn't die," the girl piped in.

"Quiet child, we don't want to overwhelm the man." He began to lead her by the hand towards Frank, presumably on their way to the trailer. Frank stepped forward. He needed to find out how much they knew, and fast. What did he know, for that matter? He knew they were in the woods. He knew they were probably near the lake he had had his... incident in- processing that later- and he knew there were at least two of them, maybe three. These two could be stalling for time while the others were calling the cops. But then why would there be a kid with them? The thin man, now in front of him -how had he crossed the distance so fast? He needed to stop spacing out- reached out a hand, the boniness of which gave it the eerie look almost of a claw.

"I am Pastor Franz-Joseph O'Connor by the way."

"'Round here we just call him patches." The girl again. Maybe she was a ploy. Dangle a cute kid in front of you to get your guard down and then in swoop the handcuffs. Frank realized he had been staring at O'Connor's outstretched hand for just long enough to make it awkward. What the hell was wrong with him today? Quickly, Frank took up the thin man's arm and tried not to crack it like a twig. "I-I'm Franklin Orion." They probably had his wallet and ID. No point in lying about his name.

"Liar, you're Wandering Davey. I saw you come up out of the water. You're just trying to trick us."

"Child, the man can call himself whatever he wants. If you'll just let us inside." Realizing he'd been blocking the door, Frank hurriedly jumped aside, then frantically patted down the blanket to make sure he had not dislodged it with his motion. He didn't need to get charged with indecent exposure to children on top of everything else, though at this point it was probably just another drop in the bucket. The two were inside the trailer now. Frank could hear dishes being moved about and the faucet running. He turned out toward the darkness that enveloped the area surrounding the station. They were inside and he was not. He could get lost now, he could run. But to where? The lake was large and drained off into several streams big enough to carry a man. It could have spat him out in Canada for all he knew. Another look down at the blanket wrapped around his bare waist like some kind of barbaric shawl sealed it for him. He went in with his hosts, slamming the screen behind him.

"Hey not to sound rude, but why do you only have a glass door on this thing?" Frank noticed now that goose bumps had begun to appear on his arms and chest. "I think I could see my breath out there."

"You've been kept warm and it's October" was the response from one of the larger table chairs. "That was probably just the heat leaving you. Besides, we find the cold stimulating."

"No, you find it stimulating. I just think it's cold." Franz-Joseph chuckled at her remark.

"You want some coffee? You still look kind of groggy." The girl began collecting three of the more clean-looking mugs from around the kitchen in response to the offer. Did he look groggy? Oh, hell, did he look nervous? He hadn't looked at himself in the mirror since he'd woken up.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I just... Can I just put some clothes on first please? Also if I could use your bathroom, that'd be great." It had only occurred to him as an afterthought that he needed to take a s**t.

"Most of your clothes are still drying outside on the clothes line. We don't really have enough water for a washing machine."

"Not enough money either."

"No, not enough money either. Although you're already wearing your jacket."

"Huh?"

"You've been using it as a shawl. Pod found it on you and it was mostly dry so-"

"I'm sorry. Wait. How the hell do you know about Pod?!" Frank had straightened up now, his back to the door. This was it. What was he, her uncle? Brother? Godfather maybe? He had called himself Pastor earlier. Now he was going to chop him up into little bits and pieces and scatter him over this damn power station where no one would ever find him and how could he be so stupid as to come inside?"

"That's me, Davey, I'm Posh." Frank's eyes snapped over to the little girl at a coffee brewer that looked like it was made in the nineties.

"Wha-? You. You're Posh. That's your name?"

"Yeah I'm Posh. Who else would I be?" said the girl with a pride in one's name that could only be carried by the young. There Frank stood in a stranger's trailer, shouting at a kindergartener over something she couldn't possibly have known about or understood, all while wearing a checkered jacket around his d**k that there was no way in hell was his but was apparently his like some deranged Scotsman. Frank sat down.

"I-I'm so sorry. I just thought. I thought you were someone different and over-reacted. I'm sorry." Franz-Joseph shrugged.

"You've just recently been excused from a meeting with your Lord. I've seen people raise their voice over less. Still want some coffee?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks." Frank massaged his eyelids, elbows on the table.

"Bathroom's over there by the way. If you want to take a bath you're going to have to go back in the river." Two minutes later Frank found himself squatting over the cheap pink foam of a mobile home's toilet seat with his jacket at his ankles, starring at a stack of finely aged Reader's Digests to his left. So they didn't know. He guessed that was good. They lived in a trailer for God's sake; they probably didn't even have a TV. Suddenly he heard another bang from the screen door. That must be the one who pulled him out of the river. His affairs settled, Frank checked his hand to see if he had stopped shaking yet (almost) and gathered up his jacket again. On his way through the kitchen he saw Posh, Franz-Joseph, and a big hulking man in overalls and muddy boots whose head scraped the ceiling, playing some kind of card game around the table. The middle one smiled faintly at him and readjusted his glasses. "Sir, this is our friend and travelling companion Malbourne. He's the one who first saw you being pushed upriver." Malbourne that was the name. Mal, bad, bad born. Weird name but it was turning out to be a weird night. The man looked up from his cards and raised a hand almost the size of Frank's skull in greeting. Frank didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just gave a slight bow of his head in appreciation for saving his life.

"Is there any coffee left over?"

"I kept your mug out." Posh pointed over to the counter. There was still some steam over it. Frank thanked her and asked them when they thought his clothes would be dry again.

"It's been a pretty cold Autumn," Franz-Joseph spoke for the group, Frank could see that now. "I wouldn't try them on until the morning."

"Well, I guess I've been sleeping for a long time already so I'm not going to bed... Any chance you guys could deal me in?"

"Sure Davey, pull up a seat." There was that name again. Why did the girl have to keep calling her that?

"It's Frank, but thank you." That made her laugh. Malbourne reached halfway across the room and pulled up another chair.

"Thanks." The man fishes you out of a watery grave and you thank him more for a chair. Get it together man! But Frank had long since learned to shove away those less kindly voices in his head. "What are we playing?"

"We're playing war. I'm winning," said Posh as she laid the coffee cup down in front of him. Frank took a sip and felt a hot acidic concoction slide into him, leaving the bark of espresso in the back of his mouth.

"I thought you could only play war with two people."

"Not the way we play it."

"Well then you'll have to show me."

"We'll play an open handed game," said the priest, "then see how good you are."

"No, hey, I don't want you to stop your whole game because of me".

"It's no problem. None of us have anything else to do and you don't want to sleep." Malbourne began to gather up and reshuffle the cards.