A woman with dark eyes and hair looked down at him. Archie sensed that this must be Gwen, that she was in fact not lost and this was all just a very long bad dream.
He looked up at her. Her expression was pitying but the pity looked like something she had to work at. More than anything else, she looked angry.
"I'm Sergeant Merci Rayborn, Homicide," she said. "I'm investigating the murder of your wife. This is my partner, Paul Zamorra."
When he realized it wasn't Gwen his heart wilted and he thought about going under again. Then Archie recognized them-minor players in ancient history. He wanted to say something but words exhausted him.
So he closed his eyes and ducked under, hovering in the cool, pellucid river.
We just wanted to introduce ourselves, Archie. That's all. You're going to get better. I promise.
How do you know that? he wondered.
He thought of Gwen and vaguely remembered a birthday party and a drive up Coast Highway and a rock through the window and a bright light in his eyes. Where had he last seen her? Was it in the bed? Wasn't she sleeping? Hadn't they made love? Or… the bathroom? Didn't they go into the bathroom for something? Gwen is dead, he remembered. My huge thing, gone. Why can't see your face? Please let me see her face.
And again he tried to picture Gwen but he could see nothing b the black immensity that had swallowed her.
I got shot in the head, didn't I?
No one answered, so he asked again.
No one answered this time either, and he realized he was thinking, not talking. He realized he was far away from everyone. But he also realized they were right there, just a few feet away from him. It was like existing in a world that was taking place in the same time and place as theirs, but not connected to it.
He tried to swim back up so he could talk, find out what had happened, maybe help Detective Rayborn. Up. Up.
But there was still water over him and he couldn't go the last few feet.
Then the voice that had gotten him through all this:
Breathe. Rest. Breathe, Archie. Rest