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Swimming with the Fishes
Eleni My stomach roils. The surface underneath me bumps and rolls. My head aches, and my hands scream with pain so loud I’m forced to open my eyes just to see what happened to them. The world around me swims together in pieces. Dark walls, lined with something textured. Sound-proofing? No, it’s hard plastic. The carpet under my cheek is equally plasticky. Something smells like gasoline, and for a single horrifying second, I think I’m back in the basement of Frank Lombardi’s garage, and this has all been a dream. Then, my hand pulls my attention again, and I shock back to now. With aching slowness, I drag my hand up until I can see it. A makeshift bandage rings my palm, soaked through with something red. No, I know what that is. Blood. My blood. The ground bumps again, and something mo
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