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TITLE OF THE STORYYou don't recognize the cabin on the water
Author: bloated. This story is part of the Class of 76 canon. You can find more of Tuft's work herehere.Research:+67+–x
New York, 2019.
Winston Carter stopped by the window and swirled his glass.
He was on the top floor of a very tall building. Her floor-to-ceiling window allowed her room to blend seamlessly with the sky and city around her. Down below, cars crawled through the streets like ants. People run around like aphid cattle, insecure and vulnerable. Winter clouds covered the sky. Winston took a big gulp.
The room was gray. His suit was gray. The walls, floor and carpet were gray. A single abstract painting hung on the other side of the room; it meant nothing to Winston but futility. His office was large, empty, marked only by a brown desk facing the window. It was a room that exuded intimidation.
He was a man of few interests and good taste. Every day, swarms of subordinates entered through these doors, hoping for favors or promotions. He would look at them. He would consider them, the form of their words and the disposition of their minds, and make decisions.
Every day he got up, threw off the covers, blinked and started moving. His wife was still asleep, and a dim light filtered through the curtains. She had her own life. He would get to work. He addressed the secretary and his subordinates in a low, deep tone; friendly, who put people at ease but never undermined his authority.
How many faces does a man need? His team knew the face. His wife knew another. His lover may have known the truth, but are the darkest parts of someone truer just because they're dark? His son knew him as a smiling face who brings gifts and occasionally ruffles his hair.
Everything existed in a time of perfect order. The tower seemed to grow taller and taller every year. He would watch out for the others. And he was on top, looking down, always looking down.
However, there was one thing that existed beyond this pure existence. Guilty pleasure. He enjoyed reading crazy letters. Every company, every CEO has received them - letters from conspiracy theorists, or alien abductees, or socialists. His team sifted through them, picked the cream and sent them to him for a laugh.
He sat down and took a few from his desk. They were hilarious. Check out this example-
- and they are coming after us. I know I sound crazy, but the lizards are coming after us and we have to do something. You're the last one not among them, I know, I know, and you have to help us stop them before they get to the appetizers…
(Video) Taylor Swift - cardigan (Official Lyric Video)
Or this one:
-in case you and your kind fall. The abuses and harmful attacks on the working class will not continue. You are a monster, and those you trample on for your own greed will fall. Capital must not remain in the hands
And then there was this:
You don't recognize bodies in the water.
Winston frowned. Side. Why was this empty? Maybe his secretary accidentally put printer paper in it. He shrugged and threw it in the trash.
He went back to work. The clock was ticking, ticking, ticking, ticking, an endless tattoo of infernal regularity. Behind her was a wall, thick and full of concrete.
California, 1978
"...and that's why Reagan just won't be the right choice. I don't like Carter - the other Carter, I mean -" he paused to laugh "- you don't either, but if we ever do If we bring in socialism, it won't be on the back of someone who makes capitalism look attractive."
Win Carter (he insisted that everyone get a Win) smiled at the nods of encouragement he received from the others. He was relaxed and happy. It was another night at Stone's house; they switched places during the summer as the supply of semi-legal liquor passed through the homes of the great and the good.
Stone's house was a flat, modernist design perfectly situated on the edge of a cliff. The balcony was huge and stretched on stilts over the ocean. Stone threw the best parties. It was a wonderful place to relax. The big red sun was setting over the ocean and its light was reflecting off the house.
God, it felt good to be alive.
He was stretched out on a lounger, in the small circle of friends he had made over the years. Everyone looked at him in awe. Win Carter, the celebrant, a law student from Chicago, the brightest mind of them all. Secretly, of course, he knew it wasn't—Simon Kells was a brilliant physicist, and Mary King knew twice as much about the legal system as he would ever know—but he was charismatic and fiery, and managed to temper his radicalism with realism. No one needed to know what was going on behind her eyes. Nobody did this.
He hit the joint again and handed it to the man on his left. He did not know him; he was tall, dark-haired and had a slightly mocking smile on his dark skin. He didn't seem as impressed as the others. Win frowned slightly.
"Hey man, I don't think we've met before."
The dark haired man smiled. 'I'm alone. Sam Cruz. I'm glad.'
"Yeah, and, um, who do you know here, man?"
"He belongs to me," said Simon Kells. – My friend from the North-West, a graduate chemist like me.
"The da-"
- By the way, I agree with you. Sam's voice was warm and deep; it gave natural substance to everything he said. “You're absolutely right: we have to drag it in and sometimes do something nasty. Well said.'
Win smiled and relaxed. This man looked good. "So what do you think about what's going on in Iran...?"
The setting sun gradually sank until it disappeared below the sea line. The others gradually fell asleep, dancing and having fun inside as the temperature began to drop, but many still remained on the porch, talking and kissing. Sam and Win continued to talk late into the night, a deep and fascinated conversation.
Sam was clearly in a better mood than he was. He read more, saw more, met people. He was a little vague about things, but that's okay; Win was always more theoretical than practical in his politics. Simon was the only one left; dozing on the lounger next to them. Simon was his friend - his best friend, to be honest. They had known each other for years... he had forgotten how they had met. School, right? He didn't know. It didn't matter.
"Man, that's great. It's nice to talk to someone who's really…get it, you know? I like Simon and the others, but I'm never sure they understand what I mean.
"That". A nervous smile appeared on Sam's face. The moonlight rippled on the water. It was a strange color. It almost looked black for the win.
"There's just one thing, Win, just one thing I want to check."
"Uh, what's up?"
"Do you recognize the bodies in the water?"
Win frowned. "I, um… I don't understand what you're trying to say."
He saw Sam visibly relaxed; his smile became wider and more sincere. "No," he said. - And never will.
Strong hands grabbed him from behind and pinned him to the ground. Weapons of Kells. He was struggling, but he couldn't scream; a sick cloth was placed over her mouth, obscuring her vision and forcing her to close her eyes. The last thing he saw was Sam reaching into his pocket and pulling out two small capsules, but his eyelids were so heavy and Kells's arms were so strong and all he wanted to do was sleep.
New York, 2019
The rain was gray. He knocked on the windows and hit them with strange currents. A fleet of umbrellas swarmed below, little balls moving towards and away from each other, following their own strange paths. It reminded Winston of that British mathematician's experiment—the Game of Life or something like that. Spiraling in formal but unpredictable patterns, all tiny dots on the canvas.
Winston threw his chair back. Lots to do. Important work. He picked up the letter from the stack and read:
I just wanted to clear something up with you real quick: you don't recognize bodies in the water.
Thank you.
SC
Winston frowned. SH.... why did that sound familiar? Someone he knew in his college days? No... was it somewhere in ███████? He couldn't remember. It was a long time.
God, those were peaceful days. Him, Simon, Mary... but Simon killed himself last year, and Mary married a financial idiot in Washington. He couldn't remember why those were peaceful days, but his early years had never been good for him. They weren't important.
That was strange. Why did this person give you this role? There was no use. What did he want to check? Two dots, a blank page, and then "thank you."
Where did his name come from? Was it in high school? He hadn't thought about high school for so long that...
…Where did he go to high school?
Winston leaned back in his chair. He couldn't remember anything. He remembered high school. He remembered being excited to go to high school, a local school. He was invited - he was invited -
Something.
Three years of life and he could not remember.
He looked at the note again. Something was wrong.
It was constantly raining outside. Pitter-tatter-titter-tatter. It was such an ordinary, homey sound while it was warm inside. He didn't want to leave.
He pressed the button on the intercom.
"Dolores? Look, can you get me, uh, I think it was a brown box with a black label on it. It should be in the closet at the end of the hall. Thanks.
He leaned back when he heard Dolores' footsteps knocking on his door. He looked at the rain. The water twisted and slid, obscuring the bodies walking below. What's wrong with him? His head was open.
He got up normally. He ate a bowl of shredded wheat. He got dressed, kissed his wife and said goodbye to his son. The driver pulled him out of his huge garage and they slid down the streets. They were angular, functional and useful. He liked that. A small part of him, buried deep inside, rose slightly.
Nothing had changed, but he felt that everything had. He looked outside. The sound of the plane rumbled, far away, in his ear. That pissed me off. It is usually never washed.
There was something in the water. Something about... the cabin...
Northwest Territories, 1987
The view was beautiful. It was full of deep grays and greens. Northern Canada was a wild and unforgiving place to hike, but the two were veterans of the hobby. They had been friends since childhood and had been dating for almost a decade, and they loved it.
Winston (sometimes Win, but only to his friends) climbed to the top of the hill and sat down. He was a successful man; still young, smart and friendly. He was a junior partner in a Chicago law firm, but was thinking of moving to New York. His character exuded firmness, intelligence and self-confidence. No one asked if your mind works the same way.
Her partner was different; smaller, quieter, busier. He was far the smarter of the two, but you wouldn't think so watching him or listening to his rambling tirades. Winston could never understand what Simon Kells did, except that his income was large and he was surprisingly young for his position. A kind of 'director' - but directing what?
It didn't matter. They rarely talked about work. Last week, Winston helped dissolve a subsidiary of more than 200 employees of a large company. He had to sit there smiling while the man who lost his pension complained about him. Was it eating you up inside? He didn't know. He didn't know what it was like. But he definitely practiced his smile more and more. I'm also more numb from it. He didn't want to talk about it.
"It is a beautiful sight, yes, Simon." Beneath the mountain was a huge lake that stretched out over the tundra. Its glow reminded Winston of his childhood, but he wasn't quite sure why.
'He's good. I'm sorry I couldn't see you longer, Win, I have to fly to Greenland. A new project that unifies the business.'
Winston frowned. What Kells could… no, no, he wasn't thinking about that today. They just walked miles and miles to get here; this was a day to relax. Sympathy.
Ali…
“Oh, don't worry about it, Simon. Such things happen. Listen. I want to talk to you about something.'
Simon looked up and looked gently at Winston. Winston couldn't see his expression. He kept looking over the lake.
“Are you all right, Winston? Is everything okay at home?' The water continued to gently ripple.
"I did some research. Some... things in the old files aren't where they should be. I think there might be something..."
“Oh, you worry too much. You've always been a worried person.' Simon was relaxed, with his hands behind his head. The noises rippled everywhere.
Nobody showed up here. It was remote; it took hours to walk from the village, but it was worth it. Silver lake, trees,...
"Where did I go to high school, Simon?"
Simon stood up. He wanted to move his hand to his pocket, but Winston didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the lake. Too bad he never learned to swim.
"I can't remember. The name keeps disappearing. I keep trying to remember... I called my mom. She doesn't know either. I don't remember anything except... I think there's something else. But I don't..." "
Winston noticed that Simon was holding something. He turned and saw a small rubber instrument in Simon's hand. It was pointed at him and emitted a low hum.
'Why don't you just forget? This is the third time. I can't protect you forever, Winston. My influence has limits.'
"What are-"
The lake rippled. It wasn't the same lake and it wasn't in the same country, but it was a lake. Its shape, construction and characteristics left ripples of all other lakes. A shared shape, each reminds the others of something different.
Did anyone else survive?
New York, 2019
Something. There was nothing. Three days passed and there was no information.
He checked your past, present, company documentation and everything in between. No one knew where he went to high school. Gymnasium, high school, college - but nothing more. Just a hole, which no one thought was worth commenting on.
The rain finally stopped. The city was soaked. It was night and the sky was dark. People and their cars glowed at him, illuminated by the lights of shop windows and cellphones. A vibrant, all-encompassing, chaotic place. The light was a small thing that shone in the attic office, and was blocked by the people below.
He leaned back in his chair. He drank his whiskey. It was the same glass; no one took it. Where was Dolor-oh. It was Saturday.
He sighed. Stubble was growing under his chin. He told his wife he was out of town at a conference; he told his lover to stay with his wifebut it's okay honey, it's okay, see you on monday, okay?
Lying was so easy. It all came down to people management. The truth was just another reality, another idea implanted in the brain.
On his desk was a small white envelope. He hasn't seen this yet. He took it and opened it.
There was a small bottle with two pills; one green and one blue. A small note was also wrapped around him.
dragi Winstone,
Today is my retirement day. And yes, I did something very wrong. Want to hear about it?
You go through the cycle again. Kells told me before he died that he saw the signs. He didn't want his friend taken away, so we made the arrangements ourselves. He was motivated by care, but I wasn't. The breakup wasn't enough for me.
There was a cabin on the water. I can not remember? You didn't know how to swim. You hid there while everyone else entered. Life is given to you because of your flaws. And tell me, Winston, what do you have to show? What are you? What's on your mind?
I do not see anything.
If you want to remember it forever, take the green pill. This will show you what we have.
SC
He didn't know who SC was. Who else did Kells know? Someone at work, maybe... said he did it there.On the eye.
He looked at the pills. They could mean anything. They could kill you. And did he really need to know?
He tapped the green pill into his hand. There is no water. Whiskey would do - the bottle was almost dry, but pour, pour, that's right. That was correct. He shouldn't be taking alcohol pills, but he didn't care. Maybe some rules are made to be broken.
He swallowed hard. He was waiting.
Nothing happened for a whole minute. He started to worry. What did he bring? Why the hell did he do that…
YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE A BODY IN THE WATER
He returned fire and almost hit the window. Scribbled on every surface, on the table, on the walls, on the window, on the face, on the hands, on the door, on...
You don't recognize bodies in the water. You don't recognize the cabin on the water. You've never been in a lake.
It was in his head. All the memories. Birchwood High - How did he forget Birchwood High? A - excursion -
THERE IS NO LAKE IN ████████ COUNTY YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ON A LAKE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE THE BODIES IN THE WATER YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE THE HOUSE ON THE WATERFRONT
Winston Carter fell convulsively to the floor. All the cleaners went home. They would find him wild on Monday morning. He kept repeating the same thing.
"Go back to the lake."
‡License/Citation