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There's something strange about finding a body.

It's like―it's like that moment when you've ordered a coffee, right? And you really want it and you make a really specific order and then, miracle of miracles, the barista gets it perfect. And then you go to take a mouthful of it when it's cooled down enough and there're two wasps in it, both drowning, and you have no clue how they got there but you never want to drink another coffee again. I drink cola now when I want a caffeinated drink but never the sugared ones because I have to be cautious about my sugar intake.

Anyway. I walk about twenty minutes to work, every day. There's no bus I can take and I don’t wanna ride a bike because it's fucking terrifying. I don’t like to drive too often, either, because I know I get distracted easily and it just doesn’t feel so safe. So I walk, and I like to try to find shortcuts. There's this one alley on my route that isn't really a shortcut, but it goes past a low wall that you can hop over to get into this dead-end little gap between two buildings, and then that comes out on my route and it saves me about a minute and a half. I don't do it for the time-save. I'm not one of those jerks who plan every minute of their day. I do it because it's free and it's, well, not the average walk into work.

That doesn't matter, though. It was a Tuesday morning―last Tuesday―when I found your body. It was weird. I mean, just the context, 'cause it's November, right? Fucking cold. And there's this girl in the alley slumped into the corner in this white-and-red sundress, with those weird rubber shoe things on. Crocs, I think they're called. You had hair over some of your face but I could see that you’re what, fourteen or fifteen? It's difficult to tell with girls around your age anyway. But the point is you were wearing summer clothes, and that was weird. And that was the first thing I noticed was off, and then I saw you were soaking wet. Drenched. And your skin was really pale. I guess I noticed that at the same time as your clothes, actually. So I just stood there after I hopped the wall. It can't have been for too long but I felt like I was there for a minute and a half, or something. I felt like I was intruding.

Like it was―well, you know when you're in a church or a mosque and you know in your bones you don't believe the stuff the other people here do? A little like that. Like I'd walked into the middle of a ritual or something. Anyway, I looked at you for a bit and then I walked away and I went to work, 'cause I figured I was crazy or something to be seeing you there. I mean, there was no way a drowned girl was in that alley, and even if there was then someone else would find it and report it. I think that was my problem, right there. I mean, I should've just called the police, huh? I guess I was just so shocked I didn't think properly, and I kinda wished I hadn't seen you so I acted like I hadn't.

I sat on that all day. It just kinda stewed around in my brain until I left work. I decided to check out the alley on the way home―I figured there'd be either police tape up or no body at all. I mean, my work isn't stressful, but sometimes people see things they didn't see, right? I mean, if I'd just made you up it would be weird but it wouldn't be crazy. It'd be an episode or something. And, anyway, you’re still there and there's no police tape or anything. So I went to have a look at you and you were different to how I remembered. I mean, you were the same girl and you were wearing the same clothes, but your hair wasn't across your face any more. It was pushed to the sides so I could properly see your face. So I was weirded out, I mean, someone had touched you to move the hair, and then I thought maybe it was a police officer or that someone had identified you and had gone to call the police. So, uh, I just jumped the wall and went home. I slept really badly that night.

That evening I just played games online a bit. My job has a lot of slow time, so I find games and stuff to occupy myself, and you end up taking the habits home with you. I always mean to do something productive with my time, but you know how it is. You get home, you just wanna relax. So, anyway, like I said, I slept badly. I woke up slowly the next day, and I took my usual route―I hadn't forgotten about you exactly, but it didn't seem real, you know? Like I'd imagined you. So I tried not to think about it too hard and I just took my usual route in. I guess that Wednesday was the day it got really weird, 'cause when I climbed over the wall, someone had propped you up so you weren’t slumped in the corner any more. It looked like you were leaning there, but you were still really wet. I remember thinking that someone must have deliberately poured water over you for you to still be that wet. And, uh, there was water running out of your mouth and down your front. I realised that. And I watched you for a while and it didn't stop. I don't know what was happening there. Your dress was really stuck to you, too, and it looked―well, y'know, you’re fourteen or fifteen or something and a thin wet dress didn't really cover anything up. It was sort of clingy―made some things really obvious. So I grabbed the edge of the dress and I pulled it away from your body so it would hang down instead of clinging, so if someone found you properly you wouldn't be all exposed. I was trying to give you a bit of dignity.

When I left work that day it was a little later than usual, because there was some filing I wanted to finish so I didn't have to do it that Friday. So it was pretty dark when I left the office, but I'm not a little guy so I don't change my route when it's dark. I've never been mugged on my route―I mean if I had been I would change it―so, yeah, it was dark and I took my usual route home and still whoever had found you hadn't told anyone and they'd moved you again. It bothered me, actually. I mean, they'd moved you to the other side of the alley―still standing―but your dress was all clingy again and they'd opened your eyes. Your eyes were dark―brown, I think, but your pupils were huge. I don't know why. Um. I don't know how to tell you the next bit without it sounding crazy.

Fine. No, you know what? Fine. I will tell you. So you’re there with your eyes open and your dress all wet and stuff, and there's still the water coming out of your mouth. So I went to close your eyes because it didn't seem right. It was―it was like the dress, it was a dignity thing, I mean you’re fourteen or fifteen and you didn't deserve to be found like that. So I reached out and closed your eyes and I heard you say something. I don't know what. You were whispering and the water made it hard to hear. But it freaked me out. So I just went home, and I went to bed. I didn't sleep well. I had a dream that we were underwater, you and I, and we were kissing. You said you loved me. But that was just a dream and, y'know, everyone has dreams.

That Friday didn't feel like a day. I mean, I felt like I was still asleep. The dream had stayed with me and I didn't feel like anything was real, you know? Like you might not have been there. But you were. And you were still propped up in the corner and your eyes were open again and, uh, your underwear was halfway down your legs.

That wasn't me. I didn't do that. I don't know who did; I mean, I didn't know who did. Now I think maybe you did it. So, anyway, your panties are around your knees and that just seemed really undignified. I wouldn't have wanted someone to find my kid or my girlfriend like that, so I went to pull them back up for you. So I did, and yeah, my hands touched, y'know, some places in the process, but not in a deliberate way. Just because it was difficult to do. I mean, it's not the sort of thing you do every day. So I did that but I had to be really close to you to do it, and then you said something again. You, uh, you said "let me." And then you fell forward, but against me, and you slid down to your knees and your head was just below my waist.

I kinda ran off to work. But I― I wasn't paying attention. I left early. I said I was ill and I think I looked it. I guess you could see that when I saw you again, though. So I left and went back to the alley, and you were on your knees still and you looked different. Upset. And there was water coming from your eyes as well as your mouth, and you looked like you were crying, and I went to listen to you and you just kept murmuring, "Please. Please. Let me. Please." And you just kept saying it and I felt like I'd hurt your feelings or something. So I let you.

No. Uh, no, you weren't re-animated or anything. You didn't open your mouth or move―move your head or anything, I had to do all that. But your tongue―you know, I'm not comfortable talking about the details. I don't think I want to―it was, you know, intimate. And it’s not like you weren’t there and I don't like to talk about stuff like that.

After I'd finished, I looked at you again and you looked happier, and you weren’t crying any more. So I kissed you and told you I'd be back in a minute. I wanted to take you home. Keep you safe. So I went home and I thought about how to fetch you back, and I did it that night. I got bin bags, and at about two in the morning I took my wheelie bin round to the low wall. I wrapped you up in the bags and shoved you over the wall into the wheelie bin―which wasn't easy, I hurt my shoulder―and then I wheeled you home and took you inside. And I unwrapped you and you were so thankful, you know, you seemed so pleased that I'd wanted to look after you. I had to put you in the bath, because the water was still coming out of your mouth. I still don't know how that works.

I don't want to go over what we did on Saturday in detail, okay. It was private―intimate between us. And it's not like you’re a little kid or anything, I mean, you’re fourteen or fifteen and fully, y'know, developed, so don't look at me like I'm some sort of fucking pervert.

Sunday morning was when it started going wrong. I'd woken up pretty early and I went to see you in the morning, and afterwards you were saying something new. I mean, you'd not really stopped babbling since I brought you home, but until now you'd just been murmuring phrases or words, like "thank you," or "more." You were talking about this river, in the Peaks. That it was your home and you were lost and you loved me but it was your home. So I thought, y'know, this would be a good thing I could do for you. I knew where it was because I'd been up there in the summer―it's a nice place, with families having picnics and stuff. I figured I could get you home, back to where you were supposed to be, and just draw a line under it and say it was done and over and get back to normal.

So I was preparing the car and Mrs. Jenkins―my next-door neighbour―was outside, and she asked me if I could do something about my wheelie bin. She thought I'd maybe thrown out some bad meat or something, because of the smell from it. I tried to just fob her off, 'cause I couldn't smell anything, but she was pretty insistent. I poured a bottle of disinfectant into it. It smelt so strongly of pine I figured it would cover any other smell. You didn't smell, I thought. I mean, I must have been wrong, but to me you just smelled fresh, like just after it's been raining.

Anyway, I think she probably saw me moving you to the back of the car, 'cause it was difficult to do that discreetly. I think she's probably called the police. I mean, I can't imagine her doing anything else, and―no, no, I'm fine with it. She was just doing the right thing as far as she could see. She's a decent lady. So I drove you out to the Peak district, and you were so excited, I mean you were all full of "thank you"s and I swear you’ve been smiling since we got here. So we got here, and I get you out of the car in a quiet little spot and I drag you over here and I see what you really look like. I mean, there’s bits of you all over my hands, I can’t argue with that.

Honestly? A little relieved. I know that sounds weird, but it's just not me. I don't hurt girls, I don't hurt women. So if I did? If you’re here and you’re dead and I did that? Then that's almost a relief. It means I'm ill, you know, and I can get better. Because I know my version can't be true. I can't think of a way it could be true. Not if you died what, six months ago? It must be at least that long. I mean, you’ve kinda―kinda gone bad. Rotten. Sorry about that. But if you’ve been dead that long then my story doesn't hang together. So if it isn't what I remember then I must've gone mad. And that's sad, y'know, but at least it means it didn't happen like I remember it. At least there's that.

Alex Patterson is a writer and game designer from Sheffield, England (although that "writer" bit still feels strange). He's the writer for two webcomics, Brain Science (www.brain-science.net) and Paradox 101 (www.paradox101.net), and the creator of the roleplaying game Edgewalkers (www.edgewalkers.net). This is his first published story.