Con knew what he was seeing was real. He could feel it deep in his gut. It was just the shock that held him immobile for those few breaths. Breaths, he realized, that might be marking precious lost time.

He propelled himself forward with a powerful kick and grabbed the girl's wrist, hauling her to him. Her body flopped like a doll's as he hooked an arm across her chest. Calling on memories of teenage summers spent lifeguarding, Con dragged the girl almost effortlessly through the water.

He reached the concrete, adrenaline giving everything a frantic edge. Con launched himself out of the water, then turned and pulled the girl up as gently as he could. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her face, but it was the nails that triggered his memory.

He recognized the pink claws. He'd seen this girl just the other night. Had run smack into her.

Desperately, he pressed two fingers to her neck, digging them into the vulnerable flesh in an effort to feel a pulse that just wasn't there. Con slicked his wet hair back from his face, positioning the girl so she was flat on her back. He brushed her hair away from her mouth before placing his overlapped hands right over her sternum.

Con began compressions, pressing so hard he could feel her ribs creaking and bending beneath his hands. He counted to thirty, his voice echoing against the glass. Then he tipped the girl's head back, pinching her nose before forcing air down her throat.

By the third round of compressions, Con knew nothing he did would matter. He still had to try.

"I'll be right back," he gasped, knowing he wasn't supposed to leave her—knowing she was beyond caring. 

Still soaking wet, his feet skidding precariously on the concrete, Con pelted toward the locker rooms. One of the doors opened and he collided with whoever stepped out, carrying both of them toward the wall.

Con extended an arm, trying to spare whoever had come from the brunt of the impact. His wrist wrenched in agony as his hand met the unforgiving tile. A grunt of pain came from whoever was squished between himself and the wall.

"Call 9-1-1," he snarled, already pushing away from them. "Right now. Tell them someone's drowned." He ran back toward the other end, still shouting instructions. "Tell them she's unresponsive, CPR is being administered. I don't know her name."

He skidded to a halt beside the girl's body, dropping so hard to his knees he felt his patella slide out of place. He ignored the pain and began compressions again. Dimly, he was aware of a voice other than his own echoing around him.

Then, cool hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away. He lunged toward the girl's body. He wasn't supposed to stop until the paramedics got there. "Do you know CPR?" he gasped out. He pressed harder, ribs beginning to crack.

"Con." Small hands wrapped around his wrists. "Con, she's dead."

He tried to jerk away again, but those small hands held on with surprising strength. Then, arms were around his chest, holding him back. "She's gone," the person repeated.

He recognized that voice. Tipping his head back, he found Ella looking down at him, her dark eyes wide and tear-filled. She blinked and a tear fell, splashing against the bridge of Con's nose. She picked a phone up from the ground, assuring the operator that she was still there.

The only sound for a long time was his ragged breath. Then, beyond the rain and thunder and rush of blood in his ears, Con heard sirens.

Everything in him wilted. Ella let out a huff of surprise as he sagged back into her, but she didn't let him go. Con closed his eyes against the sight of the girl's dead body. Ella held him tighter, one hand stroking over his hair as she murmured in his ear.

A clatter and raised voices announced the arrival of the paramedics. 

"Help me up," he whispered.

Ella did as he asked, not complaining when he leaned heavily on her, trying to spare his knee as he hobbled out of the way. He looked down to find a lump beneath his skin where one wasn't supposed to be.

Distantly, he realized it hurt. And so did his wrist. His vision was going grey at the edges, but he couldn't take his eyes off the blue uniforms clustering around the girl's body.

Her body.

"Con, sit down," Ella said, her soft voice barely penetrating the ringing in his ears. "You need to sit down.

Like her suggestion had cut some invisible strings, Con's knees gave. He hit the ground hard enough that the impact rattled up his spine and made his teeth sing.

"Can I get some help over here?" Ella called, doing her best to keep him propped up.

"Sir," a new voice asked moments later. "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"C-Con," he managed, blinking hard. "My name is Con."

"Okay, Con, can you tell me if you hit your head?"

He shook his head slowly. "I found her."

"I think he's in shock," Ella murmured over him. "He tried to resuscitate her. He was the one who pulled her out of the water."

Something warm and dry was wrapped around his shoulders, making Con realize he was freezing. He clutched at the blanket with one hand, cradling his tender wrist awkwardly in his lap. Color was beginning to seep back into his vision and sounds were becoming clear. 

The paramedics had called the time of death and were standing around the girl.

Con sucked in a sharp breath as gloved fingers pressed against his knee. 

"Okay," the paramedic—a calm young man—said. "You've got—"

"It's dislocated," Con said, ripping his attention away from the dead girl. "Partially, at least. It does that."

The EMT nodded. "I can—"

"Pop it back," Con said. The pain was edging toward excruciating now. "I don't need to go to the hospital."

"Okay. Hey, Josh, can I get you over here?"

A short man with thick shoulders came toward them. "What's up?"

"Looks like a sublux of the right patella. I'm gonna attempt a reduction. Can you keep him steady?"

Ella slid out of the way and the second EMT braced Con as the other one put his hand against the displaced kneecap. He lifted Con's leg, slowly straightening it as he pushed the patella back toward the midline of his leg.

Con swore as it popped back into place, then sighed in relief.

The EMT smiled at him. "All right. Let's get some ice on this. I'll give you some of the good stuff as well and we can get you to the—"

"No," Con all but snarled, then winced. He hated hospitals. "No. I...I'm fine. It happens all the time."

"We should make sure you don't have any fractures."

Con shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "It's fine. Just treat it here."

The paramedics exchanged an unhappy glance, but they couldn't force him to go.

"Look at his wrist."

They all looked up as Ella spoke. She stood with her arms crossed loosely over her bare stomach. Con realized for the first time that she was in a bathing suit. Her smooth skin seemed to glow with an almost pearly sheen in the weird grey light filling the room.

"He hurt his wrist," she said, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.

Con extended his arm to the EMT, surprised to find it already swelling. He gritted his teeth as the EMT poked and prodded at the joint, flexing and bending it in multiple directions. He determined that Con had a pretty good sprain and hinted at the need for an x-ray.

Again, Con steadfastly refused. Hospitals were a hard no for him.

Ella watched with pursed lips and narrow, disapproving eyes as the paramedic splinted Con's wrist. When that was done, they helped him to his feet. As they moved him past the body, he heard a third paramedic talking on the phone.

"The worst sort, Jackson. She's just a kid." There was a brief pause, then: "I don't know. It looks like she just drowned, but I reckon that's your job to find out."

Con averted his eyes from the girl's body. None of them spoke as the EMTs helped him up to his room. Before they left, the one who'd fixed his knee gave him an apologetic glance. "Since you were the one to find her—"

"The cops will want to talk to me," Con cut him off. He'd done this song and dance before. He offered the two paramedics a thin smile. "Maybe it's best we lay off the painkillers."

The one who'd fixed his knee nodded, unhappy. "Your girlfriend said she'd bring up your stuff and some ice. Keep it on for about twenty minutes every couple hours to help with the pain."

Con blinked, perplexed, the rest of the paramedics instructions going in one ear and out the other.

Then, they were gone and Con was left with nothing but the repercussions.