John Triptych - Typhon

DARKNESS ALL AROUND him, like an endless night without stars. The pitch black was real. He could feel the ebb and flow of its currents all over his body. All movement in slow motion as the very medium seemed to resist each effort he made, like swimming in molasses. But the worst part of it all was the cold, so chilling it drained away whatever strength he had left until everything felt numb.

He knew from experience he was underwater, most probably near the bottom of the seabed. There was a task that had to be completed, but what? For the life of him he couldnt even remember the work he was supposed to do anymore.

Something was missing. The lights. Even though he was used to working in total darkness, there should have been some illumination to guide him, at least. No sounds either. He tried calling out to the topside supervisor, but nothing came out of his mouth.

Was he even breathing? If the umbilical hose had stopped giving him air then he should have been dead by now. He could still feel the emergency bailout bottle strapped on his back, but it would do precious little at this depth if he didnt know where the diving bell was anymore.

Where am I? he thought. I must have gotten disorientated somehow, right after I got out of the bell.

Fear, the primordial feeling of ones own mortality. Everyone in the business experienced it at least one time during their career. Nobody wanted to admit they ever got scared, but it was therelike a caged, calculating beastwaiting to be unleashed at the worst possible moment. Some were better at hiding it than others. A few even joked about it all the time, as if invoking a magic spell to ward it away.

He shook his head slowly from side to side. No. Dont think about it. Lock it out somewhere and concentrate. Remember what you have to do. Remember.

They called them hats, even though their diving helmets were fully enclosed, sophisticated pieces of equipment. A fiberglass and carbon fiber reinforced outer shell, with an affixed face port and regulator, just above the rubber neck dam assembly. On a dive like this his helmet would also be equipped with lights and communication gear, yet it seemed he didnt have any. He wasnt even certain he had a hat on.

Whats happening? Am I still wearing my hot water suit?

There was no feeling in his legs, despite the sensation of moving through the dark watery abyss. Im heading somewhere, but where?

And then he saw it. Everything became as bright as day.

The diving bell was just ahead of him, and it seemed to be lying on its side. The clump weight that was supposed to have been suspended underneath the lower stage to keep it steady had been torn off, and it looked like the whole contraption was being dragged by the intensifying currents along the bottom of the ocean while still attached to the line above.

It all came back into focus. His seeming confusion had suddenly been transformed into white knuckled terror.

Jesse Gemmel was his partner. Everybody called him Fart Man, because Jesse would always let one rip at inopportune moments whenever they were holed up together inside the saturation chamber in between shifts. Some of the divers hated Jesses habit, while others didnt care. When it came to living and working in such close proximity to each other, there were no secrets or privacy between any of them.

Hed partnered with Jesse for a number of months off and on until they knew each others ways from instinct. Jesse even bore a resemblance to him: they were both dark haired, lanky, and pale. The other divers would sometimes call them the Wonder Twins.

Now his partner was going to die and he could only watch helplessly, unable to do anything. The scene began to replay itself in his mind, like an endless, painful loop.

Jesse normally had a deep, baritone voice, but this had changed. Now he was screaming at the top of his lungs like a scared little boy. Help me! Oh God! Heeelp!

Fart Man had been standing at the bottom of the construction site when something happened near topside. The work boat above them must have suffered some sort of catastrophic failure. Perhaps the explosives they had been storing in one of the lower decks had detonatedno one was surebut there was definitely an explosion, followed by a fire.

Jesse hung on to the umbilical cables attached to his shoulders, the same hoses providing him life-giving air, hot water, and communications to the crew above. A sudden, strong current wreaked havoc on the diving bell and Jesse was pulled along like bait at the end of a fishing hook, his umbilical tangled up with the remains of the clump weight.

He remembered trying to pull Jesse back into the bell by the attached hose, even as everything tilted sideways and the water came rushing in. The shouting from the intercom had become unintelligible, drowned out by the shrill storms of white noise.

All he could do now was to look after himself. He hardly remembered putting on his neck seal, followed by his helmet, right before the bells interior got flooded.

It all felt surreal. He could see himself from the outside, as if his soul had temporarily left his body and become a silent observer of what happened next.

Pulling Jesses umbilical back in through the moon pool, he tried his best, but it was too late. His partner had either run out of air or just panicked, and he could only watch in horror as Jesses bare head popped in through the open hatch, the dead eyes looking straight at him, mouth agape in a silent scream, right before the skin on his withered, corpselike face started to peel away

OPENING HIS EYES, GORDON Gietz sat up in the rumpled, sweat-stained bed and yelled out a sharp series of obscenities. The dream always ended the same way, and his mind instantly told him he was back on dry land, safe if not sane. The door leading out into the corridor was slightly ajar, bathing the bedroom in a dim twilight coming from the illumination of the living room downstairs.

Using his fingers to wipe off the beads of sweat from his forehead, Gordon twisted his head and looked at the digital clock by the nightstand. Just a little after three in the morning. Hed barely gotten a few hours of sleep.

The door opened up even further. A tall slim womans silhouette could be seen out by the corridor, her fair, shoulder-length hair in a ponytail. Nightmares again?

Gordon hung his head low and nodded slowly. Yeah. I just cant seem to shake it off.

His older sister entered the room and sat down beside him. You want to talk about it?

Gordon shrugged. His throat was dry. Not much to say, just reliving parts of what happenedand jumbled up with bits of other memories.

It wasnt your fault, Gordy.

He sighed. Yeah, thats what they keep telling me, but my soul doesnt seem to wanna believe it.

Just give it time, she said. Chloe was seven years older, and she was more like a mother to him. When their parents died in a plane crash while Gordy was seven, Chloe took it upon herself to be both the older sibling and his chief guardian from then on.

Cared for by their relatives, Chloe made certain they were never separated, and made doubly sure Gordon kept to the straight and narrow. One time she even punched him in the face when she found out he smoked some weed with his high school buddies.