Lying on the ocean floor at night, you realize the beauty of a life lost. Everything is gone. The hustle, the worries, the joys, the sorrows, the triumphs, and, more often, the falls. It’s mournful just to lie at the bottom without a single chance to live. Irreversibility eats away from the inside. A bitter regret sets in. It should have become easy on the soul. In the end, there is no soul left. Gloomy feelings fill the body, pressing it against the cold bottom.

When you decide to leave, first feel all the venom of the sensations. If you really want to, no one is holding you back. You’ll just become another one. And an uncomfortable little spot will be found for you. There’s enough room next to the waste of the grim life churning up above. And down here, admittedly, it’s calmer. You want to sit on the soft sand forever. I don’t dare guess where I’ll go after a short break from life. Compared to the dreadful thoughts, the dark ocean floor seems like a heavenly light that I’ll never get to see.

“What brings you here?” the Drowned Man next to me takes a drag from a wet, half-smoked cigarette.

“By accident,” I admit with an inflection, showing my lifelong awkwardness.

“We’re all here by accident,” he drawls thoughtfully, staring into the utter blackness of the water mass. Even the clear water won’t help you see sunken ships at night.

“Seriously. I was walking, thinking about my own stuff, slipped, stumbled, went over the railing, and hit my head. And now we’re neighbors on the bottom,” I recount, unable to suppress a smile.

“Yeah, luck is clearly on your side,” the gloomy dead man smiles, ironically watching a small fish nibble at my broken forehead.

“It’s always like that for me. Nothing surprises me anymore. Regular people just make mistakes, but I commit every blunder professionally and with enviable regularity,” I say with proud self-irony.

“Commendable,” the sarcasm from my interlocutor on the seabed lifts my spirits, despite the setting of this underwater graveyard strewn with trash.

“Half-empty or half-full?” I notice a chipped whiskey glass in the Drowned Man’s hand.

“Looks like half-undrunk,” he finishes the remainder with a smirk, gazing wistfully to the side. He’s disappointed not to taste the familiar whiskey flavor.

“Came straight from the bar?” I draw a logical conclusion, looking at the cigarette, the glass, and the evening suit—decent, but not for a restaurant.

“I was brought here,” he calmly and proudly takes another drag of the wet smoke.

“Along with the glass?” I conceal my smile so as not to offend him.

“Meet Stan,” he brings the chipped whiskey glass closer to me.

“Pleased to meet you, Stan,” I respectfully address the glass, playing along with my companion’s mood. “Are you two close?” I ask seriously.

“My last friend from the surface,” he looks up sorrowfully through the cloudy glass.

“You share a lot of history from your life?” I gather from his tone.

“For the last few years, Stan was the only one next to me,” he speaks with respect about his faithful glass friend.

“And he kept you company until the final minute?” I ask, realizing respectfully.

“Of course!” the Drowned Man takes a large gulp of whiskey diluted with seawater, paying tribute and respect to his close friend.

“How did you defend your friend?” I point to the chip. “You didn’t let it break completely.”

“Stan defended me!” he proudly raises the glass, looking through the glass at the rare lights of the surface, dimly penetrating the water’s depths.

“Stan got into a fight?” I bring my companion’s thoughts back to the seabed. It’s lonely to cool off in the cold water alone.

“He sure did!” my neighbor exclaims admiringly. “Brave little guy. When they threw me face-first onto the bar, right in my hand, he chipped off a piece of himself and threw it into the eye of one of our attackers. There was a lot of blood!” he swallows the salty whiskey with a satisfied smile. He closes his eyes, recalling the genuine taste.

“Courageous fellows,” I honestly acknowledge the guys’ combat merits. Not everyone dares to fight the bar counter face-on with a little assistance. “How did it all start?”

“Remember when panic was rising in the crowds about another end of the world?” the Drowned Man reminds me seriously.

“I remember. Happens every time. People believe it,” the memory of the crowds’ agitation at every turn, anticipating the end of everything, comes back to life.

“It always follows the script,” he takes a drag from the wet cigarette, tossing the butt into the vast underwater garbage dump. “First the news, then the nerves, the anxiety grew. The crowd resigned itself to the inevitable wait. And then it started. Brazen, indiscriminate robbery. Violence, good girls disgraced—it’s a pity. A wave of loans more like a tsunami. An increase in the already rampant drinking. Addicts upped their doses; the euphoric ranks visibly swelled. Mass layoffs of entire departments without explanation. Mass suicides, mostly the youth. New cults spread like an infection across the country, contaminating the sound judgment of the populace,” he utters every word with disgust, staring into the darkness of the deep sea.

“All of that always was, is, and will be,” I mentally repeat what I’ve heard, hopefully doubting his grim conclusion.

“Exactly. Just look at how many times the figures spike during critical moments. And panic amplifies the consequences severalfold. Before you know it, the planet will be engulfed by a real end of the world,” he concludes submissively in the gloom of the seabed.

“Hold on. So what does the end of the world have to do with the bar fight involving Stan?” I return to our topic. My companion’s backstory is more interesting.

“For others, the latest apocalypse was nothing more than a mass hysteria. But for me, the real end of the world arrived,” he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He lights one, gazing into the abyss. “Everyone was afraid of losing cars, houses, valuables. I was only afraid of losing one person. I lost two,” he breaks a new cigarette and throws it into the darkness.

“Who?” I gently draw the pain out of the sorrowful Drowned Man.

“I was terribly worried about my wife’s mental state. She became too unbalanced after the rumors of the end of the world. Then it turned out her hormones were raging during the pregnancy. You understand, the news came too late. My wife brought about the end of the world for herself and our unborn daughter. My world vanished along with my daughter’s blood soaking into the solid ground. Don’t think,” he turns to me, agitated. “I’m not a suicide. The end of the world wouldn’t make me do that. Too soon. I’m not ready to see my daughter yet. I don’t know what to say when we meet. And I have no desire to see my wife at all.”

“So, you’re also here by accident?”

“I can’t say that,” he pulls out another cigarette. He takes a drag without lighting it. “It’s all the consequence of loss. Four years ago. By the way, my daughter is four years old now. I don’t even know what you get four-year-old girls.”

“Don’t worry, a good present will turn up,” I reassure him, scanning the seabed for a worthy gift. There’s nothing like that here.

“It’ll turn up,” the Drowned Man agrees hopelessly, with a final shred of hope. He surveys the black sand. “Four years ago, Stan came into my life and brought his older brother, Jack, to visit. A healthy, liter-sized one. And if that wasn’t enough, I’d go for his twin brother at the store, with all the strength I had left. Sometimes I didn’t make it. Sometimes I’d wander into a smoky bar. Sometimes I’d get punched in the face and sleep outside. Or I’d just lie down on the pavement to sleep, unable to find the strength to walk any further. I’m not just talking about the way home.”

“Didn’t the police bother you?” the direct question sounds softer underwater. Especially addressed to a dead man by another dead man.

“Who’d bother me?” he smirks, remembering. “The locals knew. Passersby avoided me. And the police were all my own. They were. We served together. My service ended sooner.”

“You were a policeman?” I seize upon the news.

“I said, we served together. In the army,” the Drowned Man is forced to clarify. “Then they all became local police officers, and I became a married man. And almost a father. I was planning to go into law enforcement too. With the loss of my family, all my strength and desire left me. I became a regular guest of the green valley where Stan and Jack live. It’s amazing I lived with their company for so long,” he takes a sip, tipping the chipped glass.

“So you’re here after just another regular bar fight?” I clarify, trying to understand.

“Another? Yes. Regular? No. I had to earn money for my conversations with Jack and Stan. I hired myself out as an assistant to a certain person. The deeds were darker than water,” he points to the black sea wall in front of us. “One thing led to another, it spiraled. I went to the bar to exchange information. As you see, the information was a little weak, but my head is strong,” he knocks his fist against his forehead, proving the strength of his skull. “Just a few scrapes, that’s all.”

“You got lucky with your head,” I envy him slightly, rubbing my own frequent bumps from the constant pitfalls in my path. I can never seem to bypass them.

“I wouldn’t call it luck. More like a kind of fortune,” my companion muses.

“I’m a fortunate man like that too. An unlucky fortunate man,” I smile, realizing it.

“You couldn’t put it better,” he supports our toast with a smile, raising the glass. He drinks it in one gulp, grimacing out of habit. “Wait,” he looks at me seriously, taking a drag. He exhales invisible smoke. “You were just passing by, slipped, and flipped over the railing?” he asks about my story with interest.

“That’s exactly right,” I confirm the absurdity of my unexpected death. “I was walking along the edge of the pier, slipped on something red, slippery, and sticky. I staggered, and then physics did its job. And I’m here,” I run my cold hand through the dark water.

“I’m sorry, friend,” he turns to me, agitated. “You slipped on my blood. A lot of it flowed out of me back then,” he opens his jacket, showing three bullet wounds in the chest area.

“It’s nothing. I bear no ill will,” I soothe him with a smile and the truth. “It’s good here, peaceful. And talking to you is interesting. It’s not your fault.”

“How is it not!” the Drowned Man protests, drinking another glass of salty whiskey. “My blood. You slipped, fell, hit your head, and died. So, you died because of my blood!” I must admit, the logic is sound.

“There’s something to that,” I ponder what I’ve heard with a smile. “But didn’t it seem a little strange to you that I was wandering around a deserted pier at two in the morning?”

“Yes, a little strange,” the dead man agrees. “What did a fortunate man need at two in the morning in a place forgotten by everyone? Couldn’t you live a quiet life?”

“Let’s start with the fact that a fortunate man’s life is never quiet,” I recall a series of incidents from my difficult fate with a smile.

“I agree,” he laughs, remembering his own incidents.

“And the place is far from forgotten by everyone. They brought you here,” I offer a weighty argument.

“I agree,” he seriously concurs. “Why you, specifically here, at two in the morning?” the circumstances give no rest to the cooled body with the hot mind.

“Honestly, I don’t know myself,” I confess to my uncontrollable foolishness. “I often do that. Knowing my predictable Fortune, I don’t resist, but obediently submit. This time it brought me here. Now I know—to talk with you,” I voice the purpose of my nocturnal walk.

“Why would you need my problems?” my companion wonders.

“Not me. My Fortune always tosses up stories. I admit, it has brought me to such a conversation in such an unusual place for the first time,” I give credit to the imagination of my guiding force.

“What good is our conversation to you?” he takes a deep drag, realizing the situation.

“I don’t know what my Fortune wants, but I feel good right now. It’s pleasant to relax, sitting on the bottom, leaning against the old pier, talking with a friend in a similar situation.”

“Thank you for the compliment to my company,” he seriously nods, raising his glass as a sign of respect and recognition.

“Rather, I should thank you for the company and the conversation. It’s a rarity in my life. I haven’t had many good conversationalists,” I recall my life sadly.

“And that’s good,” he drinks the sea whiskey with disappointment. “Have you ever wondered who your Fortune is?” he asks mysteriously, looking intently into my eyes.

“In what sense?” Such a thought had never occurred to my troubled head before.

“Something pushes you into all sorts of adventures. The question is, what exactly does this force represent? God, the Devil, Fate, Chance, Stupidity, Despair?”

“Stop listing them,” I answer unexpectedly sharply. “I’m sorry. I’ve never noticed anything like that about myself.”

“It’s nothing, fair enough,” the dead man answers without offense. “Places like this change people,” he gestures with the glass to describe our underwater interior.

“I don’t know myself. Maybe I just have this kind of Fortune. And I’m just a fortunate man. That’s my destiny,” I smile resignedly, accepting my difficult lot.

“Perhaps,” my companion bursts out laughing. Without thinking, I catch his laughter on the bottom of the night sea, filling the silent space. “I think they’ve come for me,” the dead man raises his head toward the black rectangle of light above us. A boat propeller disturbs the night silence.

“Divers, you think?” I voice my first thought.

“And you think fishermen came to catch Drowned Men?” my neighbor smirks.

“Tell me your name!” I hurry to ask over the sound of the divers submerging.

“Stanley Jacobs. Did you think Stan and Jack were accidentally my friends?” he raises the glass, drinking the last sip of salty whiskey on the night seabed in my company. “Look, they’ve spotted you too,” he points to the divers’ hand signals.

“See you around!” I shout after Stanley as he ascends.

“As it happens,” the Drowned Man’s arms are tossed involuntarily in the underwater current. The glass falls from his hand, resting on the black sandy bottom with the chip facing up. A waterlogged cigarette drops nearby. A second pair of divers lifts me. I silently leave the place of the pleasant nocturnal conversation. I remember Stanley Jacobs with his friends Stan and Jack. I don’t want to leave here. What’s the point of sitting in the dark without a good conversationalist who illuminated such a gloomy place with his presence? I wonder if my Fortune will bring us together again? Or was it a one-time, generous gift of fate? We’ll see. I’m not in a position to make plans or hope for anything in the future right now.

“Where to with this one?” the Sergeant asks, pointing to Stanley Jacobs’ body.

“Take him to the morgue. Let him warm up. It’s freezing out here,” the officer in charge shivers, pulling his light jacket tighter. He’s dressed inappropriately for the weather.

“And what about this one?” a young policeman looks at me from behind the doctors.

“He’s alive for now,” the doctor replies uncertainly, looking at the monitor showing a faint pulse.

“It’s strange how he even survived,” the Sergeant smirks.

“He’s unlikely to pull through,” the Chief decides calmly, flicking his cigarette butt into the sea. “He should have gone to the morgue with our Stanley ages ago. He’s just wasting the medics’ time.”

“Look!” the Sergeant notices a strong pulse surge on the monitor. I open my eyes through the pain and the cold.

“He’ll live,” the resuscitator concludes wearily.

“Luck is on your side today,” the senior policeman looks at me with slight envy. “Take him to the hospital before he dies of the deadly cold!” he orders on his way to his car.

“Grab him!” the medics load my motionless body into the ambulance. We speed off to save the life that remains, the siren wailing.

“Do you think he’ll stay?” the young nurse consults with the older doctor.

“He’s already staying,” the experienced resuscitator answers confidently. “Now we won’t let him go. He’s our guy. Strong. A real fighter for life. Who knows, he might come to and ask you to marry him!” he winks at the girl, who is looking into my eyes with interest, then laughs.

“You’re something else!” she muses aloud. “I just hope he stays normal after this.”

“A normal person wouldn’t have survived this!” the experienced doctor states seriously. “It’s the first case in my memory. He was in the icy water for a long time. Plus, a traumatic brain injury,” he uses his thumb to push the skin aside, exposing the wound on my forehead. “Lucky the cold water stopped the bleeding. And generally, froze him until we arrived.”

“And who reported the drowned men?” the girl asks, looking closely at the doctor. For a second, she glances at the radio in the driver’s cabin.

“An unknown woman called the police. She said four healthy men dragged a fifth onto the pier. They threw him into the sea like a sack. They looked around and left. She ran to report it right away. She didn’t see this one,” the doctor thinks I cannot hear or understand.

“And what was the woman doing on a deserted pier at night?” the girl wonders.

“She probably came to drown herself too,” the doctor smiles. “She sees that the line has moved on. The spot’s taken. She changed her mind. She ran to report a violator of the Drowned Man’s peace. And the second one went swimming without waiting his turn,” he looks at me with reproach.

“Stop joking about things like this!” the girl objects, glaring angrily at the doctor. “He’s alive,” she shifts her caring gaze to me. “He might hear you and get upset. Don’t worry, we’ve revived you. We’ll warm you up. We’ll get you back on your feet,” she gently strokes my cold hand. I don’t feel the touch, but I feel the warmth in my soul. “Everything will be alright,” she reassures me with a tender voice.

“See, you’ll definitely fall in love, and you’ll get married,” the doctor repeats the joke mockingly. The girl blushes silently.

“Are we much further?” the nurse shouts to the driver, glancing at the road.

“What’s the rush?” the relaxed driver doesn’t turn around. “Hasn’t he died yet?”

“If you crawl like this, we’ll all die here. Of old age. Step on it! I need to make it back for breakfast,” the doctor glances at his watch.

“Buckle up, we’re taking off!” the driver speeds up noticeably. For a second, it feels like I’m about to fly off the gurney. If that happens, I definitely won’t survive until morning. I don’t know if I want to survive.

My Fortune is strange. It tries to kill me, then it saves me. It puts me in the hospital. It ties me down with restraints. I wonder what it wants from me. Maybe it’s hinting, nudging me. I’m lucky to have it. People complain about the monotony of life, but I’d like to live one single day normally. It was so peaceful on the floor of the night sea, and now the machine is beating against my brain with pulses. I wish I could turn it off. It’s clear enough that I’m alive. I’ve become irritable. Apparently, the head injury had an effect. I try to touch my forehead, but they’ve left me no movement. That’s why they secured me—so I wouldn’t turn anything off or take off the bandage. The wound is itchy, but there’s no one to scratch it.

“How are you doing?” the familiar girl approaches, looking at the monitor, my forehead, and straight into my eyes.

“Everything’s fine,” I reply uncertainly. My body is constrained; I don’t know if my limbs are working.

“I told you everything would be fine,” the nurse rejoices, as if for a personal patient. “Don’t worry, it’s a temporary measure,” she gently rubs the strap on my wrist.

“Could you at least free my hands?” I ask in a soft voice, so as not to scare the young, sensitive girl.

“If you promise not to get up, not to touch the bandage, and not to harm yourself or others,” she states the conditions seriously.

“I promise,” I assure her as seriously as possible. I’m ready to lie still just to have the restraints removed. The feeling of being confined turns my whole insides over.

“Let’s see here,” she examines the strap buckle closely. “These are new. You’re the first visitor to this room. Everything’s new, even the bed. They consider you special,” she unbuckles the tight strap on my left hand with a slight strain. “They say you survived by a miracle. Rare luck.” She frees one hand.

“Yes, rare,” I agree with irony. “That’s the kind of fortunate man I am.” It’s good that the girl is too preoccupied with unbuckling my second hand. She doesn’t notice how intently I’m studying her. You couldn’t imagine a prettier nurse. I enjoy gazing at her.

“That’s it!” the pleasant-looking girl reports triumphantly, having conquered the new technology.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for the freedom,” I can now feel at least partial freedom of movement, rubbing my wrists.

“The main thing is to remember the promise you made!” she reminds me of our agreement seriously. It’s good that she reminded me.

“I remember, of course!” I assure her, calming her down. “Thank you for saving me,” I thank her not so much for returning me to life as for the chance to talk to her.

“The restraints wouldn’t have killed you,” she blushes with a smile.

“Thank you for pulling me out of the sea and bringing me back to consciousness,” I clarify, so she understands.

“Oh, that,” the nurse says more seriously. “It’s not my merit. The divers pulled you out, the doctor saved you. And I just happened to be there. A friend asked me to cover her shift. I covered it.”

“Maybe that’s why I survived. Because you were right next to me,” I recall seriously.

“I had absolutely nothing to do with it,” the girl smiles. “It’s all your luck. You’re destined for a long life.”

“What if you are my Fortune?” I suggest seriously, looking into the young nurse’s eyes.

“You’re having a romantic episode from the painkillers,” she looks at the monitor shyly. “You should sleep now. And I’ll tell the doctor that everything is fine with you. There’s no need to worry. Then he’ll come by later.”

“Thank you for your kind care,” I thank her, hoping to see her again.

“It’s my job,” she answers more seriously, recovering from her girlish softness. “Sleep. People will come to see you during the day,” she adjusts the IV drip and leaves.

“Thank you,” I call out to the slender figure in the white coat. I never would have thought I’d be lying in a hospital bed with such pleasure. No bed or new monitor can replace talking with a nice person. Especially when a fortunate man like me meets a truly sweet girl. She told me to sleep. I don’t want to. I watch the sunrise in the hospital window. I recall the gloomy seabed, Stan, and the sweet nurse. She asked me to sleep. I will sleep!

“Good afternoon,” the doctor enters the room, accompanied by the senior policeman who watched my balancing act between life and death. He had judged my chance to be minuscule. He was wrong. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything’s fine, thank you. The nurse took good care of me,” I praise her, hoping the girl will be thanked on my behalf.

“She’s a very proactive one,” Dr. Shane lifts the straps that had restrained my arms with a smirk. “I’m your attending physician, Dr. Shane. Do you remember your name?”

“I’m not sure. Although, I think it’s Michael. Michael Doe,” my memory is foggy, but the name came to me on its own.

“Excellent,” Dr. Shane smiles with relief. “We’ll assume that’s your real name. This is Detective Worsen. He has a couple of questions for you. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you alone. Your life is not in danger, and I have some serious business to attend to.”

“Yes, of course, I think we’ll manage,” it’s bold of me to be alone with the man who doubted my ability to survive. What if he decides to test it again?

“Hello,” the Detective walks right up to me. Is he trying to apply psychological pressure? Or does he think I’m deaf? “As you understood, I’m Detective Worsen.”

“Good day, Detective,” I speak with restraint so he doesn’t take me for a lunatic. I don’t want the restraints back on my hands.

“Is your name truly Michael Doe?” he stares intently into my eyes, trying to catch me in a lie with the first few words.

“I hope so. I hope my confidence is truthful,” I answer the truth evasively.

“Good,” he writes the name in his notebook and puts it away in the pocket of the same light jacket he was freezing in last night. “Do you remember what happened to you?” he leans forward slightly as he asks the question.

“I remember. I slipped on something slick and sticky, tumbled over the railing, and hit my head. After that, hazy, delirious images. Then the police, the medics,” I recount everything, except the main part. I don’t want to go to a lunatic asylum.

“Do you remember what time it was?” A hidden cunning gleams in his eyes. “Approximately.”

“Around two in the morning,” I heard it from Stanley Jacobs. Our time underwater coincided.

“Interesting,” the policeman draws out thoughtfully, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin.

“Does my answer bother you, Detective?” I ask directly, hoping for new information.

“The call about the incident on the pier came in around two. That means you were nearby when several other people were there. Are you an accomplice, a victim, or a random witness?” It seems Worsen hasn’t decided yet who he wants me to be.

“As I approached, I heard a commotion in the dark. I didn’t pay it any mind. I calmly walked toward the noise, thinking it was birds chasing fish. Then I heard the heavy sound of something falling into the water,” my thoughts are dark, just like the night when everything happened.

“And you weren’t alarmed by such a sound on a deserted pier at night? It didn’t frighten you?”

“I thought a large bird had dived in,” I realize how I must look in the Detective’s eyes.

“By the way, what were you doing in such a place at such a time?” he asks the awkward question.

“I was walking. I often end up in places like that when I’m deep in thought,” I tell the truth, but it sounds like fabricated nonsense.

“Are you familiar with Stanley Jacobs?” the name brings a smile to my face. I can’t show personal attachment to the case. I quickly become serious so as not to provoke new questions.

“I’m familiar with him,” I answer with complete honesty, but without emotion.

“How familiar?” he digs into my first fleeting reaction.

“If I understand correctly, Stanley became an accomplice in my accident,” I can’t suppress a smile.

“In what sense?” Worsen asks warily.

“Apparently, I slipped on Stanley’s blood,” I explain my guess, based on the Drowned Man’s words.

“What makes you think there was blood there?” the Detective feigns incomprehension, while I have the three bullet wounds in Stan’s chest before my eyes.

“It’s not hard to guess. Before me, you pulled out the corpse of another man. You name the name. The picture adds up perfectly,” I try to speak confidently.

“How did you know a corpse was pulled out before you if you were unconscious and barely showing signs of life?” the Detective stubbornly clings to the implausibility.

“I heard a lot in the ambulance,” I have to fib, avoiding suspicion of a bigger lie. I hope he won’t check with the doctors.

“Alright. Another question. The blood you slipped on, was it thick?” he clarifies, checking for a time match with Stanley’s incident.

“I think it was fresh, if that’s what you mean,” I let him know I’m not a complete idiot.

“Interesting,” the Detective strokes his unshaven chin again, staring intently out the hospital window.

“Does my answer bother you again?” A direct question can only hurt me.

“Bother me?” Worsen returns his gaze in confusion. “I’ll re-examine all the witness statements. Get well soon.” The Detective nods, not taking his eyes off me. He exits in search of Dr. Shane.

“Did the policeman frighten you much?” After Worsen leaves, the sweet nurse enters with a face full of care and concern.

“We had a pleasant chat,” I smile at the girl. I think my answers alarmed Worsen. I don’t let on to the nurse.

“Did you sleep?” she glances strictly at the monitor, my hands, the IV drip, and then my eyes.

“As you said. I kept my word. I followed the recommendations,” I report back completely and seriously. “Thank you for arranging some rest time for me.”

“It was no trouble,” the girl blushes. “The important thing is that you got some rest. You had such a difficult night. You were brought to the hospital at four.”

“At four?” I repeat, suppressing my surprise.

“Yes, at four in the morning,” the girl confirms, straining her memory.

“And how long is the drive from the pier to here?” I smoothly approach the main point.

“Forty minutes, at least,” she looks confidently at her small wrist watch.

“So, you left at the start of the fourth hour?” I clarify, not trusting my own judgment.

“Something like that. First, they spent a long time resuscitating you. Then they drove you here to warm you up. What are you thinking about?” she becomes alarmed, glancing after the departed Detective, suspecting where the questions about time came from.

“Everything’s fine,” I reassure her with a slight smile. “And by any chance, can you tell me what time they pulled me out?”

“If I’m not mistaken, around three. The police called at the beginning of three. They asked us to come to the scene of an incident. Other hospitals are reluctant to cooperate with them, but we’re ready to help. Especially if we manage to save a life,” she looks at me with a warm gaze, adjusting the blanket.

“I’m immensely grateful to all of you,” I seriously express my sincere feeling. “Can I clarify one more point?”

“Go ahead,” the girl listens carefully to every word since the Detective’s visit.

“Is it actually possible for a person to survive in cold water after being on the bottom for half an hour to an hour?” I try to ask about the impossible case casually.

“For a normal person, even five minutes in warm water without air is fatal. And you were underwater for almost an hour. When they pulled you out, we thought we were taking two corpses. I accidentally noticed your eyelids twitch,” she recalls the decisive moment. “Though I usually don’t look at dead bodies.”

“So, I owe my rescue to you!” I voice the feeling that’s been following me since the pier.

“It looks like it!” she can no longer wriggle out of it. She accepts the title of savior.

“My life belongs to you. In this world and the next,” I say absolutely seriously.

“You exaggerate,” she blushes slightly, feeling awkward.

“I’ll only ever entrust my life to you!” I declare resolutely.

“You should live your own life for a while!” she smirks, about to leave.

“Wait. One last question,” I stop her a little louder.

“Yes, what is it you want to know?” she waits seriously for a relevant question.

“You haven’t told me your name. And to me, your name is the most important thing now.”

“And I won’t tell you!” she turns away playfully. She leaves the room.

So, Stanley and I talked for a whole hour on the seabed. That’s why Worsen was alarmed. He thought I lied about the fresh blood. In any case, I should have drowned a few minutes before the divers arrived for everything to look plausible. Considering how long it takes divers to prepare for a dive, I should have fallen in front of everyone’s eyes. I feel that another meeting with the Detective is inevitable. New questions, clarifications of old ones. It would be easy to slip up. The main thing is to say nothing about the conversation on the bottom. I wonder how Stan is doing. He’s lying alone in the morgue, with no one to talk to. Or has he managed to find a conversationalist in the next refrigerator. That guy is surprisingly talkative for a dead man. I’m going to miss him.

“Well, now, our amazing patient,” Dr. Shane enters the room, studying the notes on my chart. “You came to us neither dead nor alive. And now, your tests are those of the healthiest person I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe all I needed was to get some sleep on a new bed? Mine is quite old,” I offer jokingly with a smile, avoiding an explanation for the strangeness.

“Given the situation, that’s the most logical explanation,” the doctor plays along with the joke. There’s no point in looking for a sound explanation. “If you wish, I can discharge you this evening. If you want, I’ll discharge you right now!”

“Tell me, is there an option to be discharged this evening, but first go to the morgue and check on my old friend, Stanley Jacobs?” I imagine how that must sound.

“That’s a strange request, I admit. And you’re not a simple man,” he muses, looking at the door. “You know,” he returns his thoughts. “Considering all the circumstances, I’ll allow the stroll. Especially since, factoring in everything, you yourself should have ended up not on a warm new bed, but on a cold pathologist’s table. You can also take a look at the possible alternative outcome for last night.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shane,” I try to convey with a look my request not to tell Detective Worsen, so as not to complicate things.

“Yes, the investigation is in full swing. Be careful out there,” the doctor warns, leaving the room. “Give Stan my regards!”

“I will,” I reply to the closed door, quietly pleased by the permission to see him.

“They’re discharging you?” the slightly saddened nurse enters the room with a tray of hospital goodies.

“It seems so,” I can’t believe it myself after last night’s incident. “Are you upset?” I smile, dispelling the lovely girl’s sadness.

“A little,” the nurse whispers, placing the tray in front of me. “I mean, I’m glad you’re doing well. You’ll be home soon. You’ll return to your normal life.”

“To be honest, I don’t think that should make anyone happy,” I show my sadness at parting with my entire demeanor. “We could continue our acquaintance outside the hospital walls, if you’ll tell me your name and how to find you in normal life.”

“Selena. But for you, just Lensy,” the girl says openly, afraid of missing out on the connection.

“And I’m just Mike for you. If that’s my real name,” I add almost as a joke. I’m not even sure of the reality of my memories.

“Alright,” the nurse smiles sweetly. “Is it tasty?”

“It’s divine! Thank you so much! After twenty-four hours without food, I see a delicacy before me.”

“It’s just everything we had in our cafeteria,” she apologizes guiltily.

“Believe me, it’s more than enough! I was lucky to meet you!” I’m happy about our encounter.

“Please, don’t rejoice too soon,” she smiles, warning me. She shyly averts her gaze toward the window.

“Should I be afraid?” I pretend to be wary.

“When people get to know me even a little better, they immediately disappear without a trace or a word. Especially after meeting my father,” she says with a sad smile.

“I came back from the dead thanks to you. And I’m not planning on going back yet. And I have nowhere else to go. So, you’re doomed to suffer with me,” I smile, joking.

“What, nowhere at all?” Lensy asks with alarm.

“Does a car count as a home?” I clarify seriously.

“Generally, I think it does count,” the nurse considers seriously.

“Then I have somewhere to go,” I ease the sweet girl’s worries with a smile.

“It’s not normal to live in a car! A person needs a home!” she objects seriously.

“A normal person needs a normal home,” I clarify for her sake.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting. You can’t be called normal,” she smiles sadly, looking at me as if into a mirror. It seems Selena isn’t simple either.

“I know the morgue isn’t the best place for a walk with a girl, but how do you feel about the offer to walk there with me?” Now I’m afraid of scaring her with my strangeness.

“Oh! I’d love to!” Lensy says, unexpectedly pleased.

“Excellent! You can show me the way, too. I managed to wangle permission, but I forgot to ask for directions,” I unclip my right foot. The nurse frees my left one. I’d been lying there fully restrained.

“Let’s take the stairs,” the girl suggests, clearly knowing the ropes. “The elevators are packed at this time. It’s hard to squeeze in. And I don’t want to,” she explains as we walk.

“What’s your interest in going to the morgue with me?” I clarify Lensy’s strange desire.

“What makes you think I’m interested?” she feigns incomprehension.

“You lit up when you heard,” I recall her undisguised reaction.

“Maybe I lit up because you invited me,” she replies, skipping from step to step.

“No way! This is something else. I know it for sure. I can feel it,” I look at her suspiciously.

“You’ll find out everything yourself in a minute,” she descends with the smile of a little girl, as if we are not going to the morgue, but to an amusement park. I start to feel uneasy.

“What is this outrage?!” the pathologist exclaims when he sees us. “Who let such a beautiful little girl into the dark basement?” His serious face breaks into a wide smile. “It’s my princess!”

“Yes! It’s me, Daddy!” Lensy hugs her father tightly. “Meet Michael. The one who almost became your patient. Thankfully,” she adds in a whisper.

“I’ve heard about you, young man,” he shakes my hand firmly. “You are a phenomenon in all areas of medicine. I’m Doctor Eugene Sky.”

“Michael Doe, pleased to meet you while I’m alive. And I’m not a phenomenon. More like a universe’s mistake,” I modestly correct the pathologist’s statement.

“The universe doesn’t make mistakes!” the doctor states seriously. “I can assure you, my Selena would never bring an ordinary or bad person to me.”

“People like that don’t leave here?” I joke with a serious expression.

“You’re a joker,” the doctor understands the joke. Fortunately. “Without humor, there’s nothing to do in such an exclusive place. Did you really bring Michael here just for an introduction?” he looks into his daughter’s eyes, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Michael has business here,” Lensy answers her father honestly.

“Did you decide to check on your fellow night swimmer?” the doctor guesses.

“I want to see him while I still have the chance,” I state plainly.

“Stan has been waiting for you for a long time,” Eugene says with genuine sorrow in his voice, pulling the body out of the cooler.

“You knew him?” I move closer to my frozen friend.

“Stan served with my son. Selena’s brother. Sunny saved him back then. Apparently, he wasn’t so lucky this time. Before the army, Stan asked Sunny to be the godfather of his child if he ever decided to start a family. When he had that misfortune, he wasn’t afraid that there was no godfather. You should have seen him inconsolable. He lost his family and his best friend.”

“I feel sorry for the guy,” I approach him, just like on the bottom of the night sea. I can’t suppress a smile, as if talking to an old comrade. “Hi, Stan. How are you? I’ll retrieve the glass Stan from the bottom at the first opportunity. And I’ll return it to you. I’ll bring Jack too.”

“I see you two were closely acquainted,” the pathologist notes with a smile. “You know about Stan and Jack.”

“You could say that,” the laughter is mixed with sadness. “We managed to chat on the bottom.”

“Stan knows how to pick his conversationalists. Talk to him calmly. And we’ll go drink some coffee in the world of the living,” Dr. Sky smiles and leads his daughter away.

“You’re not joking?” Stan sits up, opening his eyes. “You really will bring it, because this thirst is killing me. And a bit of warmth wouldn’t hurt in this cold.”

“Of course, I’ll bring it! Though probably not here,” I remember where we are. “To your grave. I’ll find out where the burial will be later.”

“Good, it’s a deal,” the guy calms down.

“How are you there?” I ask with interest and concern.

“Where is ‘there’?” Stan looks at me with surprise.

“I don’t know,” I wonder what to say. “Where do people go in cases like this?” I remind him of the bullet holes.

“I don’t know either,” the corpse sighs wistfully in the frost.

“How can I help you? Do you have any last wishes?” I want to ease my friend’s fate.

“Try to punish my murderers. Maybe I’ll be set free. It’s uncomfortable to be stuck in this body forever. And imagine being buried in the ground with a living soul. Then what? Staring at the inside of a coffin lid forever?” There is horror and despair in his cloudy eyes.

“Yes, not the best prospect. I’ll do everything I can,” I promise, not imagining how.

“Look, you promised a dead man,” Stan looks at me seriously, pointing his finger. He lies back down. He closes his eyes.

“Sorry, we can’t drink any more coffee,” the pathologist apologizes as he enters. “They’re bringing in a new one soon. You should talk to my Lensy instead. The girl is terribly bored among normal people. She smiles when she’s with you,” Eugene rejoices over his daughter in a fatherly way. He respectfully returns Stan to the cooler.

“Thank you so much for the opportunity to say goodbye,” now I understand how important this is.

“Friends,” Dr. Sky says softly and understandingly, escorting me to the exit.