It was that first scream that came to pierce the water, snapping away the beauty of his crime. A second later, wading legs jostled fruitlessly in twos, shouts mere muffles from beneath. The figure, anchored still, had been looking up from his lagoon bed, his body relaxed as the pump and valves worked so delicately to a stop, his breathing set to a bubbling whisper. He shared a polite word with the bright blue above: a promise, perhaps. The figure was reminded of a scene from his childhood. A party. Invitation only. By that stage, his mother rarely left the house, but she delivered the R.S.V.P personally. He found out later that she had gone without his father’s knowing. Grave Danger, his father said upon their return , Grave Danger. Insurmountable. Going alone is bad enough. Why did you take the boy? His mother walked briskly to the house, a young figure herself. Please