Raleigh Reidhaar

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One thing had not changed: Peter's eyes. Deep and black and seemingly bottomless, certain and sharply focused, like the eyes of a young boy determined to win a swimming race. Matthew felt his toes grip at nothingness inside his dock shoes, felt his feet slide silently backward a fraction of an inch across the natty carpet as if he were taking a step back from the edge of the board for fear of diving once again into that dark pool. And with this thought came another...of water, and splashing, thrashing, losing grip... Loss. Determined, Matthew quickly sobered himself of the troubling memories that had momentarily distorted his focus.