He fell from the rowboat into the icy waters. A push? A slip? Did it matter?
It didn’t. Harry would be back in the boat in no time.
He extended his hand upwards, but his wife gazed down at him. A cold, vacant stare. Very unfamiliar.
Then he felt hands on both of his ankles.
Forceful… unrelenting…
Harry groped for the slippery edge of the boat. He couldn’t tread water forever, especially with this unseen force dragging him down into the lake’s murky depths.
Panic set in.
Whatever he was fighting against, Harry knew he would be fighting it alone.
The Weekday One Hundred 