In a way, this is a prequel to my previous crossover with these games.

Warnings: talks on death/suicide later on.

Go Drown in the Shallow End

Chapter 1

The Boy in the Rain

Clara remembers the day she met the water boy. Sometimes she can't recall him clearly, only seeing brief glimpses of moments. Sometimes, the past is just as clear as the present and it is as if his hands on her shoulders are still there, weighing her down.

OOO

It started after breakfast on a dull Monday morning in April. The last of the eggs had been shared out between ten hungry mouths and there was nothing left for lunch save for some teabags. Soon after clearing up the table and shooing the children out of the kitchen, Martha wrote out a list on a scrape of notepaper and handed it over to Clara with the shopping basket.

"Now, I already gave you the purse, right?"

"Yep. It's right here." Clara patted her left side pocket on her shorts, making a jiggling sound.

Martha nodded her head. "Yes, of course I did. Oh, Clara, don't you dare go back to Barker's this time." A look of disgust crossed the woman's face. "The pork they sold us last week was just rancid. Go to that new butcher across from the church. Thackeray, I think it's called. See how fair their meat is."

"Yes, Martha."

"Good girl." For a moment, Martha put a bony finger against her chin and poundered. "Is there anything else- Oh yes. Wendy is running low on medicine."

"I know. I'll stop by the chemist."

"Good girl." Martha gave Clara a tired, wrinkled smile and a pat on the side of her arm. "Thank you for doing this for me, Clara. I would go myself but you know how bad my knees are getting."

"It's fine." The girl smiled back weakly. "I better get going before all of the good food is gone."

"Yes, quite. You better pick up our coat and a bolly on your way out." With a quick glance out of the window, Martha judged the sky with a scowl. "I don't like the look of those clouds over there."

Martha was right. Although it had been still and calm all morning, by the time Clara had made it down the hill to the bus stop a light drizzle was falling. By the time she had arrived in Cardington town centre, the heavens had opened fully and a steady flow fell down upon the townsfolk. People went scattering in all directions into tearooms or the roads to their houses across the babbling river, but Clara stayed up, making her way around the shops with her umbrella held firming above her head. She did not mind the rain. In fact she enjoyed it: the pitter-patter against the windowpanes was soothing, the splash of feet running through puddles reminded her of childhood, the bubbling in the streams were secret voices talking to her.

The drops bouncing against the dome of her umbrella was her companion as she wandered from place to place. First the grocer for her vegetables, then the chemist for Wendy's prescription, to the cobblers to pick up a pair of dress shoes for Mister Hoffman, and finally to the new butchers. It was run by a middle-aged woman who had a large sense of authority but wonderful goods. Her family owns their own farm and hunting grounds, so the eggs were large and meat was thick. They even offered reasonably priced rabbit, and Clara could not help herself from buying one. She knew that she would be able to convince Martha to make a fine stew with it.

When she left the butcher's, the rain seemed to have calmed, but as she rode the bus back, the closer she got home the heavier the rain became again. When she hopped off, it was like being in a rainforest, miniature streams rolling down the hill, through the trees and along the path. Clara thought this was very strange. England was known for its miserable weather, but such a bad storm in April was unnatural.

It was struggle to get up the hill at first, with it being so steep and the cobblestones had become so slippery that she almost tripped more than four times. She was grateful when it started to flatten out, and it was now just a small walk to the orphanage gates. However, as she many it over another hump, she saw something tall and dark in the distance.

She slowed down her pace and focused hard on the thing on the path; until she worked out that it was a young man in a long black coat.

She paused. He did not look that much older than her. He was lean and a dirty-blond, his hair in such a messy state. Although he had a hood, he had kept it down and was staring up to the sky with a youthful smile on his face, letting the rain dripped down his head. However, despite it all, he did not appear to be very wet. His hair still had a bounce and the leather of his coat was perfectly fine. Clara bit her lip. She felt unsure about this lad. Who stands in the middle of heavy downpour and just smiles at the clouds? Something was not quite right about him.

She had to get home, so Clara took a deep breath, lowered the brim of her umbrella, and walked along the edge of the path around the back of the boy. He did not seem to notice her, and she smiled in relief.

"Hey! Miss!"

She paused by accident and she was trying to think what to do. Was it better to pretend not to have heard him and keep going, or stay and see what the strange man wanted? Before she could make up her mind, the boy had jogged over and was standing down her. She stayed hidden under her brolly and could only see his boots in the mud.

"Hey, do you think you could help me out?" he chirped in the most pleasant tone. Clara could not recognise the accent. He was defiantly not from around here and didn't sound British. He had a bit of a twang, but did not sound like an American. He had no obvious nationality to speak of at all. "Well, you see," he continued, "I'm not quite sure where I am. Okay, I'm in woodland. I can tell that much but that's all I really know… What's the name of the town?"

Clara did not say anything.

"Miss?"

"…Cardington."

"Ah. I see. Thanks." He took a moment to look around the area. "…As you may have guessed, I'm not from around here-"

"I guessed," Clara mumbled.

"-and I don't know my way around here yet. So I'm just wandering. You know, to get a grasp of the place." He was acting so friendly and casual, as if he had known Clara for a while now, but all that Clara felt was unease around this stranger. "So, anyway, what are you doing out here?"

Clara takes a step uphill. "I'm just on my way back from the town. That's all."

"Oh, you live in the big house up the hill then," the boy said, sounding pleased by the fact. "Just been up there to see what there was. Lovely place, I think. You are quite lucky."

Clara's lips tightened into a long white line. The orphanage was the only building on the hill, and was in fact one of the few buildings sitting on the borderline of the sleepy little town. He knew exactly where she lived and that made her uncomfortable. Without a second thought, she took off up the path without looking back, her knuckles clenched painfully around the handles of her umbrella and basket. She heard him call after her, and his feet hitting the cobblestones and soggy dirt as he started to give chase, but she remained forward, quickening her pace. Out of the children, she was the best at cross-country, and could keep going quickly for quite a while. Hopefully, he would run out of breath or she would make it through the gate before he could catch her.

The second set of footsteps seemed to slow down, and at one point stop all together, allowing the girl to quietly sighing of release. She thought that now she was free of her pursuer and slackened her own speed to a normal walking stride up the curve of the ground, the constant noise of the rain soothing her.

Then a pair of gloved hands reached under the protective frame of her umbrella and grabbed her by the shoulders and she screamed once, sharp and loud. She could only do it once because her mouth had suddenly become very dry and raspy, and she realised that she had become quite lightheaded and was in desperate need for a drink. Something else was not quite right. It felt that something inside her body had dropped all of the sudden, down from all points in her limb and muscle to lay low in her feet, making them heavy and unmoveable. The hands were heavy on her shoulders.

He poked his head under the umbrella, a look of deep concern over his face. He was a handsome and pathetic looking thing, with its boyish features, head cocked to the side like a confused pup, but there was something within his eyes; something that told of something older, or maybe mature under that child-like shell. His eyes were restless pools of green seawater, and they have seen many things that Clara would never understand.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said in a soothing tone. He was quite tall next to Clara, and had to bow down straight into her face. His spiky hair tickled her nose. "I know I'm kinda funny looking and all, but I'm not a bad guy. Honest." He grins, and he even has a little dimple on his left cheek. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Clara," said Clara and she did not know why she just came out with it. She knew that problems could be caused by loose, wagging tongues, and just because the boy said he wasn't bad, it did not confirm that he was good either.

"Nice to meet you, Clara," he smiled. His dimple deepened. "I have to be honest here. You are the first person to talk to me. Not many people around here seem to like me." He shrugged. "I'm used to it though… but since we know each other now, maybe you can help me. You see, my boss has a bit of interest in this place. It has a certain… quality he is fond of, and he sent me here to look at it. Since you are the only local who has talked to me, maybe the can show me around and tell me about this place. What do you say?"

Clara wanted to say something in protect, but all she could make was a dry croak that was almost inaudible. Her lips were cracking and felt like sandpaper.

"Hey, don't worry." The boy's smile relaxed, until it was small and comfortable across his jaw. "I'm just here on recon."

And with that he was gone and his hands went away, and the weight in Clara's feet roared and raised, flooding through her body until the pressure was even across her body. Saliva dribbled back into her mouth and her eyes watered just a tad. When she was sure that the waves of weight had stopped sloshing around inside her, she lifted her umbrella and looked out, but the boy was long gone. All was left was the dripping weather.

Clara was unsure what to do, looking around the empty path. She considered running back to the orphanage and telling someone, but she was unsure as to what to say. There was a strange boy on the path but he is gone now. And as Clara made her slow way up the last of the hill, with the rain slowing down to a mild drizzle, she became even less sure about what happened. At the gates, she spotted the deep imprints caused by round-toe boots making circles in the mud. Some of them trailed around the side of the wall to here to side gate was, but then came back. She did not tell Marsh anything as she gave her the shopping, and she knew that the rain would wash away from footprints, as it usually washes away everything.

By the time the children were enjoying their rabbit stew, Clara was no longer confident that she met anyone on the way home. At time she thought she did, but then it could have easily been her imagination. By bath time, there was nothing but a memory of shopping and walking home. As she lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling all she could see was the boy with the sea-foam eyes and the heavy hands smiling up at the rain clouds. His image was crisp and solid and it scared her.