It was dark, and Milton couldn’t see well enough to distinguish the three men who had assaulted him, save that one was much bigger than the other two. Neither could he prevent them from dragging him to the edge of the swimming pool. He felt a sharp pain as he was kicked behind the knees, his legs going from under him as he was shoved down once more. The hands stayed on his shoulders and pushed him down so that his face was inches above the surface of the water.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” the voice from before said. “You’re lying about what happened to Anthony Jackson.”

The man spoke in English with a distinct accent: Scandinavian. It was unmistakable.

“You’re lying,” the man repeated. “Admit it.”

“No,” Milton gasped out. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

“I had no idea what happened to him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I had no idea until I was told about it this evening.”

Milton’s head was thrust down beneath the surface of the water. He tried not to struggle so that he could conserve his oxygen, but it was impossible to overrule the impulse of his body to try to get back to the surface. His back arched, but the hands holding him down were too strong. The effort spent his last breath, and his mouth automatically came open. Water rushed down his throat.

He was yanked back to the surface of the pool.

“Fuck,” he said, spluttering, retching out the water.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Milton said, gasping for the air that he knew he was going to need.

He was plunged back down beneath the surface of the pool once more. He struggled again, but the man holding him down had the benefit of leverage. Milton was jackknifed over the side of the pool and had nowhere to go.

He was hauled out for a second time.

“What’s your real name?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Your name. Your name isn’t John Smith. What’s your real name?”

“That is my name,” Milton said. “I—”

The man dunked him for the third time. They held him down for longer, and the thought crossed Milton’s mind that, perhaps, he was going to die here. He tried to separate his mind from the involuntary thrashing of his body, but it was impossible. He couldn’t do it.

He was dragged up again.

“We know you’re lying.”

Milton readied himself for a fourth dunking, but it didn’t come. Instead, he was dragged up and muscled backwards until the backs of his knees touched against a chair. He was pressed down into it.