Captive. Surrounded by watr, the woman could not breathe, could not fight, could not even open her eyes. Her waist was bound and her feet were weighted and she was sinking. Soon to be erased.

The man in the boat had asked her one last question before he rolled her out. Now, sinking like a parachuter, she did not think about her little boy at home, or her parents (they would be so sad), or all the things she would leave behind. No. Her last moments, the last grains of sand in her proverbial hourglass, and Mari was thinking about her assassin's question.

"Why did you kill him?"

That was all the man had said. Didn't give her time to answer. Now Mari's son was going to be an orphan, and Mari was going to be dead. Why, oh why, did Mari have to kill that man that time? It had brought her nothing but trouble.

It started years ago, really. Her husband was a bastard and Mari hated it, do so had an affair. Had an affair and got pregnant. Lucas was born and life went on, and still her husband was a bastard and Mari could do nothing about it. But then, oh then, the husband -damn him - started to hurt the boy. Whack his meaty red hands across Lucas's pale little face, and so Mari grabbed a frozen hunk of beefalo and killed him. Killed the bastard dead.

"Why did you kill him?" asked the man in the boat.

Who are you? Mari wanted to ask back. How did you find about about my husband?

But she was fading. Losing consciousness. Good-bye Lucas, goodbye job. Death. Cold below the lake. The man in the boat faded, and the wuestion ceased to matter in the least.