Perhaps the message had landed. The next morning, his stomach dropped. At the bottom of the pool, gleaming faintly through the cloudy water, was another bottle. Brazen, left there like a calling card.
Arthur fetched the net, eased it into the water, and pulled the bottle out, slick with chlorine. His hands shook—not with age this time, but with something closer to rage. Arthur hesitated before opening the shed.