Fish Out of Water Read online

  Carragheen looked perplexed by my reaction, clearly not what he had been expecting.

  He went on. “Visions, really. They started a little while ago. First as dreams, then sometimes waking. And I’ve seen Imogen, in the visions. After the girls told me about her, I started to see her. And…” He looked over at me quickly then looked away. “And I don’t think she’s alone. I saw another girl. I couldn’t see who it was. I didn’t mention it to you, I wasn’t sure how I’d explain it. You see, I’m still not really sure what this thing is.”

  I was looking at him, understanding exactly what it was he was feeling, but I could tell he was still worried at my reaction, because he went on quickly. “I am quite certain that I am not crazy. But you wanted facts. And the… second one… it’s no kind of fact.”

  “Have you told anyone? About the visions?”

  “Cleedaline,” Carragheen responded straight away. “I had to tell someone.”

  I watched him carefully. All the pieces fit together. What he was saying and how it felt as it settled in my brain and my heart. It felt like he was telling the truth. And it fit with Cleedaline’s words, in her little note, hidden in the cookie jar. But I couldn’t tell him. For some reason I couldn’t say me too. Even though I wanted to. Why was I holding back? I tried to watch my thoughts, like my Mom taught me. Firstly, because I still wasn’t sure. One thought kept getting in the way. Why is Mom afraid of this, of me with him? Secondly, because it wasn’t right. Not with Doug, sick and broken in the hospital, and me responsible for everything.

  As I sat and listened, and thought, the air thickened until I felt like I was breathing molasses. There was so much between us it was hard to believe it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. I was remembering the kiss, back in Aegira, and my body burned for a reprise.

  He moved a hand behind my head, patting my head and teasing soft circles in the baby hairs that lace the back of my neck. He blinked slowly, and I watched, hypnotized by the course of red-gold lashes and the steady certainty of his stare. Carragheen was still a wolf, circling deliberately, moving closer, lulling me for the strike. Even though my logic was warning me off, I was the most willing chicken in the henhouse. And if he didn’t hurry up and cut to the chase I was gonna scream with frustration.

  He stopped speaking and there was only a heartbeat pause before he used the weight of the hand at the back of my neck to pull my face towards his.

  I kissed him back with everything I had, and it was as though some reckless part of me wanted to brand him as mine. My body and soul were acting independently of my brain, which had conveniently taken a back seat.

  I thought about Ran’s words about her lover: I had always known him.

  I felt Carragheen hesitate, pull back, and I realized he wanted to tell me something.

  With the last ounce of my strength and instinct for self-preservation, I used the tiny break in the action to give my brain, which was feverish with desire, a swift slap.

  As much as I wanted to, I could not sleep with him, not when he was married, even if the marriage wasn’t conventional. Not when I didn’t understand Mom’s doubts. And not with Doug to think about. This was not my Mom’s assistant. This was something else altogether. And, mostly, because I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he was The One. I couldn’t afford mistakes. I only had two weeks to go.

  But he was looking at me with those eyes I couldn’t say no to.

  It’s the last refuge of a coward, but I squeaked that I needed the ladies and scurried away.

  It was only when I was standing, confused and panting against the locked bathroom door, like that little cartoon cat escaping from the amorous skunk, that I saw it and remembered. I’d forgotten about the hurry I’d been in to open it when I came bursting in to find him on my sofa. I retrieved the bag from where I’d stashed it, on a shelf above the sink.

  But I’d moved from the cocky certainty of an hour ago. I still wanted to open it, but I wasn’t angry anymore. I was afraid, and perversely glad Carragheen was outside the door.

  I snapped open the clasp and two tiny shells fell out onto my palm. I’d never seen that type of shell before. They were like perfect little ears, and as small as a penny. I turned them over in my palm, and made a quick decision.

  When I showed Carragheen, a delicate crease appeared between two perfect sculpted eyebrows. “Lovers ears,” he said softly, expelling his breath in a little whoosh. “Who do these belong to?”

  “They were my mother’s.” That look again, inscrutable. What did he know?

  “Do you know if your mother had a lover? Back in Aegira? Before she left?”

  “I think so,” I nodded. “What are they?”

  He explained. “They’re an ancient thing. I’ve only ever seen scratchings of them. Lots of people think they’re just myth. Dolphin magic. Lovers slipped them into their ears, one each, you see, and you then could find the other, always. No matter where they were.”

  “Huh,” I sighed, thinking. So these belonged to Mom and… who? Someone else. Someone she loved enough to need to be able to find him, always. My mind was alight with questions. “What’s their range?”

  Carragheen laughed darkly as I asked the question. “They aren’t weapons, Rania.”

  “You know what I mean,” I insisted. “Like, could they find someone in Aegira, if you were on the land?” I was thinking about Mom, watch-keeping. Was that why she got them? Did her lover stay back in Aegira? Had the lover’s ears been their link to each other?

  “Like I said,” Carragheen continued, the little frown still in place, searching his memories. “I don’t know much. They were supposed to be charmed by the dolphins. And lovers would use them, lovers who believed they were to be together forever. The charm would last as long as they lived, and die with them.”

  “So I could use it to find someone, anywhere?” I was thinking about Lecanora, hoping she was okay, and slipped the smaller of the two little shells into the crook of my ear.

  “No,” he said, thinking. “I don’t think so. I think they were individual to the user. You would need your own set of shells.”

  But I was barely registering what he was saying. Because as I slipped the shell into my ear, I became lost in a purple mist. It was kind of a vision, but different. More like… a dream. The mist was swirling and shifting, and I held on to Carragheen’s arm for anchor. I felt dizzy and achey, and then the mist cleared and I saw him as clearly as if he was standing in the room.

  Kraken. In the Eye of the Goddess, floating in prayer before the golden statue of Aegir.

  I recoiled in shock, snatching the thing from my ear and hurling it across the room.

  “Holy shit,” I swore, scowling into Carragheen’s face. Wondering if he knew.

  “Mom’s lover, it was… your Dad.”

  I could hear the low scratch of Carragheen’s voice vibrating in my ear, but I couldn’t seem to make the sounds separate into words and ideas. And I couldn’t see him, because my eyes were fixed on the shag rug somewhere near my feet. Each fat creamy thread seemed separate and distinct, like I was looking at the rug through a microscope. And each one seemed to be raising its head with agonizing slowness and looking at me, mocking me. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my top lip, hot and prickly, and I brought one nail up to brush it away, watching the path of my finger like it belonged to someone else.

  Somewhere, somehow, that tap was still dripping.

  I looked down at my finger, at the drop of sweat on it, trying to recognize what I was looking at. It was a perfect, miniature crystal ball, rolling gently down the sand dune of the soft pad of my finger, light refracting in its curves.

  Mom. Kraken. Kraken and Mom.

  Carragheen reached out a hand and touched mine. At the swift jolt from his warm skin, the droplet of sweat skittered off my index finger, and seemed to fall in slow motion to the floor and then smash against the rug. As it did, time resumed its normal speed.

  I had to go talk to Mom.

  I
t must have been so bad. I’d always known there was something, some man, at the heart of all of Mom’s secrets, but I also knew it had to be more than that. Mom’s no shrinking violet. She’s strong, and wise. It would take more than a love affair gone wrong to get her so spooked.

  I looked at Carragheen and thought about the kiss. A nerve jumped in his temple as he watched my face. From this vantage point, I saw again the similiarities with Kraken. That wanton face, the carnivorous edge. The full lips. I remembered myself kissing those lips, and closed my eyes. Against the backdrop of my mind’s eye, Carragheen’s visage morphed into Kraken’s, and I was imagining myself kissing the arrogant old priest. The arrogant old rapist priest, I reminded myself cruelly. Mom’s old boyfriend. A dull lurch saw the bottom drop from my stomach, and I suddenly tried to remember when I had last eaten.

  “Did you know?”

  He opened his mouth, squeezing my hand as he made to respond.

  He knew. He freakin’ well knew about my mother and that freakin’ rapist.

  I thought about the story. Tila, and Leisen. I knew it was all true, all he told me.

  So why hadn’t he told me this?

  Now I understood Mom’s fears. Did she see echoes of Kraken in his son? The shells reminded me how many unknowns remained and how much danger was waiting. And here I was. French kissing some mysterious hottie like a schoolgirl while women were being tortured, Doug was in the hospital and I was supposed to be saving the world.

  A hottie who was keeping secrets from me. Important secrets.

  “Leave,” I whispered, turning my face away.

  He spoke into my mind. No.

  I refused to go into his brain, and focused on a spot on the wall. “Leave.”

  I am not him. He squeezed my hand again, harder, bringing one hand up to my chin to pull my face roughly back towards his. That nerve still jumped wildly at his temple. His eyes shone, darker than I’d ever seen them. You know me.

  I turned to him, pouring all my fury stilling my breath so I could speak as calmly and slowly as possible, each word a perfect bullet. “I. Know. Nothing. About. You.”

  Still, he held my gaze. This time I didn’t look away. “Leave. Now.” He dropped his hand from my chin, and wiped it on the towel at his waist, shaking his head. Seconds later, he shut the door quietly as he went. Saying nothing but looking like a man with a lot to say.

  After he left, I sat very still on the couch in the place where he’d kissed me. The flat was death quiet, apart from the slow dripping of that tap. I looked over at the clock, but had trouble deciphering the numbers. I scratched at my arm, where the scar ran the length of it, but felt nothing. I pinched a twist of plasticy scar tissue between my fingers. Nothing. I thought about the homeless girls I’d met in the city, cutting deep trenches into their teenage skin, proof of life. For the first time, I got it. My limbs were leaden. I wondered if they would ever move again.

  My cell suddenly buzzed and leaped on the coffee table in front of me. I stared at it as though it was some strange, alien artifact. After what felt like hours of its tinny buzzing, I picked it up to switch it to silent. As I did, the ringing stopped. But not before I caught sight of the numbers flashing on the screen. My brain whirred and clicked, trying to make sense of them, taking long moments to connect before coming through for me.

  Susie.

  The room seemed to snap back into focus.

  I punched the voicemail button, suddenly aware of my breath again as my heart rate went from frozen to boiling point in nanoseconds. And then I heard her, words spilling out with girlish shyness at leaving a message. “Um… Rania. ‘S’me. Susie. Just wanted to tell you I’m okay. And I did it. I told mama about the dreams. And she made me hot chocolate. Bye.”

  The breathy monologue over, I looked at the phone as I punched the “end” button.

  Huh. Susie. She told her Ma. She listened to me.

  I felt all the numb edges of my skin start to sizzle back into life.

  This Carragheen thing was not the end of the world. Not yet, anyway. It was just a blip.

  I took a long, deep breath. A breath that felt like the first I had taken since I’d seen him, sitting there on my couch. It was a blip, but it would serve a purpose. For a start, it would teach me to buck the habit of a lifetime and start trying to trust new people.

  Any other time I would have gone to Mom straight away, and told her what I’d learned. Asked her about Kraken, about what had happened between them. But I knew that wasn’t the right course of action tonight. I couldn’t rush in. This was her history, Mom’s history, and it deserved some respect. Some privacy. I was gonna have to wait until we had some alone time.

  Right now, Mom had things to do. And so did I. I needed to get back to Aegira, regardless of what had just happened, regardless of what I had just learned. But first, I needed to go check on Doug, make sure he knew I wasn’t deserting him but that I needed to get these baddies. For him. For me. And for the others.

  So. I put aside my fears, and my rage at Carragheen. And drove.

  I would have liked to take Ariel but I had to return Mary’s sedan. As the little car ate up the miles, I watched the black tarmac and smelled the smells of my home. The only real home I’d ever known. My head started to clear and I felt more like myself. I gave my scar a hard poke and registered the itchy wince that meant I was real too. I was back.

  When I got to Dirtwater Memorial, I parked the sedan around back, with a “thanks, sorry” note taped to the windshield. I needn’t have bothered. When I got inside, Mary hadn’t left. She’d been keeping vigil by Doug’s bedside. Larry was still there too, sitting at a computer and frowning like he did when he was trying to solve the Times crossword.

  “Hi,” I said, feeling fifteen different kinds of guilt rock me as I thought about kissing Carragheen while Doug lay there, in pain and alone. “How’s he doing?”

  Larry pushed back his chair, scratched his right ear and puffed out a defeated sigh. “Rania,” he said with a whoosh of breath. “Come here.” He motioned to the chair beside him. I could feel it coming, and I knew it was gonna be bad. I felt sick right down to my toes.

  “It’s bad,” he confirmed. “Doug came out of his coma… momentarily.” I watched Larry clock the hope light my eyes and move quickly to squash it before I allowed myself to indulge in any fantasies about Doug being fine, and living to ride another day. “No, Rania,” he cautioned me, a hand on my arm. “He… he’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?” Not like Larry to be so cryptic.

  Larry ran his big hands through that silver hair, chewing his lip. “He’s… he was ranting and screaming. He didn’t recognize us, didn’t know his name.”

  “What?” I felt my brain want to slip back into that place it had gone to in Mom’s apartment, slowing down, not computing. I shook my head violently, giving my brain a mental shake at the same time. No way, brain. You don’t get away with your part in this that easy.

  I tried again. “What do you mean? You mean… he’s gone crazy?” It wasn’t something I could imagine. Solid, brave Doug. Losing his mind. It just wasn’t possible.

  Larry just shrugged, and I saw the exhausted lines criss-crossing his face, and the dullness weighing down those eyes that had seen it all.

  “No,” I stammered, feeling my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth. Don’t cry.

  Don’t. Cry.

  Larry threw a heavy arm around my shoulders and guided me into where Doug was lying. He looked pale and somehow smaller. The smell of antiseptic and linen played in my nostrils. I stood still, willing my legs to move forward, go to him.

  Larry took the initiative. I watched him walk over to Doug, pick up one huge hand, touch his wrist carefully, feeling for the pulse. “Me again, pal,” he whispered gently.

  And something about that. That tiny, simple gesture, from this man I loved. To this other man who was hurt because of me. I imagined Larry, in war zones and jungles, with other men. Wounded and broken men. I imagined
the things he’d seen. I knew what those things had done to him. But I also knew, better than anyone, that he’d never seen anything like this.

  My breath started to hurt as it picked its way in and out. Spots swam before my eyes.

  No. No, no, no. Don’t cry.

  It was as though Doug heard me. He began to moan.

  A deep, pained braying that I could feel right down to my toes.

  Larry turned back to me, and I looked at him for answers. He shrugged helplessly. “Doug obviously got a really major buzz from this thing, whatever it is. More than you did. Maybe more even than Blondie. He’s seriously tough, so it didn’t kill him. But the pain, the effects of it... you need to understand, honey, he might never recover.”

  Larry guided me outside the tiny cubicle, one arm around my shoulders. Then he pulled back and looked at me. Whatever he saw made his mouth turn down at the corners in this eloquent gesture of sympathy. He touched my shoulder, the lightest of feather touches, and, finally, I crumpled, hurling myself against him, beating his solid chest as he stood to hold me.

  “No.” I yelled at him, feeling the starched thickness of his shirt as I pummeled it over and over. “No, no, no. Bullshit.”

  “Shhh, sweetheart,” Larry soothed, patting my hair.

  I couldn’t speak, just sob, my cries climbing higher and higher. The noise echoed through the little white hospital, bouncing off stainless steel benches and sterile surfaces. I kept trying to claw back control, dragging in breath after breath to try to pull it together but the cries were being squeezed from my insides, like I was a rag doll being played with by a giant. My ears felt like they do when I fly, all messed up with the pressurized cabin. All I could see was the white panel of Larry’s shirt and a black red haze. My shoulders hunched with the weight of it all. So much, and now this. Now I had done this to Doug. Who had only been trying to help. You know, it really is true. I don’t cry.

  Not when I got told I was on borrowed time at the tender age of sixteen.

  Not when I got zapped.

  Not even when my heart got stomped by a lying merman.

  And yet here I was. Sobbing like a baby.