Into the Deep (5 page)

Chapter Eight

I pass most of Sunday isolated, lost in a haze of information. It had been impossible to sleep. Too many scenarios danced through my half-dreams. I call Charlotte and share the news with her, promising to talk about it in the morning at school. It’s too jumbled for me to thoroughly explain. Briefly, I wonder if my new freakish nature will change our friendship. It’s a big secret to keep.

Things with Mom are weird. I long to reach out to her, but I’m hurting. She spends hours lost in her own world, staring at the walls, probably reliving her magical week on the beach with a future merman king. We hardly say three words to each other. My plan is to sneak out and take the bus to a secluded beach. The desire to experiment, to discover if I can change again, festers.

After dinner, I escape to my room and turn on the radio, hoping to throw her off and waiting for darkness to fall.

I’ve never snuck out and as I amble to the window, I worry whether I’m being too loud or if I’ll get caught. Tucking my screen somewhere safe, I crawl out the opening and pull my crutches through. It’ll be easier with them in case I can’t reattach my leg again. I close the window behind me, and navigate the three blocks to the bus stop. I bounce in place the entire ride, alternating between wishing it would go faster and controlling my galloping heart.

The Mission Park beach access is a rugged and remote area, which is perfect. It doesn’t cross my mind to be scared…no one else is in sight. I focus on being in the water, as if the simple act will make sneaking out okay. The pounding rain doesn’t compel me to return home. I’ve made my decision, burying the fear deep down where it hopefully stays.

Carefully, I climb over the concrete blockades, indicating the beach is closed, and step onto a rocky outcrop, stripping down to nothing but a bikini top I foolishly bought a year or so ago. Yesterday’s transformation tore my underwear and I hope to avoid the awkward incident again. I wish I knew how the change actually works—the physiology behind it—it’s fascinating.

Taking a final peek, to ensure I’m alone, I ease out to the edge of the rock and lower myself in with a crutch for balance, blinking raindrops out of my eyes. Even before my foot hits the ocean floor, the tingling sensation returns. Warmth spreads from within, like having the sun on my face after a month of cold. What had I been so scared of? Once the transformation is over, I have a shiny, teal tail again.

Well, that confirms it. I’m a freaking mermaid.

I grasp the nearest rock, slippery with algae, and move the appendage back and forth. I wish I had a light so I can examine it and be positive it’s as unflawed as I hope. It’s hard to trust that it doesn’t reflect my handicap. Happiness ripples through me and I smile in response. I want to feel exactly how I do now, every single day. Letting the moment and the sensation draw out, I tip my head up and let the rain wash over me.

After a while, the sea beckons me with invisible fingers and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to throw myself in. There’s only one problem. I can’t swim. A crazy laugh escapes my lips. Here I am floating in the water with a tail and unable to swim.

Since I’m an actual mermaid, logic tells me it should happen naturally. The last thing I need is to drown, or flail about and attract attention. So I lower myself farther into the thrashing waves and hope instinct takes over.

When it reaches my neck I hold my breath, plug my nose, and submerge completely.

I can’t decide what to concentrate on—the sights, the sounds, or the fact that the gills behind my ears flutter as air enters my throat from the rear. I panic momentarily and move the fingers plugging my nose. The first breaths are strange, but, after a few intakes, it doesn’t feel so odd. What is odd is having water in my mouth when I open it in shock.

The natural reaction is to swallow, which is impossible because the water reaches all the way down my throat, not choking me as it should. Without a doubt, this is the toughest aspect to get used to. I have to pause and let the sensation sink in for a while, not freak out as common sense screams for me to do.

Pausing allows the scenery to tighten into focus.

The sea near San Diego isn’t the prettiest or clearest, or even the cleanest, but to me, it’s spectacular. Due to the intense weather, a lot of debris has been stirred up and it’s difficult to glimpse through the torn pieces of algae and sediment clouding the view. Garbage litters the floor, covering it in a thick, filthy blanket. I see everything from rusty cans to a sodden diaper to a crushed suitcase.

My vision has also changed. I see farther and better in the dark. Tiny details stand out and colors appear multi-dimensional. Twenty yards in front of me, a purple starfish clings to the side of a rock. Each mark and dip on its body is vivid and intense. The same goes for a small fish passing by farther out. I spot every scale.

I’m even able to taste the water filling my mouth. The briny scent explodes on my taste buds, as does the fish and vegetation and decay, replacing my ability to smell. Normally, it would be gross, but this form doesn’t recoil from it like my human one might.

I swipe at my hair, which fans out in a cloud, and notice my hands. My fingers are webbed! Not entirely but halfway between my knuckles and the
V
of my fingers, they’re connected. I also notice my skin is thicker and pebbly, accented with wide scales. When I run my palm over my stomach, its slick, how I imagine a wet suit to feel.

Observing my tail underwater, I’m mesmerized by the sight of it. The teal colors sparkle and mingle with dark pinks and yellows. When I move it, the colors morph into another rainbow of blues and greens. It’s perfect, gorgeous, and most importantly, nothing is missing. For so long, I’ve looked at myself with a mix of horror and frustration, reminding myself I was lucky, that it could be worse, but I never meant it. This is so satisfying and natural. As I flick the tail, every cell dances in glee. My entire night could easily be wasted watching it move, except, I have other plans.

I’m itching to swim. My body is crying out for movement.

Throwing aside my concerns, I thrust myself off the rock. I don’t sink but bob, dipping and lifting with the motion of the sea. The water caresses my body, encouraging me to experiment with my tail. Mimicking the fish in the distance, I shift it up and down, flipping it in the current. Next, I lean forward and repeat the motion with my tail and torso.

I shoot forward, cutting through the sea with relative ease. Swimming in circles, I quickly get the hang of it and venture farther under the surface. I hold my arms at my side for a streamlined shape and manage to move faster. The movement is natural, like I’ve done it a thousand times.

I twirl myself in a tight circle and laugh. Shock stops me instantly.

It isn’t the act of laughing that causes me freeze. It’s the fact that I hear it, in my ears. It sounds similar to how it would on land, but with nuance and details, with a broader range.

A school of silver fish draws near me, distracting me from my new voice. Similar to the ones at the aquarium, they appear excited and swirl about in a welcoming gesture.

I giggle and say “wow” without thinking. Again, I hear the word. I don’t grasp how it’s possible, especially with a mouth and throat full of water.

“This is insane.” Once again, perfectly clear words.

A bigger creature darts in close and I have to stifle my scream of surprise until I realize it’s a small dolphin. It rolls over as it passes by and spins, playing.

Fairly certain the situation can’t get any weirder, I say, “Hello.”

The dolphin skitters and chatters as usual, yet strangely, I understand it. I didn’t understand them the other day, so it must be only in this form. I shouldn’t make expectations about this world. I’ll find myself shocked speechless every single time. The last thing I ever expected to do is speak with a dolphin. My pulse speeds up as I anticipate what will surely be a strange conversation.

“Hi! Who are you?” it says.

The high pitched tone conveys excitement. In fact, its chipper speech is exactly how I’d imagine a dolphin to sound, if I ever pictured having a chat with the energetic mammals. It reminds me of a hyperactive two-year-old kid.

“I’m Zoey. How can you talk? How can I understand you?”

The dolphin swims by and I swear it smiles. “Because you’re a mermaid.” It’s ironic to hear the creature speak to me as if
I’m
the one who’s lost my mind. “My name is Kona. Are you lost?”

I bark out an ironic laugh. “As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been lost for sixteen years. As of yesterday, I have been found. “

“You’re funny, Zoey. I know who you are. You look like King Stavros and I smell your royal blood.”

Forgetting the notion of him smelling my blood, which is weird and a little creepy, I turn over the idea of resembling Stavros so closely that I’m recognizable. It’s disconcerting and slightly welcoming, drawing me closer to the stranger who is my father.

“I only discovered last night for sure. I didn’t know who or what I was until then. This is my first time in the ocean. It’s a lot to take in. So, yes, maybe I am a little lost.”

“I can help! I can tell you anything. You swim very well.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid to venture too far from the shore.”

A mental image of me chatting up a dolphin forms in my mind. So ridiculous! But, it’s really happening. Oddly enough, I don’t feel as silly about it as I should.

Suddenly, Kona tenses and becomes alert, his movements cautious.

“What is it?” I ask in a whisper.

For a second I worry he’s not going to answer, but he tilts his head and says, “You should go. Leave. Hide.”

I scan the water, not distinguishing any threats, but that doesn’t mean anything. The smallest, simplest organism can be deadly in this new world. Kona bumps me with his tail to spur me into action. I pivot toward shore and I spot it—a black mass, writhing, and swirling in the water. Initially, I think they’re snakes until the word pokes through my fog. Eels. And I know enough to realize what I’m witnessing is not normal. All the fish in the vicinity have vanished, ratcheting up my panic.

My hesitation steals valuable seconds. Kona calls out again for me to act, but it’s too late. The cloud swarms closer and I shrink back, put off by their ugly, blunt snouts and long bodies. They’re big, about two feet in length, and their dark eyes fixate on me, ignoring Kona, who is swatting as many as he can with his powerful tail.

When the first eel wraps its strong, muscled form around my wrist, it sends a jolt of electricity up my arm so violent my teeth rattle. I scream out to Kona, but he’s surrounded, probably experiencing the same discomfort I am. Three more creatures dart in and encircle my remaining wrist and tail. The shocks are painful, immobilizing me, and the continuous zaps cause me to twitch uncontrollably.

I cannot move.

Others dart in and out, jabbing at my stomach, my back, my face. Soon, I’m numb from the shocks. I shouldn’t have come down here on my own. I was right to be scared and now I’ll die, with a fish body, and wash up on a secluded beach.

My morbid vision disappears as a large eel swims directly into my line of vision, taunting me with its slow pace. It’s bigger than the others and when it attaches itself securely to my neck I realize I don’t have much longer. The pain grows inside me, a living creature clawing into every part of me, and my stomach clenches with nausea. Through the fuzz that was once my brain, I wonder, why me? Am I just an easy target? First it was sharks, now eels. Why is the ocean against me?

Blackness flirts with the edges of my vision and I’m filled with anger at being so weak. All of a sudden, something heavy smacks into my lower body and stuns the creatures clinging to it. They release as another impact loosens the ones on my arms. Kona’s sleek silver body darts across my fading sight. I must be suffocating.

“Sorry, Zoey,” Kona calls out.

I consider what he might be apologizing for until he slaps me across the jaw and neck. The tremendous force almost knocks me unconscious, but it does the job. The snake-like creature loosens from my throat and I finally draw a clean breath.

My vision clears as well. Kona’s attacks have worked. The frenzied crowd is dispersing, slithering off into open water. I sag, weighed down by relief. The absence of electricity is so sweet it’s almost as painful.

But the damage is done.

The ocean, which I regarded in wonder only minutes ago, is the last place I care to be.