Tidepool

by Nicole Willson

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he called. “I do apologize if you saw anything indecent.”

  She continued walking towards him, with no reaction to his words.

  Was she some ghastly apparition from the afterlife? Could she be …

  Icy fingers played up his spine. “Ruthie? Is that you?”

  The fishermen Silas had spent time with over the years loved to tell endless ghost stories about sailors lost at sea but still trying to find their way back home, or pirates looking to plunder ships and towns well after their deaths.

  He had never believed those tales before, but he thought he might now. He trembled as the woman drew closer.

  “Ruthie? I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “If I had only known what you were going to do, I would have …”

  And then the woman hissed. And as she drew closer to him and he stumbled backwards, she pulled the scarf away from her face, and the moon lit her features as her hat fell away.

  He screamed, and as he turned to run towards his boat he saw Mrs. Oliver standing towards the top of the dune.

  “Mrs. Oliver! Get away from here! It’s not safe!”

  Mrs. Oliver did not move or look even the slightest bit alarmed. She stood completely still, her arms crossed over her chest.

  And then the woman in black was upon him and something ripped into his neck. Pain burned through him and caused him to clutch at his neck and scream again, hoping against hope that someone, even Mrs. Oliver, might come to his aid.

  The thing tore at his throat again and his blood spurted hot and fast from the new wound and soaked the front of his shirt as he fell.

  He tried to scream one more time, but could only gurgle up gouts of his blood. His mouth tasted metallic and salty, and the last thing he saw was Mrs. Oliver’s cold pale face, still staring at him from the dark beach.

  Ada Oliver had never particularly cared for Al Swenson. He was rough and crude, and he treated both her and Quentin with barely-concealed disdain.

  But she had liked his daughter, the cheerful and friendly Ruthie, well enough. The poor girl was polite to her and kind to Quentin, and she hadn’t deserved what that dead man had done to her. When Ada learned that the fisherman had been foolish enough to return to Tidepool, she formed her plan.

  Lucy was hungry, and the Lords Below had to be appeased. The torso Miss Hamilton and Quentin had spotted was a message that Ada understood even if no one else did.

  It had all worked out perfectly.

  Lucy rose from her meal, approached Ada, and bowed her head.

  “You may go in for a swim, Lucy. But leave your clothing close by in case someone comes looking for that man.”

  Lucy wriggled free of the dress she wore; the hat and scarf had already fallen away as she slaughtered the fisherman. Ada watched the moonlight illuminating Lucy’s body as she ran for the water and dove in.

  The dead man still lay in the sand, his face shredded almost beyond recognition and his torn throat oozing blood that looked like dark syrup in the moonlight.

  After another careful glance around, Ada removed her own clothing. She approached the dead fisherman, her pale, naked body glowing in the night.

  Although the fisherman was a fair bit heavier and taller than Ada, she lifted him up as easily as if he were a newborn infant. She carried him into the ocean, and she continued walking as the salt water closed over her head.

  As she walked further into the murky brine, they approached. Their eyes glowed bright green in the gloom. As more of them gathered round her, she released the body of the fisherman. Tentacles and claws snatched the corpse away from her. She watched until the Lords disappeared.

  Back on the beach, she stood in the moonlight and concentrated. The water pouring out of her hair and the droplets running down her body began to evaporate, sending up a mist. Ada stood still until her hair and body were completely dry.

  She dressed herself and then summoned Lucy, who surfaced in the ocean, swam towards the shore, and emerged on the sand a few seconds later. Ada redressed Lucy and made sure to conceal Lucy’s face with the scarf and the hat.

  Together, they returned home.

  Chapter Nine

  THE OCEAN IS A HARSH PLACE

  Sorrow Hamilton

  * * *

  Sorrow sat in the near-empty Cooper’s Tavern the next morning, poking at her eggs and toast and hoping the lukewarm, bitter coffee would help perk her up. Her bed was just as uncomfortable as it had been the previous night, and her sleep every bit as uneasy. She thought she might have heard a scream from the beach, but perhaps she had dreamed that during one of the few periods in which she had managed to fall asleep.

  Or perhaps the squealing of that infuriating kitchen door had pierced her dreams.

  Her eyes were rimmed with red when she looked at her reflection in the morning light. She feared she would resemble Balt Cooper with his perennially tired and fearful look if she remained in Tidepool much longer.

  She wondered where Charlie was; he’d still been holding forth with a few of the fishermen and Tidepool residents when she finally begged off and turned in for the night. She had just resolved to get her suitcase and leave without him when he finally entered the room, looking pale but otherwise cheerful. How could he look so happy in a place like this? How could anyone? His smile warmed her.

  “Morning, Sorrow!” He sat down across from her. “Got a head start, I see.”

  “I hope you didn’t mind me not waiting. Perhaps I’m just in too much of a hurry to get out of here.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Oh yes.” The kitchen door made another infernal squeal and Naomi brought over the handwritten menu. “Aren’t you?”

  He frowned slightly. “Would have liked to talk more to Mrs. Oliver last night. Odd, how she left so abruptly.”

  Mrs. Oliver had indeed risen from the table and excused herself in a hasty fashion, but Sorrow hadn’t missed the strange woman at all. “Surely you can correspond with her through the post if need be. Or return some time without me.”

  Charlie laughed. “I say. You really don’t like it here, do you?”

  “I was ready to leave yesterday, well before you showed up. None of this is helping to find Hal.” She thought about lowering her voice, but remembered that she’d already made her opinion of Tidepool abundantly clear to Balt and Naomi. “And did you talk to the mayor about Hal at all?”

  “Of course I did.” Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Naomi brought him. “Conlan said he hadn’t heard anything, but he’d do what he could to find out if anyone has information.”

  In other words, the mayor’s not going to do a damn thing. Just like everyone else here. Sorrow stared out the window at the dilapidated wooden buildings across the street. The gloomy sky, smudged with gray and dark blue clouds, matched her mood.

  “Perhaps Father has had word of Hal while I’ve been gone,” she said, trying to sound more hopeful than she felt.

  Charlie smiled. “As I said before, it wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if there’s been some mistake and Hal’s out there with no idea what an uproar he’s caused.”

  And then he leaned closer to her. “But I know your father meant it when he told me he was going to send the best detectives in the land to this place if he had to. If, God forbid, there’s any kind of secret around here—or anywhere—involving Hal, they will most certainly discover it.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  And then the door to the inn crashed open and two very agitated men clad in fishing gear ran into the tavern. Their faces were dead white and their eyes bulged as if they would pop from their skulls.

  “Murder!” they shouted. “Murder! On the beach!”

  Sorrow leaped up from her chair, nearly knocking her coffee cup to the floor, and ran out of the tavern, pushing past an approaching Naomi and the two men. Charlie called to her, but she wasn’t about to stop and wait for him.

  It mustn’t be Hal. Please don’t let it be Hal. The oppressive
air made her forehead damp, and her calves throbbed from running in her boots as she tore down Coastal Road for the beach.

  The overcast sky threatened rain at any moment as Sorrow reached the scene. A cluster of people gathered by the boardwalk, and a man in faded blue bib overalls and a checked shirt was bent over, getting sick on the sand. When she darted around them to see what had gotten everyone so upset, two of the men attempted to block her.

  “Sorry, Miss. But that’s no sight for a lady down there.”

  Sorrow was finished with being polite, especially if it could be her brother down there by the water.

  “I’ll decide that for myself, thank you. Now let me through.” She dodged around the smaller man on the left and ran towards another knot of people standing by the water.

  She moved next to them, panting, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. The stench of rotting meat competed with the usual reek of dead fish and salt water, and Sorrow hoped she wouldn’t become sick herself.

  At first she thought they were all looking down at a large bundle of sticks and red rags that had somehow washed up on the shore and been mistaken for an actual person.

  And then she moved closer and saw the thing on the beach more clearly.

  Something pale and gray extended from the bundle and pointed at the water, and she realized she was looking at the remains of an arm. And from there, her mind was able to piece together that she was, in fact, looking at a severely mutilated human who was little more than a pile of sodden blue-gray flesh, exposed tendons, and ripped clothing. In some spots, the body had been gnawed down to its very bones. Shreds of torn and stained clothing lay scattered around the corpse. Sorrow thought of picked-over poultry carcasses and felt ill.

  The back of her neck turned cold, her breakfast rose in her throat, and things began going gray and blurry around the edges of her vision as gulls screamed overhead and the sky opened up, spattering rain down on the dreadful scene.

  No. No. I won’t faint. I won’t give anyone here the satisfaction.

  She forced herself to keep looking, to see if she spotted anything familiar about the body. Sections of scalp were missing from its head, showing the skull underneath. But Sorrow noticed tufts of red hair clinging to what remained of the dead person’s head.

  Red hair. Whoever this was had red hair. It wasn’t Henry.

  “Silas,” someone said. “Never saw him after dinner last night, and he ain’t around now.”

  As the cold rain began coming down harder, footsteps ran up behind Sorrow and a hand clapped down on her shoulder.

  “Sorrow! What on earth are you playing at, running off like that? And … oh. Oh dear god.” Charlie had just caught sight of the body, and his face turned the color of the sand.

  “It’s not Henry, Charlie,” Sorrow said, her voice shaking badly. “It’s not Henry. Look at the hair. Look.”

  “I’d really rather not, dear girl. Let’s get away from here now. You look a bit ill.” Charlie, who looked quite grayish himself, took her elbow.

  “You did this to him!” The voice made both Sorrow and Charlie jump. A heavyset man with a missing front tooth and a red face contorted in rage pointed a shaking finger at the gathered townspeople.

  “Sir…” someone said in a quiet tone.

  “All because of that idiot floozy at the grocer’s!” Spittle flew from the man’s mouth. “Are you happy now?”

  “Now you see here!” Two tall men, who Sorrow assumed were Tidepool residents, stepped towards the shouting man.

  “Just waiting for a chance to get him alone, weren’t you? Bastards.” The man didn’t seem to care that the taller men advanced on him, blocking him from Sorrow’s view.

  “Sorrow? We should go.” Charlie tugged at her elbow. Somewhat reluctantly, she turned away from the scene at the water and allowed Charlie to steer her towards the street. He quickened his pace as the rain picked up, and Sorrow nearly had to run to keep up with him.

  Marshal Lewis hustled down to the beach as they walked up the boardwalk. He gave Sorrow a very odd look as they passed, but the louder voices ringing out from the waterline caught his attention.

  It wasn’t Henry. Her mind wouldn’t let that thought go. Had some small part of her perhaps hoped it was Henry? It would have been a horrible, ghastly answer to the question of his disappearance, but it would have at least been an answer.

  No. Of course she was relieved it wasn’t Henry.

  Charlie’s effervescence had finally gone; he was still pale and his mouth was pinched in a thin line. More shouts echoed around them as other townspeople, drawn by the commotion, came down to the beach to view the dreadful scene.

  The two of them finally reached Cooper’s Inn. Sorrow, who couldn’t banish the mental image of shreds of gray flesh clinging to bone, had no wish to be anywhere near food at the moment, so she headed into the small, sparsely furnished sitting room. Charlie followed her and took one of the armchairs, facing Sorrow as she sat on a wooden bench. She shivered, and not just from her dampened dress.

  “So,” Sorrow said when she felt capable of speech again. “May we please leave now?”

  “Yes, Sorrow,” he said, sounding far grimmer than she’d ever heard. “I believe I’ve seen enough here.”

  She wondered if Charlie were still so hot to develop the place, what with the ocean having the habit of coughing up mutilated corpses. This was the second one she’d seen, and surely such morbid occurrences would have to be rather bad for business. She started giggling like a madwoman, and Charlie gave her an incredulous look.

  “Were you down there?” Balt’s voice gave her a start. She hadn’t heard him come into the sitting room.

  “Yes.”

  His watery eyes widened. “Did you happen to see who that was?”

  “Oh, Balt. Even if she saw the person, how would she know who it was? She’s not from here.” Naomi bustled in behind him.

  “I think he was that fisherman from yesterday,” Sorrow said. “The man with the red hair.”

  “Him?” Naomi asked. “Well, Al Swenson sure did have it out for that fellow. Can’t say I blame him, either.”

  It was impossible for Sorrow to imagine anything human being able to do what had been done to the body on the beach. Despite the fishermen’s cries of Murder and accusations of revenge, she thought it was far more likely that the fellow had run afoul of a shark.

  “Really now,” Charlie said, frowning. “This is no sort of conversation to be having with ladies present.”

  “Oh, enough, Charlie!” Sorrow snapped. “I cannot speak for Mrs. Cooper, but I’m no less capable than you are of dealing with what happened out there.”

  Naomi let out a low chuckle that unnerved Sorrow. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen here, miss,” she said. The back of Sorrow’s neck went clammy again.

  “Naomi…” Balt said, sounding worried.

  “What, Balt? It’s only the truth. Whatever she saw down there on the beach? We’ve already seen far worse. Think about that before you start sending fancy people from fancy cities over here, sir.” She addressed the last bit to Charlie, who was staring openmouthed between Naomi and Sorrow.

  “What sort of things?” Sorrow asked.

  “Never you mind!” Balt’s face turned red as he spoke, his voice raised. “The ocean is a harsh place. Sometimes we get an unpleasant reminder of that when someone careless goes out there and gets in over their head. That’s all that’s been going on.”

  Sorrow didn’t believe a word of it. She rose and stared at Balt.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, “I will be checking out and heading for home today. Mr. Sherman is welcome to join me if he wishes, but I shall be going with or without him.” She turned to Charlie and glared, daring him to contradict her again.

  “Yes. I suppose that’s for the best,” Charlie said softly. All the cheer had gone out of him, and Sorrow briefly regretted snapping.

  “I’m afraid not, Miss.” All of them turned to see Marshal L
ewis approaching in the hallway. “Nobody is leaving Tidepool today.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE CAPTIVE AUDIENCE

  “I beg your pardon?” Sorrow asked.

  Marshal Lewis looked sweaty, rain-spattered, and slightly apologetic.

  “Miss, I can’t allow you to leave town until we’ve finished investigating what happened to that person found down there today.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Sorrow said.

  “Oh, but I am, Miss Hamilton. We get several strangers in town, and then a brutal crime takes place. You must understand how that looks to us.”

  Sorrow fought the temptation to slap the stupid little man.

  “To be frank, Marshal Lewis, I don’t understand it at all. Why, just a day ago you were assuring me that the Atlantic washes up terrible things all the time and I should pay little mind to those bones on the beach.”

  “The ocean does indeed wash up some alarming things, miss, but not something as freshly savaged as the fellow this morning.”

  “Oh, be serious, man!” Charlie shouted, standing up and moving close to Sorrow. “You cannot possibly believe that a woman could do what was done to that poor fellow! Why, that body was in tatters!”

  “I cannot rule out anything, sir,” Marshal Lewis responded, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief and avoiding Charlie’s eyes. “And I’ll have some questions for the two of you.”

  “That’s fine,” Sorrow said. “We’re here right now. Ask away.”

  “No, miss. Not like this. I shall send word when I’m ready for you, and you’ll need to come to my office.”

  “When?” Sorrow said, her head spinning. “I won’t spend another night in this place, I’m telling you.”

  “Miss Hamilton, the marshal’s office has an adjoining prison cell. You can remain here with the Coopers, or you can stay in that cell. It’s up to you.” Lewis glared at her.