The Aquarium

by Emily Shore

  A million images from the months Sky and I spent in the Penthouse return to me, threatening another undertow. But new ones keep me treading. A life preserver of two words—he’s dead. Only his ghost remains. Bliss had much more experience conquering ghosts than me, but I still have her own ghost to strengthen me. And my family. I think of Verity the most. I see her eyes. See Bliss in them. And I rattle the cage with my next words.

  “Show me the babies,” I demand of Tristan. “Every single one.”

  Beam radiating brighter than gold set on fire, Tristan homes in on the sprite-light program and flips to a file labeled Births. For the next hour, I study them. I memorize their cries, their shrieks, their whines, their screams, and even their discontented moans. It doesn’t matter they didn’t come from me. Neither did Verity. I adopted her into my arms first. Once she opened her eyes, I adopted her into my heart.

  Now, the order is reversed.

  23

  C o p I n g

  * * *

  When I return to our quarters, everything is quiet but for the hum of the fish tank in the main room. Too dark. First, I turn on the sprite light on the far wall to grant me a default landscape of the ocean. Not like the Sanctuary. There, fallen driftwood clotted our private beach—nature’s private messages. Small dunes sloped from our house to the shore. Always a cool breeze at night. This projection is far too vivid. The sun ripples gold on the water, so bright it’s ready to smolder. In the background, gull shrieks cause me to shiver.

  I turn it off, preferring darkness to the fabrication.

  What I wouldn’t give for the sun, sand, and surf. Not one is artificial. Or even a window where I could see the sun. A balcony where I could feel it and a breeze. That would be enough for me. Would it be enough for them?

  Sneaking into the twins’ room, I discover them both sleeping in their bubble-like cribs. Kerrie lies stomach down with his head turned to the side, cheek smushed into his blanket, his snore more like a purr. Verity’s tiny hands twitch above her head, the lush, tiny triangle of her mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling like a tranquil tide. Every baby deserves sweet dreams and to sleep like this.

  The Sanctuary could never hope to meet the demands of so many babies in such a brief time. And with this new biotech in their fragile little bodies, how could the Sanctuary ever prepare for such? The Sanctuary has chaperones, mentors, and counselors. They have some, but they don’t have an army of medical experts or staff prepared to raise a thousand girls. Moreover, even if we could smuggle out a handful, it wouldn’t take long for the Syndicate to put extra security measures in place to ensure none of their precious commodity is stolen.

  I don’t normally do this, but it’s not a normal night. With no qualms, I press my hand to the biosensor and open Verity’s crib so I may lift her out. At first, she squirms from the disturbance, but then she nestles into my chest as I rock her. She’s still not close enough. As long as we are in the Aquarium, she will never be close enough. Every child deserves this. I sink into the rocking chair, drifting in and out of rest with Verity in my arms, dreaming I could hold each and every one of the NextGen baby girls.

  When I finally do enter the main bedroom, I discover Sky shifting in his sleep so his body faces me. His dark eyelashes remind me of seashore critters, their feet skittering over the top of the sand. Sky is dreaming. When he winces, I hesitate, but then turn on the DreamR app and program it to send sweet dream-wave lengths into his subconscious. Sky needs sweet ones tonight. He needs butterflies and deep-water cuddling strong mountains. Not the tearing of shells and scales or the clattering of pearls.

  Especially with what I am considering. He will have few fitful nights of rest. I don’t deserve one, but I apply the DreamR app to my own self, turn on the sensor in my pillow, and succumb to subconscious and the program of swimming with sharks.

  Waking from the DreamR app must be like going through withdrawal. I have all these memories of sensations rousing, whirling and whimsical, even cockamamie, but then, I wake to reality. I can’t decide which is worse. The weekends with their three painstaking performances where I must pretend I enjoy what my husband is doing to me. Except he’s not my husband in those moments. And I am not Serenity. Or this slow bleed of a week. Like picking at a scab as Sky and I tiptoe around eggshells, not even daring to walk upon them.

  Sky used to radiate warmth. Moving toward him was like escaping a snowstorm deep inside a cave where a fire crackles surrounded by lantern lights that flicker like large fireflies. But this morning, when he tries during our process of getting ready because he can’t when we lie in bed, his arms feel stiff around my waist. He tries hard, but they don’t quite surround me. The fire between us dims. Only a few floating embers, enough for the twins to catch. And I let them. I had my fill of Verity last night. This morning, I give them to him. Because it’s the only time I see Sky smile anymore. He can be the father he needs to be. It helps him cope because he can only play at being my husband. Failing to play, that is.

  Shortly after breakfast, a knock interrupts our time with the twins. A visitor at this early in the morning is unorthodox. But so is the visitor.

  “Bubbles,” I say, opening the door and bidding her enter.

  “I wanted to check on the twins,” she chimes, her bubbles scattering in bright colors.

  As soon as she’s finished speaking, Kerrie flicks his head up from the flying car he’s playing with in the corner of the room and calls her name, pronouncing it just fine on account of the B-s, though his “l” sounds more like a “w”. Proud of my son either way since he’s not usually a talker, unlike Verity. She points to Bubbles’ namesake spewing in musical colors from her own special bubble wand until she realizes her brother is on the move. She wastes no time in getting up to try to catch up to him. A little jealous he reaches Bubbles’ side before him, Verity tries to shove him out of the way. I go to break up the tussle. Instead, Bubbles hoists both twins into her arms and rubs her nose against each of theirs. They couldn’t care less about her face since they just try to catch any the bubbles gliding across her skin.

  “Does the trick every time.” She winks, then strides into the sitting room and eases onto the couch with the twins. Kerrie has become quite annoyed he can’t catch a bubble, so he decides to wiggle out of her arms to occupy himself with the bubble wand instead. Verity is far more determined.

  “I haven’t seen this one as much,” Bubbles comments while Verity tries to snatch a bubble floating up Bubbles’ collarbone. Her frustrated brows screw down as she tries again and again, and Bubbles finally laughs and sets her down. “Sorry, little one. You got some spirit, but the only time these bubbles will stop is if I’m dead.”

  Blinking, Verity just stares up for a moment.

  Bubbles leans toward me, whispering, “Um…I hope I didn’t traumatize the kid.”

  I chuckle a bit and scoop up my daughter, giving her a comforting hug. “Verity saw a belly-up fish yesterday when she was with her aunt and uncle. We had to explain to her it was dead, and it wouldn’t swim again.”

  Bubbles whistles low, then eyes Verity while pointing to herself. “Bubbles…fine. Not dead.”

  Smiling, Verity rubs her head into my shoulders, yawning.

  “Almost time for your naps,” I say. Sky’s turn to put them down. Up until now, he’s remained quiet at the kitchen table, reading national news. He chances a glance, but I don’t give him any instructions quite yet. First, I ask Bubbles, “Why are you here?”

  Bubbles nods her head from side to side before rising from the couch. “So, I do have an ulterior motive other than checking on the twins,” she adds, stepping nimbly over Kerrie, who has returned to playing with his flying car while Verity has summoned her sprite-light app on the other side of the room that projects fish swimming underwater. With her earphones she toys with, she can hear all sorts of ocean sounds just by tapping on the multitude of app functions. She swipes to a tropical forest with golden pixel birds fluttering in the air before
her eyes, prompting her to try to catch one. That one is her favorite.

  “Would you like to get out this afternoon?” Bubbles wonders, hand gesturing just as Sky taps the table so his news program shuts down. “I won’t keep you too long.”

  Bubbles trains her eyes on the twins’ father as he collects them even as they protest from their toys, their whines more from cranky fatigue than anything. Without a word to me or even a glance in my direction, he carries them into the adjoining nursery room so he can put them down for their naps. Considering Bubbles stares at the door for another moment or two after he closes it, I can imagine she’s picked up on how much he’s shut down to everything.

  “So, would you like to?”

  The twins are going down for a nap. It’s the beginning of a new week. And Sky isn’t likely to notice whether I’m gone or not. So, I slip into a pair of sandals, the jelly material coiling up and around my ankle to secure them before I gesture to the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Like I said…out,” Bubbles hints, offering nothing else.

  * * *

  When we come to the bubble pod, I touch Bubbles’ shoulder and declare, my voice breathy from panic but also longing. “I didn’t think you literally meant “out”!” I refer to the pod-docking station. They are tiny bubble-like crafts designed for coral reef tours. Large enough for only two people at a time. Others file in designated lines, but Bubbles has arranged a private dock for us, tucked away from the observing eyes of the crowd behind fused glass.

  “I’ve cloned your barcode signature,” Bubbles informs me, tucking her hair behind her ears and touching a few keys on her interface, which opens the craft’s door. “As far as Wylder is concerned, you’re still in your bedroom, heart rate in rest mode.”

  Licking my lips, I touch the hard casing of the bubble craft and press a hand to my heart, winded but thankful. Bubbles says nothing else, just sweeps into the craft with its automated system, programs a location, then buckles herself in. I follow along beside her, marveling at the technology, especially when it descends into a large black tube that leads to an exit point. It shoots us out of the Museum and into a world of water. Swarms of bubbles create a kite trail behind us. In the distance, I can see the coral reef. The harbor town with its bustling wharf daytime seafood businesses and tourism nightlife must be off on our left flank to the east. Instead, Bubbles deviates to the north away from the coral reef.

  “We’re going to do something a little different today,” she announces, her bubbles turning a passionate red, no doubt from whatever devious plan she has up her sleeve.

  Even more amazed when we head inland toward the shore but far enough away from the harbor town, I try to steady my heartbeat. So much time spent behind the walls of the Aquarium. It reminded me of the Temple. Cold and chrome with only the water as a relief balm. In the Aviary, I could still walk outside for the most part. The same with the Garden. Even the Temple has its rooftop pool. In the Aquarium, I am as Haven said—a starfish in a bottle, albeit an exceptionally large bottle.

  The craft carries us closer to the shore until she stations the craft so half of it rises out of the water where the sun beats its steady heart, beams of light like major arteries pumping to veins of gold along the rippling water. Not so unlike the projection last night, but this one is real. On the lower half, it’s nothing but clear turquoise populated by creatures that instantly prompt me to smile. “Dolphins?” I turn to Bubbles.

  Shrugging, she lifts the hem of her sundress. “You like sharks. I like these lovelies.”

  “Who doesn’t like dolphins?” I correct her. I might have a shark as a pet, but no one can resist a dolphin.

  “I’m not quite as wild as you, but I have my side,” Bubbles says, raising her dress over her head. When I realize she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath, I blush a little just before she reaches up and activates the door to open. Rainbow bubbles scatter, frolicking when she jiggles her plump tush, which itself reminds me of a sun-streaked popping bubble. Pointing to the water, she prompts, “Come on, Swan. Time to shed those wings for a little while.” Lifting up a small face mask she secures over her nose, she reminds me, “Don’t forget your breathing mask.”

  For once, I’m going to be comfortable in my own skin while swimming on my own terms…in the sunlight. Once I’ve tugged off my sandals, I do away with my skirt, blouse, and underclothes, attach my own mask, and dive into the water after Bubbles. The water caresses my naked skin, creeping deep into my veins. Under here, I don’t even feel one piece of Yang. But I do feel a dolphin nudge my side, and I stretch out my hand so my fingers can collide with its blue gray body. Not as rough as my shark. Thanks to technology, which has narrowed the gap between humans and the wild, creatures such as these are not as timid or avoiding as they were in times past. As it is, a long relational history exists between man and dolphins.

  It doesn’t surprise me that Bubbles loves them. Most glide toward her, a few familiar chirps rising from their blowholes. I wonder how many times she’s done this. Enough for them to remember her. Perhaps this is a haunt for her. Without her clothes on, I can see the moving tattoo implant that allows the bubbles to roam everywhere along her skin.

  At one point, I manage to grab a dorsal fin. I allow the dolphin to haul me through the water. It’s bouncier than I expect because even though Sharky is a stronger force where I need to use more muscles, he’s still smoother in the water than a dolphin. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bubbles leaning down to kiss a bottlenose.

  After about an hour of swimming—or water dancing—with the dolphins, Bubbles starts toward the shore, which is only a few hundred yards away. The surf crashes against our naked bodies, launching us onto the sand where we both remove our masks and rest.

  “Want to make a sand castle?” Bubbles asks, gathering up a clump of sand.

  I chuckle low, almost shaking my head in disbelief. “Sure.”

  I’m not as partial to sand as I am to water. More favorable to mud since it reminds me of the lake house growing up and having mud fights with Sky. But today, I’m making an exception. This is what coping must feel like. With the sun turning my naked body into a glowing orb combined with the warmth of the natural exfoliator in my hands, we are dry in no time. Our creation doesn’t look much like a castle since we have no tools. More like a series of mounds and lopsided towers with colorful shells substituting as stained-glass windows and twigs doubling as doors. Delighted either way, Bubbles sighs and sprawls out on the sand careless of how it has practically become a second skin. Still, her bubbles continue to dance. I half expect them to be rainbows as usual. Instead, they are cool and blue. Peaceful.

  “This is my haven.” She sighs against the sand, eyes closed as she drinks in the sun. “The Aquarium is dark, and the children are so loud. This is where I get away. If you go up the beach and into the woods behind us, you’ll run into iguanas. There are more than five hundred on this peninsula. But since the occasional tourists and explorers can sometimes come out this far, I don’t recommend it in our birthday suits.” She swivels her head, opening her eyes with a giggle.

  “What do you mean by “this is my haven”?”

  Bubbles turns aside, her blue bubbles darkening to the color of an underwater grotto. “It’s kind of an inside joke. Haven and I…we each have our own.”

  “Not Wylder?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Never Wylder.”

  “So, what’s Haven’s haven?” I wonder, but Bubbles doesn’t respond. The waves sucking up the sand and the shrill cries of the gulls become the only sounds as she returns her head back to the sand. She closes her eyes, neck arching toward the sky.

  “The sunlight can touch my body anytime,” she breathes out without hardly a move. In her hand is a cupful of sand. She trickles along the flat pane of her stomach, which is gold cream, unlike my fair frost flowers blooming on a cold sea skin. “Too much time underwater can just remind you of darkness.” I consider her past. T
he darkness of her time in the Temple.

  “But the Temple is above sea-level,” I point out, twisting my fingers into the grains, slowly lifting my back off the sand.

  Bubbles peeks one eye open. “Wasn’t talking about me.”

  And then, I curl my knees into my chest, propping my chin onto the little gap between them. “Wylder.” I don’t turn to look.

  She mimics my body language, nudges me with her arm. “I don’t expect my healing to work for you, but I figured I could help you get away for some time.”

  At least there are no gull shrieks to interrupt us here. Just the sound of the wind knocking palm branches against each other. A woody duel.

  “Is there such a thing as healing?” Images of that night resurface. I try to swallow them, but there are too many. The feeling of loss. Loss of my body. Loss of my willpower. Loss of my lightning engulfs me. I slam my eyes shut, not wanting to think about that night. Not wanting to remember. Energy swells instead, a tidal wave coming in.

  We rise and force Serenity down to blackness, to where she cannot remember. Or think.

  Turning, we hiss at this naked mole rat of an invader and her pretty little fizz popping all over her skin. “No healing. Only revenge.”

  Bubbles jerks back, hands dropping, startled at our change of expression. Good. We are glad she’s intimidated. She’s a survivor. We are fighters. She does not deserve to share Serenity.

  Narrowing her brows, pursing her lips, Bubbles opens her mouth and leans closer. “I knew there was some reason for it all. It had to be more than denial. She’s been too alive for that.”

  “She must feel. But we must not. We feel only what we wish. Don’t pretend you know her.”

  And I—Serenity—overcome her because this is not her moment. I shake my head out, a little winded, struggling against the energy at first, but my lightning harnesses it.