Surface Tensions

by Jordan, G R

  That's strange, thought Kiera. There's someone down there already sitting on the rocks. Is she topless? Flippin' heck she is. She'll catch a chill out here today, it's not like it's the height of summer.

  The girl in question had her back to Kiera but was sporting long, curled, and tangled hair. Clearly the morning grooming routine of the brush had not be applied, and the hair was at least damp if not wet. The blonde curls sat on the backdrop of bare shoulders, two bony blades marking the top of her back which was extremely pale. Not that this was surprising in this weather. With a photographer's eye for detail, Kiera also spotted that the skin, although a milky-white colour, also had a waxiness to it, like Vaseline had been rubbed over it.

  Ah, thought Kiera, maybe it's goose fat to fight the cold water. But who the hell's going to go top off for a swim today?

  Kiera was slightly built with dark brown hair. Being only just over five foot tall, she was well hidden by the dunes as she headed for the odd woman. Always light on her feet, Kiera was about to call out to the girl when she noticed something peculiar about her.

  At first, she thought the girl was wearing turquoise bottoms and rather large encompassing ones at that. However, on getting closer, Kiera had to clasp her mouth with her hand as she saw a tail, similar to that of a fish, starting at her hips. They say first impressions last, but Kiera's brain reacted, quickly looking around for a film crew or camera person. Surely this must be a shoot or something.

  Kiera was about to acknowledge her presence but then thought if they were shooting, she may cause a disturbance. So she went down to her haunches to await developments. The tail fascinated her as the detail was incredible. The scales looked immaculate and even had the impression of water sitting on them. The little curve in the top middle of the tail had the smallest pooling evident, and when the tail flicked, the motion was seamless. A gentle splat was heard on each occasion as the tail caught a small rock pool.

  Amazed at the detail of the work, Kiera kept calm and enjoyed the obvious modelling in progress. She started to wonder how they had gotten permission for this, with no marshals hand signs or anything else to prevent anyone from walking into the area. There was also no reflecting boards or camera equipment evident. Maybe, she thought, the photographer was shooting from distance for a scenery shot. Maybe she wasn't topless either but had clam shells over her extremities thus not offending the religious section of the island.

  Still, something was bothering Kiera, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Sure, this was somewhat bizarre, but wasn't all photography when you were forcing a picture? Nature was always much more accommodating.

  That was it, just below the ears. There were gills. Admittedly, she was seeing them at a distance, but they looked incredible. Kiera picked up her camera and zoomed in with her telescopic lens so that the gills filled her viewer. It was astonishing. There were no join marks at all. It must have been synthetic rubber or something, but to look so perfect through a lens was beyond any make-up she had seen previously.

  Moving the camera down the girl's back, Kiera saw the flesh slowly change into the scales of the tail, again without any major blemishes. The work was truly outstanding. Hats off to this crowd, thought Kiera, and doing it out here in the open.

  Whilst studying the girl's back, she saw her turn and Kiera dropped the camera down. Looking straight at her was a frightened face with transfixed eyes. There was a degree of strangeness about the visage, straight on, looking rather narrow. The one thing not in doubt, however, was that the girl was terrified, as her shoulders were trembling and her hands shaking.

  "It's okay love. Just walking past. Love that wonderful outfit. So good it looks real. I'd be careful, though, dressing like that on top, some round here can be a bit funny. Oh, not like in perverted way, although I guess everywhere's got them, but it'll be an affront to the more religious ones."

  Dammit, thought Kiera. If I looked that good, I'd model like that too. She laughed a little inside at the thought. She'd never be brave enough for that.

  The girl spoke. Well “spoke” was inaccurate, as she made a sound rather like the ones dolphins make. Not the short gibbering sounds, but the longer honk similar to a gull.

  She's nothing if not in character. Kiera strode forward now to shake the girl's hand, realising she was quite an actress.

  The girl panicked and rolled hard off the rock and into the sea. Kiera watched aghast, stunned at the speed of the girl in the water. Then her instinct kicked in, and she raised her camera to shoot. The girl was disappearing fast, but her tail could be seen popping in and out of the water. Kiera clicked off maybe a dozen shots and then she was gone.

  Slowly, Kiera dropped the camera from her eye and stood quietly gazing at the sea in front of her. It was rolling in gently and breaking small white waves onto the rocks. Scanning the beach she could see no sign of anyone else. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she drew her conclusion.

  A mermaid…a real life mermaid!

  The voice, that bizarre sound that a human would have such difficulty in reproducing. Her tail, so resplendent and incredibly functional in the water. No person could swim like that, even with flippers. And then there was the total abandon with which she had sat there, unclothed, like she didn't even know it was an issue. Like a toddler with a descending nappy.

  Kiera was bewildered at what to do next. Should she run and tell someone? No, not without evidence she thought and spun her camera around to check her photos in the view screen. One by one she ran through each shot which differed by just a fraction from the first. Some had just sea in them but some of the others had a dark image in the water. Using the functions of the camera, she blew each of these images up and refined it. There was a tail, the detail which was remarkably good, the overlaying of the scales and slight distortion of colour due to the angle of the sun. Throughout the sequence, the tail had a variation of exposure above the water but none of the pictures had the one thing she needed—flesh.

  Kiera wondered who she could tell, who would believe her. No one was her conclusion, and she decided that she would need to go mermaid hunting. But how and where? Maybe the remoteness of this point had caused the mermaid to come ashore. Was it the crashing water on the rocks, giving an almost spa effect? Surely it wasn't food? What did mermaids eat anyway? Could she lure one out?

  A bona fide photograph would sell for a fortune, pondered Kiera, and she could use the money.

  It wasn't like the landscapes were bringing in a lot. No, it would need to be a hunt under the radar. She would be like one of David Attenborough's cameramen, stalking the lesser spotted anteater near the Amazon jungle. Okay, a little bit cooler and with a pub at the end of the day, but something like that.

  Best to keep it all in until I can get a full on picture.

  Departing the beach at a pace, Kiera headed home to plan her tracking strategy and to dream of a National Geographic front cover.

  3

  Killer's Return

  "That's the last of them, Iain lad, you can take a break now. I'll just take her round into the cove at the wee island. We can rip into those sandwiches your mother made and get a wee dram of the good stuff too."

  Arms aching, Iain McClaren collapsed back into the small boat. What had possessed his Uncle to get up at this ridiculous hour to pick up some creels? The man was obsessed with the sea state and this afternoon's was "showing a wee bit of a swelly" as his Uncle had put it.

  Growing up, trips out with Uncle Seoras had been a joy. Iain had been shown how to fish, could get away from homework, was clear of his mother's purse strings and was allowed to be a man early, getting a wee nip of the finest "special tea" from the age of eight. Being a bachelor, Seoras had treated Iain like a son, but a spoilt one, on account of the tragedy that Iain had witnessed.

  It happened fourteen years ago and Iain struggled to remember all the detail of the day. His mother recounted that Iain's father had decided to take him away for the weekend, his first trip to the "big smoke
" on the mainland. His father had been a keen footballer and decreed his son should be introduced to the main stand of his beloved club to experience a proper pie and the atmosphere. Catching the early morning ferry, they had breakfasted in the canteen area before standing out on deck to see the sun rise.

  He remembered his father's words about the man who was standing up on the handrails at the port side of the ship. "Bloody piss head, people like that should be kicked off our wee island."

  The ship had reached the open sea, and it was in a rough state, similar to the man on the rails. The man had been there, singing loudly, and his father had gone to remonstrate with him to come down. Iain could picture a fracas before the man, holding onto his father, had fallen off the side taking his father with him. Then a man had grabbed a life ring and thrown it into the sea. The man had then run off, to find a crew member Iain realised with hindsight, and he had been left alone on the deck. He was able to peek through a hole in the side where the ropes went and saw his father fighting in the waves.

  "That's us just about there. Where did you put the whiskey? I think I'll put her alongside the wee jetty, and I'll go ashore for a wee kip. You know how I hate to lie on the bench on the boat."

  His uncle was a technophobe and someone who was particularly bad at keeping his personal business secret. The island they were about to moor to was only a quarter of a mile wide by six hundred or so yards long, but it did contain one small hut, braced down with straps for the frequent strong winds. Iain had been taken there by his uncle but often he was kept away with some excuse or other, always similar to the present one.

  Iain took the bottle of whiskey and handed it to his uncle after the boat was tied up. A kip generally meant an hour or two, and Iain watched his uncle take his sandwiches and another plastic bag containing some magazines. Officially, these were fishing magazines or possibly something about boats.

  One day, at the age of thirteen, Iain had gone looking for his uncle in the hut when he had cut his hand while playing during the time of his uncle's kip. His uncle was in an alcoholic sleep, and Iain had found the fishing magazines strangely interesting. He was also stunned how many women seemed to have so few inhibitions around these boats. Obviously they came from warmer climates than the island, but Iain had decided boats were the thing to take along with the fairer sex. Rebecca MacKenzie hadn't shared the same excitement when he took her to his uncle's boat two years later.

  Having an hour or two to kill was nothing new to Iain, and usually he would bring his tablet to watch a recent DVD he had acquired. Today, he had forgotten the tablet due to the early start and thought he might try and regain some of the bed hours he had been forced to forgo. Iain polished off the sandwiches his mother had made to keep any hunger pangs away, and then moulded himself up against the side of the boat. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of nothing, and he slowly drifted away…

  A splash of water hit his face. Groggily, Iain shook his head. Must be a fish jumping or something, he thought.

  Glancing at his watch, he realised he had been asleep for some forty minutes. Coffee was always a good thing. His mother would pack some, oblivious to the fact her brother would never touch it and would usually pour out the flask on the beach when returning. Having reached his later teens, Iain had started drinking some but could never manage the large flask his mother inevitably made.

  He started to get up—then abruptly fell back down at the sight in front of him. There were three women in the sea about two hundred yards away. Their heads were evident above the water, but they would occasionally dive into the water, pushing and shoving each other in a frolicking fashion. Their abandon indicated his presence was unnoticed, and he kept low, peering over the edge of the boat. After a few minutes, they were swimming closer to the rocks of the island and the water dipped down to their midriffs. Iain could not believe his eyes staring at the women of his uncle's magazines come to life.

  There were two blonde haired women and one brunette, and it was this lady who grabbed his attention. He guessed she was about thirty, but her figure was stunning. Every curve screamed out to the young man in him, and he fought to keep his composure. This was like one of those sets from a men's magazine, the type you imagine because you know they could never come true.

  His drooling stares were quickly abated as the women clambered onto the rocks, and a wave of horror struck him.

  They were back.

  He had told people about them, screamed at what they had done, but no one had believed him. His mother had refused to hear anything about the tailed women, and his uncle had initially told him to keep quiet for his mother's sake. Bad enough for her to lose a husband, but to have her boy witter on about mermaids taking him. Such nonsense was too much to deal with.

  In the following five years, he remembered how his uncle would hold him by the throat, telling him they would lock him up if he didn't give up on this mad tale. It had been ten years since he had spoken to anyone of what he had seen, but now the truth had returned to confront him.

  They’ll know now, he thought, learn that I was never in shock. They can finally hunt these beasts from the sea!

  A plan began to formulate in his head.

  I'll get my uncle, reasoned Iain. He'll see them and tell everyone. There'll be a hunt, a trawl of the seabed for them. Who am I kidding? He's just a drunk to them. Our words will mean nothing. I'll need a carcass.

  All juvenile, erotic ideas purged from his head, Iain sneaked quietly off the boat onto the shore. The mermaids were quietly sitting on the rocks closest the sea, soaking up a little sun. In his mind, he saw no perfect skin, no curved beauty, only an evil beast. The rage took hold of him, and he selected some moderate sized stones.

  Luckily, the mermaids had started to splash up some water over each other and were starting to converse in seal-like calls. Like a hunter smelling blood, Iain cautiously crept towards his prey, having the sense to remain downwind and to choose his steps carefully. Finding a large rock as cover, he knelt down preparing for his assault. If he could hit one in the head and knock it out, then he would have at least a body if it didn't come quietly. Breathing deeply, he pictured his father's face drowning in the water, thrashing arms and skin mixed with scales encircling him.

  They had killed his father, left him with a perverted drunk of an uncle and a mother too steeped in pain to let her son be free. The bitches would pay.

  Rising up, he let loose with one stone after another, racing towards his prey. The first two stones hit the brunette mermaid on the shoulders and she howled in pain but immediately rolled off the rock in flight. The other mermaids let loose an ear piercing squeal and immediately propelled themselves into the sea. Iain's third, fourth and fifth stones all fell harmlessly into the water. As he reached the edge of the rocks, nothing remained to indicate the presence of the mermaids.

  Brooding and once again perched in the bowels of the boat, Iain heard his uncle returning. He barely acknowledged his uncle's arrival, causing his relative to give him a gentle kick.

  "On your feet slacker," said his uncle. "Time to get this catch back to land. Oh, cheer up, give your face a joyride why don't you?"

  "Shut up."

  "Watch your mouth young man. What's got into you? You were fine this morning."

  "Nothing, okay!" Iain's sarcastic tone was not well received.

  "Something's up. Go on out with it. What's at ye?"

  "It's nothing."

  "Bollocks. What's up?"

  "Just saw the mermaids again." His uncle's face crimsoned immediately, his shoulders hunching before launching a tirade.

  "Just cut that crap out. There's no such thing. You gave your mother enough grief with that nonsense over the years. So don't start, okay? Not a word or I'll crack one off your head for ye. Sweet Mary, ain't it about time you grew up. I'm sorry your dad drowned, but that's all that happened. Wanna blame someone, blame that drunk git of a passenger. They picked the wrong one out of the sea that day. Enough Iain, that's all, eno
ugh!"

  Iain had felt his uncle's fists before and so he got up and started casting off the boat.

  Idiot, he thought. I'll show him, I'll show them all when I drop a carcass in the town square in front of them all. Time to hunt me a mermaid.

  4

  Life Saver

  "Now, Donald, you know they shouldn't be sailing that boat on the Sabbath."

  "Yes, Reverend McKinney, but they only do a twenty-four/seven contract. We are contracted to the boat for the whole two weeks."

  "Yes, but they shouldn't sail on our Lord's Day, Donald, you do see that? The sailing is against what the good book says."

  "Well, I see what you are saying, but either way with me, I'm working. Even before the Sunday sailing, I was always painting or cleaning up on the Sunday. It wasn't like the shop workers, I never had the day off."

  "That's being essential, Donald. These Sunday crossings are hardly essential."

  Donald cut his losses and shook the large, daunting hands of Reverend McKinney, a man who had watched over his soul from birth. Every Sunday, he had gone with his parents to the grey building in the centre of the village, morning and evening, before stepping forward that Communion Friday and taking the bread and wine the following Sunday. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his upbringing or indeed his Christian home, but he felt constricted at times by the old styles. Many times he had been away on the mainland and had indulged in those "foolish instruments and songs" or had shared where the women had prayed too.