Beneath

by Maureen A. Miller

  “I will look after your wife while you go,” she assured.

  Don seemed unsure. He touched his fingertips to Anne’s shoulder and then stroked her hair. There was no response.

  “You will be within shouting distance should I need you,” Sarah offered quietly.

  The idea of this woman shouting at anything was outlandish.

  Stella could see that Don was torn. Jill, not so much. The prospect of having something to drink had dug its claws in her.

  “Dad, we all need to learn more about this place,” Colin observed softly. “That is in Mom’s best interest.”

  Don’s jaw muscle twitched. He stared at his wife and slowly nodded.

  “How far again?” he asked, stepping up to the doorway.

  Colin joined him, hunching over to fit through the hatch.

  “Over there,” he pointed. “We can take turns coming back to check on her.”

  That seemed to mollify the elder Wexler. He went back to his wife and kissed her forehead and then looked hard at the unkempt woman now standing in the corner.

  “If there is anything–any change–”

  “I will notify you immediately,” she murmured.

  Once they were out of the airplane belly Don shook off his despondency some. His head swerved to inspect the surroundings as the bridge of his nose wrinkled with a quick sniff.

  “Sulfur.”

  “Yeah,” Colin agreed. “It’s a bit rank in places. I guess a byproduct of the heat down here.”

  He pointed to the orange storage container and the inverted hull next to it.

  “Those are our two cabins. Stel has claimed the orange crate for herself and Jill,” he hesitated, “and Mom.”

  “Why?” Jill took a step towards the barnacled container. “The other seems to have a garden out front.”

  “Trust me,” Stella stood beside Jill. “The sleeping accommodations are better in this one.” She pointed at it. “I mean, compared to the other.”

  Jill looked dubious, but shrugged her shoulders. “As long as we don’t have to stay in it for long.”

  And that was Jill in a nutshell. Impervious to any shortcomings. Taking the madness of this realm and tossing it aside like it was a temporary inconvenience.

  Stella’s mood brightened some.

  “So, what are your thoughts on tube worms?” she joked.

  “Tube worms?” Jill looked horrified.

  Their banter ceased at the sight of a shadow approaching from the opposite end of the path. Two more dark contours trailed behind it. Stella thought she heard muffled whispers. She felt Jill’s fingers wrap across her forearm.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Stella whispered. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

  “They may eat us,” Jill hissed.

  At first it was a funny notion, but under further consideration Stella’s heart started to thump. Colin hastened his pace and fell in before her and Jill. Don wrapped an arm around his daughter and tried to give Stella an assuring wink. It looked more like a spasm.

  Each group approached the tables from opposite ends. A ring was drawn in the copper-colored dirt to denote the boundaries of the café. It reminded her of childhood, drawing roads with pink chalk in the driveway.

  Before she could get a good look at the approaching trio of gloom, a familiar voice called out.

  “So glad you could make it,” Etienne boomed as he approached with his hand extended.

  The extremity was aimed at Don, and he seemed uncertain about returning the gesture. Courtesy kicked in and he reached out for a quick shake.

  “Frederic is coming. He’s finishing up on some mapping.”

  “Mapping,” Colin was quick to inquire. “Of what?”

  “The caves. There are still avenues here that are uncharted…and, evolving.”

  “I’d like to see those maps,” Colin stated.

  Etienne’s smile slipped slightly. “He’s still working on them, but he has the previous versions you can review.”

  Colin would have pushed the matter, but a young woman stepped into the ring of torches. She had straight black hair and a slim build accentuated by torn jeans and a pink polo shirt. Colin’s words dropped off and he followed her with his eyes as she approached one of the tables within the café circle. She pulled back a short pedestal and sat down with her elbows resting on the cracked linoleum table.

  Stella watched Colin’s reaction before returning her attention to the seated woman. Under the torchlight, heavy shadows scored a narrow face as almond eyes cast furtive glances at the congregation. She slid her fingers through a waterfall of black hair and swiped it off her shoulder.

  Stella’s inspection was interrupted by the couple approaching just behind her. Middle-aged, and a little plump compared to the residents of this cave, a woman in discolored white capris advanced with a broad smile on her clammy face. Flaxen hair was cut into a bob, but judging by the severe angular slices it wasn’t a salon job.

  “Hello!” she cried out, enthusiastically waving her hand.

  Stained white sneakers thumped as the heels slipped off the back of her ankles.

  “I’m Margie. Margie Connover.”

  Stella was rooted by the animated assault and found herself paralyzed as the woman came up and grabbed her arm in both her hands, pumping the limb eagerly. “I’m sorry for the trauma you have been through, but as you can see–” she flashed a beaming smile which revealed a few tarnished teeth, “–I’m so happy to see you!”

  Stella smiled politely, while carefully extracting her arm.

  “I’m Stella,” she replied in a voice that was twenty decibels lower.

  “Stella!” the woman gushed as if it was the most perfect name in all the world.

  Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

  “This is my husband,” Margie waved her hand behind her at the slagging man in the yellow button-down shirt and relatively unflawed khakis.

  “Jordan,” she called, pronouncing the name as Joy-dan, “come meet everyone.”

  As Stella was closest, the man extended his hand to her first. She felt a bunch of knuckles in that grasp, like shaking a handful of rocks. Aside from the skinny fingers he was tall and possessed a slight girth around the middle. Thinning brown hair was finger-combed back, held in place by the humidity. His face was long and thin and a gold chain hung around his neck, dipping into the open lapel.

  She guessed the couple to be in their forties, but after hearing the baffling caveat on Etienne and Sarah’s age, who was she to gauge?

  “Welcome to the Underworld,” he offered with a strained chuckle.

  The moniker made her uncomfortable. This place did not deserve a fancy mythological name. This was just a junkyard under the sea.

  “Hi, I’m Donald Wexler,” Jill’s dad declared, but did not offer his hand. “How and when did you get down here?”

  Well, so much for tact, Stella thought.

  Jordan Connover glanced at Etienne and there was an imperceptible shared nod. He looked back at Don and said, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. Then we’ll go around and all share our tales.”

  Jordan swept his arm out in invitation and Don was left with no recourse other than to seat himself on a sloped bench alongside a Formica table. He patted the rotted wood surface beside him and beckoned Jill to his side. She slid in, hesitating to drop her butt down.

  Let it go, Jilly, your white shorts are already stained.

  Vanity did not exist down here. Everyone was unkempt, even Margie, although she had a pretentious air about her. Soiled as they were, there were signs that the Connovers’ attire was pricey, and their jewelry, flamboyant, particularly the diamond ring the size of a football on her left hand.

  Well, burglary can’t be a popular crime in this netherworld. What good would it do you to steal a diamond ring of that size? All five residents would know where you got it.

  Jill finally sat, but looked uncomfortable. Stella slid on the bench across from her and leaned ove
r the table to whisper, “If you think this is bad, wait until you see the sleeping accommodations.”

  Jill’s eyes swept the giant cavern and she sighed, but she returned to meet Stella’s gaze with a smile. It was good to see white teeth again. It wasn’t a common sight with these sunken dwellers.

  To her dismay, Etienne sat on the bench beside her. Yet, to her relief, Colin slid in on the other side, sandwiching her. Etienne gave off a mild stench, like the smell of a fish market. It was enough to make her lean towards her left, but that caused her to brush arms with Colin. She managed a furtive glimpse to see if he noticed, but he was focused on the adjoining table with the affluent couple and the reclusive young Asian woman.

  A rogue stab of jealousy hit Stella in the gut.

  Get a grip. Besides, she has her head down. Maybe she’s not that good-looking. All you can see is long, glossy black hair.

  On cue, the young woman lifted her head and peered at their table.

  Oh, of course. Ridiculously gorgeous with her pert little nose and pouty lips. How did this one retain her looks when everyone else around here looks like a ghoul?

  Colin’s glance lingered a moment and then he was distracted by the Connovers’ chatter as they leaned forward, concealing the view of the young woman at the end of the table. Frederic joined them on the other side, leaving an additional table free. How many more were coming?

  “While we’re waiting on Daniel, I’ll start bringing dinner out.” Margie rose. “Loren, will you help me?”

  Loren. Of course she had to have a sexy name too. Nothing like Stella.

  Stella’s manners kicked in.

  “Can I help?”

  Margie smiled. A flash of teeth paled in comparison to the diamond studs in her ears.

  “Thank you so much, but you are the guests of honor today. Trust me, your chores are coming.”

  Chores?

  Stella watched the woman shuffle off in her sneakers towards a row of basins lined inside the café circle. Some looked like reclined refrigerators, but even from here she could see that there was nothing chilled about them. They were simply being used for storage.

  A shadow encroached the circle. It startled her enough that she jolted and accidentally jabbed Colin with her elbow. Colin tucked his head in close to hers and whispered, “Daniel, I presume.”

  Once the torchlight illuminated the figure she noticed a young man in jeans and a red and white-striped shirt. If she was to guess, she’d say he was close to her and Jill in age, but again, that was just conjecture in this ghastly underwater park.

  “Daniel,” Frederic called out in a booming voice. “Come meet the new arrivals.”

  Brooding and dark, Daniel looked anything but enthused by their presence. He managed a brief nod and plopped down on the bench, leaving a gap between himself and the hydrographic guy. Stella leaned forward for a better view, but Colin had rested his elbows on the table, obstructing her sight.

  “Hi, I’m Jill.”

  Stella started at Jill’s perky voice. She lowered her eyebrows and gave her friend a strong, what are you doing glare.

  Jill dropped her eyebrows in return. Chill.

  Regardless of this silent banter, Daniel seemed unaffected. He fisted his hands together atop the Formica and stared straight ahead. His light brown hair was slightly long, curling at the edges. He was thin, but he was also very tall, adding to the overall lanky effect.

  Etienne rose and shuffled off of the bench to stand at the end of the table, facing everyone. Stella exhaled her relief at having open space at that side again.

  “Well,” he started with a wry twist of his greyish lips. “I’m sure everyone here has some questions about each other. As you can imagine, we don’t get new visitors often.”

  “Visitors would imply we’re just passing through,” Stella muttered.

  Etienne’s grin fell, but he wrangled it back into place.

  “Yes, that’s what we all wish, but the reality has proven different.”

  He purposely looked over her head and aimed his next statement towards Jill’s father. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves. You can start.”

  Don’s impatience was brewing. His cheeks looked ruddy even in the diffused light. His thumb tapped a rapid staccato on the table.

  “Fine,” he stated, “I am Donald Wexler, father of Jill and Colin Wexler,” he pointed at his children, “and husband of Anne Wexler, who is currently in your infirmary fighting for her life.”

  “Oh!” Margie gasped as she turned back towards the table with a stack of mismatched bowls in her hands. “I heard about your wife,” her eyes rounded in sympathy. “We’re all praying for her recovery.”

  “Isn’t that just swell?” Don mumbled before collecting himself and forcing a smile. “Thank you. Please understand my temperament stems from not knowing where the hell I am.”

  The woman set an empty bowl down before each of them.

  “That’s understandable. When Jordan and I first surfaced here we remained by the pool and just waited to die.”

  That statement arrested Don’s attention. It piqued Stella’s interest as well. She studied the petite, but pudgy woman in the dirty capris and pink short-sleeved blouse. The choppy haircut was clearly self-maintained, but under the rough surface Stella could see signs of a refined woman, one who might have been used to salons and chic clothes stores. Slicing a quick glance at Jordan on the far end of the second table she envisioned him on a golf course, or a private club, discussing the stock market and his clients. Curbing her runaway imagination, Stella channeled in once Margie resumed.

  “Of course we thought it was just some freak luck to be dragged into a cave at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, but we knew it had to be temporary.”

  Colin shifted in his seat.

  “When Etienne first appeared–” a chill jostled the woman’s shoulders. “We were–” she searched for a word, “–startled.”

  Jordan Connover coughed into his fist. “Startled?” he mused. “He scared the crap out of us.”

  Frederic laughed. “He has that effect.”

  Etienne tucked his head down with a slight snicker.

  Stella watched them all. Their good-natured camaraderie. It all seemed so out of place–staged for their benefit. These people could smile and joke all they wanted. It didn’t make this situation any more acceptable.

  “What disaster brought you down here?” Don asked, his hand still drumming nervously.

  Margie glanced over her shoulder to make sure the raven-haired woman was following with the food and then scooted onto the bench.

  “Do you want to tell them, Jordan?” she asked her husband, when clearly she was nearly bouncing in her seat at the opportunity to grandstand.

  “You go ahead, dear.”

  Margie smiled enthusiastically, and then her pudgy cheeks tightened in anticipation.

  “We were going to see my mother for her sixty-fifth birthday. She lived in Lawng Island.”

  Ah, Long Island. Stella placed the accent now.

  “There is a small airport near our home in Nags Head, and we were able to book a Cessna from Manteo to MacArthur airport in Islip. It was a bit of an indulgence, but what an experience…at first. It was just the pilot and two other passengers. A couple from Kitty Hawk. Nice people. It was their five-year anniversary. They had two young kids that they left with their parents.”

  She looked around and realized she was rambling. Clearing her throat, she continued. “We were about an hour into the flight when the right engine blew.”

  Jordan nodded. “The pilot tried his hardest, but everything he attempted proved to be overcompensating. We started to tilt and then it was just a downward spiral.” Shadowed eyes replayed the image like a movie. “We never saw the pilot or that couple again. We searched the pools here…waiting…”

  Any previous levity was swallowed by the silence. Even the nearby stream seemed stagnant. All Stella could hear was the approach of the young woman and the clinks o
f silverware hitting Formica as she leaned over each shoulder to place the utensils. She dipped between Stella and Colin, and Stella caught a briny whiff, the same scent that permeated everything here. But there was also a hint of something fresh. Soap?

  “When was this accident?” Don broke the stillness.

  “November 5th, 1994.”

  Jill’s eyes locked with Stella’s over the table. Stella read it all there. Disbelief. Fear. Frenzy. Jill had not been around when the bomb dropped about Etienne and Frederic’s ocean mishap, and the outlandish amount of time they had spent down here.

  Stealing another glimpse of Margie’s face, although the cheeks were pudgy, there was a gaunt hollowness around the woman’s eyes. Jordan’s as well. There was no telling what age they were during their accident, but clearly, they were physically older than their current appearance.

  People weren’t kidding when they proclaimed about the damage sun could do to your skin. The lack of sun had embalmed Etienne and his wife, along with Frederic. Now Stella was dying to know when the raven-haired woman had encountered her misfortune.

  “You look great,” Jill raved with her usual lack of propriety.

  Margie beamed and patted her hair. “Loren just cut my hair. I was using shoestrings to tie it up. This is so much easier.”

  At the mention of the woman’s name everyone turned expectantly towards the young Asian female looking spooked by their scrutiny.

  “Loren,” Margie called amiably. “Come over. We’ll get the food in a minute.”

  Grudgingly the young woman stepped up to the far table. She avoided eye contact, instead staring at the empty bench before her.

  “This is our newbie, if you will,” Margie introduced with a smile. “She landed down here a few years after us.”

  Under their keen scrutiny, the woman swallowed and fidgeted with the aluminum bowl in her slender hands.

  “Hi, I am Loren Hirata.” She hesitated, waiting for an acknowledgment, but everyone was silent, anticipating her tale. She began hesitantly. “I–we–had a leak in the head intake valve. We started taking on water.” She stopped, clearly hoping that would be enough to satisfy their curiosity.

  After an awkward moment of silence she reluctantly continued. “Forty-five minutes later and our deck was underwater.”