by J. R. Rain
Living in that cave with Barnaby made me feel like a character from the books I used to read, some woman abducted from her life and whisked away somewhere far away, hidden in a cave by the dark and brooding rogue. He hadn’t been brooding, but he’d been dark, and not in a romantic way. I’ve entertained the notion that he might’ve been Jack the Ripper, perhaps while a merman, years before we met. Or maybe he’d gone into the sea to hide from the law. Either way, our first few months together felt like I’d been the girl the serial killer couldn’t bring himself to kill, and wound up keeping like a pet.
An adventure for sure, but not the one I’d been thinking of when I got on that boat.
Before my first fusion, I had thought many times of trying to escape, but I’d been frightened of the tidal pool in the cave, and of being out in the open ocean.
You were adorable. A mermaid afraid of drowning.
“Oh, like I had any idea what had happened to me for the first couple of days.”
Licinia’s sad chuckle washes over my mind. I would have made you aware of my existence sooner, but the transition takes us a while to adjust as well, and you have a particularly strong willpower.
Thanks. Suppose that explains why a girl tried to go to college in my day. Wish that willpower helped me resist Albert, my only human husband.
Do you?
Oh… I whine like a debutante who can’t decide what to wear. I don’t know. I’m not unhappy with where my life wound up, just curious about what might have been. If I’ve got so much willpower, why did I get so stupid over Albert so fast?
Licinia hesitates noticeably before making a noncommittal sound. Could be a few things.
She’s hiding something, which is rare. That either means it’s related to the dark rituals I’ve asked her to keep hidden, or she’s guilty about something. It’s all right. Forget it. I don’t want to push her if it makes her uncomfortable.
Oh, you. She sighs. I think we could count on one hand the number of people who actually like and care about their resident Dark Master.
Poorly lit master? I grin.
I can show you a few things that would make you rethink that. She giggles. Though it is somewhat cute.
The Centurion-skin apparition flickers in and out of my mind, but it isn’t her doing. Ick.
Licinia sighs. All right, but I don’t know this for a fact. It is only my theory.
Her guilt is heavy enough to leak into my head. A few seconds hang in fugue where I feel like I’d stolen Uni from Hannah’s arms and laughed at her.
The most common reason two people fall so deeply in love in such a short span is… soulmates.
Oh. The guilt bubble pops. I roll my eyes. Really? You should work for one of those telephone relationship counselors.
I’m serious, Alex. Souls fall in love the same way people do, only when it happens at the soul level, the love can spark whenever the lovers reincarnate and wind up meeting.
One of the couch pillows mushes into my face as I curl up in a ball. Oh. That explains her guilt. If my soul and Albert’s knew each other, then… my change has separated us forever.
I’m sorry.
Hey, it’s all right. What’s done is done. You saved my life and we don’t know if Albert and I were even soulmates. Not like I remember past lives. When my soul gets off at the end of this ride at Creator Station, it won’t be different to me.
Not to this version of you, but a part of you will leave the cycle.
Yeah, but it’s not like I get to buy another ticket and get back on the train this time. I wave dismissively at nothing. Stop beating yourself up.
A lingering feeling of ‘hmm’ occupies my thoughts for a while.
My gaze falls down on my breasts, presently covered by a sweatshirt and blanket. I may be immune to the effects of cold, but the snuggly softness of a good blanket hasn’t lost its allure. Maybe I should rig a bikini top out of seashells for when I take Hannah on a swim? That would make her day.
Her face keeps coming back to my mind. Half the time, thinking of her makes me want to do to Troy what I did to that salmon in the alley. Underneath my rage, though, I can’t deny a certain amount of sorrow. I’ll never know what it’s like to waddle around for nine months with a baby moving inside me, or hold it for the first time, watching the little face react to our initial eye contact.
Licinia rushes to the forefront of my mind, and in a flash, I’m standing in a hot, dusty field with a modest dwelling behind me. A small garden of vegetables wraps around the hut’s left side, where a man, her first husband, Octavio, toils. A glance down shows me (rather Licinia) quite round with child, and all the strange feelings, sore back, sore breasts, and general aches are mine to experience.
The memory shifts, and I’m experiencing the birth of her first child, Caeso. A scream roars from my lips in the here and now, echoing Licinia’s cries from the year 7 A.D. Blinding agony passes far faster than it had for her, and I’m staring at a newborn boy, feeling the warmth of him against my naked chest, Licinia’s cheek touching his head. When my present-day thought intrudes, remembering how this is the same boy who’ll die eighteen years from that day trying to defend his sisters from abductors, Licinia’s rage takes me.
I’d been livid at Troy for wanting to hurt Hannah, but that had nothing on Licinia’s wrath.
When she calms a few minutes later, she shares memories from her children’s lives: the happy moments where they do something for the first time, the annoying moments where they won’t give her an ounce of peace, the sad moments where they marry and move away, and tragic moments like when Caeso died in her arms.
A mother’s wrath when she bargained her soul for her family.
I took from you the ability to know these moments, so I give you my memories.
Hannah’s pleading stare haunts me, and a ghost fades in around her―the woman from the ship who I refused to abandon. I couldn’t leave her the same way I couldn’t leave Detective Serrano to die, but Hannah is different. With her, it’s beyond my innate need to help people. It’s not as strong as my ‘poorly lit master’s’ devotion to her children, but somewhere in between. Licinia thinks her attempt to divine the girl’s whereabouts may have linked us somehow.
Or, maybe after almost a century, I’ve simply come down with baby fever.
There is a connection to the child. My magic is different in this form. Without you learning the rituals, what occurs when I try is―unpredictable.
“You don’t need to apologize. It’s been 118 years. Honestly, I’m not bitter. I’m well into borrowed time. I’d have been in the ground long ago even without the shipwreck, and, for the thousandth time, I adore being a mermaid. Besides, every little girl wants to be a mermaid at some point, right?”
Perhaps… but I don’t think Hannah daydreams about eating the hearts of sailors.
My sudden laugh sprays tea. “No… I doubt that.”
The seashells would be cute.
“Yeah, but they’d so rip right off if I swam faster than a crawl.”
How fast do you intend to go with a mortal child along for the ride?
“Good point.” I stand and shut off the TV. It’s late. “I’ll worry about that later. Tomorrow, I’m going to do something stupid.”
Oh, do tell? As stupid as that time you became intoxicated and hopped in the pool with those women in mermaid costumes?
I blush. “They were doing it wrong.”
You do realize they have rigid bones in their legs.
“Yes, yes, I know, but the tails looked so fake.”
Perhaps because they were false?
“Right.”
Alex?
“What?”
Go to bed.
pull into a public parking garage on Cherry Street, across from the giant onyx obelisk of Columbia Center. By 9:18 a.m., I’ve got a parking spot. Troy may or may not be in since it’s Friday and he’s playing up the whole ‘survivor of a tragic boat accident’ bit. As far as I know, he’s still got no idea the
police have David and Christina’s remains, though I have to expect he’s figured out the assassin he sent after Hannah has failed. I’ve decided to trust my gut there. It feels right to think that Troy somehow got in touch with this Baker guy to get rid of a witness. Also, within hours of me trying to talk to him, I’m a bullet sponge.
My phone chirps the second I open Rubi’s door. A text from Paolo asks if it’s okay to call.
I sit back and dial him.
He answers on the second ring. “Detective Serrano.”
“Don’t you look at your caller ID?” I ask.
“Ahh, Alex. Thanks for calling.”
I tap the steering wheel. “What’s up? Please tell me it isn’t bad news?”
He sighs and his chair creaks; I picture him leaning back while rubbing his forehead. “Not directly bad, but not great either. Webb hasn’t been able to tie Robertson to Baker. I’m afraid the Captain’s putting the ixnay on the security detail at the hospital. She can’t justify the hours without a credible threat.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you call a guy with a syringe full of potassium chloride five seconds away from murdering a child in her bed? If that’s not a credible threat…”
“I know… I know… but we can’t prove the man so much as knew Vernon Baker, or that Robertson is involved in any way. There’s not even a shred of evidence linking the attack on Hannah to the murder at sea. Only circumstantial ‘yeah that makes sense’ reasoning on our part.”
I lean forward, hands clenching around my steering wheel. “You can’t do anything?”
“She’s going home… well, to her grandparents’ place today. I can ask a couple of the guys to drive around their area more often than usual, but that’s about it.”
Right, so that’s about as close as Paolo’s going to get to asking me to ‘do whatever I can.’ “Gotcha. I’m still following up on my side of things. About to shake a few trees.”
“Be careful,” he says.
“You know me.”
“Why do you think I’m asking you to be careful?” Paolo laughs. “And I mean in the sense of breaking laws. I know you can handle yourself.”
I chuckle. “Right. I won’t break any laws.” Though I might tie them in a pretzel knot. “Thanks for trying. I’m not going to let anything more happen to those poor people.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“Will do,” I say. “Thanks.”
We hang up.
Sigh. I hate racing the clock.
After hopping out of my Rubi, I swat some lint off my skirt and check my top in the door mirror. Skirts/dresses are much more comfortable, especially in the case of sudden mermaidness. I tend to go commando most of the time since having even a tiny scrap of fabric in the way of a forming tail hurts like hell. Especially there. It burns like a cup of high-molar acid poured over my nether bits. Ultimately, the change rips the fabric out of the way, but I’d sooner avoid the issue altogether.
I walk out of the garage and head downhill toward Third Avenue, where I hook a right turn. NexArc’s office is in the second building after the corner. A directory on the lobby wall sends me to the eighteenth floor.
The office is on the small side, with dark blue carpeting and a basic wood-grain desk. Stephanie, or at least a woman I assume to be the one I spoke to before, has her attention stapled to her workstation. She looks about my age, strawberry blonde, in a blouse that can’t decide if it wants to be white or pale pink.
I expect she’s absorbed in a game of Minesweeper or Solitaire, but when I reach the desk, the spreadsheet on her screen surprises me. The place must be small if the receptionist is doing their accounting. Can’t say I expected much from someone who felt the need to point out when they leave for lunch they’re no longer at their desk, but hey, book smarts and common sense often live separate lives.
“Hello,” says the woman.
I recognize her voice. “Hi Stephanie. I’m Alex Silver, we spoke Monday.”
“Oh, yes. How are you?”
Two men and three women enter the lobby from a hallway on the right, heading across to a matching corridor on the other side.
“I’m all right,” I say, “but I’m still looking into David Strickland’s disappearance.”
The employees passing behind me slow to a creep.
“He’s been gone almost a week,” says Stephanie.
Thank you lieutenant obvious.
Isn’t it Captain Obvious?
Whatever. I sense Licinia rolling her eyes.
“I’ve found enough to suspect foul play. Can you think of anyone with an ax to grind?”
Whispering stirs behind me. I glance over my shoulder at the employees who’ve oh-so-subtly stopped dead in their tracks to eavesdrop.
“Nothing comes to mind.” Stephanie scratches at the back of her neck, making her rings click. “He’s such a sweetheart. We’ve had a few clients with billing disputes, but nothing has ever happened so bad I’d think someone would want to hurt him.”
“So, David’s a perfect angel and no one ever had any sort of problem with him?” I ask.
“No.” Stephanie shakes her head. “You probably don’t believe me, but Mr. Strickland was like the most amazing man I’d ever met. If he wasn’t already married… Anyway, if anyone did want to hurt him, I didn’t hear about it.”
“Do you know of anything major being planned for the company? Any huge clients coming up or anything out of the ordinary?” I give the small group of spectators another look. They’re all pretending to do things on their smartphones.
Stephanie bites her lip. “You’d have to ask Troy about that.”
“All right. Thanks.”
I push off the reception counter and approach the group who’re still standing there. A short woman with waist-length mouse-brown hair avoids eye contact while the rest of them stare at me like they’re watching a car accident in slow motion. Hmm. That one girl’s reaction… Could David have possibly been cheating? Maybe that’s Troy’s girl.
“Hello,” I say with a broad smile. “Since you’ve all decided to make yourselves part of the conversation, you’ve no doubt overheard I’m a PI David’s parents have hired to find him. Any information you could think of, no matter how trivial, could help.”
They all shake their heads, shrug, and mutter things like “nothing comes to mind,” “can’t think of anything,” or grunts of cluelessness. Even Mouse-brown shakes her head, though she’s clearly nervous about something. Great. It’s looking more and more like it’s time to bend those rules and jam a metaphorical turkey baster bulb-deep in Troy’s brain. Let’s see what I can drain out of him.
The group of employees hurries toward the other hallway, but Mouse-brown veers off toward the ladies’ room. At the door, she gives me a meaningful stare before disappearing inside.
Well, that’s something.
She obviously doesn’t want anyone to know we’re talking. A tweak of radiant charm blots me out of Stephanie’s awareness before I follow into the ladies’ room. Mouse-brown is pacing the stalls, peering under them for legs when I enter. Since we’re the only two women in here, she relaxes. I never considered myself tall, but I feel like an amazon standing next to her.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “People can get petty here, especially Troy.”
“I understand.”
She waits. I wait. Finally, she says, “Is there any reassurances you can give me?”
I know where this is going. “I’ll do my best to keep anything you tell me in confidence. But if I have to go to the police with it…”
“All bets are off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, that’s not very reassuring.”
“There’s a man missing, and I’m not an attorney.” I could prompt her to tell me, but I don’t. I want this done of her own free will. If what she tells me puts her on the stand, this needs to be her choice.
Mouse-brown sighs, thinks, nods. “I understand.”
“Still want to tal
k?” I ask.
She creeps closer, her voice growing even quieter. “I need to get this off my chest. A couple of months ago, David and Troy were shouting at each other behind a closed door. Rumor went all over the office that Microsoft was sniffing around, interested in buying us out. People said David got upset because he didn’t want to sell out to a giant corporation. He liked being independent and thought giant companies are horrible for innovation. Troy wanted to sell, cash out, and, I dunno, go live in Maui or something.”
I nod. “Anything ever happen to back up the rumors?”
“No. At least, if they did, no one really talked about it.” She fidgets with an ID badge hanging around her neck. Heather Lunsford, Developer II. “I… I should go before I’m seen talking to you.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say with a hint of sigh in my voice.
Arms folded, I lean my butt against the sink counter, watching Heather walk out. That would explain why I hadn’t found any real dirt on Troy. My theory about gambling debt or owing money to a loan shark dries up. David and Christina Strickland died for dirtier money, corporate money. Not that I think anyone at Microsoft could’ve possibly anticipated or encouraged Troy… no, when a giant golden egg gets dangled in front of people, some men will do anything to grab it.
The people he met for dinner have to be Microsoft reps. Poor Troy, so distraught over his friend’s death, already trying to cash out. Maybe he thinks he can make it to the Bahamas or Jamaica before the police come for him.
Time to make him nervous.
Nervous people make mistakes.
roy’s office is at the innermost corner on the left. I pause in the hallway outside, glancing to my right past two huge printer/scanner/copiers and eight other doors. A door at the opposite corner bears David’s name. Maybe they weren’t as close of friends as I’d thought. Their offices sit as far away as possible within the same leased space.
I enter without knocking. From behind an Ikea desk, a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman in a painfully bright ultramarine dress glances up at me. Her silver brooch, a crescent moon, matches her pewter hair, a conservative bob.
