Deep, Deep Ocean

by Carter Bowman

  “He had no name, he never had one. No more than the hamburger that slips down your throat.”

  I struggled against the false man’s grip, but he only clenched more tightly, fingernails cutting into my shoulders.

  “You’re a monster,” I cried out, cursing my pathetic smallness.

  “I’m the monster?” The man’s face contorted at this. I could not turn my head to see the true form of the oozing, sagging creature, but I could hear wet coughs erupting from its body.

  “I wash up on your shores, thinking it’s a beautiful place, better than anything I could have dreamed. A lifetime of climbing and searching to find, at the top of it all, it’s nothing but bitter greed. I’ve been so hungry for so long. Sooo lonngggg, Silas. And look at what the hopes of your world have done to me.”

  The tall man in black was melting — great erupting boils turning the sickly green that had infected Luffy’s skin.

  “I wanted hope, Silas,” the voice was becoming garbled, less human through its slopping throat. “I wanted only to taste the hope I’ve longed for with every second of my miserable life. And its ruined me. It hurts to breathe, it hurts so much, but I can’t stop. If I stop for a second, I’ll die.”

  I was frozen, horrified by the melting man whose slimy grip oozed around my shoulders. He was so cold, like swamp water ready to swallow up my whole body.

  “You ruined my meal, Silas. He was supposed to come full of hope to keep me alive, but you poisoned him, spoiled my meal with that wretched richness.” The wilting face of the monster flapped with disgust. “It made me sick to my stomach, and that was a very cruel thing to do.”

  The heap of what had once been a man picked me off the ground and carried me away from the monster’s coughing, rasping heaves. I kicked and struggled, but his grip was absolute. Fuzzy faces moved around me, a world away from my cries for help.

  “You shouldn’t have come back, Silas,” said the heap, coming to a stop in front of a lonely man at a card table. Even through the haze between realities, I could see the sad face of my father, eyes captured by the turning of cards laid out one at a time by a second man in black. A fat blue vein flowed from the man at the head of the table, light streaming away from the spot where he fed.

  My father’s body was nearly limp, barely supported on two hands propping up a face staring mindlessly at a pile of cards. With each breath, the firmness in his face, the light that made him the Dad I loved so much, slipped away another degree.

  The man at the head of the table looked at me, leaving my father to stare at cards that would never turn.

  “I was going to let him go home eventually,” said the new man. “He would dry up otherwise. They all go home and refill their hearts for me to empty again. It’s a win-win situation, you see. But you hurt me in a very deep place, Silas, and that wasn’t fair. It would make me very foolish if I didn’t do anything about that, wouldn’t it?”

  At this, a group of girls, all dressed in matching black, circled the table like a murder of crows. They began giggling in raucous cackles, pressing arms and cheeks against my father’s body. There was so little light left in his face that he barely responded to the attention, but the veins on the crow-womens' backs pulsed as they took even more from him.

  “He’s going to give out soon. They dry up like pieces of fruit — nothing but squeezed pulp and rind.”

  One of the women looked at me, an evil smile spreading on her face as she finished the new man’s sentence. “At least, he certainly won’t be your father anymore.”

  Everything went white. I didn’t think, didn’t know what I would do next. The only thought pounding through my body was a resolution that I had to make this monster feel even a fraction of the hurt that pricked at my eyes, boiling up hot tears that fell down my cheeks.

  I kicked back with all my strength, my wet shoe landing in the soft flesh of the melting heap. Perhaps it was surprise, or maybe the rasping monster was having trouble controlling so many puppets at the same time, but its grasp loosened. Seizing the opportunity, my foot went toes first into the blue vein that connected to the heaping husk.

  The puppet’s eyes went dark, rolling back into its head while cut off from the central creature. Its grip fell slack, and I dropped to the floor on hands and knees, already throwing myself forward as it came to.

  The crows and the dark man seemed to realize in the same moment what had happened. Their looming forms encroached to corner me. In that moment, I was taking in every detail more clearly than I ever had before. The movements of the esca slowed to a crawl. Brought into sharper focus, I could see the small creases that the monster’s puppets left in the atmosphere.

  They’re connected to both layers, both worlds, I thought, watching the folds stretch and bend. Of course they had to exist in the higher world to steal life from my father. The thought caused another bubbling of anger to rise up, but it was brought under control by the kindling of an idea.

  I ran at the smallest crow-woman. She stood just in front of the blurry outline of my father, the unexpected attack causing every pair of eyes to widen in surprise. There were too many escas for the monster to coordinate, and they jerked awkwardly, readjusting to my unanticipated aggression. The crow-woman’s shock contorted her face, flexing into something barely human. Its leg stepped back reflexively, the sudden motion causing a crease in the world’s fabric to pull tight against the normally smooth reality. That was all I needed.

  Diving off my feet, I grasped at the folds between the worlds and tore. Color burst through the rip that separated the woman’s leg across her thigh. There was no noise, there wasn’t even a drop of blood. The woman did not even appear surprised as she was torn in two. Her gaze looking down at me was only the monster’s — angry, vengeful, and hungry.

  The real world poured over me as I dove through. The chatter of real people roared back in full volume, but my focus would not be broken. My father was slumped over the table, his body collapsed under the weight of itself. The men and women in black still surrounded us, their forms unchanged except for the blue veins nearly invisible in the flashing lights.

  “Dad, Dad!” I was shaking my father’s body. He has to be alright. He’s still breathing.

  My father was not the sort of man who could get taken in by bad guys. Every story had victims and heroes, and my Dad could only be the latter. I was a child again, needing him to look at me with that familiar warm smile, to make it all okay by creating an unbreakable wall between myself and the world with his strong arms.

  “Wake up, come on.” I was repeating the words over and over, trying to snap him out of whatever reverie the monster had pulled him into. The shadows of the black figures congregated around the two of us.

  “Silas?” the murmur was low, recognition reaching my father through a deep sleep.

  “Yes, Dad,” I was blubbering. Happy tears rolled from my cheeks onto the blue of his shirt. He was alright, he was still here.

  But there was no life behind the words. He buried his face in the crook of his arms, hiding from the light. His voice came out muffled through the sleeve of his shirt. “Let me rest, would you?”

  “No, Dad, you have to wake up. We have to leave. Now,” I said, my blubbering turning to begging. He was conscious, but only barely.

  “Excuse me, is this boy bothering you?” said the voice of a crow-woman. I looked up to tell the monster’s lure to back off, that she didn’t have any power in this world and I was taking him home whether she wanted me to or not. I couldn’t, though. This puppet was no vague imitation come to console my father.

  That evil monster.

  It was the waitress that my father had wrapped his arm around, the one that had carved itself into my memory, an imperfection who refused to be blotted out.

  “He is,” said my father’s voice, relieved. “Please, I need some rest.”

  “Certainly,” the woman's voice was slow and soothing. She was lucky my father was not looking up as her mouth creased into a snake-
like line. “You won’t be bothered any longer.”

  A claw wrapped around my shoulder, dragging me away from the table.

  “No… No… No…” This was it. I was about to be dragged to the depths while my father watched on. He was my protector. He made everything okay. If I couldn’t have faith in him, then there would never be any hope again.

  “You’re still in there, Dad!” I cried out. “You promised you would take me to the ocean.”

  It was only the tremble of his neck, but something in my father stirred. The muscles beneath the blue cotton of his shirt tensed. I grasped at the blue with my fingernails, clutching for my very life on the last chance I had at either of us surviving.

  The hands pulled me back, and I pulled my father. At first, his large shoulders resisted my pull, but then, with just the slightest relaxing of his body, he gave in and came toppling off the chair after me.

  Chapter Nine

  It was as though my father was trying to move underwater. The weight of the world was toppling upon his shoulders as he fought to sit upright. Other late-night guests of the Waterside Casino were gathering around us, curiosity and concern in their faces.

  “You don’t look well. Do you need me to call a doctor?” A woman with tired eyes and a large purse said, kneeling beside my father. She was young, younger than my father, with peppermint-red lipstick and matching nails that would have made Margaret jealous. The crow-woman, regaining her smoothed-out human appearance, gently pulled the purse-lady back.

  “He’s alright. Only a bit too much to drink. We will be sure to escort the gentleman to a more private location. Thank you for your concern.”

  The tired woman did not appear convinced. I filled my lungs to tell the woman not to leave us, that we were in danger and to call the police. I would tell her it didn’t matter if I got in trouble anymore, that I would spend the rest of my life grounded in my room if it meant that I could go home. I wanted to say all of this, but the claws in my shoulder dug painfully into my spine the moment I inhaled.

  “Say a word, and they all die.” The words were barely a whisper, a single breath passing from the esca’s lips.

  “You’re lying,” I whispered, feigning bravery.

  “You set a fire and everyone will get caught in the blaze. Try me,” replied the esca into my ear.

  The woman in the tight dress remained planted next to my father, looking with uncertain suspicion at the crow-woman who held her hostage. A man with wispy hair hiding a receding hairline stepped behind her, putting a hand on her arm still clutching the large purse. He was older, a parent if I had to guess.

  “Shall we go, dear?” he said. Definitely not her father. His eyes did not share her concern. There was a hunger there that reminded me of the black figures circling the casino.

  “That’s a lovely idea,” said the waiter in black, guiding the two away from my father’s sprawled body. “We are closing early tonight. If everyone would please make your way to the front entrance…”

  The woman gave into the pressure of the man’s arm. This would not be her battle. The woman had been kind. Despite the world of trouble she left me to, I was glad she would be safe.

  A swarm of men and women in black poured from every doorway lining the room. Each chanted the same farewell in a hum of thank yous and please come agains. They shuffled awkwardly, nervous looking faces not matching the chipper tone of their voices.

  She can’t control this many at the same time without difficulty.

  The voice over my shoulder was repeating the same siren call as the rest, its grip no longer cutting painfully into my shoulder.

  I tugged, slipping out of the puppet’s grasp to crouch beside my Dad on the floor. He was spluttering and heaving as though surfacing from deep water, beautifully and amazingly alive.

  “Dad, it’s me, you’re okay. You’re okay.” The words felt strange coming from my mouth, as though I was speaking someone else’s lines in a play.

  “Silas, how did you get here?” He grasped at his head with his hands. “How long has it been?”

  “Not long. It’s nighttime. Mom’s going to be worried, but we have to leave,” I said, and then stopped. The mention of Mom sent a chord of something painful through my father. He allowed it to stew for a moment before shaking himself and bending to look at me. My father’s eyes were hazy around the edges, but the familiar strength was still there.

  “You’re cut,” he said, touching my cheek with his large thumb. “Are you okay? Who hurt you?”

  Maybe he had not been so out of it as I had feared, understanding that it was a who and not a what that posed the danger.

  “Sir, you do not look very well. May I lend you a hand?” A black-sleeved arm extended towards the ground where I kneeled beside my father.

  My father looked at the black hand and then at me. Perhaps he could see the tension in my eyes, or maybe he was coming up from whatever black ocean the monster had sent him into. Whatever fog had taken over my father’s mind was being swept away as he connected the clues that all was not well.

  “No, thank you,” he said, brushing the hand away.

  “Please,” the waiter was joined by two more on each side. These puppets were far burlier, their inflated bodies bulging through ill-fitted clothing. “We insist. You are not well, and ought to come this way.”

  “No.” The distrust in my father’s eyes was his own now. He was on his feet, one arm wrapped protectively around me.

  He doesn’t know enough, the small voice in my head whispered.

  As my father began the slow walk through the crowd of real-looking waiters, I could see his eyes jumping at every sign of movement — the unease of his child and tension in the room pulling the remnants of sleep from his face. A bead of sweat dripped from the curved line of his scalp.

  He’s lost hair. Recently.

  The doors were only yards ahead. Every pair of black eyes followed us as we made to leave. All lips were silent. I could almost taste the salty air of the ocean waiting through the front entrance.

  We are going to make it, I thought. A bitter note of guilt at the thought of leaving Luffy behind soiled my relief. We would return to our lives without him, back to our house and routine with only his memory as a weightless memento. I didn’t think that I would ever forget Luffy, but there were a lot of things that I forgot. When I was as old as Dad, would I still think about the friend that I’d made from a deeper, lonelier part of the world? I wasn’t sure.

  A curdling scream broke my thoughts. A wail that shattered the silence and burned through my ears straight down to my feet. My father’s grip around me tightened, and we turned together, following the dreadful noise.

  Propped against a massive television screen, one of the broad shouldered waiters had wrapped both arms around the frame of the smallest crow-woman. Their features appeared plastic now, carelessly reproduced one after another by the monster until their definition had been lost entirely. But in the hand of the larger puppet was a great curved claw pointed into the face of the woman that had sucked the life from my father. Her face — an awful poison pushed into my memories — sent a fresh agitation through me.

  A cheap trick. Without any real power, she’s becoming desperate.

  I turned to keep walking, but my father’s frozen hands locked me in place.

  “You have to help me, Richard.” The voice of the plastic woman was high and whining. It didn’t sound the way a grown woman’s should — too young, too immature. My father remained the statue of indecision, unable to move.

  “I’m going to cut her throat!” The voice of the puffed-up man was too gravelly, forced into conviction with a menacing growl.

  This was nothing more than a poorly staged play.

  “I don’t understand.” My father’s voice was trembling.

  I tugged hard on my Dad’s arm, trying to draw his attention away from the charade.

  “It’s not real. She’s trying to trick you,” I said, but my father was still captured. />
  “There’s nothing to trick, Richard. He’s going to hurt me. You said you cared,” whined the esca. I wanted to laugh in her face, to tell her she was pathetic and no one would fall for her ploy. I wanted to spit the words at her, but my father’s forward step threw the confident venom back in my face.

  One step, and then another, my father was pulling the both of us towards the woman wrapped in the arms of another man with unquestionable gravity. I looked into his face, horrified to see the toxic fog creeping back into his eyes. I couldn’t see what the monster was doing a layer beneath us, but I was sure the pulsing blue tentacles were coiling around us at this very moment. My tugs were useless, like fighting against the current of an ocean. It was my own father dragging me deeper now, and his grip was absolute.

  “That’s right,” said the crow-woman, the plastic smile cracking. The broad-shouldered man’s face had broken into the same hungry grin. Whether this was about hunger or simply revenge, I didn’t know anymore. The two had blended into one evil expression of spite.

  “Drop the child and come to us,” said the woman, crooning.

  At the word child, my father’s footsteps stopped. Fighting through the temptations of the creature and back into consciousness, his strength around me returned.

  “No.” The word came from my father’s mouth this time. I understood, warm relief rushing through me, that the crow’s suggestion to let me go had been her undoing. She had grasped too greedily and was now left clawing the empty air between us.

  “But he’s going to kill meeee…” The whining reached an inhuman pitch.

  “He won’t,” said my father.

  Anger flashed, synchronized in both of their faces. The knife jerked, slicing a jagged stripe through the crow-woman’s neck. There was no blood, only a release of dark gas from the space beneath her slack face.

  My father swore, his face and hands going white with shock. It was not the same swearing as Mom’s had been though — the thick word slipping from my father’s mouth had been alive. It had been a conscious thing, an emotion belonging to the father I knew and loved. The arm around me pulled, yanking me forcibly from the scene before us.