Sea-Devil: A Delilah Duffy Mystery

by Jessica Sherry

  I shook my head weakly, and cut in with, “Not like this.” The ocean’s smell radiated through my hair, and off my skin, turning my stomach. “I want to get clean.”

  “You’ll need help,” Wilma replied, “but we could do a nice bath-”

  “No baths,” I returned softly.

  “A shower’s goin’ to be tricky considerin’ your weakness,” Wilma suggested. I knew she was right, but I didn’t care. Every muscle seared with a sore ache. My body felt steam-rolled, but worse than that, my skin felt tight and itchy, and every whiff I caught of myself drew me back to the sea. I wanted, perhaps needed, to wash it all away.

  It was the shortest shower I’d ever had, thanks to my throbbing muscles. Wilma sponged me off, cleansing me of all the grit and sand, and I held myself up long enough for her to rinse out my hair, careful of my bandages.

  “I feel dizzy,” I finally admitted to her.

  “Okay, honey. You did great,” she replied, turning off the water. She wrapped a huge towel around me, and held her hand out for me to step out. My knees buckled, and down I went, slipping into the tub with bangs and screeches of skin against plastic.

  “Delilah?” Sam called from outside the door. Pain wrapped around my skull like someone was driving a knife through it. I whimpered. Sam rushed in to find me curled up under a towel at the bottom of the tub. I’d never felt weaker.

  “She’s okay,” Wilma told him, after looking me over.

  “I got her,” Sam said. He scooped me up, and in my dizziness, it felt like I was floating.

  “Sorry,” I whispered as he carried me back into the room.

  He chuckled. “I’ve got you in my arms. What are you apologizing for?” I smiled weakly. Teague laid me down when Wilma had the bed ready. She draped a hospital gown over me and tied it up in the back. Teague toweled the ends of my wet hair.

  “Why do you hate hospitals?” I asked, closing my eyes and fighting dizziness.

  “Um, that’s a long story-”

  “I need a story,” I replied.

  “And that’s the one you want, huh?” Teague chuckled. Wilma handed him a brush and he started working gently through my hair. Once the IV and finger sensor was reattached, Wilma left to get some pain medicines and speak to the doctor.

  Teague said, “I hate hospitals because my parents liked to hospital hop. They’d hit up emergency rooms for painkillers. They’d go in with false names and made-up ailments.” Teague kept brushing, easing my hair out from behind me so he could reach it. He was so gentle that it was relaxing.

  “They made it an art form,” he finally went on, “scamming hospitals. I spent half my childhood in ER waiting rooms. There were a couple of times they got busted by streetwise doctors, and the hospitals would try to hold them until the police came to arrest them. There was one time – they must’ve known they were caught because they slipped out some emergency exit. Forgot me, though.” My eyes shot open.

  Teague smiled and shrugged. “Spent all night in that damn waiting room, watching people come and go, trying to avoid the nurses. Finally, at lunchtime the next day, my dad snuck into the ER wearing dark glasses and a baseball hat, and got me.”

  “They must’ve felt so bad,” I tried.

  Teague grinned. “I’m sure they must have,” he allowed, though I could tell by his face that if they did, they didn’t show it.

  “I’m so sorry,” I muttered.

  Sam shook his head. “Eh, remembering is far better than going through it. That life is over, and I’m a better man for it, I think.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Schooling

  Many fish families school, swim in tightly formed groups in such a coordinated manner that it looks like dancing. When predators are near, these schooling fish can shape themselves, telepathically it seems, into spheres, tunnels, or bands thousands strong, confusing their enemies. It’s the stray fish, the ones left alone or caught out of the group, that become targets.

  My own fish family schooled in my hospital room. Thirteen family members poured in when Wilma released the floodgates. She set this ground rule, “You got just a few minutes and then all of ya are outta here. She needs rest more than anything. So, get your hugs and kisses and then carry your hineys on home. Dinner’s comin’ and we ain’t feedin’ all of ya.”

  I was greeted with a rapid round of gentle embraces before the group took up a circle around my bed. I felt like an exhibit at Ripley’s. They followed up their affections with questions, mostly ones I couldn’t answer, but Mamma Rose was quick to change the subject. She handed Clara a bottle of Jergens from her purse, and without hesitation, Clara started dousing my legs and arms with it. “Your skin’s as pickled as a dill.”

  Raina took a space on my other side, and fiddled with my nails. She pulled a file out of her purse and started smoothing the rough edges. Amazingly, as if she couldn’t help herself, Candy moved to my bedside and braided my wet locks down my left shoulder. Sam moved over by the window, eyeballing the scene with a smile and shake of his head.

  “You sure are lucky your daddy taught you to swim,” Grandpa Charlie pointed out with authority. “He told me you fought him tooth and nail.”

  “I had good reason,” I said. “I hate the water.” “It’s just water, Dee. Don’t be afraid.” A shiver ran through me.

  “They’re comin’,” Aunt Clara reported, “should be here soon.”

  “That should be fun,” I muttered.

  “Is there anything you need?” Aunt Charlotte asked.

  “Clothes. My keys. I don’t know where my purse is. Willie!” My heart thudded again, but was quickly put to rest.

  “Willie’s with us,” Grandma Betty chimed in. “I’ll go by your place.”

  “The purse is in her Jeep,” Teague reported, “and I sort of broke your door down. Sorry.” I cast him a confused look. He shrugged. “Henry Bellows told me that a marauder took you. I had to do something.”

  “I’ll take care of the door,” Damon piped in, typing something into his phone.

  “If you guys see Henry there, don’t be afraid,” I said. “He can stay while I’m away. He’s harmless.”

  “Who’s Henry?” Clara barked.

  “Henry’s a homeless man that Delilah’s been helping,” Teague answered for me.

  “Sweet,” Clark grinned, scribbling into his notepad. “I can see that Woman of the Year trophy slipping right out of your fingers, Clara.” Clark chuckled. Clara rolled her eyes.

  “This is not the time for your tasteless jokes,” Charlotte returned. “We need to focus on Delilah, and gettin’ her better.”

  Candy finished her chore, and I laid my head back against my pillow, careful not to put too much pressure on my gash. My head throbbed and pulsed like no headache I’d ever had before, even after grading hundreds of essays under florescent lights.

  “I’ll bring everything in the mornin’,” Grandma Betty said. “Clothes, shoes, make up, hair brush. Anything else you might need?”

  “No, that’s it,” I said. And then, looking over at Teague, “You need anything?” He was still wearing his dark blue uniform, gun and all. I wondered if that was because he was technically working or just hadn’t been home.

  He smiled. “No, but thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Delilah? Delilah?” a familiar voice chorused from the door. The crowd of Duffys dispersed and let my mother reach the bed. She smiled, teared up, and embraced me a little too roughly.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said weakly. “Dad.”

  “Oh, my gosh, I knew comin’ here to this god-forsaken island was a bad idea,” Mom wailed. “Why can’t you just ever listen to me? Look at you. Oh, my baby!” She buried her head in my chest, and I touched her neatly cropped hair.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to be fine.”

  She sat up, eyed me up and down, and said, “Where’s that nurse? Are you in pain? Have you had any pain medications?” And then, before I could answer, she swept across the room in search o
f Wilma.

  Dad leaned down and gave me a warm and gentle hug. “She’s like a tornado,” he said. “Been cryin’ and frettin’ the whole way here.” He sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my arm. “What can I do, Bean?”

  I leaned up and embraced him tightly, sobbing like a baby into his shoulder.

  “We should all go,” Mamma Rose whispered to the others. “Let them catch up.” The room around me emptied as I flooded my father with tears. They gushed out like I was a busted fire hydrant.

  “I can’t believe it happened again, daddy,” I mumbled in his shoulder.

  “You survived, Bean.” His voice was proud. “Everything happens for a reason. God was just getting you ready-”

  My mother burst back into the room with a look of frustration on her face. “That is the surliest nurse I have ever encountered,” she complained. “She’s bringing your dinner, but I told her she better have some fresh fruit on that plate. I told her about your stomach problems, Delilah. She’s going to see to it. And she’s bringing you some pain meds along shortly, too. She said the dehydration and the constant swimming – Who’s this?”

  “Mom, Dad, this is Sam Teague,” I explained. Sam hustled over and shook their hands.

  “My daughter has been through a terrible ordeal. She needs her mother, and she needs rest. If you’re here to watch over her, then you can watch from the hall-”

  “No,” I cut in, “he’s staying.”

  “Mary, maybe the nurse needs to give you a pill,” Dad suggested. “Calm down. He’s stayin’. Delilah wants him here.”

  “Delilah, mamma’s here now,” Mom went on, coming over and moving Dad aside. “I’ll take care of everything.” The heart monitor shared my feelings for me.

  “I’m really okay,” I told her. “I’m just going to eat and sleep-”

  “Delilah, I’m not going anywhere,” she countered. Again, the beats on the monitor increased, like the fast part of a weird song. Teague chuckled under his breath at the realization of it, but my mother didn’t notice, or didn’t want to. I love my mother, I do, but rest and my mother were two things that did not go together.

  The door to my room swung open and Wilma bounced in carrying a large covered tray. “Grub’s here,” she cooed. “And visiting hours are officially over.” She moved the tray onto a ‘C’ shaped table and edged it over my lap. “Visiting hours begin again at 8:00.” Wilma glanced over at Mom and Dad, but Mom didn’t budge.

  “The men can go,” Mom said sternly. “I need to be with my daughter.”

  “Mom, I want you and dad to go,” I said firmly. “I love you both, but I’m exhausted. Sam carries a gun, knows what’s going on, and has an unbreakable determination to protect me and I know he will.”

  “Mary, let’s go,” Dad said, pulling at her arm. “She’s right. You’ve done all you can for tonight. We’ll come by first thing in the morning.” It took another few minutes for Dad to urge Mom out the door, but finally they left. I was sure I’d hear about it later, but knew that the cost was worth the quiet.

  Despite my hunger, I ate little of the hospital meal. Wilma gave me two pills and a sip of water. I turned on my good side, facing Sam who lounged in the chair. I don’t take medicines often, so when the pills started taking effect, I could feel it.

  “Sam?”

  He pulled his chair over closer and leaned in. My eyes were fluttering. “Delilah?”

  “You won’t leave?”

  “I won’t leave. I promise,” he said.

  “I might have bad dreams,” I told him. “I can’t believe I didn’t die.” And then, I was out.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Beaten

  Wind and waves give the shoreline a constant makeover. The beach is as changing as the day. Constructive and destructive waves either give or take. Swift breezes sweep across, reshaping the shore like God blowing dust across a table. Offshore winds ripple the sand. Forces of water create little ponds for children to play in. Much of the time, the coast is smooth and soft for us, and then there are times when even it is beaten.

  I received a parade of visitors, before being released late Friday afternoon. Detective Lewis finally had his chance to irritate me again. The only positive outcome of our discussion was that he seemed to admit I was no longer a suspect.

  Uncle Clark visited and snapped a few photographs that I didn’t appreciate. What I did appreciate, however, was that he assured me that Durham was done. My survival at sea trumped any sketchy past, and in a strange way, my horrifying experience had done me a favor.

  Dr. Merck reexamined me, and went through a list of do’s and don’ts for my recovery. “I’ve never had a patient like you, Ms. Duffy,” Dr. Merck told me. “To survive at sea for an estimated… what? Six to eight hours with a concussion at night, no less. You’re a walking miracle. You’ll suffer no permanent physical damage.”

  All that said, Dr. Merck handed me a psychiatrist’s business card. Psychological effects were to be expected, he informed. I huffed.

  Rain splattered the windows of dad’s Explorer as we drove to Grandma Betty’s house. I sat in the backseat with Sam, curled up against him under the Red Sox blanket that I knew I’d have to return to those fishermen someday.

  “We can stay for a few days,” my mother was saying, “to let you rest and recover. I can pack up your things, take care of whatever needs to be dealt with at the apartment and the store.”

  “I can rent a U-Haul,” Dad added, “if we need it or I can drive the Jeep home.”

  “I’m sure Uncle Joe won’t care,” Mom went on. “Candy told me that he was only interested in driving up the selling price. He thought you’d make the property more interesting, Delilah. You surely did that. No doubt Clara will pay out the ears for that place now.”

  I breathed out heavily. Sam held me a little tighter. He whispered, “It’s okay.”

  “Maybe they’re right,” I whispered back.

  Willie jumped up on his hind legs and danced with me when I walked in the door. His face bore a great big smile and his tail swung like windshield wipers.

  “Get down, Willie!” Mom chastised quickly. But, I held him as long as my strength would allow. He licked my face and made me laugh.

  Aunt Beverly came over for dinner and brought Sam an overnight bag. She also gifted me with three new handkerchiefs, each with a different butterfly embroidered next to my name. She told me that for Christmas, she planned to make me a prayer shawl. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I might not be here then.

  Well into the evening, Sam and I ventured out to the back deck. Leaning against the railings, I spied the great beast glittering underneath the moon’s delicate fingertips. The ocean winds whipped through me, pulling at my hair, sliding over my wound. I shivered. Fear curled and knotted in me. Sam wrapped his arms around me and eased my anxious thoughts without even realizing it.

  “You think I should go back home, don’t you?” I asked after too long listening to the sound of the surf. I wanted to close my ears to it.

  He breathed heavily. “I want you to be safe.”

  I shook my head, and rolled my eyes. “I just feel really pissed off.”

  He smirked. “I can relate.”

  “How come you’re so normal?” I asked him pointedly.

  He chuckled, and said, “What kind of question is that?”

  “You’ve been through so much,” I replied. “You’ve been fighting wars all your life, and not just the ones you signed up for. Your terrors have made you a better man, but my few have left me like an invalid, running home to mommy. It’s not fair!”

  “Sometimes, I think I hear machine gun fire in the distance or that eerie pop of a mine just before it blasts or some of my friends’ voices, even though I know it can’t be them. But, you move, and you sleep, and you work, and slowly the numbness wears off and you laugh and you love. It gets better. You just need time. We’re the same, but we’re different, too. I was never helpless and never alone.”

  I tu
rned away from the dark ocean to face him. He brushed the hair off my shoulders.

  He said, “God could’ve taken me at any moment and I was okay with that, but I never felt out of control. You had no control. That’s what’s pissing you off. You want to help yourself now? Then, take control back. Go home if you need to. Stay if you want to. Make other options, I don’t know. It has to be your choice, though. It’s just like with the boat. You’ll feel better when you’re driving.”

  I smiled lightly, and leaned my head against his shoulder. “You’re here.”

  “I can be wherever you are,” he returned quickly.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Waterspouts

  Waterspouts are liquid tornadoes formed when the warm sea air rises up and meets cold, dry air. A cone of spray and mist forms, twisting its dance across the sea and reaching to the sky up to four miles high. Sometimes, schools of fish can be captured in its rotations, bringing the groups skyward. Waterspouts are incredible to see, full of magnificent drama, but they rarely cause any real trouble. They just look scary.

  Grandma Betty fixed eggs Benedict for breakfast with orange juice, coffee, and fresh fruit, at my mother’s insistence. The rain had kicked back up overnight, and now pelted the deck with fresh drops. Willie whimpered by the sliding glass door. He didn’t like the rain. I called him over to my feet at the breakfast table and fed him a small piece of ham.

  “Delilah, do not feed that dog from the table,” Mom scolded. I sighed, and patted Willie’s head. Willie settled down between me and Sam’s legs, and pouted.

  “So, what’s the plan, Mary?” Grandma Betty asked.

  Mom explained, “I plan to head on to the store and start packing up everything. What are we going to do with all those books? Maybe we can just donate them. Surely there’s a Goodwill or Salvation-”