Poseidon’s Children

by Michael West

  “This sculpture,” Carol began, regaining some of her composure, “it’s just like one I found last week in Atlantis.”

  Hays approached the carving, suddenly reminded of his trip to Australia. The stars had seemed somehow different there, and he realized they were upside down in the southern hemisphere. Something he saw every day transformed into something fascinating. The same was true now. This statue had sat on that shelf for years, just a piece of furniture, like his desk. Now, it was something mysterious.

  Miyagi tore her eyes from the sculpture and looked at Roger, her face serious. “How can we get to Colonial Bay?”

  TWENTY

  Larry’s head pounded, his brain practically screamed. He grabbed the suitcases from the closet and started to pack. They would take the next ferry off the island, drive back to New York. Peggy would understand. They were in danger.

  His headache worsened until he found he couldn’t think. Finally, he took some Advil and forced himself to lie down on the bed. He closed his eyes, listened to the music of his own pulse, and sleep somehow overtook him.

  The projector in his mind showed the same clips again and again: the lantern...the crab...the warning...

  Leave Colonial Bay.

  ...and his eyes sprang open to find that the room had grown dim. He looked at his watch. It was now 8:30.

  Larry rubbed his temples, hearing a much calmer voice in his head, a voice all artists hear but seldom heed. It was the voice of logic, the voice of reason. It said, “Let’s think rationally about this, Larry” and “Is this a wise thing to do, Larry?” Years ago, this same voice told him that he’d never make a living with his art. The voice had been wrong then, and he’d laughed at it, but now...now he desperately wanted that voice to be right.

  You had a very vivid dream and went sleepwalking, reason maintained. If you stop recognizing this for what it was, start believing that a dead woman did talk to you...well, old pal, then you’re crossing over into the realm of the insane. Do you really want to put Peggy through all of that? Hasn’t she been through enough because of you?

  The phone cried out. Larry jumped, then picked up the receiver with noticeable hesitation. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Rembrandt.”

  He looked at the suitcases still littering the floor. “Peggy...”

  “How’s the painting coming?” Her voice sounded very distant.

  “Fine. It’s...um...” Larry looked at his watch again, then closed his eyes. “Where are you?”

  “The book depository.”

  “Where?”

  She giggled in his ear. “I’m at the library. I saw this flag at the museum and I wanted to do some snooping about the town history. Key West tried to become its own little country at one point. I think this island might have done the same thing and...and I know you’re not into the whole history worship.”

  “Not so much, no.”

  “Well anyway, you know how you’re always telling me I should keep writing my silly little bodice-rippers?”

  Larry could see what was coming. “Yes.”

  “I think Colonial Bay would make a great setting for a new novel.”

  He swallowed. “Oh...”

  “And I thought I should know a bit more about the place if I’m gonna write about it.”

  “Yeah, might help.” His eyes opened and drifted back to the suitcases. “The thing is —”

  “They’re gonna close up soon. You ate dinner already, didn’t you?”

  “No...I...food?”

  “Great. Too into your painting, huh?” He said nothing, and after a beat, she went on. “I’ve been so busy researching, I haven’t stopped to grab anything either. Why don’t I meet you at this place called The Wharf? It’s open until eleven and I hear it’s a really good buffet-style thing.”

  “Buffet?” The artist sighed. The voices were arguing for control again, but Reason was gaining ground over Let’s-Get-the-Hell-Outta-Here. Why did he have to flush those pills? “Yeah, I’m good with that.”

  “You don’t sound enthused.”

  Larry rubbed his eyes. “I’m just...” Trying to hold it together? “Just tired.”

  “Poor baby. Not too tired, I hope?” And then she purred.

  Larry laughed. Coming from Peggy, a sexual overture struck him as being quite funny. “No. You know me. Never too tired for that.”

  “Good. See you around...” In his mind, he could see her looking at her watch. “Nine o’clock?”

  “It’s a date.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He listened for the click at the other end of the line, set the receiver back down onto its cradle, then walked over to the suitcases and kicked one. He tossed the luggage back into the closet one piece at a time. “Logic and Reason score. And the crowd goes wild.”

  TWENTY ONE

  Sunlight faded beneath the waves.

  Jeff Wilson walked down a near-deserted stretch of sidewalk on the edge of town, briefcase in hand. He was a sales representative for national hotel chain, a job that required constant travel. This month, the hierarchy had seen fit to send him on a mission to Colonial Bay, one of the few “tourist traps” in this country that didn’t boast one of their hotels.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Wilson jumped. He whirled to his right, saw a shadowy figure standing in a narrow alley, and put a hand over his heart. He wasn’t an old man by any means, but living on the road as he did, his steady diet of Big Macs and Whoppers had forced his doctor to voice concern. “Christ! What are you tryin’ to do? Kill me?”

  “Sorry, sir.” A young man, no more than twenty, moved into the orange glow of freshly ignited street lamps, dressed only in his swim trunks. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. My name’s Jason.”

  “Well, Jason, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t have any pockets.” The boy tugged at his trunks to show that it was the truth. “I had my wallet tucked in the waistband, but it fell out when I cut through this alley. You got a flashlight in your car I could use for a sec?”

  “Yeah, I got a light.” Wilson reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys; a small flashlight dangled from the metal ring on a chain. He tested it to see if it still worked. It did. Removing it would take too long, but, if he handed the whole key ring over, the boy might take off and leave him stranded. He gave a frustrated sigh, then aimed his light into the alley. “Where’d you drop it?”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  The salesman paused. “I want you to know, I got about three dollars in cash on me and some travelers’ checks. No credit cards. I don’t believe in credit cards. So, if this is some kinda mugging, you can just turn and walk the other way right now ‘cause you won’t get piss from me.”

  Jason snickered. “I don’t want your money.”

  Wilson nodded and followed the young man in. The tiny spotlight moved along the alley floor, revealing dirt, a roach or two (big-city crickets, as Wilson called them), and some stray trash.

  No wallet.

  “Where exactly did you lose this thing?”

  “’Bout half way,” the young man said; his voice sounded somehow different.

  A loud crackling sound filled the alley, like brittle branches being snapped in two.

  Wilson stopped to listen. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah.” Jason rasped, his breathing labored, asthmatic.

  Wilson turned his light in the young man’s direction, and something clawed at his right hand. Pain burned across his knuckles, leaving a warm splash in its wake. Wilson dropped his keyring and covered the wound with his left palm. As it fell, the light streaked across his attacker. A pointed, gray snout lunged toward him, filled with row after row of glistening teeth.

  Wilson opened his mouth to cry out, but a webbed talon rushed in to fill it. Sharpened claws punched their way through the soft tissue of his gullet, grabbed hold of his spine, and pulled it apart.

  •••

  Pe
ggy hurried down the sidewalk.

  Her trip to the library had been a total waste of time. The librarians told her that most of the records she needed had been lost in a hurricane, but Peggy knew it was a lie, could see it in their eyes. Larry would say that she was just being paranoid, but they were hiding something.

  The question was what.

  A sound found Peggy’s ear, a muffled cry from the alley to her left. She stopped and peered into the darkness. “Hello?”

  The darkness offered no reply.

  Peggy shook her head.

  Hearing things, she thought. First conspiracies, now this.

  Before she could take another step, Peggy heard more sounds of distress; someone was having trouble breathing. “Is anybody there?”

  More wheezing, gagging sounds, louder this time, more urgent. Peggy imagined an elderly woman lying on her back in the dark, trying to catch a breath and failing due to heart attack or respiratory disease. She scanned the area and saw no one else nearby; Colonial Bay’s streets were nearly deserted.

  What if it were you lying in there?

  Peggy frowned. She checked her cell phone. Her reception had been spotty at best since leaving the mainland, and she currently had no bars.

  What if you were dying and nobody stopped, nobody even bothered to try and help?

  Peggy took a deep breath, then ventured into the alley. She took a dozen or so steps before calling out again, and the warm glow of street lamps faded quickly to absolute darkness. It was just as though she’d strolled into a cave. Back in New York, she would’ve said that only a crazy person walks into a dark alley. Yet, here she was. “Hello?”

  The wheezing stopped.

  “Do you need help?”

  A sloshing sound, someone stepped in a puddle.

  “If you can hear me, please answer.”

  A low growl filled her ears, a gargling snarl. It was the noise a drowning cat might utter as it went under for the final time.

  Sudden terror made Peggy mute. She turned to run and her feet caught on something in her path. She fell to the ground, clawed at the cobblestone in a panic. Her fingers closed around a small plastic flashlight and she picked it up. The slender beam showed her what she’d tripped over. It was the fallen body of a dead man; his glazed eyes stared up at her with sleepy fascination.

  A raven hulk rushed toward her.

  Peggy rose to her feet again; the light caught only a glimpse of it, a webbed foot, a claw that scratched against the concrete as it ran. Wet talons gripped her arms, restrained her, pulled her back into shadow. Something like a bear trap closed around her shoulder and her body ignited with pain.

  Peggy found she was finally able to scream.

  PART TWO

  POSEIDON’S CHILDREN

  TWENTY TWO

  A bright light waved and flickered in the distance.

  Peggy drifted toward it. She felt numb, but numb was good, much better than the pain. There were voices all around her in the darkness, one of them Larry’s.

  “Peggy,” he cried. “Oh Christ, get an ambulance!”

  More voices, strangers; they worked to save her life.

  “I can’t stop the bleeding!”

  “Load her in the boat. Careful!”

  Her parents died five years before, a plane crash over South Dakota. She hadn’t thought of them in months, and suddenly felt guilty for it.

  “Black Harbor, we have a young female, approximately thirty years of age, with...”

  I’m twenty-eight, thank you very much.

  Then, strangest of all: “Tellstrom’s done it now.”

  Who’s Tellstrom, and what has he done?

  The moon. It was the moon Peggy was looking at, its light filtered through ocean depths. Was she drowning? No. Somehow, her consciousness had been uprooted, transplanted into the graceful flesh of a dolphin. After a moment of disorientation, she swam rapidly through the brine, feeling a sense of speed, of power. A single thrust of her tail propelled her up; she broke the surface of the waves and somersaulted into the night.

  Her new body plunged back into the depths. She caught up with a school of Allison tuna, swam through the heart of the cluster in a corkscrew pattern. The fish scattered, then quickly regrouped. Peggy could almost hear them hurling obscenities her way.

  A sea turtle swam by her, huge and ancient, and she gave chase. Its immense front flippers moved like canoe paddles...back and forth, back and forth. Its shell showed signs of wear, as if it had survived countless battles. She glided alongside it for a moment, then let the creature lumber along its course alone.

  Peggy had been swimming and diving before, but she’d always perceived the sea as a place of untold danger, filled with predators and risk. Now, she saw her new home as an astounding empire of beauty. She couldn’t wait to see what adventures lurked around the next bend.

  Another figure rose from the depths, a female silhouette. Long hair flowed out from her head like the petals of a black rose. Then she drifted into the moonlight, a corpse; bloated, skin darkened from exposure until it was gray with black splotches. Her lips had been stripped away, leaving an eternal smile, and her eyes had gone white as milk.

  It spoke, and, despite the water, Peggy understood every word: “It’s too late for you.”

  Peggy tried to swim away, but the drowned woman lurched forward and grabbed her.

  “Don’t let Larry share your fate,” the carrion warned. Peggy saw parrotfish grazing within the confines of its ribcage. “Tell him to leave you. Let him go. Make him go.”

  Peggy’s strength abandoned her, left her prisoner to the phantasm’s grip.

  “If Larry stays, they’ll kill him. Or worse...he’ll become like you.”

  Peggy wondered who the girl was, wondered why she was so concerned about Larry, then a horrid thought came to her: this was Natalie’s corpse, come to drag Peggy down into some watery hell.

  The corpse read her thoughts. “I’m not Natalie. I owe him.”

  Shadows rushed, plunged Peggy back into darkness. She felt a dull throb, as if the nerves of her body were being muffled under a thick blanket, as if her brain had been made deaf to their protests.

  Peggy opened her eyes.

  Slowly, things came into focus and she saw Larry standing over her, holding her hand, flashing a quivering grin.

  “Hi, gorgeous,” he told her.

  She parted her lips to speak. “Dead...girl?”

  “No, honey, you’re fine. You’re in a hospital.”

  Another man was there, older, late forties, perhaps fifty, dressed in blue scrubs. He pushed Larry aside with a polite “Excuse me” and proceeded to shine a penlight into Peggy’s eyes. “Do you know your name?”

  “Peggy,” she croaked.

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  She thought for a moment. “The last I remember it was...Monday?”

  The man in scrubs nodded. “Still is, just barely. Do you know where you are?”

  “Larry said a hospital.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I heard some voices...I was in a lot of pain.”

  Scrub-Man nodded again, then moved over, allowed Larry access to her again.

  Her lover reached out, took her hand in his own. Thankfully, whatever drugs they’d given her hadn’t deadened her ability to feel the warmth and comfort of his touch.

  “Let him go.”

  Not on your life.

  Larry smiled down at her, and Peggy returned the best grin she could muster, holding too tightly to his hand.

  “How am I doin’?” she asked.

  “You’re gonna be fine.”

  “But will I be able to dance again?”

  Larry snickered. “You couldn’t dance before.”

  “I could do the Cabbage Patch with the best of them.” Peggy attempted to sit up and her head began to spin, a fireworks display flaring across her eyes. She fell back against the pillow. “Whoa...Won’t be trying that again soon...”
/>
  “You need to take it easy, babe.”

  Her mouth was dry. “Could I get a glass of water?”

  Scrub-Man poured her one, and Larry held it to her lips.

  “Not too fast,” Scrub-Man warned.

  Larry pulled the glass away and she moistened her lips with her tongue. “Thanks,” she told him.

  Scrub-Man tapped Larry on the shoulder. “Could I see you for a moment?”

  He nodded, then squeezed Peggy’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Promise?”

  Larry kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Promise.”

  He released her, joined Scrub-Man at the door.

  Peggy wondered how long she’d been out, then decided she would ask later. Her eyelids grew heavy from the medication. She resisted, afraid she would discover this had really been the dream, that her reality was the embrace of a corpse somewhere in the shadowy fathoms.

  Finally, she could fight no more and rested.

  •••

  The man in scrubs, Dr. Brahm, followed Larry out into the hallway and closed the door to Peggy’s room behind him. “I need to talk to you about your wife’s condition.”

  “She’s not my wife, not yet...we’re engaged.”

  Brahm nodded. “Does she have any other family?”

  “No. Her parents are both deceased.” Larry wondered momentarily when it was that a person wasn’t an orphan, but merely had dead parents. “I’m the only family she’s got.”

  Satisfied that he’d fulfilled the needs of protocol, the doctor went on, “She’s suffered a broken shoulderblade and she’s lost a lot of blood, so she’ll be very weak and need plenty of rest. We’ll keep her for twenty-four hours for observation, and then, when she leaves, she’ll need to have that arm in a sling to keep it immobilized.

  “We’ve stitched up her wounds. The interior stitches will dissolve on their own, but the ones that are visible will have to be removed in ten days.”

  Larry nodded, then he asked the question that had been bothering him all night. “She was losing so much blood, doctor...why’d they have to ship her off to another town? Doesn’t Colonial Bay have its own hospital?”