The Sighting

by Christopher Coleman

  “I always intended to install a toilet in here,” the woman said. “Just a dirt hole really, nothing involving plumbing or pipes, of course.” Danny could see Lynn Shields’ crouching knees below the light beam. “But it was just one of those things that I never got to. You have things like that, I’m sure. Is that so, Daniel Lynch?”

  Danny’s nearly-closed eyes clicked halfway open at the sound of his name, and an abstract hope welled inside him, though he couldn’t have said why.

  “Anyway, it seems you don’t need one anymore.” Then, sounding to Danny almost as if it was an afterthought, Lynn Shields said, “And it’s not going to matter in few hours.” The woman paused a moment and looked up and to her left, searching the possibilities in her mind. “But perhaps I’ll still have it done.” She nodded, as if the decision had been made.

  Danny wanted to speak, but his throat and lips felt like sandpaper.

  “I have a question for you though, before we begin with what comes next. You never told me that you had seen it before. Before the other night when your wife...you did tell me she was your wife, correct?” The woman paused, allowing Danny the opportunity to confirm or correct the relationship.

  Danny nodded.

  “But then this very morning, a picture appeared in the papers with your name written right next to it.”

  “Sarah.” The name barely passed over Danny’s lips.

  “Yes. Sarah Needler. So though you were a little deceitful about what all you knew regarding the Ocean God, it seems you were telling the truth about the reporter. And her suspicions about me. But what of this picture, Daniel? You never mentioned any picture. Are there other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?”

  “Danny.”

  “Of course. Danny. What else have you seen, Danny?” The woman’s expression fell flat, abandoning any playfulness that may have existed in her demeanor.

  Danny peeled his lips apart as if to speak, but instead let his tongue fall out, just over his bottom lip, the tip barely outside the boundary of his mouth. He was starving for water, and this seemed like a universal symbol to express that.

  Lynn smiled and rolled her eyes, as if humored by her forgetfulness, like she’d forgotten to ask Danny how his summer vacation had gone. She brought a full bottle of water from her bag, and Danny could see the cloudy liquid inside, indicating it was cold. He closed his eyes and dipped his head back in ecstasy at the thought of it.

  “Just a few drops so you can get that voice working, huh? And then, depending on what I hear from you, you can have more. Does that sound fair?”

  Danny nodded. He would have agreed to anything.

  Lynn twisted the cap and tipped the bottle against Danny’s lips, once again hydrating her captor into obedience. She allowed him a few seconds to let the moisture do its work, and then she nodded at him to begin, sitting down in front of him like a kindergartner at story time.

  Danny swallowed and licked his lips. “I saw it last Thursday,” he began. “I guess you probably know this, but I’m at the beach around the same time every morning six days a week. At least I used to be.”

  Danny tossed out the subtle bluff by accident, but hearing it spoken seemed to imply that he would be missed if he didn’t keep his regular schedule. Of course, there was no real logic in that hope, considering that he always came to the beach alone and his wife, the woman already knew, was dead. Lynn Shields just stared expressionless at Danny.

  “I swam in the ocean for a few minutes, like always, and then...”

  “Then what?”

  “I saw you. You know that. You saw me see you.”

  “Yes, yes! I know about all of that! After! After that!” Danny knew the irritation in the woman’s voice was not due to any redundancy, but rather was a mask to cover her lament at having missed seeing it that morning, knowing she was so close.

  “I was on my way to leave when I heard a loud, thumping splash, and then I turned to see...the thing I saw.”

  “Not the thing,” the woman said calmly, with quiet instruction. “The God.” She waited a beat, as if to make sure Danny had received this titular lesson, and then said, “And what did he do?” Her eyes were wide with anticipation, and, reflexively, she scooted forward a few inches.

  “He walked out of the ocean.”

  “How? Explain it!”

  “It was a slow, I don’t know, methodical walk, like it...the God...had a purpose. And then he just stood there. Staring. Looking up toward your house, actually. I don’t know, it was like he was looking for you. Expecting you. Like you talked about earlier.”

  Tears had begun to roll steadily from the woman’s eyes, and she took a deep breath and swallowed. “Yes,” she said, nodding in understanding. “And what else? Please, continue.”

  Danny felt drained from the story; his mouth was parched and the lack of food had made him sleepy again. “Not much,” he said, closing his eyes. “He turned and walked back to the sea. I was able to take a few pictures.” Danny licked his lips with a tongue that was once again dry and desperate. “And now here we are.”

  “Yes, we are,” Lynn said, wiping the tears from her eyes. She stood tall, and Danny could feel the woman studying him before she walked back to the opening of the prison dune, pushing the leaning door away and stepping out to the beach. Danny could see her feet in the flashlight beam, and the rain splashing down around them.

  She was gone for less than five minutes, and when she returned, crouching again toward him down hall of the burrow, Danny could see she was holding a gun in her hand.

  Chapter 15

  Lynn wasn’t entirely sure that her plan would work—that Danny Lynch would follow her instructions—but she felt she had him hungry and thirsty enough that his delirium would make him more obedient than he normally would be in his situation. A sort of Stockholm syndrome, she thought, though that didn’t sound quite right.

  She had considered killing him in the cave, at which point she would somehow drag him to the boat and slowly load him in before shoving them both out to sea. But the physical effort required to carry out that plan was likely beyond her, as the runner was no less than a hundred and seventy-five pounds and she no giant herself.

  And the risk of being seen wasn’t to be dismissed either. She’d never be able to explain away some witness’s vision of her hauling a limp man’s body across the empty beach. And when the runner ultimately was reported missing, which, at some point, despite his apparent lack of connections, he would be, the dots could easily be connected to her. It was one of the most wonderful things about the God and her sacrifices to him, she thought: there were no loose ends.

  “Here is how things are going to happen,” she started. “I’m going to cut one of your hands free, and then you’re going to take the knife and cut the other one free. I’m going to be standing here, just as I am now, with this gun pointed at your belly. After you cut your second hand free, you’re going to toss the knife to my feet. Then, when I tell you, you’re going to get on your hands and knees in a crawling position. I would add ‘slowly’ to those last instructions, but I imagine your legs are fairly weak at this point, so I don’t think that part will be an issue. Once you’re on your knees, you’re going to crawl toward the grotto entrance—the place where I’ve been entering and exiting. Are things clear so far?”

  Danny was wide awake now and staring at the woman alertly. He was abstractly scared and angry, but his fear and anger were overwhelmed by hunger and dehydration.

  He nodded.

  “Once we’re on the beach, there will be further instructions.” She paused. “And at that point, you can have this.”

  Lynn Shields pulled a sandwich from her bag. It was thick and round and tightly wrapped in cellophane, and Danny could see the ham and lettuce and smudges of mayonnaise pressing up against the store-bought casing. He could feel his salivary glands trying to react, but the moisture simply wasn’t there.

  “Let’s go.”

  Lynn cut the first rope free, and
from that point, the rest of the plan went without incident. Within a few minutes, she and Danny Lynch were standing on the dark beach with a steady rain falling around them. The rainfall had increased slightly over the last few minutes, and it seemed intent on getting stronger as the morning approached.

  Lynn stood about eight feet away from her prisoner, the gun pointed at his chest, watching him devour the convenience store sandwich like a circus geek who had just been tossed a fish head.

  “We’re going to take a trip, Danny.”

  Her prisoner glanced up for just a moment, his mouth full and eyes wild, and then returned his focus to the sandwich. He reminded Lynn of some predator on the savannah, teeth deep into a fresh kill, unable to be torn from its food except when its perimeter has been pressed too closely by some brave scavenger.

  Danny swallowed the last of the sandwich in a giant gulp and then uttered, “Water.”

  Lynn had the flashlight in one hand and the pistol in the other. She had placed the two duffle bags, one of which contained the remaining water bottle, in the boat in preparation for their excursion. “Come on,” she said, “it’s in the boat. You take a couple of swigs, and then you’re going to drag that thing down to the water.” Lynn nodded once toward the vessel.

  “And food. Is there any more food?”

  “You keep cooperating like you’re doing and we’ll see.”

  Lynn waved the gun toward the boat and waited for Danny to pass her, and then followed behind him at an arm’s reach. The runner seemed incapable even of thinking about dissent at this point, so focused was he still on his immediate physiological needs. But still, she needed to be careful.

  “There, in that one on the left. There’s water in that one. Be real slow though, Danny.”

  The rain was falling heavily now, and water was accumulating quickly in the hull of the boat. She’d made a mistake by removing the tarp beforehand, but she hadn’t wanted to waste any more time than was necessary when this moment arrived. Now those meager saved seconds would be swallowed up and multiplied waiting for the boat to drain.

  She watched Danny as he rummaged in the duffel bag, moving so slowly he seemed to be falling in and out of sleep. “What is taking so long?”

  Danny stood up slowly with this back to Lynn, and then turned toward her, his movements zombielike. As he stood in the beam, Lynn could see that his motions matched his look, which appeared close to death. His eyes were barely open and he was wavering in the storm, the duffel bag hanging limply in his hand by his side. Had she really malnourished him that much that quickly? He seemed relatively well in the cave, considering, but perhaps the sudden requirement of effort had taken some grave toll on his body.

  He opened his mouth now and let the rainwater fall haphazardly into his mouth. “Food?

  “You said water. That bag in your hand has the water.”

  The runner looked down at his hand and stared at it, confused.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, we don’t have time for this.”

  Lynn waved the gun toward the other bag on the stern seat, and then she let her hand hang down in frustration past her hip so that the gun was vertical by her thigh. She took a step towards the boat and scoffed as she illuminated the duffel with the flashlight.

  “It’s there!” she screamed.

  Lynn had formed an insult about her prisoner’s intelligence in her brain, but before she could send the thought across her lips, she felt the smash of the water-bottle-filled duffel across her face.

  DANNY WAS INDEED DESPERATE—HUNGRY and tired—and the sandwich tasted as remarkable as he had hoped. But the mannerisms he made while ravaging the meal were exaggerated, inspired by movies where the dead became alive and, for some unknown reason, decided to become cannibals. There was no real vision attached to his ravenous actions, at least in terms of an end goal, but he had to try something, vaguely hoping that his odd behavior would lead to some type of distraction. All he needed was a moment, one tiny window when the guard came down and he could take his shot, in whatever form that presented itself.

  “We’re going to take a trip Danny.” Lynn said, her voice hinting at something not quite sympathetic, but not altogether evil either.

  Danny assumed the ‘trip’ Lynn was planning was to be some type of short ocean voyage, launched from these shores in the boat that lie on the sand before him, and ending with his dead body being dumped overboard somewhere off the stormy coast of Rove Beach.

  But he vowed not to leave the world like that.

  If he was going to die tonight, it was going to be on the sand of this beach, his body pocked with bullet holes. What this crazy bitch did with his corpse afterward was out of his control. Whatever his fate was to be, though, Danny had no intentions of making it easy.

  “Water,” he said, straining his voice just enough to be heard above the rain.

  “Come on, it’s in the boat. You take a couple of swigs, and then you’re going to drag that thing down to the water.”

  Danny was damn thirsty, but he knew this answer from Lynn Shields was the opportunity he was looking for, and even if it turned out to be unsuccessful, it was the only one he was likely to get.

  “And food. Is there any more food?” Danny thought this additional request was a nice touch, if he did say so himself. He thought it made him sound delirious, broken.

  “You keep cooperating like you’re doing and we’ll see.”

  He moved slowly to the boat, slower than he’d been moving at any time up to this point. His leg hurt and he was exhausted, but not quite to the extent he was showing. He reached the boat and stopped directly in front of it, maintaining his bewildered act throughout.

  “There, in that one on the left. There’s water in that one. Be real slow though, Danny.”

  Danny reached into the hull and felt the heft of the duffel immediately. He placed his hand inside the bag and then exhaled silently, closing his eyes and smiling as he wrapped his hand around the full bottle of water. The taut label and bulge of plastic at the neck and shoulders felt as divine as any woman’s body he’d ever known.

  The bottle had yet to be opened, and, of course, the fullness of it was key. Had even a little bit of water been drunk from it, the plastic of the bottle would give upon impact and the effectiveness of the blow would be diminished.

  But this bottle was beautiful—factory-sealed and lethal.

  “What is taking so long?”

  This was the decisive moment. If Danny stood and turned too quickly, or even looked a touch too alert while holding the bag in his hand, the woman was likely to shoot him dead. Danny didn’t know much about Lynn Shields, but he did know one thing undoubtedly: she would not hesitate to kill him.

  He involuntarily summoned the feelings of a prisoner of war, or as close to that destitution as he could get without ever experiencing the horror himself. He turned to the woman and looked past her, as if so close to the end that he was unable even to focus on the imminent murderer before him. He let his lips open and his tongue fall out to taste the rain.

  “Food?”

  “You said water. That bag in your hand has the water.”

  Danny heard the frustration immediately. The fish was on the line, now it was time to reel her in. He looked down at his hand, morphing his face into one of pain and disorder.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, we don’t have time for this.”

  And there it was. She’d lost control, just as he suspected she would, and as Danny watched the hand holding the gun drop to the woman’s hip, he gripped the neck of the duffel with all the might to which his fingers would consent. He held the bag like a hammer, the head of which was a 16.9 ounce bottle of Dasani.

  The woman took a step toward him, and Danny swung like Thor.

  Chapter 16

  “Hi, my name is Sarah Needler. I’m looking for your aunt.”

  Tracy Amato squinted at the woman who was standing outside her door, a look of confusion and irritation draped across her face. “What...what time
is it?”

  It was just past 6:30 in the morning and it was raining like hell. “It’s almost 7.”

  It hadn’t taken long for Sarah to track down Lynn Shields’ niece; she was well known in Rove Beach, as well as in her adjacent hometown of Portsmouth. But Sarah had told herself one more day, that was it, and then she’d start looking for Danny.

  “Did you try her house?” Tracy asked.

  “There was no answer.” Sarah hadn’t tried approaching Lynn Shields, having experienced the pointlessness of that during her interview ten years ago. She thought of driving by her residence, perhaps doing a quick walk around the oceanside house to scope it out, but after finding out that her niece was a frequent guest there, Sarah decided the inroad through her would be a bit less rocky.

  Tracy continued her bewildered stare at Sarah, still groggy with sleep, and then a glean of recognition appeared in her eyes. She scoffed and shook her head slowly. “This is about that picture in yesterday’s paper, isn’t it? I can’t believe it. Mark was right. He told me this was going to happen. This is just great.”

  “It...kind of is about that, yes.” Lynn replied, slightly impressed with the girl’s instincts. “Why would you assume that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because in twenty three years no one has ever come to my door—certainly not before sunrise—asking about Aunt Lynn. And now today, the day after some weird sea monster pops up in the paper, here you are.”

  “But what does she have to do with the picture in the paper?” Sarah, of course, suspected quite a bit about what Lynn Shields’ had to do with it—after all, she was at her niece’s door asking questions—but years of experience had taught Sarah that when you had a talker on the line, you let ‘em talk. “Has she seen it too?”

  “I don’t know about that, but I heard way too many stories growing up to know that if anyone in this state knows about a sea monster off the Carolina coast, it’s Lynn Shields. She has, like, a cult thing about stuff like that.”