by Steve Alten
The courtroom buzzed with opinion.
“So you decided to go fishing without him?”
“Yes.”
“In a rowboat?”
“That’s correct.”
“Had you ever been out on the Loch in a boat alone?”
“Once or twice.”
“Tell us what happened to you on this particular occasion.”
“Oh, and did I mention the waitress he was with was a minor? They should’ve arrested your client back then. If you ask me, he’s got a lot of nerve judging Mr. Cialino.”
The judged banged his gavel. “Direct your replies only to counsel’s question, Dr. Wallace.”
“My boat flipped over, and I drowned, as in I was legally dead. Lucky for me, the water bailiff at the time, Mr. Alban MacDonald, was in the area and saw what happened. He dragged me aboard his boat and resuscitated me. Literally brought me back to life.”
More murmurs filled the courtroom.
“Let’s talk about what happened while you were out on the Loch. How did your rowboat happen to flip?”
“It was struck by a tree.”
“A tree?”
“That’s right, Mr. Rael. As most real Highlanders know, Loch Ness was once surrounded by great forests of Scots pine. When these one-ton trees fell into the Loch, they became waterlogged and sank to the bottom, more than seven hundred feet down. In these great depths, the pressure increases to about twenty-five atmospheres, roughly sixteen hundred pounds per square inch, enough to power a steam engine. The composition of the Scots pine is high in petrochemicals. As the trees decay, tiny gas bubbles form inside the trunk. Eventually, the bubbles reach a point where the pressure within the log is greater than that of the depths, and the tree begins to rise. The higher it rises, the less the pressure, and suddenly the log becomes a frothing projectile that literally explodes out of the water.”
‘And that’s what struck your boat?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain of that? Because according to your testimony, you drowned.”
“I drowned after my boat was struck. It was a log.”
“Then you saw the log as it struck the boat?”
Images suddenly blinked in my brain—subliminal images straight out of my night terrors.
Black water, fog rolling in. The sky suddenly gone topsy-turvy, the rowboat exploding upward, flipping bow over stern.
“Dr. Wallace?”
“No, I ... I never actually saw the log, but I felt its impact.”
“Perhaps then, it was something else altogether, something much larger? Something alive—”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Stop leading the witness, Mr. Rael.”
“My apologies, my lord. Dr. Wallace, what happened after your rowboat flipped? Dr. Wallace?”
Black water, paralyzing cold. Kick to the surface, limbs trembling. Tread water, so much fog. Which way to swim?
“Dr. Wallace, are you still with us?”
“Uh, yes, sorry. What was the question?”
“Your rowboat flipped and?”
“And I went under, then I surfaced. I was freezing, but I couldn’t see the shoreline, it was too foggy. So I treaded water and yelled for help.”
“I understand there were salmon in the water. A whole school?”
“Salmon?”
The water frothing with salmon, the fish battering my legs and buttocks.
“There were fish, yes. It’s ... it’s possible they followed the tree up from the depths. Fish’ll do that sometimes.”
Max leaned in. “Then what happened?”
Sharp pain, like a thousand stabbing daggers ...
“Something stabbed me ... something below the surface. Coils of barbed wire had wrapped around the log, probably the remains of a decaying farm fence. My left ankle got snagged. As the log re-sank, its weight dragged me under with it.”
“Barbed wire?”
“Yes.”
“You saw the barbed wire?”
“Of course not, it was too dark and deep, but the fencing entangled me pretty good, stripped the skin clear off of me.”
“That sounds positively frightening. You still have the scars?”
“Some. I had to have a skin graft.”
“Would you mind showing us the scars, Dr. Wallace?”
The judge and jury leaned forward as I removed my left shoe and sock, revealing a tiny ring of scars that encircled my left ankle, the skin noticeably devoid of hair.
“The plastic surgeon did a nice job. Still, how can you be sure the wound was caused by barbed wire?”
“The physician who initially treated me certified it in his report. There were heavy traces of rust around the edges of the wound.”
“I see. And is it at all possible an animal might have bitten your leg, Dr. Wallace?”
A nauseous feeling simmered in my belly as more images from my night terrors blinked in and out of my mind’s eye.
Black water. Sinking faster. Struggle ... kick ... twist, must break free.
“Dr. Wallace?”
“No.”
“No, it’s not possible, or no you don’t remember?”
Deeper ... suffocating ... ears ringing from the pressure. Suddenly free! Go, Zack ... swim away! Get to the light!
“Dr. Wallace?”
The migraine’s wave of pain was rising higher by that time, and it was going to be a tsunami. Reaching into my pants pocket, I fished out two Zomig and swallowed them, praying they’d shunt off the coming disaster.
“Answer the question, Dr. Wallace.”
“There was no water creature, Mr. Rael,” I said, my eyeballs beginning to throb.
“Let’s go back a moment, Dr. Wallace. You said you took the rowboat out yourself to go fishing, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“With the new reel your father had given you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you leave your new fishing rod on the shore?”
“I, uh ... what did you say?” A chill ran down my spine.
“The fishing rod. Your father found it onshore after you’d been rescued. You never brought it out with you.”
“He did? I ... I don’t—”
“Why were you really out on the Loch, Dr. Wallace? Were you trying to prove something to your father?”
The courtroom began tilting in my vision.
“What was it you were really searching for?”
The judge leaned over to me. “Are you all right, Dr. Wallace? You’ve gone quite pale.”
I wiped cold sweat from my brow. “It’s a migraine. I get them sometimes. This one’s real bad.”
“You don’t like to discuss your drowning incident, do you, Dr. Wallace?” Max cooed. “It’s painful for you. It causes the migraines to worsen, yeah?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded.
“Still, we must discuss this frightening chapter in your childhood in order to get to the truth, in order to determine your father’s guilt or innocence. Let’s go back to the water creature your father described under oath. He claimed it was at least fifteen meters long. That would give it the length and bite radius of a small whale, am I right?”
I looked up at him, the spots in my eyes nearly blinding me. “It was barbed wire that snagged my ankle, Mr. Rael. Not a whale or serpent or monster. Barbed wire!”
“And was it barbed wire that nearly swallowed you in half?”
“What?”
“It rose up after you, didn’t it? You managed to twist yourself free, but it rose up after you, then snagged you a second time as you fled to the surface. Only this time it took you about the waist, just like it did poor John Cialino!”
My head erupted, and so did the courtroom. The two prosecutors were on their feet, yelling their objections in order to be heard over the crowd, while the judge whacked his gavel over and over, each earsplitting clap sending splinters of pain shooting through my brain as he futilely attempted to regain c
ontrol of the proceedings.
It was a free-for-all, and I was at the center of the storm.
Barely able to tolerate the jabbing eye pain, I laid my pounding head upon the ledge of the witness box and swallowed great gulps of air, trying my best to quell the volcano of bile gurgling in my gut as long-dormant memories from my childhood continued to burst across my mind’s eye.
Free! Race for the surface, faster ... faster ... A presence ...rising from the depths beneath me! Swim faster! Ignore the pain, kick harder ... A light! Get to the light ... get to the light!
I clutched my head, pleading to the judge for mercy, “My lord, I need a recess.”
Angus stood and yelled, “Order him tae lower his troosers, Maxie! His waist’ll still be scarred by Nessie’s bite!”
An officer of the court shoved Angus back in his chair as the judge beat his gavel again. “Another outburst like that, Mr. Wallace, and I shall have you bound and gagged. Mr. Rael—”
Max motioned to Angus to stay calm. “My apologies, my lord.”
“Mr. Rael, finish your questions now, or I shall dismiss the witness to seek medical attention.”
“Yes, of course. Dr. Wallace, on or about your ninth birthday, was there any construction going on at Loch Ness? Dr. Wallace?”
“I have no idea,” I muttered through the pain.
“In fact, Dr. Wallace, the record shows that a new layby was being blasted at Urquhart Castle, expanding the parking lot from twelve spaces to its present forty-seven. Did you not know that?”
I bit my tongue and swallowed, fighting to keep the bile from rising up my throat.
“Dynamite, Dr. Wallace. By your own theory, an agitator to large predators living in ...”
Had God granted me one wish at that moment, I’d have requested a gun. My first shot would have struck Maxie between the eyes, stifling his incessant voice, the second and third bullets reserved for Angus and that pompous judge. The rest of the clip would be dedicated to my throbbing head, ending my misery, once and for all.
But I had no gun, all I had was intense pain and anger.
Judge Hannam was about to add humiliation to the list. “Dr. Wallace, we’ll take a recess and get you some medical attention in just one minute, but first, I’m going to ask you to lower your trousers, just a bit, for the jury.”
“What?”
The jury leaned forward, mentally salivating, the visitors hunching up in their seats.
I swallowed hard. “Your honor, this is absurd!”
“You’re wearing boxers, yes?”
“Yes, but—”
“I agree it’s unorthodox, but I mean to put an end to Mr. Rael’s antics before this murder trial turns into a search for the Loch Ness monster.”
The shadow ascends beneath me, homing in on the trail of blood. It rises higher, I can feel its presence around my knees, I can hear it growling in my ears ... oh, Jesus, get to the light, Zachary! Get to the light!
“Clear the courtroom,” said the judge, turning to his Court Macer. “Everyone but the jury, the accused, and the prosecutors.”
The migraine was skewering my eyes, the Macer moving too damn slow. No one wanted to leave, and I was beyond desperate, the images and the migraine causing my entire body to tremble.
To hell with them!
Standing upon my chair on quivering legs, I unbuckled my trousers, then ceremoniously yanked my pants and boxers down six inches, allowing the High Court of Inverness to ogle my waistline, revealing to one and all, the hideous line of two-inch purple scars that encircled the fleshy upper region of my buttocks.
The Diary of Sir Adam Wallace
Translated by Logan W. Wallace
« ^ »
Entry: 23 October 1330
Whit have I done, whit course err’d that has led me to this evil place an’ oor impossible task? I try tae write, but is it night or day, I dinnae ken ... I canna think, my mind overcome by darkness an’ the madness o’ oor mission.
We had set off again at dawn, or close tae it, as the valley remained hidden in clouds. Each Knight bore a heavy pack on his back, mysel’ included, though I didnae ken the contents, only enough no’ tae ask. MacDonald seemed sullen, but determined, as we followed the eastern bank o’ Loch Ness, movin’ steadily south.
An hour later, we arrived at oor intended destination ... or so I thought.
It wis a hillock o’ rock, its location set back a bit frae the shoreline, at a place jist north o’ where the waters doubled in breadth. MacDonald ordered six o’ us tae roll one o’ its boulders, revealin’ a hole in the ground. It wis the entrance to a cave, its mooth only wide enough tae allow one man at a time tae descend intae its darkness.
Where it led tae? I wid soon find oot.
MacDonald assigned oor formation, keepin’ me between himsel’ an’ Sir Iain Stewart. We secured oorselves in this single file by lengths o’ rope, then lit oor torches an’ lowered oorselves backwards, one by one, intae the darkness o’ mother earth.
Havin’ ne’er been in a cave, I wis quite excited, but quickly, the ground beneath my feet dropped away, becomin’ a narrow crevice. Twis as if God had cut a jagged slice in the earth wi’ his sword. Every treacherous step took us away frae the day until it finally disappeared, each o’ us kent only by his tug an’ the light o’ his torch. I fell several times frae dizziness an’ fatigue, but MacDonald an’ Stewart were aye there tae catch me, assurin’ me that as long as the torches remained lit, we’d be a’right.
I cannae say how long we journeyed, nor how deep, but quickly the ravine widened too far an’ plunged at too harsh an angle for us tae walk, so that noo we had tae lower oorselves by rope, one by one, tae the next crags below. Fortunately, MacDonald had appointed two fine guides tae lead us, Reef Cook an’ his younger brother, Alex, an’ it wis obvious that baith o’ them had followed oor intended route many a time.
We continued on like this for many hours, descendin’ doon this jagged elope intae Hell, oor heavy satchels threatenin’ tae cast us ower an unseen ledge intae oblivion.
Jist when it seemed my bloodied hands couldnae grapple any mair, we dropped doon tae a level plateau ... at the bottom o’ the gorge.
We rested, MacDonald pullin’ me aside. “Listen noo, Adam Wallace, can ye hear it?”
I could hear a dull roar, like distant thunder, comin’ frae the darkness tae my left. “Whit is it?”
“Loch Ness’s belly.”
After a brief respite, the brothers led us west through the darkness until we arrived at the entrance o’ a narrow tunnel, gusts o’ cold air howlin’ frae its mooth. One by one we entered, forced tae crawl on hands an’ knees. Mair than a dozen times I banged my heid against rock, the walls o’ the tunnel damp, the echo o’ rushin’ water growin’ louder wi’ each passin’ minute.
An’ then, finally, we arrived.
It wis a massive subterranean chamber, harborin’ an underground river, black an’ cold, its depths impossible tae fathom by the light o’ our torches. Thoosands o’ pointed rocks hung like fangs frae its vaulted ceilin’, an’ a steep wall along the opposite shoreline wis alive wi’ bats. The hideous animals scurried ower one another like winged vermin, wi’ several occasionally flyin’ off intae the darkness.
MacDonald offered answers afore I could organize my thoughts intae words. “The river flows frae the belly o’ the Loch tae the northeast for four leagues afore emptyin’ intae the sea.”
“An’ the cavern?’
“Forged by ice long afore men came tae these parts. This juncture marks the river’s narrowest point, an’ we shall use it tae complete our mission.”
“MacDonald, if we can access this passage, then the English can, too. An’ who among us wid remain in this Hellhole tae guard the Bruce’s keep?”
“Ah, but that is the beauty o’ the plan. We shall use the Guivre as oor appointed minions, an’ none, no’ even Longshanks, shall challenge them.”
“An’ whit are the Guivre?”
“Some
folk say they’re sea serpents, others describe them as dragons. Me, I call them the De’il himsel’. The head is that o’ a great gargoyle, wi’ teeth that can carve a man doon tae his bones. The females are feared the most as they grow the largest, as long as a belfry is high. Nasty creatures they are, but born intae darkness, they prefer the depths, away frae God-an’ man’s light.”
“An’ how are we tae use these creatures tae safeguard that which belonged tae the Bruce, an object the English King wid gie half his treasure tae capture?”
“This is the passage the young Guivre must traverse when they enter Loch Ness frae the Moray Firth. When they reach maturity, the adults must again follow the river and return tae the sea. By blockin’ the passage, we’ll keep the largest o’ the creatures frae leavin’, an’ Scotland’s Holy Grail shall be protected.”
As he spoke, the Templar Knights began unpackin’ their satchels, removin’ heavy lengths o’ flat irons, the kind used tae gate drawbridges.
MacDonald smiled at me, the madness aglow in his eyes.
An hour has past, an’ I rest noo by the fire, my body still weary frae oor descent. As others toil, boltin’ together the iron gate, I ponder the repercussions of MacDonald’s plan. Assumin’ these dragons even existed, whit wrath wid Nature bring doon upon our heads ...
Chapter 13 Quotes
« ^ »
My husband and I had just arrived at Strone Holiday Chalet near Urquhart Castle, overlooking the bay. We parked at the rear of the chalet and my husband paused from unloading the car to admire the view. That’s when he saw it! It was a long, dark object, its skin very slick. The two of us watched the object for about 30-45 seconds, until it slipped gently beneath the surface and disappeared.
Both my husband and I have seen seals and dolphins in the wild, and this object didn’t look like either. This was not a boat wake nor wind slick or any other dark shape often mistaken for Nessie. It was simply a very large, black animal.
—MRS. ROBERT CARTER, RESIDENT, MARSDEN, WEST YORKSHIRE, 19 SEPTEMBER 1998
