Silver Light (Alexis Silver Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  Lorraine laughs. “Where are you planning to take her to swim?”

  “Lake Washington. I’ll need to get her a wet suit though; the water’s cold, even in July.”

  “I’m surprised she wants to go anywhere near water after everything that’s happened, but maybe it’ll be good for her. I don’t want her staying in too long though.”

  “I agree, and wasn’t planning on more than an hour,” I say. “I’ve been diving for a long time.”

  Licinia chuckles.

  “As long as she’s still willing to go, I don’t have a problem with it,” says Lorraine.

  “‘Kay. Be there as soon as I can.” I hang up and rush upstairs to my bedroom to get dressed.

  An hour and some minutes later, after a brief exploration of my house, Hannah emerges from a downstairs bathroom in her new kid-sized wetsuit―black with hot pink patches down the outsides of the arms and insides of the legs. Everything but her face, hands, and feet is covered. I’d have gotten her flippers, but I intend to be providing most of her propulsion. A facemask and a small silver air tank complete her outfit.

  She bounces with excitement, wearing a grin far too big for a kid who watched her parents stabbed to death a month ago. Guess little girls really do love mermaids to bits. I smile and ruffle her hair. And yeah, I found a cheesy seashell-bikini top online. It’s far from comfortable, and not made of real seashells, but Hannah seems to adore it. The skirt I intend to leave on the dock as soon as I shift. No need to worry about impropriety with a fishy tail.

  Hannah takes my hand and we walk out across my backyard to the small dock extending off the backyard. It’s empty since I have little need of boats. We sit at the end and let our legs dangle over, and I take a few minutes to coach her on the breathing mask.

  “If anything happens, if you get scared, make two fists and bump them together. I’ll take you right up and out of the water.”

  “Okay,” she chimes. “Are you gonna turn into a mermaid now?”

  That’s the only thing she’s been thinking about since I picked her up from her grandparents’ house. She bubbled with excitement at the sporting goods store, inches from shouting, ‘I’m gonna go swimming with a mermaid.’ Maybe I should’ve let her, people would’ve thought about those women who dress up and do shows.

  You are quite stringent in your secrecy. Most humans dismiss things they can’t explain quite easily when there’s a ready explanation that makes more sense.

  Perhaps.

  “Okay. Here we go.” I grin at her, move my legs together, and shift.

  Hannah goes wide-eyed, mouth open. Her breathing mask falls, dangling in front of her. “Wow… You’re so pretty. It’s like all the colors.” She looks back and forth from my face to my tail. “Can I touch your tail?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She puts a fingertip on my tail, then two, then a whole hand. “You’re cold.”

  “So is the ocean. That’s why I don’t need a wetsuit.”

  The child stares at me as if I said something dumb. “They don’t make wetsuits in mermaid size anyway.”

  Laughing, I unclip my skirt and pull it off over my head. Much easier to reach than the end of a ten-foot tail.

  Hannah bounces with glee.

  I grab the dock on either side of my scaly butt and lift myself off, sliding into the water. Hannah pulls down her facemask, puts the air hose in her mouth again, and jumps. While she doggy paddles, I take a few minutes making sure her air tank and mask are in working order, then we go under.

  “Can you hear me?” I ask.

  She blows bubbles and tries to talk with a mouth full of air hose. It takes her a second to realize talking won’t work before she nods.

  “You’re wondering how I can talk underwater?”

  Hannah continues nodding.

  “Mermaid magic.” I wink.

  A burst of delight radiates from her.

  I grasp her hand and tug her along a little deeper, not too fast. She’s enthralled by my tail and fins, trying to swim around me while reaching out to feel each one of my extra frills, both decorative and functional. Eventually, once she starts paying some attention to the world around her, I take us down a little farther and we visit a fishing boat that probably sank when I had been human. A vast amount of growth covers it, and it has become home to a myriad of creatures.

  Hannah’s more interested in swimming and doing ‘mermaid stuff,’ than exploring the wreck, so I take her off in a circuitous path going nowhere. She starts pointing forward emphatically.

  “Something over there?”

  She shakes her head and jabs her finger into the water again.

  “You want to go that way?”

  Head shake.

  I believe the child is asking you to show her how fast you can go.

  “Go faster?”

  Hannah nods, a billowing cloud of blonde around her head.

  “Okay, hop on my back and hold on tight.”

  She swims around behind me and grabs around my neck, becoming a backpack made of child. No chance in hell am I going to hit full speed while towing a human I’m not intending to kill. Dracula had been way different. That man could probably survive a direct hit from a battleship’s main gun and walk away with a small smudge on his suit.

  I grasp her arms with one hand and accelerate well beyond the speed a person could swim without motorized assistance. We’re going fast enough that the water is likely pressing her facemask into her head, so I ease off a bit and skim closer to the lakebed so it appears like we’re going faster than we are.

  A distorted, happy wail fills her air hose.

  After a brief ‘sprint,’ I slow again and pull her around in front of me for a routine check. I’ve been doing them every five-ish minutes. This time, she’s shivering and her lips are going blue, so we’re about done.

  “You’re getting too cold.”

  She whines, but nods before holding my hand. Dammit. Her lack of protest worries me. As much fun as she’s having, I expected the ‘no, I wanna swim more’ routine. She must be cold, and know it. I tuck her close to my chest and protect her with my body so I can go a little faster on the way up. We skim a few feet beneath the surface toward my house.

  Once we’re back, I boost her up out of the water onto the dock before pulling myself up to sit on the edge. She spits out the air hose and makes a sour face. Her teeth chatter, her toes curl, and she wraps her arms around herself.

  “My mouth tastes like rubber,” says Hannah before sticking out her tongue. “Bleah.”

  I laugh while pulling my skirt down over my head and buttoning it in place.

  “Thank you for the swim.” Hannah hugs me. “Mermaids are cool! You’re really pretty.”

  “Aww, thanks.” I shift my lower half once more to human legs. “You need a warm shower and a nice, soft towel.”

  “‘Kay.”

  I get up and take her hand again. “Once you’re warmed up and dry, would you like to go get lunch? I know a place with great ice cream.”

  Hannah squeals and races to the bathroom.

  You’re spoiling her.

  What? A little ice cream isn’t spoiling anyone.

  Mm hmm. Oh, by the way, you should go help her get the water temperature right so she doesn’t burn herself. She’s only eight.

  Right. Duh.

  This kid thing is going to be tricky.

  onday.

  Mondays ought to be outlawed.

  I hate them, and I don’t even have a nine-to-five. Everything bad always seems to happen on a Monday. In this case, Rachel called. The pair of them want to talk later. Great. Wonderful.

  At 10:02 a.m., I step up on the treadmill next to Trisha.

  “Morning, sweetie.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “You look troubled,” says Trisha.

  I turn the dial up to a light jog. “I come seeking enlightenment, O wise one.”

  She smirks. I suppose being sixty-five with the last name Buda, she’s h
eard every possible joke imaginable. Still, for whatever reason, she tolerates them from me.

  “What troubles you, my child?” She waves her arms out to the sides and draws them close, putting her hands together in front of her chest. “Speak and be enlightened.”

  She’s in a good mood. It’s rare for her to roll with the Buddha shtick without at least a smirk. “Case became a weirder case. I’m not sure how to handle it.”

  “Are you being asked to break the law?” Trisha’s bouncy stride makes her treadmill squeak each time her feet come down.

  I speed up a little more. “Not so much as being asked… but to possibly ignore someone else breaking the law.”

  “You’re not a police officer. No sworn duty to uphold and protect. Of course, I’d avoid actively committing a crime if I were you.” She glances at me. “It’s not murder, is it?”

  I wag my head side to side, making my hair sway back and forth. “I don’t know that much yet.”

  Trisha nods while I explain what I know about Eric Moss. His friends are far from organized. Whatever they’ve gotten into is probably fairly low brow, and high stupidity. My intuition is saying they’re going to steal something and want to take it out of town by boat.

  “I think you should explore the situation more before making a decision,” says Trisha. “If the guy hasn’t yet done anything illegal, try to help him out. They sound like a nice couple, but they ought to trust each other more.”

  “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

  We run in silence. I lean on the handrail, staring down at the endless black belt scrolling under my sneakers. As a girl, I’d been happy to have shoes at all when I finally got some. These days, I’ve got a closet full of them. Some I’ve only worn once. My current sneakers, I only wear when I come here.

  I wonder how Trisha would get along with the Stricklands. Dare I mix my worlds like that? She serves a specific need, answers a specific connection. My friend. Or, ‘Mom’ as she likes me to call her. Yeah, I miss my mother. Maybe I need a person like Trisha to fill that gap.

  Still, the treadmill belt goes on and on.

  “Lately, everything I do feels just like this treadmill,” I say in an airy, resigned voice.

  “Oh?” Trisha pulls out her headphones and looks over. “How’s that?”

  “Running as fast as I can and not getting anywhere.”

  She tilts her head. “What happened with that missing guy thing?”

  “His business partner killed him while they were out on a boat. Killed the wife too. Little girl survived, but she saw her mother die. Got away on a life raft.” I explain the tangled mess of Troy, Vernon, and the sale to Microsoft. “Estate lawyers are brokering the sale, last I hear. Kid’ll get a nice bit of change, but without Troy and David’s skills being part of the deal, nowhere near what they could’ve gotten.”

  “Foreclosure sale, eh? Whole house at a fraction of the price.” Trisha emits a sad chuckle.

  “Yeah, something like that. Damndest thing is, they can’t find the two thugs who tried to shoot me.”

  “Probably skipped town when Vernon turned himself in,” says Trisha, not missing a stride. “So, the kid’ll be set for life?”

  “Couple hundred grand at least, maybe even a million or a touch past it. Technically, the money’s going into David’s estate, which she’s inheriting. It’ll sit in a trust she can’t touch until eighteen, except for tuition, medical care, or ‘necessary life expenses.’”

  “Ahh.” Trisha grins. “Guess the little princess won’t be blowing her allowance at Starbucks.”

  “Hey.” I scoff, tossing my hair with overacted flair. “That is a necessary life expense.”

  “Bah.” Trisha swats the air in my direction. “You kids. I don’t know what you see in that mermaid.”

  “Mermaids have ancient, mystical powers.” I examine my nails.

  “Do they now?” She grins.

  I move up to a full run, grinning. “Yep, they do. In days of old, they could lure men to their deaths upon the rocks. In modern times, they lure millennials to spend $6 on a single cup of coffee.”

  Trisha throws her head back and laughs.

  I can’t help myself but giggle along with her.

  All right. I decide to go see what Rachel and Eric have to say later.

  Maybe I can stop him from doing something stupid before I have to do something stupid.

  achel answers the door at the Moss’ home, her face flushed and her t-shirt on backward. I can’t help myself but smile as it’s pretty obvious what I interrupted. She’s a touch out of breath and doesn’t say anything as she backs up and invites me in with a wave.

  I slip past her into the living room. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I’ve decided to help Eric with his miscreant problem, but I have a few questions for him, and I’d like to make sure he’s comfortable with my methods.”

  “Okay.” Rachel follows me to the living room, lingering in the hallway for a second to call Eric. She sits on the sofa.

  He appears within a few seconds of me taking a seat on a recliner catty-corner to the sofa. He’s got a dark blue robe on, probably nothing under it. They exchange a glance, clearly interested in getting back to it as soon as possible. I’m sure he had a rather inflexible reason for not emerging from the bedroom sooner.

  “I won’t take too much of your time.” I smile at Eric as he lowers himself next to her and takes her hand. “Those friends of yours…”

  “We used to be friends back in high school. I haven’t seen much of them since we graduated. I went off to college and they, uhh, didn’t.”

  A smile replaces the laugh I resist. “I kinda had that feeling. So, I’m sure you’ve already figured out that their agreement to leave you out of their affairs in the future is probably only going to last as long as it takes for Bobby to come up with another ‘amazing’ idea.”

  Eric fidgets, looking down. “Yeah. Those guys used to be cool, but they’re different now.”

  “You don’t know what they’re planning other than needing your boat?”

  He shakes his head.

  “All right, that’s probably better then. They won’t connect what’s about to happen to them back to you.” I cross my legs and lace my fingers together, hands perched on my knee. “There’s two ways I can go about making this problem vanish. One’s quite a bit more permanent and I’m not really inclined to take things that far. The best outcome for everyone concerned is for your friends to be intercepted by the police before you are involved.”

  Color drains from Eric’s face, but he nods. “I keep thinking of them like we used to hang out at my parents’ place. Bobby still looks the same, except for his tattoos. But, yeah, I don’t want them dead. I never wanted them dead.”

  “Perfect.” I smile. “We’re on the same page then. I got the sense the little guy’s the one running things, so I’ll need his full name, and his address if you have it.”

  He squeezes Rachel’s hand and sighs. “I hate ratting my friends out. It ain’t right.”

  She rubs his back, giving him the old ‘you need to do this, baby’ stare.

  “You’re not ratting them out. You don’t even know what they’re doing. It might be nothing, but nothing doesn’t usually need a midnight boat ride out of the United States. You’re not a criminal, Eric. Whatever your choice is, you’re the one who has to live with it.” I pause for a few seconds, giving them my most sympathetic look. “I’m only the hired help. If you’d prefer I forget about this, all you have to do is ask.”

  “No, no… it’s all right. His name’s Bobby Kowalski. Last I heard, he had a place in McMicken Heights. Used to belong to his grandparents, but they left it to him when they died. South 175th Street. He might not be there…”

  “It’s something to check.” I type some notes in on my phone.

  “No one’s gonna get hurt, Eric.” Rachel grins at me, then him. Wow… she’s so different when she trusts him. Much more alive. I wonder if they’re soulmate
s.

  Doubtful, says Licinia. But they are a cute couple.

  Eric stares into space and drones on in a near monotone. “The other guys are Wayne, umm, Banks, and Mike Penn.”

  “Scraggly beard guy is Penn?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” Eric nods.

  Rachel leans against him. “You asked them to leave you out of it, but they wouldn’t listen.”

  “All right. Hopefully, that will be enough to buy you at least twenty years without worrying about being drawn into an illegal scheme.” I stand and give them a knowing wink. “I’ll let myself out.”

  There’s a little beige house hidden in a cluster of trees off South 175th. My GPS is calling the city “SeaTac,” probably because I could spit and hit the airport from here. Bobby’s home sits to the left of a small garage that’s in dire need of new paint, and the little window to the right of a four-fold door is smashed in, some time ago from the look of it. Someone’s small red pickup truck is putting down roots in front of it; the poor thing’s been there so long, the grass is absorbing it. Someone has mowed around the truck more than once.

  Even from the street, I can smell weed and something else. Meth smoke? Bobby didn’t look like he did meth, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold it or hung out with people who used. I feel bad for his grandparents; surely, they never expected their cute little blond grandson to turn into a drug fiend… and do it in their house.

  I don’t see any ghosts, says Licinia.

  Small comforts.

  I cross a front yard of brown, dead grass with a wilting burgundy shrub near the street. Fair bet anyone inside this place is still sleeping at not quite ten in the morning. Since it’s right in front of me, I walk up to the little garage and peer in the broken window. Three tables are covered with dropcloths, and the place reeks of chemicals. Big mystery what goes on in here. I’m astounded these dumbasses haven’t been caught yet. I’m getting more upset at what Bobby’s doing to his grandparents than Eric. Oh well.

  Circling the property brings me past a handful of windows. One, between the house and the garage, has no curtains. Two bare mattresses lay on the floor, supporting four people. One looks like Wayne, who’s passed out in boxers. A pink-haired woman in her early twenties lays draped across him, also in her underwear. The other mattress holds two guys who probably weigh about 180 pounds together, both fully dressed. Drug paraphernalia litters the rug between the mattresses, though a large joint still dangles from Wayne’s fingers. The relative health in his face hints that he avoids the ‘nasty stuff.’ The two on the other bed, not so much.