by Steve Alten
I signaled for a waitress.
"So Zack, what does one do after one returns from the dead?"
"Get drunk, become depressed, and return to the Highlands, what else?"
We laughed and talked and drank and ate and flirted. An hour later, we slipped out of the pub and walked half-drunk through the center of town, arm in arm, and I knew then that I had never loved Lisa, at least I had never been "in love" because what I was feeling now was like walking on air.
"Did True tell ye how I earn my wages?" she asked.
"He was vague. Something about working in Brackla."
"I run a tour boat from the docks o' the Clansman Hotel. It's a used Sea Angler, just over nine meters. Topside's got benches, enough tae accommodate sightseers, down below's where I live. Want tae see?"
It was the kind of line a man might wait his whole life to hear, but the thought of getting on a boat docked at night in Loch Ness sobered me up like a pot of coffee.
Still, this was love, and love (and lust) conquered all. So we climbed aboard the Harley and motored north on the A82, the howling wind in our hair, Brandy's nibbling on my earlobe driving me wild.
Brackla is a small hamlet located along the Loch's northwestern shore, approximately halfway between Drumnadrochit and Lochend. Its draw is the Clansman, the only hotel (save for Angus's new resort) situated directly on the banks of Loch Ness. The facility has twenty-eight suites, all offering panoramic views of the Loch, along with large dining rooms and halls that have hosted many a wedding and Scottish dinner dance.
Situated directly behind the Clansman Hotel was a rectangular inlet that served as a docking area for Loch Ness. Brandy's boat, the Nessie III, was tied off at the end of one of the piers. As we crossed over the wooden boardwalk that led to her berth, I could feel trepidation rising in my gut.
"So Zachary? What dae ye think?"
"That depends. What happened to the Nessie I and II?"
"Oh, the monster ate them," she teased, rubbing my groin.
I felt queasy. "Brandy, why don't we go back to the lodge and—"
"Come on, I'll give ye the tour." Ignoring my objections, she took my hand and dragged me aboard, reciting more obscure facts she had learned from her correspondence course. "Did ye know butterflies taste wi' their feet?"
White-washed wooden benches, set parallel to one another and nailed to the main deck, ran the length of the deck. Forward was the wheelhouse, its entry framed by a pair of doors. One guarded a sea toilet and sink, the other led below deck to Brandy's private quarters.
Fear pounded in my pulse as Brandy coaxed me below, pointing out the engine room, her galley, and the refurbished bathroom. And then she led me forward into her cabin, slipped out of her sandals, and kissed me hard on the lips.
Her Scotch-laced tongue flitted in my mouth as her hand unzipped the fly of my pants. I fumbled like an orangutan with the back of her bra, the clasps of which must have been welded shut.
"Let me." She reached behind her back and freed her breasts.
For a precious moment, my desire overcame my phobia… until the boat rose and dropped beneath a half-dozen wakes and the fear rose again in my gut, tossing ice water over my hard-on.
I jumped as she unbuckled my pants. "Brandy, wait, I… I can't do this."
"Why?" she purred. "Did yer knob perish on the Sargasso, too. Perhaps I'll have tae resuscitate it, yeah?"
"No!" My mind raced like a demon, not wanting a repeat of what had happened on South Beach. "I mean, your father… it's your father. He'll know I stayed with you tonight."
"Since when do you give a shyte what my old man thinks?"
"Since… since he saved my life. See, if I slept with you tonight, our first night together, I'd be disrespecting him, see? And that would ruin any chance we had with him later on."
"I don't care. I hate the bastard worse than you hate Angus, now take off yer clothes, I need tae feel you inside o' me."
The boat swayed beneath us again, and I panicked like a bear caught in a trap.
"What? Do ye no' want tae be wi' me then? Is that it?"
"No, I mean I do, I swear—"
"What's wrong then? Ye're as pale as a ghost, an' ye're tremblin'. Come on, we'll lie down."
"I… I need some air!" Pulling up my jeans, I tore up the steps, the main deck spinning in my head as I half leaped, half tumbled over the stern rail, landing awkwardly on the dock.
"Zachary Wallace, where do ye think ye're going?"
I looked back, the dark waters swirling on either side of me. "I'll call you! I'll come by tomorrow!"
Not waiting for a reply, I stumbled down the boardwalk until I made it back to the parking lot, then kept running until I reached a grove of trees.
Lying back against the trunk of a pine, I closed my eyes, my limbs trembling as I hyperventilated like a frightened deer.
Chapter 10 Quotes
… in the case of an island, or of a country partly surrounded by barriers, into which new and better adapted forms could not freely enter, we should then have places in the economy of nature which would assuredly be better filled up if some of the original inhabitants were in some manner modified; for, had the area been open to immigration, these same places would have been seized on by intruders. In such cases, slight modifications, which in any way favoured the individuals of any species, by better adapting them to their altered conditions, would tend to be preserved; and natural selection would have free scope for the work of improvement.
—CHARLES DARWIN, THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES, 1859
Chapter 10
Underwater… can't see… can't breathe. Cold, scared. Kick with the free leg, twist and kick, don't swallow. Throat burns, ears popping, suffocating, keep kicking… twist, struggle…
Free!
Swim, kick, my ankle hurts so bad. Gurgling growls… rising beneath me! Oh, God, Zachary… get to the light!
I lashed and kicked, tearing the sheets from the mattress, flinging the suffocating wool blanket from my face as I flew off the bed and barrel-rolled out the front door of the lodge cabin as if on fire.
Breathing, shaking, quivering, the mountain air chilling my sweat-soaked boxers and T-shirt, the cold helping me to awake.
You're okay… you're okay… you're okay.
I looked around, panting. The woods were quiet, the solitude heavy in the predawn light. And then my eyes caught movement.
It was old man MacDonald crossing through the forest. Seeing me, he paused, hiding behind a clump of birch trees.
"Mr. MacDonald?"
He refused to move, which was more than a little bizarre, so I decided to approach—anything to distance myself from the night terror.
"Get back tae yer cabin."
Ignoring his command, I moved closer.
He was dressed in an almost medieval-looking black surcoat, marked by a crimson-colored X that was woven around a heart- shaped emblem.
Splattered across the tunic was fresh blood.
"Mr. MacDonald, are you hurt?"
The old man hurried off, but I quickly overtook him. Grabbing his shoulder, I spun him around, only to be confronted with the business end of a double-edged sword, the gold-plated blade dripping with blood.
"Back off, young Wallace. My business is my ain affair, dae ye ken whit I mean?"
I was in no position to argue.
He stared at me for a long moment, then continued down the mountainous slope to his cabin.
* * *
Several hours later, still baffled by the surreal encounter with the Crabbit, I drove the Harley into the parking lot of the Clansman Hotel, then headed for the wharf to meet up with the old man's daughter.
I was armed with a bouquet of freshly cut flowers and a simple plan: Beg forgiveness, give her the flowers, then ask her to dinner in Inverness, hoping we'd end up in my hotel room.
I hesitated, then walked out onto the pier, the daylight easing last night's feelings of dread. As I approached the Nessie III, Brandy emerged from
the wheelhouse, dressed in a gray cotton sweat suit. "Well, look who it is? Thanks for a helluva night, lover."
"Can I at least explain?"
"I've a better idea. Why don't ye go make nice wi' my old man, 'cause I want nothin' tae do wi' you!"
"Brandy, wait!" I climbed aboard, quickly presenting her with the flowers. "For you. I picked them myself"
"Did ye now?" She inhaled the bouquet, then tossed them overboard. "I hate flowers. Flowers are what my bastard ex used tae give me while he banged my nurse."
"That won't ever happen with us!"
"Us? There is no us, now get off my boat."
"I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. We'll spend the day in Inverness. We'll go shopping, have some dinner—"
"I'm no goin' anywhere. I've a sold-out tour scheduled tae leave in forty minutes. Besides, ye cannae just bribe yer way back intae me heart, there's too much scar tissue." She pushed me toward the rail.
"Brandy, just hear me out. You're the first good thing that's happened to me in a long time, and I don't want to blow it."
"Should o' thought about that last night."
"Give me a second chance, I'll do anything."
She paused. "Anythin'?"
Uh-oh …
"Okay. Like I said, I've a full boat intae Fort Augustus. We do a good job, an' most'll book me for their return trip."
"We?"
"Ye said ye'd do anythin', now ye can play first mate. When we get back, ye'll help clean the boat, then ye can take me tae Inverness for dinner."
Before I could negotiate, she removed her hooded sweatshirt, revealing tanned curves barely concealed behind a heart-stopping black floss bikini.
My left brain rolled over as the right sealed the deal.
* * *
Forty minutes and a triple dose of prescription pills later, my brain was buzzing like a bee as I undid the Nessie III's bowline, allowing the overcrowded vessel to push away from the dock. There were twenty- three passengers on a boat that legally held eighteen, but for all I could tell, it could have been a hundred.
Too unbalanced to stand, I wedged myself on the starboard-facing bench between an American fellow named Clay Jordan, who was with his German wife and two young sons, and a chatty woman named Bibi Zekl, a bookstore clerk on holiday with her husband, Stefan. In no time, the Nessie III was puttering south along the Loch, all eyes, save mine, focused on the water as we approached Urquhart Bay.
Brandy was in the wheelhouse, playing both boat captain and tour guide. Over two badly crackling loudspeakers she announced, "Welcome to the Highlands. In Scotland, we call lakes "lochs", and the biggest and deepest is Loch Ness, at over thirty-six kilometers long. That's twenty-three miles to our American guests. From Tor Point south, she averages a mile wide, with depths over one hundred and eighty meters, or six hundred feet. Amazingly, Loch Ness is deeper than even the North Sea.
"We're approaching Urquhart Bay on our starboard, or right side. Urquhart Bay is one of the deepest parts of the Loch, descending to depths of two hundred and forty meters, almost eight hundred feet.
"Loch Ness is one of four long, narrow lochs that run diagonally through the Scottish Highlands. Forty rivers and streams, what we call "burns", feed into Loch Ness, with only one, the River Ness, running out of the Loch and into the Moray Firth and the North Sea. Did ye know that Loch Ness holds more water than all the lakes and rivers in England and Wales combined? The water's extremely cold, about five degrees Celsius, and visibility's very poor. This is because of peat, which are particles of soil brought down from the rivers, giving the Loch an acidic taste. Of course, if yer gonnae drink it, we recommend addin' a shot o' cheap Scotch."
The German woman, Bibi, nudged me and laughed, wondering why I was taking the tour with my eyes squeezed shut behind my sunglasses.
"Now, who can tell me what Loch Ness is famous for?"
"The Loch Ness monster!"
"That's right. There've been thousands of sightings over the years, but the very first took place over fourteen hundred years ago, when Saint Columba traveled to the Highlands to bring Christianity to the native Picts. According to legend, a fearsome monster rose from the murky depths of Urquhart Bay and grabbed a native swimmer. The Saint raised his hand, and yelled, 'Thou shall go no further, nor touch the man,' and the monster released him, then returned to the deep."
The children oohed and ahhed, while I ground my teeth, wishing I had slept in.
"On our starboard side is the town of Drumnadrochit where the first modern-day Nessie sighting took place. Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, owners of the Drumnadrochit Hotel, were traveling along the A82 in 1933, just after it was built. From the road they saw a huge beastie rolling and plunging in the middle of the Loch. Soon, hundreds of other people reported similar sightings, and now the Loch attracts the attention of monster hunters the world over. Dozens of documentaries have been filmed on these waters, including a movie starring Ted Danson. We've also had our share of famous scientists visit the Loch, and today, ladies and gentlemen, I'm excited to say we've got us a very special treat …"
Oh shit!
"… exclusively, only on board the Nessie-III, is one of the world's top marine biologists …"
No, Brandy, don't do it…
"… the only man ever to witness a giant squid in its own habitat …"
Stupid bastard! See what happens when you think with the wrong side of your brain! You should've stayed in Inverness. You should've …
"… straight from the United States, by way of the Highlands, Drumnadrochit's own Dr. Zachary Wallace."
I opened my eyes to applause, my heart pounding like a timpani.
"Raise your hand for us, Dr. Wallace. Dr. Wallace? Come on, now, don't be shy."
I raised my hand, clutching the bottom of the bench with the other.
"I'm sure Dr. Wallace would be happy to answer any questions you might have, isn't that right, Doctor?"
In the corner of my left eye I saw Clay Jordan's older boy excitedly raise his hand. "Dr. Wallace, do you believe in Nessie?"
"No."
"Why not?" This from the gabby German woman.
My clenched throat managed, "Nessie's folklore."
Brandy rescued me, if only temporarily. "Oh… kay, tell ye what, if you could hold yer questions for Dr. Wallace a moment, we're just drifting by Urquhart Castle, one of the most popular sites on the Loch. Many famous photos of the monster have been taken from the shores of these castle ruins and—"
"Hey," called out a dark-haired Canadian woman, "isn't this the spot where that rich guy was murdered?"
"John Cialino, that's right," answered Wezzi Hoeymans, visiting from the Netherlands. "Maybe we'll see his body!"
Passengers followed the purple-haired youth to the starboard rail, snapping pictures of the shoreline like a bunch of ravenous paparazzi.
The dramatic redistribution of mass was too much for the overloaded, under-ballasted craft, and it began rolling, its two-foot freeboard quickly disappearing as its starboard rail dipped precariously close to the water.
Brandy fought the wheel. "Take yer seats, people… please, we need tae keep the boat balanced. Please, take yer seats, we don't want tae tip."
They ignored her and continued to film, oblivious of the danger.
"Sit your asses down… now!"
What deep recess this guttural bellow came from, I've no clue, but come it did, straight out of my mouth, and it echoed across the Loch as if Sir William himself were leading a battle charge.
The passengers froze, then hustled back to their spots on the benches, tails between their legs.
Brandy stared at me, aghast.
Clearly in trouble, I stumbled out an apology. "Sorry. I… uh, it's just that I don't want us to tip, not in these freezing waters… uh… not with the monster lurking so close."
Having crapped on deck, I voluntarily stepped in it.
"But Dr. Wallace, you just said—"
"I said I didn't believe in the folklore of Ne
ssie, but there's definitely something large living in Loch Ness, of that I'm certain."
The words came out of my mouth, and again I didn't recognize them. The crowd did, and they quickly gathered around, aiming their video cameras at me as if I were Mel Gibson.
"Go on, Dr. Wallace," coaxed Brandy, "don't stop now."
With nervous perspiration flowing from every pore, and my boxer shorts hopelessly wedged up the crack of my butt, I gritted my teeth and focused on the distant shoreline. "In… in order to understand the mysteries of Loch Ness, first… well, first we have to separate the real science from all of this legend nonsense. For instance, some Highlanders speak of a Kelpie, a sort of water horse, that lives not only in Loch Ness but in other Lochs and… and even in lakes across the world. At Loch Lochy, they call their monster Lizzy, and at Lake Champlain, the beast is known as Champ."
A pale, blonde American woman suddenly pointed from her wheelchair, crying out, "Oh my God, look! There it is!"
Passengers stood, several searching with binoculars.
"Hey, she's right, there it is! It's the monster!"
An avalanche of flesh tripped over itself to get to the port side rail, the crowd gesturing at a series of humps that were indeed moving along the otherwise mirrorlike surface, several hundred yards away.
"Dr. Wallace, Dr. Wallace, do you see it?!"
The boat began rolling again, this time to port.
"It's not the monster," I commanded, "now take your seats."
"No, look, it's moving right… aww, see, it's gone."
"It was just a boat wake, people. Sit down, and I'll explain." Reluctantly, they returned to their seats, their eyes still lingering to the east as the Nessie III resettled in the water.
I turned to the woman in the wheelchair. "Miss, what's your name?"
"Kate Coffey."
"Kate, do you see the mountains that form walls along either side of the Loch? Those mountains actually continue straight underwater, creating a sort of geological trowel, seven to eight hundred feet deep. Think of Loch Ness as Mother Nature's version of a giant bathtub. When you splash in your bathtub at home, you create waves, which strike the far side of the tub and reflect back again. Loch Ness sort of works the same way. When a boat like ours passes a steep shoreline like the one below Urquhart Castle, the boat's wake will strike the cliff face, then reflect back out again. Loch Ness is so big that sometimes the boat that created the wake is long gone by the time it's reflected back to the next passing boat. In calm conditions like today, a reflected wake moving at an angle toward another reflected wake will create a disturbance that looks very much like multiple humps in the water."
