by Kim Falconer
I eyed him sideways. ‘I told you before, I hear just fine.’
‘You won’t say that when you start using it.’
Bat. Shit. Crazy.
He laughed. ‘I can hear you, at least. It’s your reception that’s blocked.’ He rubbed his hands together, like warming them in front of a fire. ‘The blood I gave you in the hospital should have triggered any suppressed memories, but maybe you’ve been too traumatised. We can try something else, a little more direct.’
Too traumatised was an understatement. ‘You still haven’t explained to me who Teern is.’
‘He’ll have to approve any more disclosure.’ Rossi sounded like he was trying to convince himself. ‘It’s unprecedented.’
‘Not instilling confidence with the mutterings.’ It was like we were having two completely different conversations. Times like these made me wish I was religious, or had some meaningful ideology at least; then I could call on a higher power to intervene, or at least protect me. Lacking any such thing, I decided to play along, just in case his rants were based on some fragment of truth. Summa cum laude, after all. The potential of finding my birth mother trumped everything. Could Teern know? Deep down, I didn’t feel Rossi would really hurt me. His intentions felt genuine. I decided to trust that, at least.
Child services had tried to trace my birth mother for me years ago, but inquiries had dead-ended fast, or so they’d said. If I heard yet again, All records were lost in the Big One, I would scream. Tom had offered to lend me money for a PI. I hadn’t taken him up on it. Too scared of owing Tom that much, or maybe too scared I’d actually find her. It wasn’t like she was busting a gut trying to find me. But, hey, after the things I’d been through lately, ‘finding mother’ was suddenly the least confronting possibility in my life. I returned my focus to Rossi. ‘Let’s do it. Show me this memory thing. I want to find my mother.’
It was the first time he fully relaxed his features. ‘Good. You won’t regret it.’ He went to the kitchen and took something out of the shiny silver fridge, then opened a high cupboard. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see exactly what was going on. In a few moments, he was offering me a shot glass of pale, amber liquid, while chanting in some crazy foreign language that sounded like the one he’d cursed in earlier. The drink looked bathed in sunlight. Very pretty, which made me apprehensive.
Seriously? Chanting? ‘No, thanks. I don’t drink.’
‘It’s not alcohol.’ He kept his hand out, and repeated his last line of chant. His deep voice reverberated in my chest. ‘This will help. Trust me.’
He was well respected, an ER doctor, I reminded myself, a senior lecturer at UCLA. His job was to save people. Rourke said he was clean. He’d taken an oath: do no harm. I did the math, and took the drink, lifting the glass to my nose. ‘Water, salt, copper and something … sweet.’ I salivated. My senses screamed Yum!
‘Don’t analyse it, Ava. Toss it back.’
What the hell. I did as he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The liquid warmed my throat, growing into a slow, pervasive burn. I flushed, fingers to toes, but that wasn’t the half of it. The walls cracked and burst into tiny shrapnel and I was flung out to sea. Deep blue-green currents closed over me. My mouth opened, water filling my lungs. As I drowned, everything snapped into a crystal-clear view. There was a distant light. It must have been the sun, high above the pale, rippling surface. I panicked, flapping my limbs, trying to rise.
Stop struggling!
It was Rossi’s voice inside my head, again. That tripled my fear as I spun in circles, trying to spot him.
Relax. This can’t hurt you.
Like hell it can’t! The sea replaced everything I’d ever known. It was cold, the touch of death. Help me!
I was swept up in a current and deposited back in that coral-encrusted graveyard, the naked woman rising again from her tomb. I threw my arms about, trying to swim away. The next thing I knew, I was pinned down on Rossi’s couch. ‘Let me go!’ I screamed, finally able to fill my lungs with air.
He released my arms. ‘Ava, what’s wrong? What did you see?’
I struggled to sit up. ‘You drugged me, you bastard! Same damn hallucination as in the hospital …’ I didn’t finish the thought.
‘Ava, I gave you the memories, that’s all. Like I would a first risen Mar, transformed by the Ma’atta —’
I clocked him in the face with my fist and scrambled to my feet. ‘You roofied me!’
‘Nothing like that!’ He had his hands up, as if I’d pulled a gun on him. Now there was an idea. Unfortunately, I didn’t have mine on me. Rossi’s nose was bleeding and he actually looked, not afraid, but mightily confused. I got my bearings and bolted for the door. Before I could reach it, lights flashed in my head. No! The sea swept over me again. Sykes, calm down, I coached myself. This has happened before. I’m hallucinating. Try to relax through it.
The soothing self-talk lasted seconds before I was gliding along under the surface. Gliding? Yeah, it wasn’t so panicky, for the moment. Ahead, waves rolled over themselves as they broke toward a cliff-lined shore. I spotted pilings and made for them. They were at the end of an old wooden wharf. The rock bottom turned to white sand and the shallow water was brilliant aquamarine. From below, I could see a boy on the wharf, standing with his legs apart, holding a pole in his hands. It was twice his height, and attached was a line. No reel. He wore a simple, belted tunic that hung past his knees. That was it.
The waves washed me past him until I could stand. My eyes homed in, observing every detail. His hair was dark and wild, the smile confident. Behind him sat two tabby cats with patient looks on their faces. On shore, a caravan passed along a dirt road. It was followed by Roman soldiers, but not contemporary; more like soldiers of Julius Caesar’s time. The pole jerked, drawing my attention back to the boy. He beamed like the sun, until clouds rippled across my vision. A storm came. A hurricane. I was submerged again, holding to the piling, currents rippling over my body, rain pummelling the surface.
When it cleared, the waters were dark. Moonlight glowed, reflecting off the sandy sea floor. The wharf was abandoned. Scattered in the shallows were frayed ropes, broken shields and eyeless corpses. The boy, a teen now, his hair wilder and face hollow, his clothes wet rags clinging to bony skin, was curled up in the sand underneath the pier. He was in fetal position. Welts rose on his naked arms. Every rib looked like it would poke out of his grey skin. It made me weep.
The tide rose and others came. Sirens. What had Rossi called them? Mar? They took the boy into the depths, slowly drowning him. I screamed protests, but something struck me. My eyes popped open, and I looked down on Rossi. He was sprawled over the dark teak cabin floor, out cold. As he lay there, I knew. The boy from my vision … it was him. I must be out of my freaking mind! My chest heaved as I sucked in each breath. ‘What did you put in that drink?’ I growled.
He stirred, barely lifted his head. ‘My blood. Just a drop.’
‘Your blood? What the hell? I have HIV to worry about now?’
Of course not. I gave …
Not waiting to hear more, I ran out the door and down the plank. Wind whipped my hair. Gulls cried overhead and, in the distance, buoys clanged in time with the waves. I kept my hands out to the sides, trying to keep balance. The sky darkened. I looked up. No! The clouds were gone and a ton of water dropped on me.
I fell to my knees, but before I hit the ground, I floated weightless, hovering over coral-encrusted reef. The sea had sucked me back down, but it seemed much deeper this time. I couldn’t see the surface. Around me was another underwater graveyard, and it wasn’t abandoned.
The Mar people had the boy, the teen that I would have sworn was Rossi, if it didn’t mean I was going mad. He looked dead. Drowned or starved, or both. They laid him on a tomb, and surrounded him. I heard chanting. In my head. It sounded like that language Rossi cursed in: old, throaty. Sumerian? As if I would know what that sounded like. As they hovered over the em
aciated boy, golden tendrils wrapped around him until he was completely mummified. Then, in the last moments before his face was completely covered, he opened his eyes.
Wait, Ava! Come back.
Rossi’s voice sounded in my mind. I gasped, sucking in a lungful of salty air. I’d come to in the middle of the parking lot. My body felt so adrenaline-ridden I was completely numb, except for the sting in my knees and palms. Ouch.
Ava, don’t go.
Stay away from me! I screamed, convinced he could hear my thoughts. I sure as hell heard his. The wind chilled the sweat rising on my face. I expected my hair to be dripping wet, my clothes saturated, but they weren’t. His blood did this to me? A drop? He’d called it memory. Try psychogenic mindfuck.
Ava, when you calm down, you’ll see it wasn’t. You can hear fully now, right? You have to be careful … you’re disoriented.
Shut up!
Ava. Was he following? I didn’t think so, but his voice was like a bullhorn against my brain. I looked back toward the harbour. He wasn’t there.
I’m not after you, Ava. I’m here to help.
Then get out of my head! The Audi was locked. I tried the door a few times, jerking it hard. The metal hinges wrenched apart. Holy shit! Apparently social norms were not so limiting to me any more. I grabbed my gym bag from the back seat, and flew across the lot to the road. Traffic whizzed by. I stuck to the bike path, running uphill, out of the marina. I made it to the main street, not slowing down until I reached the Brentwood on-ramp. It would take me to the 405. I waited until my panting was under control, filling my belly with air through my nose and letting it out through my mouth. When my lungs weren’t pumping, I blotted the sweat from my face with my shirt, brushed off my jeans and stuck out my thumb. More rules broken. I never risked hitchhiking. Ever. Damn you, Rossi.
* * *
No one picked me up. People were wary of hitchhikers and with good reason. The wait calmed my nerves. The air stayed oppressive, sticky hot, but the onshore breeze sent a salt-kissed tang. It cooled my sweaty body. Heart rate slowed. Mind relaxed. Freak-out diminished. Hallucinations weren’t new to me. I could navigate the experience. Deep breaths, Sykes. You’re on dry land.
I don’t know how long it was before a dark-blue station wagon slowed down. I took another deep breath, plastering a friendly smile on my face. I had to feel my hair again, convincing myself it was dry, not soaked from the sea. Here we go. The car pulled over and I opened the door. Woman. Smiling. Car clean. Smelled good. ‘Santa Monica Boulevard?’ I asked in a pretty steady voice.
‘Hop in.’
The woman glanced at my tank top as I closed the door and did up the safety belt. ‘UCLA?’
‘Yeah.’ For all my Zen facade, that was the last coherent thing I said.
Her air con hit me, and I was back underwater, breathing without air, holding on to the edge of a tomb. On it lay a tall, muscular man with wild black hair flowing over his shoulders and down his broad chest. There was blood everywhere. It made ink clouds over the tomb, drifting like shadows toward me. I backed away and something clutched my arm.
‘Are you okay?’
I gasped. Highway sounds rushed into my head, along with the drone of the engine. That’s right. Station wagon. Being driven to training. The woman at the wheel had her hand on my arm. I let out my breath and straightened.
‘Are you on meds?’ she asked. ‘Do you need help?’
‘No, thanks.’ I swallowed hard, my eyes stuck to the windshield, hoping the world wouldn’t disappear any time soon. ‘I’m fine.’
My new friend started giving me her life story. I guess she was nervous and needed to talk, but listening kept me from going back under the waves, so I paid attention.
‘… then I graduated with honours. Journalism and women’s studies. You?’
I had to respond. Wasn’t sure I could. ‘Medical science. Undergrad.’ I grunted, clutching my gym bag in my lap, eyes still on the road. ‘Fourth year.’
‘Is that the LA-MMA emblem?’ She touched it briefly.
I nodded.
‘You train?’
‘Since I was sixteen,’ I tried to say, but took too long.
Fortunately, she kept talking. ‘I would love to do a story on that. How fascinating.’ She was all kinds of lit up. ‘I work for a small TV station. LA-Live. Heard of them?’
I shook my head to indicate no.
‘Nothing too exciting, yet. Started at the bottom; climbing my way up. That’s the plan. I’m ankle level now, maybe mid-calf. Mostly they use me to scout family interest stories, or if the weather girl is sick, I fill in.’
I grunted again.
‘Tell me about it. I want to hear what’s happening for women in self-defense and martial arts. That’s news I’d like to deliver. Can I do an interview? Film the class?’
I forced a smile and exhaled. ‘Sure.’
She launched into a new spiel. I couldn’t follow much. It was something like her view on the whole post-Big One economy shift. While she talked, my thoughts kept flashing back to the man laid out on the sunken tomb, and the blood that flowed red in the water around him. Red. That colour again, loud and clear. I tried to make sense of it while keeping up appearances for my ride. Not sure how well I did.
‘I’m Jen Bradshaw, by the way.’ She beamed.
Maybe I was doing alright. I licked my lips. ‘Ava Sykes.’ My head started to clear, just in time to be let out at the kerb.
‘I’m busy this weekend, but how about you call me after Monday? We’ll set up for the interview.’ She handed me her card and I shoved it into my pocket without looking. She passed me her phone as well. ‘Pop in your number and we’ll touch base in a few days?’
I managed it and pointed to the academy.
‘I see. The training centre’s a few doors up? Fine.’
I held back the Tourette-like twitches and outbursts that were trying to rupture through my skin and made it to the sidewalk. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘Nice meeting you, Ava.’ She waved as the station wagon pulled back into traffic. I took a few steps forward, and then a few more, until I found myself signing into class. I said something inane to the gal at the desk and headed for the changing room. The air was rank and sultry. I sat on the bench, leaning back until I felt the support of the lockers.
‘Ava?’ Jess stood a few feet away.
At that point, I don’t think I could have said anything, even if I had a voice.
‘You run all the way here?’ Jess was a brown belt. Been with us for a few years. ‘We’re late,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘They’re already warming up.’
* * *
I sat for a while, clearing my head. Trying to, anyway. There were no more signs of the sea, or Rossi’s bizarre life story unfolding, if that’s what it was. Breathe. Focus. Train. My inner voice supported me while I unlaced my boots and peeled out of my jeans. I left my sports bra, tank top and undies on under my white gi, and tied my black belt on snug. You can do this. You need to do this. I took a few calming breaths, twisted my hair into a knot on top of my head and tied it with a band. It felt comforting, being here, immersing in the smells of training mats, old sweat, and stale smog. Very grounding. No air conditioning in our academy. Training was done under a philosophy that boiled down to two words, real life. Period. In the summer, it made Bikram yoga look like a South Seas breeze. I padded barefoot out of the locker room, bowed at the open doorway, and again at the edge of the mats, and joined the class.
Warm-up was almost over. After what happened at Rossi’s, I guess I was lucky to be here at all, but I did cop a few looks. Some guys were glad to see me. They threw me nods and Jeff, my buddy from Lucky’s, gave me a thumbs-up. Hadn’t seen him in a while. Jimmy and a few others looked annoyed that I hadn’t bothered to show up on time. Fair enough, but I wasn’t going to explain. Each glance, supportive or cutting, jolted me. Damn, I was on edge. Who wouldn’t be? As I dropped to do push-ups with everyone else, our ‘professor’ c
ame into view. Dom … One look at him and my edge magnified. Figures …
He was a big guy, early forties, and so fit he might as well be built of concrete. Dom oozed street savvy, but unfortunately, he had some unresolved gender issues when it came to who should or shouldn’t be allowed in the cage. Probably didn’t help that I slept with him once, in a moment of extreme stupidity. It was a grudge point now, between him and Rourke, and me. Dom and Rourke had started the school together: Dom to help struggling boys, Rourke to help struggling kids. Spot the difference. Rourke wanted to make sure it was a ‘safe place’ for everyone, where safe meant the professors weren’t going to try and bonk you, even if you acted like you wanted them to. Well, shit happens … especially around me. But why was Dom leading? I went up to ask.
‘Rourke didn’t show,’ was all Dom said. Then he eyed my uniform. ‘This is a no gi class. In the cage today.’
‘I only brought my gi.’
‘You can wear your gi pants and sports top. Let’s go.’
Yeah, summary dismissal. I took off my belt, gi top and tank, and folded them on the bench, then got back in line.
We did another few minutes of stretching, lunging, rolls and air strikes. Dom was always thorough. Issues aside, he didn’t like injuries, at least not those that could be avoided by a good warm-up and cool-down. I fell into the rhythm of training, trying to stay in the present moment on familiar, dry land.
‘Pair up!’ Dom’s voice sounded through the hall.
Out came the pads, and with my first punch, I was gone, sucked into the sea. Rossi, in his marine incarnation, was back in my face, both of us floating about a foot over the bottom of the ocean. Our eyes locked, and a world flowed between us. Images came in flashes, a city sinking, children drowning, the earth cracking apart. None of it felt recent. He spoke in my head, but I didn’t pay attention to the words. So much else going on. Then it distilled down to the quiet space of the tombs, and the Mar people who rose from them. I tilted my gaze upward and found the sun. It looked miles above me, a waxy ball of rippling light far beyond the glassy surface. Panic surged and I lashed out, trying not to drown.
