* * * * *
They sat down to breakfast in total silence, all too aware of the empty chair at the table’s head. Dad’s been gone for six months already, thought Abby, making a mental note to ask Jake about moving the thing. It was just too hard to sit there staring at the chair, like they somehow expected him to walk in.
“Looks great,” said Abby, the first to speak, eyeing the cake Matilda had made. Matilda, a culinary teacher at the community college down in Barnstable, was, to put it mildly, an excellent chef. Abby admired the cake’s scalloped frosting and the stylish glow of the raspberries on top. It seemed a shame to cut into the thing. It was that beautiful: a work of art.
Not that Abby was hungry anyway. She wanted to leave, retreat to her room where she could try and figure out what all of this meant. She couldn’t fathom how she was going to consume any food. A terrible dread was churning inside her, made worse by the presence of the TV, buzzing away in the dining room’s corner. Ever since Dad had died, Matilda had insisted on TV with meals. Their father, a consummate talker, would never have allowed it. But with his death, came silence. So now here they were, the three remaining Carsons, gulping down eggs and wedges of cake, while devoutly watching the morning news.
Not that it was a festive occasion. Matilda had neglected to sing happy birthday and no one had bothered to remind her. Besides the box, there were no other presents. Abby guessed that, in her fury, her mother had hidden them away.
Abby tried shoveling in a few forkfuls of cake, but everything tasted like cardboard to her. She kept waiting for something to pop up on the news— an Amber Alert or at least something about the girl in the water. But nothing happened; there was no story at all. Bob Newland, the weather guy, talked on about the storm that was coming. Then they switched over to sports.
Jake leaned in close while the sports guy went on about the Pats. Matilda listened, or at least Abby thought she was listening, until she stared pointedly in Abby’s direction.
“You’re not going to tell us, are you,” she said, and for a moment Abby thought her mother knew about last night, could sense what Abby had seen in the water. Abby panicked. Was she really that easy? Could her mother see inside her head?
“What?” said Abby, stuffing her mouth full of cake while trying to repress the urge to gag.
“That box,” said Matilda. “Your father’s present. Aren’t you going to tell us what was inside?”
“I...um...,” mumbled Abby. Then, suddenly, it was on. Her mother’s eyes bore into her skull, while in the distance she heard the name. Breaking news, it had just come in. Jim Welch, one of the anchors, was staring in Abby’s direction.
“Seventeen-year-old Lauren Liney of Hyannis went missing last night.” His familiar voice was calm and clear. “If anyone has seen her or knows of her whereabouts, please contact the authorities right away.”
“Well, what was it?” asked Matilda, obviously annoyed.
“Just a box,” said Abby, eyes still on the TV. “A mermaid box.” She hated saying that word. It always made Matilda flinch, as if some unsightly creature had squelched into the room, a monster that should be hidden away.
“Abby, look at me when I’m talking to you.”
But Abby couldn’t look because her face was there. Lauren Liney, with her long, blonde hair. Perfect teeth, mouth cracked in a smile.
“Liney was last seen Saturday night at a bonfire on the beach.” Welch’s voice sounded too far away. “She was wearing blue jeans and a hooded pink parka.” Abby’s world began to crumble at the edges, and a sharp heat scorched her from the inside out.
“Abby,” said Matilda, her voice tinny and small, as if she were speaking from miles away. “Abby, are you okay?”
“I don’t think so,” said Abby, leaping up from the table and rushing away from the dead girl’s smile. The cake, which now seemed way too rich, was starting to curdle inside her. I can’t, she thought, stumbling toward the bathroom. She made it to the toilet just in time.
But Lauren’s Liney’s face stayed in her mind like a terrible stain she couldn’t scrub clean. The twisting hair, ruby bubbles. The ghostly blur of the waiting shark.
Jake knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything all right in there?”
“I’m fine,” said Abby, trying hard to sound normal.
“Abby, are you sick?” yelled Matilda from somewhere down the hall.
“Oh god,” thought Abby, kneeling on the bathroom floor, the freezing tile burning into her shins. How am I going to explain all this? What on earth am I going to do?
3. The Meeting
It was Monday again, so only a little more than twenty-four hours had passed since Abby had watched the great white devour Lauren Liney. It had been a lonely Sunday. After the vomiting incident, Matilda had sent Abby to bed. And the truth was, Abby had been relieved. She’d spent the latter part of the day staring out her bedroom window, watching the waves slash at the shore below, while trying to forget what she’d seen.
Now Abby stood alone, waiting for the bus, her raincoat wrapped tightly around her, its heavy plastic the only shield between her deepest secret and the rest of the world. It was a blue coat, a little large in the shoulders, and it fell to the middle of her shins. And though she didn’t particularly like the style, she looked like she was heading off to Africa during the rainy season, she’d needed one that covered the tops of her boots so that there could be no chance, none what so ever, of her bottom half becoming wet.
Abby sighed and tried to clear her mind while scanning the road nervously, searching for the yellow gleam of the bus. Jake had offered to drive her in his truck, but seniors could opt to have first period free, so he didn’t have to be at school until nine. Abby’d told him he might as well sleep in. Besides, she didn’t feel like talking to him anyway.
That morning, during breakfast, the Amber Alert had flashed on again. Abby had tried to look away, but she couldn’t pull herself from Lauren Liney’s face, from that picture of her with her open smile, blonde hair smoothed back in a high ponytail. She looked nothing like she had that night— those staring eyes, bloody bubbles. How am I ever going to forget? wondered Abby, wishing she could delete what she’d seen.
By now, two girls and a boy had wandered over to the bus stop. Abby knew them, but she didn’t say hello. Instead, she trained her eyes on the street, one of the town’s very busiest. Not that there were any truly busy streets in Clifton, except, of course, during tourist season. In the summer, downtown was a mad house. You could never find parking, and all eight restaurants were booked.
Clifton was the smallest town on the Cape. For a fishing town, it didn’t have many crew. It didn’t even have its own high school, so everyone had to be bussed over to Chatham. The townsfolk hated the deal on that one, a percentage of their taxes was sent over there too. And there was talk every year of becoming part of Chatham, though nothing ever seemed to come of that. “It’s just politics,” was what Abby’s dad used to say. “People need something to argue about.”
On this rainy November morning, the street was almost completely empty. Abby reveled in the stillness of it all because soon she knew she’d be surrounded by faces. Every kid from her town would be on this bus. And these were kids she knew, or at least used to know, not that she hung out with any of them now. Well, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t hang out with anyone anymore. Not since the change had happened, and she’d transformed into a freak.
Abby waited, covertly watching the girls: Avery Monahan, thin and blonde, was whispering something into Bridget Cowry’s ear. The two looked like tipping bowling pins, each keeping the other from falling down. Both girls were plain. Avery wore thick glasses and Bridget’s face was purple with zits. Abby could feel Michael Sullivan, whom she’d known since kindergarten, quietly gawking like he always did.
Any other girl would be proud of her looks. (Who doesn’t want to be beautiful?) But not Abby. Beauty had cost her everything. It’d cost her acceptance wi
th her peers. (She knew Avery and Bridget were talking about her. She could tell by the way they kept glancing over, then looking away when they thought she saw.) It’d cost her Gretchen, her ex-best friend, and friends at all for that matter. She’d just suddenly looked a little too good. A lot too good, though she had a hard time admitting it. It made the girls uncomfortable and the boys stare. Girls would walk down the halls of Chatham High and instinctively grab their boyfriends’ hands whenever Abby passed. As if she would even try to steal anyone away. Though she sometimes wondered if maybe she should. No one liked her anyway, so what did she really have to lose?
Oh come on, thought Abby, impatient for the bus, hating the way Michael’s stare burned her skin. She was starting to blush, like she always did. Quit it! she thought. You have to control yourself. You are as easy to read as an open book!
She remembered when it had happened. Jake could hardly believe it; his little sister a beauty? Abby knew he didn’t like it, though it was the tail that freaked him out most of all.
A hollow loneliness filled Abby’s chest and she suddenly wished Gretchen were here, that they were still talking, still best friends. Then she wouldn’t have to walk down the halls alone or sit by herself during lunch.
Come on bus, thought Abby. Hurry up! Then there it was, veering down Main Street and coming to a creaky stop. Abby climbed on, grabbed a p. 22seat in front, and tried to ignore the other kids’ stares as she peered across town at the choppy ocean, and waited to arrive at school.
Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy) Page 5
