Fathom

by L. L. Standage

  Keep it safe at all costs. I heaved a sigh, got up, and tried to ignore it as I finished getting ready.

  Problem was, glowing seashells aren’t easy to ignore.

  Shopping: just what the doctor ordered. I needed plenty of distraction to get my mind off the seashell. Why did it frighten me so much? It was probably just a weird battery-operated toy a crazy lady had given me. Still, I couldn’t settle down. Samantha wasn’t much help. She had gotten over the freakiness of this morning faster than a wipeout on a surfboard, so she made fun of me.

  “I was just popping my gum, Liv. Get a grip.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just jumpy,” I mumbled, bending to pick up the house keys, which I had dropped trying to lock the door.

  “Just because some nut job dropped off a little glowing seashell, it doesn’t mean the world is going to end.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking. Don’t blow it out of proportion.”

  “I’m not the one blowing it out of proportion.”

  “Just forget it, okay?”

  Sam quieted. My conscience stung, but I kept quiet. She had forced me into a mermaid costume. She’d shoved me toward every guy we’d come across. She hadn’t been the one in the tabloid pictures—she just got to laugh it off.

  We walked toward the nearby shops in silence. But just as we turned the corner to the shops, the flash of red and blue lights drove my bitter thoughts from my mind.

  A crowd of people milled around, but neither they nor we paid any further attention to stores or souvenirs. Halfway down the street, where the crowds stood behind police barricades, news vans with big, colorful numbers on them sat haphazardly around the T junction of a side lane. Camera crews filmed the scene, their reporters talking with rapid enunciation into their microphones.

  “What happened?” Samantha asked in astonishment.

  “I don’t know. Maybe there was a car accident.”

  “I doubt it. News crews wouldn’t show up for something like that.”

  “They would if it was a movie star,” I said.

  “Let’s see if we can get a closer look.”

  I was kidding about the movie star thing, but I followed her. We weaved through the crowd, toward the epicenter of the scene.

  “No smashed cars,” I said. “There’s an ambulance, though.”

  But was it an ambulance? We drew closer and the sign on the side of the huge white van came into view: San Diego City Morgue.

  “Whoa, Samantha, someone died!”

  “Must’ve been something crazy or the news stations wouldn’t care. I wonder what happened.” We joined the crowd around the barricade. The police attempted to get the crowds to clear, but their efforts failed. Every wide eye stared at the center of the scene where several uniformed people gathered. A man near the edge of the barricade, wearing a gray polo shirt and a badge on his belt talked on a cell phone. He looked like the guy in charge. He seemed kind of familiar, but I couldn’t think of where I’d seen him before.

  “Hey,” Sam said to him. “What happened?”

  He looked down at us, did a double take, then looked away quickly. “I’m busy right now, Miss. Please clear the area.” He put his phone in his pocket and walked away from us. Meanwhile, a reporter, one hand on a microphone and the other on her earpiece, spoke into a camera nearby.

  “…quiet community is shocked by the incident. The body was found in the bushes along this residential street earlier this morning. Authorities say they’re unclear on the cause of death, as there are no visible signs of foul play. The identity of the victim is unknown but is described as a Caucasian female in her mid-twenties with long red hair. She was found carrying only a gallon-sized water bottle. Police are encouraging anyone who may have information on this tragedy to please call the San Diego Police Department.”

  “Red hair?” asked Sam.

  “Gallon-sized water bottle?” I replied.

  She exchanged a glance with me, then looked back toward the huddled group of cops and coroners in the middle of the barricade. I followed her gaze. A break in the group of people revealed a gurney between them, a black body bag on top of it. I placed a hand over my open mouth as numbness slipped down my throat and settled in my gut.

  “You don’t think it was that lady, do you?” asked Sam.

  “I don’t know. We don’t actually know her. It’s not like we can demand to see her face.” I shivered as dread stole over me. I’d just seen her a few hours ago. “I wonder what happened to her.”

  “We don’t know for sure it’s her. It could have been anyone. Lots of people have red hair and carry water bottles.” But the worry in her brow and biting on her lower lip reflected the worry in my own heart.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded in agreement and we hurried away from the flashing lights. We soon found the gift shops, but I stared past the knickknacks, engrossed in my own horrified thoughts.

  The image of the body bag remained fixed in my head. What if it was the same woman? Her last act could have been giving me the clam. But why? Why me and why a glowing clam? Who was she? Was she a local, as Samantha thought when we saw her on the beach?

  The beach…remembering it gave me a sudden idea. If I wanted to find answers to my questions, there was someone I could ask. Someone who knew the woman, or at least had spoken to her.

  “Samantha.”

  “Yeah?” She looked up from a display of mini surfboard key chains.

  “If that lady was the person who was killed, maybe we could find out why. And why she gave me the clam.”

  “It’s not really any of our business, though.”

  “But giving me the clam was the last thing she did before she died.”

  “Liv, that lady was probably a druggie and didn’t know what she was doing. She might have overdosed on whatever she was high on.”

  “Either way, there is someone who might know why all this is happening.”

  Sam’s face looked blank for a second, but soon her mouth dropped open. “Hottie McScottie!”

  I nodded. “They were talking together yesterday. He knows her. It’s a long shot but if he’s back at the beach, we can tell him what happened, or at least make sure the victim isn’t her. Let’s go see if we can find him.”

  Both of us darted out of the gift shop and hurried past the blockade.

  If he did know the red-headed lady, he might want to know she was dead. He might know her family and maybe why she was so into seashells with light bulbs in them. Maybe he was the “captain” the woman mentioned. At this point, anything was possible. We had no other leads. And I needed to get this off my mind, and hand it off to someone else. Hottie McScottie was the best option we had. The best option with really nice eyes and a nice voice and an accent that—

  “Olivia,” Samantha said, interrupting my thoughts. Good, I shouldn’t be thinking of him. I’d sworn off guys.

  “What?”

  Her lips barely moved as she gripped my arm. “Don’t look. But I think someone is following us.” Pretending I needed to dig something out of my purse, I looked behind me. A tall, scraggly-looking sort of man with a crop of shoulder-length hair shuffled along behind us. With his hands in his pockets, he looked at the houses as he walked.

  “What makes you think he’s following us?” I whispered.

  She swallowed, her voice thin with alarm. “I saw him staring at us after we left the crime scene. I thought he was a perv, so I gave him a dirty look.”

  “Let’s just make sure. Turn down this street. We’ll see if he keeps coming.”

  We turned. Soon after, so did he.

  “What do we do?” I whispered, trying to stay calm and look casual. “We can’t go home.”

  “Maybe we could go back and talk to the cops back there.”

  “They’re a little busy right now. And didn’t the guy start following us back at the crime scene?”

  She cringed. Then looked at me. “Cooper. We’re almost to the beach. We can go find Coope
r.”

  “What if we can’t find him?”

  “He’ll be there.” Was she was trying to convince herself or me?

  “Can you try calling him?”

  “Yeah.”

  She found the number on her cell phone and called it. As every second passed, the worry in her face deepened.

  “No answer.”

  We continued walking, both of us trying to stay calm and keep from looking at the man following us. Once, before crossing the street, I looked both ways, then glanced back. The man was still there, closer than before and watching us.

  My heartbeat doubled. Samantha grabbed my arm and pulled me across the street. Our pace quickened. I looked back again. He moved faster too. I lost it and broke into a run. Samantha hurried beside me, but several paces back, our pursuer did the same. Why was he doing this? In broad daylight! Panic brought a sick tightening to my diaphragm as I looked back yet again. He didn’t slow. A smile curled on his upper lip. Why didn’t we just go back to where all the crowds were, indifferent cop or not?

  We turned the corner and hurried along the street, the beach just ahead. Good, more crowds. I was losing steam, my breath coming in short gasps. At last, we stumbled over the low cement barricade and landed on sand. I looked around in terror, trying to spot Cooper or Hottie McScottie or anyone. We just needed someone bigger who could offer us some protection from the man gaining on us.

  “Cooper!” Samantha cried, her voice shrill with fear. I saw him too, just ahead with his surfboard, wearing a rash guard with board shorts and a man bun. Both of us ran awkwardly on the deep, loose sand until we collided into him. For once, the size of his arms brought me a sense of relief. He put down his surfboard.

  “Dude, what’s the matter?” he asked, baffled but not displeased by our abrupt appearance.

  I looked back. The man had stopped at the barricade, watching us with an ugly sneer before stalking off.

  Samantha pointed. “That man was following us. He chased us all the way from where we were shopping.”

  “Really?” Cooper frowned toward where the man had been standing and encircled his arms around our shoulders. “Well, the dude’s gone now. It’s all right.”

  “We can’t go home,” I said, sliding away from Cooper’s arm. “Should we call the police?”

  “I’ll come with ya. Me and the guys will come hang out at your place for a while.”

  I smiled, full of relief and gratitude. Cooper was all brawn and little brain, but at least he had some sense of chivalry. He turned and whistled to a few other boys walking back into the surf.

  “Yo, Jason! Pete! Let’s break for a while, bro. Maybe Sammy and her friend can make us some waffles.” He gave me a crooked smile.

  “Sweet!” his buddy replied as he came out of the surf.

  “Just walk us home,” I said, angry at Cooper’s expectation of food. “We’ll be fine once we get there.”

  He argued, but still came with us, keeping his arm draped around Samantha’s shoulders as we walked back. Huddled in our protective group of surfer boys who smelled like fish, we didn’t see any sign of the creepy stalker. Everything appeared normal—no unfamiliar cars parked on the street and no other suspicious characters. I unlocked the door. Sam went inside.

  “Couldn’t we come for a little while?” Cooper whined at me. Yeah right, I wasn’t letting three strange idiots into my aunt’s house.

  “No,” I said, then backtracked. “I mean, thanks for walking us home, but we’ll be okay now.” I shut the door and turned the deadbolt. Sam stood in the living room, rubbing her arms and frowning at the door.

  “Why would someone want to follow us?” she asked, ignoring the fact that I had just barred a group of surfer guys from the house. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I don’t know.” I walked past her and into the kitchen. Then, the memory of my first night in San Diego surfaced in my brain. I thought I’d escaped any consequences. Had I been wrong? Had it caught up to me?

  “Should we call someone? Your aunt? The police?”

  “No. We don’t need to make a big deal about it unless he comes back.”

  “Liv, he was chasing us down. He wasn’t just some lowlife wanting to pick our purses. He was after us.” She looked on the verge of tears. Sam’s turn to come unglued. Usually, I had the freak outs and she talked me down. I didn’t realize how much I hated the role reversal until I felt powerless to fix it. Should I tell her what happened at the tide pools that night? It might just scare her even more.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I said, spreading my hands as though to fan away the anxiety. “If we do see him again, we’ll call the police.”

  Sam looked out the kitchen window, to where Cooper, Jason, and Pete walked back down the street, punching each other and laughing.

  “Think we should have let them stay?” she asked as she watched them.

  “We’ll be okay. And we really don’t know them that well.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ugh, I just wish we could have found that Scottish guy.” I gripped my hair in frustration. “Maybe we’d be getting some answers to all this.”

  “Do you think the scary guy had anything to do with the red-headed lady dying?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

  “What if it’s not? What if that creeper has been watching us for a long time?”

  The thought had occurred to me too. I took a deep breath.

  “We’re not even sure the red-headed lady is the one we saw at the crime scene. What we’ll do is lock the house up tight and lay low for a while. No one comes in or out until all of this blows over.”

  I just hoped it would blow over.

  The afternoon ended up a tedious one, thank goodness. An endless stream of chick flicks and bowl after bowl of popcorn occupied us. But in between the cheesy actors’ lines on the screen, I couldn’t help watching every window as the sky outside grew dark.

  Sam laughed at a character from the movie, whose vacant expression exasperated his female costar.

  “That guy reminds me of Cooper,” she said.

  “Do you really like him all that much?” I asked, crunching a mouthful of popcorn.

  She shrugged. “He’s okay, I guess.”

  I hesitated. She wouldn’t want to hear this. “You probably shouldn’t lead him on then.”

  “I’m not, I promise.” She raised her brows with sincerity. “We’re just friends.” She sighed. “I know I need to quit doing this. I know it’s stupid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with flirting. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Sam played with the popcorn in the bowl. “I know. I guess I’m sort of impatient to find one different from all the others. I’m tired of meeting the same kind of guy all the time. I thought maybe there’d be a better variety in California.”

  “A ‘better variety?’” I laughed. “What kind of variety do you think you’ll get when you go after the same kind of guy every time?”

  “Shut up. I can’t help it if I know what I like. And you’ve made eyes at Hottie McScottie every time we’ve seen him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not blind. I notice if a guy is good looking. And yeah, sometimes I miss the whole flirt-and-chase thing. You look like you’re having so much fun. It’s just…” I paused.

  “You’re scared,” said Sam. I shrugged. She frowned. “Afraid of Landon-the-sequel.”

  “It’s not just that. Every guy I’ve ever been really close to has ripped my life apart. First Landon. Then my dad.”

  “Your dad didn’t rip your life apart. People fall out of love. It happens.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your dad left forever ago.”

  “Oh, really? Thanks, I’d forgotten,” she said with a sting in her words.

  I closed my mouth, feeling like a jerk. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  “Look, Liv,” said Sam. “I’m not talking about finding a soul mate. I’m talking about taking a
few chances. Having some courage to let people in.”

  “I don’t need anyone else right now,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t completely true. “I’m fine. Life is easier for me when I’m not always on the hunt.”

  “Maybe, but it’s less fun too.” She put the bowl of popcorn down and stood. “You want anything to drink?”

  “I’m good.” I reached for more popcorn, trying to pay attention to the plot instead of to my freshly bleeding heart, while she went to the kitchen.

  A knock sounded at the front door. I stopped crunching on popcorn. Sam turned back to me. We both looked at the door. I turned off the TV.

  “Stay here,” I said. I got up, walked to the front entryway, and peeked through the curtain. Three people stood on our patio. One of them wore a gray polo shirt—was that the same man from the crime scene earlier that day? He had the same sandy, combed hair and a long face. It had to be him.

  Sam whispered behind me: “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. But I think one of them is a cop.”

  “Should we answer it?”

  The doorknob wobbled. I froze, staring at it with alarm. Slowly, I backed away and bumped into Sam.

  “They’re trying to get in,” I said.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Call the police?”

  “They are the police,” she hissed.

  “Well, they can’t just break into the house. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  But as I said the words, the knock turned into a pound.

  “Police,” said a voice. “Open up.”

  We scrambled to the nearest escape: the staircase leading up to my aunt’s bedroom. I shut and locked the bedroom door behind us. The hammering downstairs continued. Samantha and I huddled on the other side of the bedroom door. Bang. Bang. Crash! The front door opened below. Voices and footsteps entered the house. I closed my eyes and held my breath to keep from screaming.

  “SDPD. We know you’re here. We know you’ve got her.” A deep voice called from downstairs. Had I heard that voice before?

  “Got who?” Sam whispered.

  The voice continued. “Come out now with your hands where we can see them, and we won’t have to use physical force.” Why did he sound so familiar?