Poseidon's Children

by West, Michael

  Larry, still naked, was on her before she’d taken more than a few steps; he pushed her onto the rough floor of the temple. She clawed at him, her long nails dragging ribbons of skin from his shoulder. He cried out, but did not let go.

  After a few moments, Peggy’s compulsion became faint enough to suppress and her squirming stopped. She gently wrapped her tail around Larry, hugged him, told him she was fine again. The sensation of feeling she now received from her additional appendage was strangely wondrous. While her new form gave her heightened senses, it also seemed to spark flashes of insanity.

  “Are you okay?” Larry’s words were a Morse code of hot wind on her fluke.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, tasting the warm saline of her tears. The salty flavor made her long for another swim. “What was that all about?”

  “You tell me.” He let go, allowed her to roll onto her side.

  “I don’t know. I just had this feeling that I had to stop them. It was...pretty scary.” She touched his shoulder and he drew in air through clenched teeth. When she took her fingers away, they were red. “You’re bleeding.”

  Larry gave the furrows she’d tilled in his flesh an uncomprehending glance. “Looks like you...ah...you got me good.”

  “I don’t know what happened...I...” There was terror in her guttural voice. “Larry, I could’ve killed you.”

  “No,” he said with conviction. “You could never do that.”

  “I don’t know what I might do now.” The tears flowed more freely and her thickened lips quivered. “Oh God, what’s happening to me?”

  He reached out and took her in his arms, held her tightly to him.

  “It’ll be okay,” he assured her, stroking her back, his fingers skidding across the ribs of her fin. “I’m gonna go back to the Inn and find you some clothes. Then I’ll be right back here. We can get in the car and hop the next ferry over to the mainland. We’ll be back in the apartment tonight.”

  Her voice was loud in his ear, “I can’t go back there.”

  “Then we’ll move,” he told her, not understanding what she meant. “We’ll get a cabin on a lake...or a beach house. I can work on my paintings and you can write...Look, I know this won’t be easy for us. I do. But we can get through this.”

  When they made love, Peggy thought it would be for the last time. If Larry saw what she had become, she reasoned, he would push her off of him, run screaming from the temple, and she would never see him again. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he’d looked up at her, concentrated on her new face. It was the look you gave someone who’d gained too much weight since you’d seen them last, the look that searched for the old, thin person within. Peggy couldn’t tell what Larry saw, but he held her; he told her he still loved her. She didn’t know if that was wonderful or just truly sick.

  Her eyes moved between bloody claws and the marks in Larry’s shoulder. When she spoke, her voice betrayed both exhaustion and dread, “DeParle was right. You should get out of Colonial Bay. Forget about me and just —”

  Larry stopped her words with a kiss. In his arms, the horror plotline her mind was weaving came suddenly unraveled, yielding to the love story she desperately wanted. No matter what had happened to her, no matter what lurked in the unseen dimness ahead of them, Peggy knew her future was with Larry. Fresh tears came to her eyes, but they did not spring from a well of fright or self-pity; they were tears of joy.

  “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he whispered as they parted, then pointed at his nose. “See this face? This is my determined face.”

  She snickered, wiped her eyes. “I was wondering where that went.”

  He smiled. “There’s no negotiation here, no backing down.”

  “Do you know how much I love you, Rembrandt?” She reached out to brush his face with her hand, the bunched webbing between her fingers tickling him.

  “I love you, too.” He took her talon from his cheek and kissed it. “We are going to get through this.”

  She breathed in deeply, believed he was right, and nodded.

  “I will bring you some clothes and we will leave here together.” His eyes roamed her new body. “You...uh...do know how to change back, don’t you?”

  Peggy nodded.

  Satisfied, Larry ran to his clothes, his balls flapping madly. He dressed, then threw a glance around the temple. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She saw red stripes appear through the fabric of his shirt and her stomach fell. She closed her eyes. How could she have done that to him? “Just...hurry back, okay?”

  “You bet.” He pressed his lips to hers one more time, and she wondered if he was growing to like the new feel.

  •••

  When he climbed the stairs, Larry slammed into a shadow, a figure that ran down the chapel aisle from the opposite direction.

  “Neuhaus?” Brahm; he still clutched his iPhone in one hand, its lit screen showing him the way. “You’re alive. Those people ran out of here scared shitless, and I thought —”

  He caught sight of Larry’s bloodied shoulder in the faint light.

  “Christ, what did they do to you?”

  “They stole a book and Peggy went all ‘kill...destroy.’”

  “She did this to you?” The physician grabbed hold of Larry’s shirt; he pushed it up, revealed the claw marks, and was unable to hide his shock. “These need stitches.”

  “Are they fatal?”

  Brahm blinked. “Well...no, but —”

  Larry pulled his top back down and winced. “Then they can wait. I need to go back to my hotel and get Peggy a change of clothes. Who were those two?”

  The physician shrugged. “They ran off down the hill and I ran in here. We can still catch up to them. They were on foot. The book’s that valuable?”

  Larry didn’t know what to believe anymore. Perhaps the book was important. It might tell him why this had happened to his love, and, of far more importance, why she’d reacted so strangely to its theft. “You go after them. Find out where they’re going. I’ll be at the Sea Mist Inn, room 201. Meet me there.”

  “Go to my boat first.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a flare gun in the cabinet above the sink. We might need it, in case they’re not willing to just give this book back.”

  “Have you done this before, Doc?”

  Brahm grinned and shook his head. “No, but I could get to enjoy this cloak-and-dagger stuff pretty quickly.”

  He ran out the church doors and left Larry in the dark.

  THIRTY EIGHT

  Earl L. Preston, Jr. walked with his cap under his arm and his mind in overdrive.

  Doctors Miyagi and Everson had revealed the involvement of Roger Hays. It was easy to tie the businessman to the FantaSea mystery. He had dealings with the missing Jerry Hoff. That was a matter of public record. And it wasn’t a stretch to assume the captain of the Maggie May, Mr. Kip Lunden, now also missing, had been running drugs or weapons for Hays’ organization. Lunden had been out there at night, without a license, and with the fishing trade going down the shitter, Earl had found more than a few captains hauling something other than tuna to make ends meet.

  Earl drew a straight line on a map of the New Hampshire coastline, connecting the spots where the derelicts were found; Colonial Bay was almost exactly half way between them. And who was frequently photographed spending his summers in Colonial Bay?

  Roger Hays.

  Despite his discovery, Earl knew he had no business going to this island town. His job began and ended at sea. Any evidence he had, he should turn over to the mainland authorities and move on. The problem was, he had no real evidence. He needed to find something to tie it all together before another ghost ship crossed his path, and there was nothing more he could learn from his patrols with Peck.

  Earl paused for a moment outside Lieutenant Soderbergh’s office door, thinking up his story. In all his years as a seaman, he’d never lied to a superior offi
cer, and the thought that he might need to start created a sick turning in his gut.

  You’re putting your commission on the line...for a hunch?

  He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  “Enter.”

  Earl stepped into the office, stood at attention, and saluted the man who sat behind the desk.

  Soderbergh looked up from his paperwork, peered at him over the rim of his eyeglasses. “At ease. What’s on your mind, Preston?”

  Earl relaxed. “Sir, I need to request a leave of absence.”

  “You know the drill. Fill out the proper forms with the dates you want, set them in my mailbox, and, if I can, I’ll approve them.”

  “The dates would start today, sir.”

  The lieutenant flashed an annoyed expression, then put down his pen. “What’s goin’ on, Earl?”

  “It’s my brother, sir...I just got word he got himself hurt in a car accident. Looks bad, sir.”

  The annoyed look on Soderbergh’s balding face melted from the heat of newfound sympathy. “Jesus, Preston, why didn’t you come out and say that to begin with.”

  Earl shrugged. Because I only just thought of it, sir.

  “How bad is he?”

  “He’s critical, sir. Momma, she’s real upset.” The guardsman’s stomach was upset, the guilt of every false word gnawed through its lining like a parasite. “I really need to be there for her.”

  Soderberg stood; his naked scalp glowed in spilled light from the window. “Then go, son.”

  Earl pointed to the paperwork on the man’s desk. “What about — ?”

  “I’ll take care of it. You go be with your mother. Just give me a call to let me know how things are going and when to expect you back for active duty.”

  “Thank you, sir. You don’t know what this means to me.”

  The lieutenant held out his hand and the guardsman shook it. “Just go take care of your family, officer.”

  “Yes, sir.” Earl saluted before leaving the room. As he moved off down the hallway, he felt his father with him; the spirit was not pleased.

  I don’t know why this is the right thing to do, Dad, but it is. You’ll see.

  Half an hour later, Earl was on the road.

  THIRTY NINE

  Cornelius Shiva sat in a diner on Mulberry Street, waiting. He lit another match, watched it wilt as the flame made its way to his fingertips, then tossed the blackened wood into the table’s ashtray.

  Mr. Ludwig called early this morning, awakened Neil from the usual nightmare.

  He’d been digging up Eric Shiva’s grave to make certain his father, his rapist, was dead. Every night, he’d open the coffin, and every night, his father’s moldering skull would rush toward him, its eye sockets still blazing with the inferno that engulfed it years ago. And Neil would stand there, unable to talk, unable to move as those charred hands grabbed him and pulled him down into the cold darkness of the grave. As the coffin lid slammed shut behind him, he woke up screaming.

  Neil lit another match and watched it burn.

  O’Shea was the first to arrive. He was built like a bouncer and dressed in his usual attire: black button-up shirt, matching slacks, and a gold cross suspended by a chain around his thick neck, nearly lost in the underbrush of his chest hair. He looked more like a disco dancer than a gangster. O’Shea perused the restaurant, saw Neil sitting alone in the corner booth by the window, and nodded in his direction.

  Shiva threw a new matchstick onto the blackened pile in the ashtray. “Mornin’, O’Shea.”

  The wiseguy sat down across from Neil, grabbed a menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers. He gave it a quick once-over, his slight Irish accent a bit more noticeable this morning as he spoke, “You think I got time to order some sausage and eggs?”

  Neil shrugged and took another sip from his coffee. “So what do you know about the job?”

  “All I know is we gotta go clear up to fuckin’ New Hampshire.”

  “New Hampshire?” Neil asked. “What’s in New Hampshire?”

  O’Shea put down the menu, evidently ready to order. “That’s what I says to Ludwig. He tells me not to ask so many fuckin’ questions.”

  A tap at the window beside them; Horror Show, beckoning them to come out. He stood with Carlo Tosti, somewhat of an elder statesman in the organization.

  “Well,” O’Shea sighed, “guess I don’t get my eggs.”

  Neil nodded; he shoved the matchbook into his pocket, then followed O’Shea toward the door.

  You could never have enough matches.

  Horror Show’s car, a light-blue Cadillac, sat parked in the alley, below the DELIVERIES IN REAR sign. He unlocked the trunk and threw it open, revealing its cargo. Neil Shiva’s eyes grew wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. Looking into the compartment was like looking into Heaven; guns of every size and caliber, incendiary fuses, and, best of all, several boxes labeled DANGER: EXPLOSIVES.

  “What’s all this?” O’Shea asked, unsettled. Horror Show had a knack for unsettling people.

  “Our heat for this job,” the hitman replied in his trademarked sandpaper whisper.

  O’Shea was still shocked by the arsenal. “Who we goin’ after? Osama bin Laden?”

  “Hays’ son was killed,” Horror Show announced. “We’re goin’ after the pricks who did it.”

  “Who — ?”

  Horror Show held up his hand. “Every question you got, you can ask Roger Hays when we get there.”

  This brought O’Shea’s eyebrow to attention. He looked over to Carlo who offered a slow nod of confirmation.

  Neil was sweating. Looking at the boxes, he saw a thousand fiery possibilities and wondered which would be at his command. He smiled. Whatever the explosives were, he would get a chance to study them, to use them soon enough. Why else would Hays have called upon him?

  “We need to get goin’.” Horror Show told them, then slammed the trunk shut.

  As they walked toward the car doors, O’Shea called, “Shotgun.”

  Carlo Tosti, who’d been strangely silent, laughed.

  FORTY

  “Why are you laughing?” Alan Everson asked.

  He rested on their bed at the Sea Mist Inn, still telling himself that he hadn’t just seen an evil spirit in the temple. Carol Miyagi sat on the floor beneath him, the ancient book in her lap. As she decoded its cryptic passages, she began to giggle, a sound that quickly grew to full-fledged laughter.

  “This is wonderful!” Carol lifted her eyes from the yellowed parchment, tucked her raven hair behind her ears. “It’s a history of...of everything.”

  Before she could elaborate, a knock at the door gave both archeologists a start. In his mind, Alan saw the apparition from the temple standing in the hallway, its arms outstretched. He swallowed and looked at Carol. “Maid service?”

  “I think the old man at the desk is the only staff this place has. Did you call Nielsen to tell him where we were?”

  Alan nodded.

  “Maybe the innkeeper has a message from him?”

  “Let’s see.” Alan walked to the door, unprepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened it. Petty Officer Earl L. Preston, Jr. was in the hall. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice welcome. Can I come in?”

  Alan stepped aside, allowed the guardsman entry. When Carol saw who it was, her mouth fell open.

  “Hello again, Dr. Miyagi.”

  “How’d you find us?”

  “There’s only three hotels in Colonial Bay. This was the last one I checked.” Preston’s eyes fell upon the thick volume in Carol’s lap. “A little light reading?”

  “You still haven’t said why you’re here,” Alan reminded him.

  Earl looked at the floor, then to each of them in turn. “I’m in this town to solve a mystery, same as you. Colonial Bay’s within spitting distance of two abductions, possible murders at sea. Your boss, Roger Hays, spends most summers on this island, and he had business dealings with at lea
st one of the people that’s gone missing.”

  “He’s not our boss,” Alan mumbled.

  Earl went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I’m here in this room because you’re both respected and intelligent people. I was hoping we might forget about the...the nastiness back on the boat and look for answers together. Whoever did this knows something about what you found in Atlantis, like Hays.”

  Carol shook her head. “I don’t think he has anything to do with this.”

  “You don’t know that,” Alan huffed. “I’ve said for over a year the guy’s a crook.”

  Preston nodded. “He’s been investigated by the IRS —”

  “Just being wealthy is a crime to them,” she remarked.

  “— The FBI, and the State Department.”

  Carol frowned. “And I suppose you want to be known as the man who brought him down — to further your career?”

  Earl shrugged. “If he’s behind it, I want him put away. I’m not trying to make a name for myself here, and I happen to know that you didn’t go after Atlantis because you wanted to make the cover of Time or be the next Lara Croft. You enjoy putting all the pieces together to see what the truth is. You’re a detective, just like me.”

  She smiled hesitantly, unsure as to whether the man was being sincere or simply wanted to nudge her into helping him. “I just might have some answers for you. Pull up a section of floor. I was about to fill Alan in on what I’ve found.”

  The officer knelt down with a hint of trepidation. “Whatcha got?”

  Her smile widened. “It’s a kind of history book. We found it in a temple built under this town’s church.”

  “A what?”

  “An exact replica of one we discovered in Atlantis.”

  “That’s pretty convenient, don’t you think?”

  She offered an uncomprehending glance. “I’m sorry?”

  Earl explained, “You find a temple on an expedition funded by Hays, then another one here, on an island where he spends quite a bit of time. You still don’t think he’s somehow connected?”

  Carol rolled her eyes. “This temple is beneath the town’s only church. You think he moved it, carved a cavern out of solid rock, copied each and every pictograph, then put it back in a little over a week?”