by S. E. Smith
Mike’s disappearance had almost sealed Ross’s fate as a suspected serial killer. It was only Mike’s bizarre reappearance, his assertion that Ross wasn’t a killer, and some photos that had saved Ross from ending up on death row. Just because he had a history of having problems with authority and he knew everyone who was missing didn’t mean he was some kind of ax murderer. Still, once a rumor was started, it was hard to end it.
“She probably thinks I’m out dumping another body,” he muttered as he turned and stared out at the sea through the salt-crusted windshield.
He needed time to think. Ross hated to admit it, but lately he’d just felt lost. It was a feeling that didn’t sit well with him, especially since he wasn’t the type who usually took shit too seriously.
He patted his pocket for his cigarettes before he softly cursed. He’d sure picked a hell of a time to quit smoking. If he hadn’t been on his old fishing trawler alone, he might have considered downing a couple of bottles of beer, but that luxury would have to wait until he got back to shore.
And it would only be a couple of beers – he was too afraid of ending up like his old man to drink more than two. Alcohol did strange things to certain people. Some could drink it and never feel a thing. Others could have one beer and be under the table. Then there were those who became more affectionate when they were drunk. Those kinds of people Ross could deal with, but fuck if he’d ever hang around another mean drunk like his dad. He shook his head and pushed the thought of his old man out of his mind. The son-of-a-bitch hadn’t died soon enough as far as he was concerned. Let the Devil deal with him now.
A little over an hour later, he carefully picked his way to the back of his fishing trawler. He kept the uneven outline of the rocky coast on his starboard and the beautiful Pacific ocean to the port side. He didn’t bother to set out an anchor since he planned to do some drift fishing. The first thing that he needed to do, though, was to check the nets to make sure they weren’t tangled. He looked up at the rigging and decided it wouldn’t hurt to climb up to double check the top lines as well.
It had looked like one of the lines was twisted from below. The last thing he wanted to do was to risk the line getting caught when he pulled the nets back in. It would be a bitch to fix, especially if the sea became rough as it tended to do at the most inopportune moments.
Half an hour later, he finally saw what the problem was, fixed the roller, and untwisted the line. Holding onto the rope, he stared out at the shimmering water. It wouldn’t stay clear and sunny like this for long. By mid-afternoon, the cold, moist air coming in off the water would hit the warmer surface of the land, and a fog would roll across, a thick blanket of it that would be almost impossible to see through.
He drew in a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and released it. It was no wonder he was restless, given the recent events. There had been a rash of disappearances over the last couple of years and most eyes had turned to him as the most likely cause. People assumed he was like his old man – or even worse.
Ross had known Mike Hallbrook, the Yachats Detective that had disappeared a good six months back. They had played pool and drank beer down at the local pub on occasion. There wasn’t much else to do around the area except fishing and hiking.
Hell, he had even known Carly Tate and Jenny Ackerly. It was kind of hard not to know everyone around when you lived in a town the size of Yachats your whole life. He had even dated Carly a couple of times.
Man, that was a mistake, he thought with a shake of his head.
Carly had to have been the clumsiest woman on the face of the Earth. She damn near burnt his boat down and emasculated him – all in the same day. He felt sorry for any guy who got mixed up with her. She was nice – and cute – but she needed to come with a death and dismemberment insurance policy.
Ross snorted. Funny how being accused of murdering three people paled in comparison to everything else going on. His mother had died a month ago. Her death had left him feeling like he was in a vacuum as he tried to deal with his grief and all of the paperwork and details involved with her estate. Taking care of all the bills, meeting with the lawyer, and arranging her burial had left little time for him to do much of anything else, including fish.
And if the death of his last living relative hadn’t been enough to make him question his life, seeing a real-life mermaid had. For a moment, he let his mind drift to that strange day just a few short months ago, smirking to himself at the irony of it all. He’d never believed in fairy tales as a kid, and here he was now, thirty years old, and he’d gotten to meet a mythical creature from another world. Hell, it was like something out of an old Twilight Zone episode, only this one didn’t look like half a fish. Magna the mermaid had been one exotic woman – one with gills.
Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket, out of habit, looking for a piece of candy to help curb his desire for a cigarette. He frowned when he felt something besides the change he had shoved into his pocket. Wrapping his fingers around the object, he pulled it out and looked at it.
He chuckled. Ross doubted the mermaid liked him very much, but she’d given him this gift the other day at the restaurant. It was a shell she’d found right there on the table, same as all the others, but the look on her face when she’d handed it to him…
“Good luck on your journey,” she’d told him, and god, her voice was haunting, like she’d had the pain, trials, and tribulations of a hundred lives. Yeah, it was just a stupid shell, but she had given it to him, and it made him think of her and the mysteries surrounding her. He wondered what her world was like.
The thought had no sooner formed in his head than the world suddenly shifted around him. Ross shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, and the rope he was holding suddenly vanished. With wide eyes, he swayed unsteadily, and desperately reached for something to hold onto when the trawler rocked as if a rogue wave had battered it from underneath. For a brief instant, his body was weightless as he was tossed through the air and over the side. His loud curse was cut off when he hit the icy cold water and sank as if he had his weighted dive belt strapped around his waist.
The weight of his water-soaked clothes pulled him even deeper. He struggled, kicking upward, but no matter how hard he tried, it felt as if his feet were embedded in concrete. Above him, he could see the hull of his boat. He stretched his arm out and splayed his fingers, hoping that by some miracle, a tow line had fallen overboard. As he stared up at his boat’s hull, the brief thought that he needed to clean and paint it flashed through his mind. Then the inane thought was replaced by a more sobering realization – he was about to join the list of missing people.
Only there won’t be anyone who gives a damn when I don’t come back. Ah, hell, I don’t want to die like this, Ross thought as he sank, struggling, into the inky blackness.
2
Isle of the Giants: Seven Kingdoms
Present Day
* * *
“Are you sure you want to travel alone?” King Koorgan asked for the third time.
His Second-in-Command, Gant, looked up from where he was securing his bag and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have someone else to bother? What about Lady Ruth, isn’t she missing you? You’ve only been married a day. Shouldn’t you still be locked away in your bedroom enjoying marital bliss?” he dryly asked.
“I told him that you were a big boy and could handle this without his help,” Ruth commented from the doorway of Koorgan’s office.
Gant stood up straight and smiled. “Considering he is usually the one that gets lost and needs rescuing, I think that is an accurate observation,” he chuckled.
Koorgan glanced back and forth between Gant and Ruth with an exaggerated scowl. “You are both aware that I can hear you, right?” he dryly retorted.
“Of course,” Ruth teased, sliding her arm around Koorgan’s waist.
“I will do everything in my power to find your parents, Koorgan,” Gant promised.
Koorgan soberly nodded.
“I know you will. The mirror did not show anything the last time we tried, but it might not hurt to try to retrieve it,” he suggested.
Gant grinned. “If given a chance, I’d do it just to teach Ashure that pirates aren’t the only ones who can steal,” he said.
Ruth shook her head. “Just be careful, Gant. Koorgan told me what happened to LaBluff,” she reminded them.
Koorgan’s expression turned grim. “Yes. He is so irritating that it’s easy to forget… but perhaps it would be better to give Ashure some space, my friend,” he cautioned.
“I promise to be careful,” Gant vowed.
“I should go with you,” Koorgan said.
“No, you should not. The kingdom needs you, and Ruth needs you. Plus, I am a better tracker than you are – and far more charming when it comes to retrieving information,” Gant retorted.
“Oh yeah? Marina is still tickled pink about your use of those golden collars,” Ruth mockingly reminded Gant.
Gant blanched at the not-so-subtle sarcasm. “I did what I had to do to return you to normal. I would do it again to protect you, my Queen, and Koorgan and the kingdom,” he stubbornly declared.
“And we both thank you for your help despite the method you used to achieve it,” she acknowledged.
Ruth stepped up to him and pressed her hand against his cheek, then lightly kissed his other cheek. Humor swept through him when he heard Koorgan growl in disapproval. He grinned at his King.
“You can kiss the other side if it makes you feel better,” Gant jested.
Koorgan chuckled and wrapped his arm around Ruth’s waist. “Get on with you. Let me know the moment you discover anything,” he requested.
“I will,” Gant responded, lifting his bag to his shoulder.
Gant bowed his head before striding for the door. The knowledge that King Samui and Queen Malay of the Giants were still out there filled him with hope. Now all he needed to do was find the hidden Isle of the Elementals and discover what was going on.
Whatever it is, surely it can’t be any more difficult than keeping Koorgan out of trouble, he thought with a chuckle.
Ross desperately struggled to break free from whatever was pulling him down. An image of the warning signs at the beach popped into his mind – rip currents. All the experts said not to fight the current, instead swim parallel until you are out of it.
Forcing himself to relax, he began swimming parallel with the current, ignoring the weight of his clothes and boots. He would need them to help retain as much heat as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was to freeze to death before he got to shore. In the back of his mind though, he thought it strange when he realized that the cold wasn’t bothering him as much as it should have. Hell, he felt almost warm! The only thing he could think of was that he was already slipping into hypothermia and just didn’t register it.
Finally he felt the current’s pull ease enough that he could break free. He watched the small air bubbles escaping his lungs float upward. His chest was burning, and he knew that if he didn’t surface soon, he was going to drown. Kicking his feet, he swam upward, following the bubbles. He was thankful that he had kept fit over the years, even if he did smoke. Fishing was hard on the body if you weren’t in shape. He had learned that valuable lesson from watching his father struggle to do some of the simplest things before dropping dead of a heart attack at forty-nine.
He saw a glimmer of light on the ocean’s surface and it renewed his adrenaline-fueled determination to continue.
I’m going to live, damn it, he thought as he rapidly rose toward the surface.
He broke through the surface of the water, gasping fragrant air into his burning lungs. Frowning, he turned in a slow circle, looking for his trawler. How had it gotten so blasted late? He glanced up and was stunned to see a myriad of stars shining above him.
“What the fuck? There’s no way I could have been under water that long,” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath.
Ross kicked his legs to keep his body afloat as he glanced around again for his boat. All he saw was endless ocean. Fear swept through him and the soundtrack from Jaws began playing to a rhythm that matched his pounding pulse. What the hell was going on? Swallowing, he searched the star-filled sky again and felt pure terror.
“This isn’t right,” he muttered, staring up at the unfamiliar configurations of stars that looked so large he felt like he could almost reach up and touch them. “What the hell is going on?”
He stared in amazement as not one but two moons rose on the horizon. He began to pant when he saw a land mass about a quarter of a mile ahead of him slowly come into view from the light of the moons. Glancing around him one more time, in the futile hope of seeing his trawler in the moonlight, Ross finally gave up and started the long, grueling swim toward the only hope for survival that he could see.
“This better not be a mirage,” he muttered as he did the breast stroke.
The vague thought that he was dead and had finally made his way to Hell didn’t sit well with him. Neither did the fact that if there were a Hell, he would probably be stuck with his dad for the rest of his immortal existence in a never-ending purgatory.
All sorts of thoughts came to him as one minute stretched to two, then ten, then half an hour, then an hour. He continued to swim toward the land that was his only salvation. Exhaustion pulled at him, making his arms and legs feel like jelly. At times, he flipped onto his back and floated to conserve his energy before striking out again.
Ross grimaced when his life flashed before his eyes. He was honest enough to admit that he wasn’t very impressed with it. He hadn’t been all that bad, but he hadn’t been all that good either.
A near-death experience was a hell of a way to be forced into reflecting on some of the less than stellar choices that he had made. He thought about his life from the first time he’d gotten into trouble with the law at the age of eight for shoplifting to the countless women he had been with simply to relieve the emptiness of his life.
“One good thing about kicking my smoking habit is that I can, at least, do this,” he reflected in a tired voice.
Tears of relief actually burned his eyes when the waves pushed him closer to the beach. “Finally!”
Striking out with his last surge of energy, he kicked until his left foot hit the sandy bottom. Putting his feet down, he stumbled forward on trembling legs. He fell several times before he was able to stand up.
He lifted a trembling hand and wiped off his face. Brushing the moisture out of his eyes to clear his vision, he pushed through the thigh-deep water. His legs finally gave out on him when he had taken almost a dozen steps onto the beach. Sinking down to his knees, he rolled until he was lying on his back and panting, staring up at the brilliant night sky
“If this is hell, it has to be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.
The gentle breeze was warm, as was the beach of tiny pebbles under him. He’d thought it was sand at first, but it was slightly coarser. The moons were higher now. One was slightly behind the other, making it appear as if one was full while the other was a waxing gibbous.
He spread his arms out, grabbed a handful of the pebble-sand, and rubbed it between his fingers. The feel of the warm grains helped him truly register that he was alive – in a strange world – but alive. His eyelids suddenly felt like someone was pressing their fingers against them. He tried to blink away the fatigue, but it was too much and his body relaxed against the beach as it molded around him.
“Just for a few minutes,” he murmured as his eyes closed with a will of their own. “I’ll just close them for a few minutes. ”
He smiled. This might not be Hawaii, but it was balmy. A sigh slipped from him as he released his hold on consciousness. The thought that maybe he’d ended up in Heaven instead of Hell passed through his mind before the empty void of exhausted sleep overtook him.
The bright sunlight felt like someone was shoving a dozen needles through his retinas. A low, h
oarse groan sounded in his ears. His throat was dry, and his mouth felt like he had been licking a salt block.
Oh yeah, that light is definitely about to burn a hole through my eyelids and directly into my brain. Must have had some lousy beer because I know I didn’t drink enough to have a hangover, he silently groaned before he remembered he had wanted a beer, but he hadn’t actually drank one.
Rolling onto his side, he froze when he heard the soft crunch under him. Cracking his eyes open, he stared in disbelief at the long beach. He groaned again and allowed his head to fall back to the ground as he realized he wasn’t having a bad nightmare.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and opened his eyes again.
Pushing himself up onto his knees, he wiped his hands on his damp jeans and stared at the landscape around him. He rose unsteadily to his feet and turned in a slow circle until he was once again facing the sea. A sea that looked suspiciously as if the water was falling off the edge of the world. A humongous infinity pool.
He lost his balance and staggered when he shook his head too quickly. Staring down at the multi-colored beach to steady his swimming head, he swallowed. A sudden feeling of suffocation rushed through him, making him feel warm – very warm.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he dropped it to the ground and grabbed the hem of the beige knit sweater he was wearing under it. He ripped the knitted wool over his head and dropped it on top of his coat. Now clad in his plain black short-sleeve t-shirt, he tilted his head back and enjoyed the cool early morning breeze coming in from the water.
He ran a hand over his forearm. His arms were muscled from years of hard physical work. A long tattoo ran up one arm, a reminder of a moment of weakness. It was a sea dragon that curled around his arm from his wrist and up until its head came from his back and stared out from his shoulder. He had been sixteen and mad as hell at the world – especially his father.