“Just be careful,” the officer said. He paused and looked towards the other vans. “And whatever it is you’re going to do over at Dean’s Blue Hole, make sure it doesn’t cause any more problems for my town. If I catch you or your friends getting into any more trouble, I’ll lock your asses away until the Americans make me let you out.”
Lenny laughed. “I can assure you officer, that it wouldn’t be too long before they did. Have a good day.”
Lenny rolled the window up the rest of the way and motioned for Cal to continue driving.
-7-
“Don’t go in the water until I get home from work. Don’t let me catch you messing around on the rocks. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Don’t have fun. Blah blah blah.”
Sometimes Wally Crain seriously doubted his mother’s ability to start a sentence without the word ‘don’t.’ But then again, Wally’s entire life seemed to be a series of don’ts. His mother meant well, he knew that, but she worried too much and wanted to protect him by keeping him away from the world.
Wally imagined that things might be different if he had a father. His dad would take him on adventures and let him do all things the other kids in his class got to do. His dad wouldn’t tell him not to go down to the beach and go snorkeling. Surely a father would understand a boy’s need to test boundaries and explore. Some things a mother just didn’t or couldn’t understand.
But as it was, Wally didn’t have a father. He never knew him and his mother always changed the subject when he tried to talk about it. Without a father, Wally figured it was up to him to push boundaries and do the stupid things that all boys were supposed to do.
Not being allowed to do much left Wally with little escape and few friends. What he did have was books. His mother never said ‘don’t’ when it came to a book. Between the pages, Wally found the adventure and friendship his mother’s overprotective nature denied him.
The stories of pirates and sea adventures were always Wally’s favorite. Living on an island that had such a rich pirate-based history made the stories almost irresistible. Sunken wrecks surrounded the island, many were little more than splinters and barnacles, but they once held pirates and battled the Royal Navy on the high seas. These were the adventures Wally longed for. That was where he knew he belonged. It was also where he could never be.
Not that Wally wanted to be a pirate. Pirates these days were a totally different thing and nothing that Wally was interested in becoming. But a historian who studied the wrecks, who dove for treasure and taught others about the amazing history that had built their island, well that was something Wally longed for.
Whenever he could sneak away or if his mother worked a double shift, Wally would spend his time in the water. The mask, snorkel and fins Wally kept hidden in the garage were his ticket to a different world, a world his mother couldn’t control and make boring with her rules. In the water, Wally was free to explore. He had swam near wrecked ships, come eye to eye with fish almost as big as him and he had done it all without his mother’s knowledge.
A new library book gifted Wally with a map of all the known wrecks around the island. Some were too far away for Wally to get to before his mother came home, but there was one nearby, one he could get to on his bike without his mother knowing.
Stashing his bike in the bushes, Wally tossed his shirt over the handlebars and slipped the strap of his mask over his head. He blew air through the snorkel to make sure it was clear. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wally could hear his mother’s voice ragging on and on about spiders and other tiny poisonous creatures. He wished that he could shake her nagging, but some of her words had fallen like seeds between the folds of his brain and taken root. Try as he might, Wally couldn’t rip the roots free.
The water was clear and beautiful – the exact opposite of Wally’s mind. Wetting his feet, Wally slipped his fins on and pulled his mask into place. He leaned forward and let the gentle embrace of the next wave pull him into the serenity of the water. Fish darted, fleeing from Wally’s shadow. Here he was noticed. Here the fish cared that Wally was there. He couldn’t say that for most places in his life.
Wally kicked harder, rising and falling with the waves that rolled towards the sandy white beach. Sliding into the trough of the next wave, Wally’s attention was pulled to a large shadow.
The outline of something massive and old waited for Wally. The masts had broken and most of the ship had collapsed, but there was no mistaking that this had once been a pirate ship. A handful of large wooden ribs jutted from the sandy bottom like the carcass of a long dead whale. To most people this was just garbage, something the ocean had yet to fully reclaim. But Wally knew better. This mangled pile of soggy wood had seen things no one could image. This ship was something amazing. It was a treasure worth more than any gold or jewels it had once carried.
The ship called to Wally, beckoned him to swim closer, to go just a little further away from the safety of the beach.
“You shouldn’t be out here, Wally. Don’t swim out that far. Don’t go out past the waves. Don’t go where it’s so deep and the current is too strong.”
Wally ignored his mother’s words; they were easier to dismiss with his head in the water and the muffled swish of the waves echoing in his ears.
The call of the ship could not be ignored. It was all Wally could focus upon. It was why he had gotten out of bed this morning.
He kicked harder. He pushed his legs to propel him just a little closer to the ship. Something amazing waited for Wally beneath the waves.
Wally almost smiled when he thought about how wrong his mother had been. She had been so worried about him and nothing had happened. There was nothing in the water that she needed to get so worked up over.
This was where Wally belonged. This was his world.
-8-
Something was happening in the street. Tyde couldn’t tell what, but a lot of people looked upset. A few vans idled near the crowd. Four guys got out of one of the vans and stomped towards the center of the knot of shouting people. They were the clothes of tourists, but moved with the uptight air of authority. These guys were probably soldiers or at the very least cops. Tyde could tell that much.
A few minutes later, the guys were marched back to the van by a large man in a RBDF officer’s uniform. Tyde couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was definitely angry. The RBDF officer said something into the passenger side window of the lead van. A wiry man with thin dreads leapt towards the window only to be pulled away by the officer.
“What’s going on?” Wendy asked. Tyde could tell it was more out of boredom than true interest. Wendy was never drawn in by arguments of barroom shoving matches.
“Bunch of idiots yelling about something stupid, I’m sure,” Tyde shrugged.
“They’re in the way,” Wendy said.
“I’m sure the vans will get through,” Tyde said. “Looks like the island cops are there.”
“Not the vans,” Wendy sighed. “They’re all coming from the docks. Isn’t that where we were supposed to find this guy, Martin or whatever, that you found online? We need to charter his boat, don’t we?”
“Milo,” Tyde corrected. “And you’re right about that. It does look like they’re all coming from the docks. I wonder what got them so worked up.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Wendy said. “Looks like it’s over. Let’s get this over with.”
Tyde stumbled one step forward and stopped.
“What is it?” Wendy asked over her shoulder.
“Why do you have to be like that? Why do we have to be like that?” Tyde asked.
“What are you talking about?” Wendy demanded.
“Talking about getting things over with, like this is the final hurrah for us,” Tyde paused. “Wendy, we’re on vacation to get away from all that negative shit we left at home. I didn’t pack any of that in my bag and I was kind of hoping you didn’t either.”
“You’re such a drama queen.” A thin smile curled the edges o
f Wendy’s mouth.
“Huh?” Tyde mumbled. He expected her to get angry or cold or a million other things, but getting called a drama queen was a new one.
“I meant get walking through the crowd over with you dumb ass, not get our time together over with.” Wendy gave Tyde’s shoulder a gentle punch and walked off towards the thinning crowd.
She smiled. Tyde couldn’t keep the thought from ricocheting through his mind. It had been a small smile, but it was a smile.
This is going to save our marriage. It will give us time to sort through the pieces of a broken life and fit some of them back together. It’s just like a puzzle. I used to be really good at those. The pieces will fit back together. All we need is the time to do it.
-9-
“Why’d you let those people go to Dean’s?” Milo demanded. Jefferson rode in the back of Stan’s police car. This was not the first time, though he had gotten in voluntarily this go round. Jefferson tried to pretend that he was not listening to the two brothers fight, but every so often he caught Stan’s eyes in the rearview mirror and winced. Milo was many things – most of them the opposite of his brother, but Jefferson knew there was one thing he was not – a liar. If Milo said the Lusca killed those kids, then Jefferson was ready to accept that as the truth.
Growing up on Long Island, and never really leaving, gave Milo and Jefferson a somewhat narrow view of the world, but nothing could open up one’s mind like time spent out on the open water. On their boat, they had seen things that were never visible from land. They had stared into a horizon that seemed to continue on until it dropped off the edge of the Earth. They had seen the ocean turn against men like an angry lover and knew better than to tempt her rage.
Time in the water, diving among rocks and wrecks had shown them even more. Science knew much, knew the names of many creatures that called the sea home, but that had never stopped Milo and Jefferson from spying a fish that could never be found between the pages of a book. The ocean had many secrets. The Lusca was one of them. Old timers on the island still remembered to fear the Lusca, but the young had written it off as nothing more than a drunken folk tale like the Chickcharnie.
Milo’s father had taught him better. He knew that the old rules could be forgotten, but never really went away. No, the Lusca and Chickcharnie were real and Milo knew it. He had seen huge shadows beneath the waves and watched strange bird-like creatures scuttle through the pine forests of Andros. Milo knew better than to take either creature for granted. The Lusca would drag you into one of its many underwater caves and shred the meat from your bones. The Chickcharnies were little more than odd-looking, two-toed birds, but if someone was foolish enough to mock one or ignore it, they would find themselves cursed and in a living Hell. The way Milo and his father looked at it, you lost nothing by giving these creatures a little respect and healthy fear, but you could lose everything if you ignored them or wrote them off as folklore.
“I didn’t let them go there, Milo,” Stan finally answered. “They were going there anyway. Besides, that’s not where you were this morning.”
“But you didn’t stop them, either,” Milo argued.
“And everyone knows the Lusca lives in Blue Holes,” Jefferson added.
“And here I always thought it lived in the bottle of rum bottles,” Stan snorted.
“See,” Milo pointed, “that kind of ignorance is what’s going to get those idiots killed.”
Stan’s knuckles popped as he squeezed the steering wheel. He loved his brother. Sure, they were different and had never really gotten along, but that never stopped someone from loving their sibling. That was just one of nature’s laws. Still, even the love of a brother had its limits and Milo was quickly approaching them. Stan had worked hard to become a respected officer of the RBDF and he was not about to have it screwed up by his brother’s unlicensed diving business and insistence on the existence of a giant octopus.
“It’s not real,” Stan said through his teeth. “You and Dad might have thought it was and sure, Dad kind of paid his bills singing bar songs about shit like the Lusca and the Chickcharnies, but they were just stories, Milo. What happened to those kids was a terrible accident. Maybe a rouge shark or something, but it wasn’t the damn Lusca and you’re going to need to stop saying that it was.” An unspoken threat hung on Stan’s words, filling the patrol car. Jefferson shifted uncomfortably behind the cage that blocked the rear seat from the front.
“Or what?” Milo asked. “What’s going to happen to me, huh? Am I going to screw up my aspiring political careers? Oh wait, no that’s not me. It’s you, Stan. Let’s just be honest, you want me to shut up so you can continue to stick your nose a little higher up the butts of the right people.”
“Honest?” Stan asked as he pulled the car on the gravel shoulder of the road. “You want honest, Milo?”
“Sure, why not?” Milo glared at his twin brother.
Stan kept his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, as if afraid of what they might do if he let go.
“The truth is, Milo, that if you don’t start selling the story that this was a shark or something else that will be quickly forgotten, then people are going to keep digging in to it and more eyes will be on you. And more questions. Questions, like why didn’t you have a license and what kind of punishment should you face or how badly will the families of those kids sue you? This is a total fucking shit storm, Milo, and all I’m trying to do is find some way that we all come out of it without smelling like we spent the last month sleeping in the bottom of an outhouse.”
“Really?” Milo snapped. “You think that was fair? Fuck you, Stan.”
“I feel like I’m missing out on something here,” Jefferson said from the back of the car. “What’d I miss?”
“You mean besides every grade after sixth?” Milo asked.
“Shut up, Milo,” Jefferson said as he kicked the back of the front seat.
“Don’t kick the seat,” Stan warned, but smiled as he turned around the face Jefferson. “I can’t believe that Milo never told you about his outhouse adventure. Seems like something you two would gab about during one of your BFF slumber parties.”
“Shut. Up. Stan.” Milo growled.
“No, you shut up,” Stan said, “or I’ll taser your dumb ass and tell the story anyway.”
Milo groaned, but stopped arguing.
“So, you remember that big hurricane when we were kids, probably about ten years old or so?” Stan asked. Jefferson nodded. “Well, your buddy here had to ride that bad boy out in the bottom of our father’s outhouse. He ended up getting stuck down there and spent damn near two days sloshing around before someone heard him screaming and pulled him hurricane passed out on the living room floor,” Stan clarified. “The entire house came out.”
“Where was your dad?” Jefferson asked.
“Drunk.” Milo’s words were flat and factual.
“He spent the entire hurricane passed out as the house came down around him, but wouldn’t you know it, the drunk bastard was fine. Same thing couldn’t be same for Milo here.”
“Fuck you,” Milo said.
“That’s really sad,” Jefferson said. He leaned forward, as if to comfort his friend through the cage dividing them. “I’m sorry Milo, that’s a really shitty story.”
Stan’s broad shoulders began to tremble and bounce as he tried to keep the laughter contained in his muscular body. Soon both Stan and Jefferson were laughing uncontrollably.
“Just fucking drive,” Milo groaned.
Stan wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye and shifted the car into drive.
-10-
Wally’s lungs burned as he swam towards the wreck. His body protested and demanded that he return to the surface, but Wally pushed himself further. The ship called out to him. He needed to get as close as possible. He would never touch it, but not because he would not reach it. No, it was an act of reverence. His fingers could destroy what remained of the ship and Wally refused to play any role i
n the destruction of this amazing piece of his island’s history.
The deck of the ship had collapsed inward. The ship lay on its side, half having splintered into nothing or having been buried beneath the white sand. The mast had snapped in half and fallen to the sea floor. If someone had not known where to look, they would have easily overlooked the upper section of mast as nothing more than a rise in the sand, but Wally knew better. He knew to respect the ship and how to view it through the intelligent eyes of a historian.
Acid burned in Wally’s throat. His blood beat against the sides of his head. His heart slammed against his sternum, demanding that he return to the surface and feed it oxygen. Wally turned away from the sunken ship and kicked towards the surface. The sun sparkled and danced across the water’s surface like liquid fire – it was almost as beautiful as the sunken ship…almost.
A jolt shuddered through Wally’s legs and sent him spiraling through a soup of bubbles and tiny panicked sea creatures. Terror flared in his chest. What hit him? Had some large school of fish or a shark just slammed into him? Wally searched the seafloor, desperate to name what just touched him. His legs ached. There would be a bruise he would have to explain away to his mother. Maybe he fell riding his bike or tripped over the coffee table. The coffee table was probably a safer choice.
Wally kicked and again headed for the surface, but paused and decided to cast one more longing glance at the ship, his ship. He was done for today, but he would return.
A dark shape detached itself from the sunken in deck of the ship. Wally opened his mouth to scream and sucked in a lungful of seawater. The salty water burned as it gushed down his throat. His mind became clouded. It felt long and drawn out, maybe even slowed down, but it had only been a matter of seconds. That was how quick life could change from vibrant and promising to over. It took some people years to die, others only seconds. Wally fought the urge to suck in another lungful of water, but lost. He was drowning.
RIP Tyde Page 3