Shearwater: Ocean Depths Book One (FULL)

by D. S. Murphy

  I turned my head, and my mother’s doppelganger followed.

  It was definitely me in the mirror. But everything was slightly different. Better. The changes were subtle. If I weren’t examining myself closely, I might have missed them.

  My hair was darker, and silky smooth. I shook my hands through it and watched the sheen glide flawlessly down to its tips. I looked like a shampoo commercial. Guess I wouldn’t need to spend ten minutes brushing the knots out of my hair this morning.

  My nose, which had always been a tiny bit too round and bulbous—looked straighter, the edges more defined. My lips were full and red, like I’d been chewing on them. Even my breasts felt swollen, leaving an appreciable amount of smooth cleavage, the curves of which bounced in the light as I moved my arms. My skin was flawless, like I had a layer of foundation on, and my dark eyebrows arched gracefully towards my ears. As I was admiring them, the left eyebrow jumped up quizzically and I covered my mouth with my hand in surprise.

  I’d always been jealous of people who could raise one eyebrow, because I’d never been able to do it before. Suddenly it seemed like second nature. I practiced raising one, and then the other, until they were dancing—and then laughed out loud.

  But the most noticeable thing were my eyes. They’d always been a murky blue, a hue that seemed to shift a bit with the weather and my clothes. Now they were a soft teal, like glacier water, the edges lined with a rim of darker blue. I was still me, but I looked like I’d had a professional makeover for the cover of Seventeen Magazine. And then been Photoshopped to perfection.

  Is this how I’m going to look when I roll out of bed from now on? I wondered if anybody else would notice. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was the lighting in the bathroom, or my subconscious telling me I was a year older and altering my self-perception.

  I got dressed and grabbed an apple off the kitchen table, before walking to the bus stop. Finally I saw Jackie approaching. She did a double take when she saw me, then grabbed my chin and turned it from side to side.

  “Nicely done,” she said. She thinks I did this? “The lads are going to eat you up.”

  Only one crossed my mind.

  ***

  I’d always been jealous of my mother’s looks: the way men would turn their head to look at her. Not that it did any favors for my self-esteem. People used to wonder whether I was adopted. They couldn’t believe such a plain little girl could come from such a glamorous woman. We had some similar features, and I wasn’t ugly – but standing next to my mother I was invisible. I’d gotten used to flying under the radar.

  Until today. Now, it was like a cameraman was following me around. Guys rubbernecked as I walked past, or even stopped in their tracks to ogle. In first period I finally let Patricia do my wardrobe makeover, pinning my skirt a few inches above my knees. When she’d finished, she leaned back in her chair and nodded in approval.

  “It’s insane how hot you look right now,” she said. “Lucky we’re friends already or I’d be tempted to hate you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m still socially awkward.”

  “Yes, there is that.” She smirked.

  She wasn’t the only one paying attention. I’m pretty sure I saw Mr. Halpern fixating on my thighs and then looking guilty about it during History class. This is not good. I’d never had guys stare at me like this before. Luckily I wasn’t the only topic of conversation—after all, there was a dead girl to talk about. I’d been hearing snippets of gossip about Bedelia all day. The way she was found, presented like an offering, suggested foul-play.

  On the bus this morning Derry, Jackie and I had gotten our stories straight. Of course we hadn’t done anything wrong, but neither were we eager to tell everybody that we’d skipped school to hang out at Giant’s Causeway the same day a girl’s body was discovered. Or that we’d been celebrating my birthday when we first saw the news. I hadn’t wanted to be associated with Bedelia when she was missing. Now that she was dead, I was desperate to avoid any connection. Jackie was too mature to say I told you so, but I guessed she was thinking it. The note and what happened to Bedelia were probably unrelated, but now I’d never know. Could she have been saved if I’d gone to the police? Was I withholding information that led to her death?

  Most of the teachers made a small comment at the beginning of class but then went straight into the curriculum. Mr. Sadleir, however, decided to turn the event into a teachable moment.

  “I know some of you were friends with Bedelia, and that even those of you who didn’t know her well may be dealing with some strong emotions. First let me say that there is no ‘right’ way to feel about her death. Everybody mourns in a different way. If you need to cry, or talk about it, that’s fine. If you need space to grieve privately, that’s fine. Some people may even want to laugh or be silly. But one of the most beautiful ways to express our emotions is through writing. Yes, grief can be beautiful, as can death. Suffering, regret, tragedy—they are painful and difficult to deal with, but the ability to care enough to feel loss defines us as humans.” Then he handed out a section from Hamlet, describing the death of Ophelia.

  When down her weedy trophies and herself

  Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;

  And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:

  Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;

  As one incapable of her own distress,

  Or like a creature native and indued

  Unto that element: but long it could not be

  Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

  Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay

  To muddy death.

  A girl in the back of the room started crying and Mr. Sadleir handed her a tissue. Then he told us, if we wanted to, we could write a poem about Bedelia. We could turn it in or simply keep it to ourselves. Something about the exercise left me cold, so I cracked a book instead and caught up on our readings. The empty chair to my side taunted me. Sebastian wasn’t in class. I was anxious about seeing him after what happened—or didn’t happen—between us at my party. I was worried it was going to be awkward, but I wanted to see his reaction to my changed appearance. If he liked me a little before, maybe he’d like me more now?

  Instead I got Travis. After class he found me in the hallway and walked with me for a while, sneaking glances at my face and asking how I’d been. I tried to be polite, but his small talk was driving me out of my mind. When he asked me whether Bedelia’s death was upsetting me, because it was so soon after losing my parents, I couldn’t take any more.

  “I’ve got to find a friend of mine, nice chatting with you,” I said, practically running down the hall. Jackie, Derry, Patricia and Kyle were already at our table and I slid in next to them.

  “So here’s the really weird thing,” Derry was saying, “Normally it could be ruled an accidental drowning, or possibly a staged suicide. But the positioning of the body could only have been done after her death. Which means it was probably a bizarre, ritualistic murder of some kind. A message maybe.”

  “Not necessarily,” Patricia said. “She could have dressed up, spread the flowers, taken a few pills and just lain there until she died. It’s dramatic, but it makes a statement. If I were going to commit suicide, that’s how I’d want to do it.”

  “Firstly,” Kyle said, “if you ever commit suicide, I will resuscitate your body and then kill you. Don’t even joke about that. Secondly, you’d have to take a lot of pills to kill yourself, and you would die in agony. It would be nearly impossible to hold a pose. But anyway, I heard the toxicology report was clean. No drugs. Because of the water in her lungs, the coroner said she died of drowning. She had help, whether she wanted it or not.”

  I pictured long, slender fingers holding Bedelia underwater as she opened her mouth in a silent scream. I shuddered involuntarily. Drowning like that was my worst nightmare. Which is why the dream I had last night was really weird. How could something that terrified me so much, make me
feel so good?

  “But who would do something like that, and why?” Derry asked.

  Jackie shrugged, munching on a carrot. Kyle went to chat with some of his friends, and Patricia got up to refill her drink. When I looked up from my sandwich, Jackie and Derry were exchanging looks.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, it just seems like, maybe there’s some connection, between what’s going on with you…” Jackie prompted.

  “And a murderer? Not likely.”

  “What about the note? The photograph?”

  “I got a weird note on my door. I saw a guy who creeped me out a bit. But that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Bedelia. If anything it’s about what happened to my mother a long time ago. Colin didn’t drown, he was stabbed. Whoever did this, laying out the body like that, he obviously put a lot of effort into it. I’m sorry, I just don’t see any connection, at least anything we can follow up on.”

  I didn’t tell them about the piece of blue ribbon, and I felt guilty for withholding it. I’d given Sebastian’s jacket back to him before he left but kept the ribbon. Even if I did tell them, it would be his word against mine. And what difference would it make? If it was really Bedelia’s, it indicated that she was already there, at the beach, when we were… but there was no way to know if she was alive or dead. It’s like that math problem about the cat in the box, where the cat’s state is completely unknown and therefore, the cat is both living and dead, in equal parts, until observed. The truth is the police probably already knew the time of death; but if it was after we were at the beach, that would mean we could have saved her somehow. Maybe we were meant to save her. But at that point my brain grew tired with the endless possibilities.

  I felt like the blue ribbon was meaningful to me, it symbolized something, but I couldn’t quite wrap my head around what, and I didn’t want to sound stupid trying to explain it. Besides, Sebastian had been with us all day; he didn’t have time to kill a girl and lay her body out like that. It wouldn’t do any good to make Jackie and Derry suspicious of him. Or at the very least, I should talk to him first.

  Where was he, anyway? Was he avoiding me? Or had he disappeared as suddenly as he’d arrived? Maybe he left with no word. Maybe I’d never see him again. I put my palms on the table and forced myself to take deep breaths to calm down.

  “Don’t look now, but the popular table keeps looking over here,” Jackie said, nudging me with her elbow.

  “The popular table?” I asked.

  “All the cute, sportsy guys. Mostly the hurling team and their fanclub,” Derry nodded, pointing with his chin.

  I looked over at the table—they were typical teenage boys. Cute maybe, but nothing like Sebastian. Roisin and Brianna were sitting with them, along with a few other girls I didn’t recognize. Roisin’s eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying, and I could hear her talking about how Bedelia used to be one of her best friends, and how sorry she was that they’d drifted apart. Part of me suspected she was faking it for attention and sympathy.

  The guys at the table were mostly ignoring her and casting undisguised looks of admiration in my direction. Two of them started shoving each other and nodding towards me. One of them took his hat off and ran his fingers through his wavy blond hair, then came over towards us.

  Jackie whispered, “That’s Brody. Hurling team captain.”

  “Hurling—?” I sent her a look, but Brody was already standing in front of us. His blue eyes fixed on me, and he smiled with boyish confidence.

  “Hi,” he said. “Clara, right? I’m Brody. We haven’t been introduced, but it’s a small school so everybody knows who you are. I’m glad you’re making friends…” he nodded towards Jackie and the others.

  “So listen, the guys and I want to invite you to our hurling match after school. It’s a home match, on campus. The field is behind the school, Jackie and Derry know where.”

  “Hurling… that’s like, lacrosse, right?”

  “Not exactly,” Brody laughed. “But kind of.”

  I glanced behind him to find Brianna and her friends glaring at me. Hanging out with Brody wasn’t going to win me any favors.

  “There’s usually a party after, at least if we win. You’re welcome to come. I know the timing is weird, after what happened to Bedelia… but, well, we can’t cancel the game.”

  “We’ll be there,” a deep voice said behind me.

  I turned to see Sebastian as he sat down next to me. He was wearing slacks and a crisp white button-down, with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. As always, he looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion catalogue.

  Brody looked confused, his confidence wavering.

  “Uh, yeah. Great,” he said. He gave me another look and a smile. “Well, talk to you later then.”

  I smiled at Brody, hoping Sebastian was paying attention. Why did he have to appear just when another guy was showing interest in me. Was he being possessive? I thought he didn’t like me like that. And did he even notice my sudden change in appearance? I couldn’t tell, since he had hardly looked in my direction since sitting down.

  I ignored him and turned to Jackie.

  “Are Brody and Brianna… together?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so, though maybe casually, if you know what I mean. Looks like Brianna has other plans for him. Watch out for her, she can be a real bitch.”

  “Can be?” I asked. “I thought it was her default personality.”

  Sebastian said something I couldn’t hear to Patricia and Derry, and they burst out laughing.

  Does he hit on everyone? I was pissed off at him, but not sure why. My mood was tanking by the second. I was about to stand up and leave, when I felt Sebastian’s hand on my thigh, keeping me seated. Then he leaned in and whispered.

  “We need to talk.”

  Crap. He was going to have ‘the talk,’ and say he just wanted to be friends, or explain why he couldn’t be with me. That he had a girlfriend or something. I didn’t want to hear that.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, trying to scoot away from him. He kept the pressure against my thigh. The warmth from his hand spread up my leg, lighting my whole body on fire.

  “You know I found that ribbon on the beach, right?”

  I’d already convinced myself that Sebastian had nothing to do with Bedelia’s death, and now, looking into his eyes, I believed him. But there was something else he wasn’t telling me, something he was holding back. And that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about us. Did he like me, or not? What the hell had he meant when he said he was forbidden to be with me? But it seemed trivial to be more worried about his feelings for me, than whether he’d just murdered someone.

  I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I clenched my jaw and brushed his hand off my leg. Just then I felt eyes on me and turned to see Ethan, sitting by himself against a window, watching the interaction. He let our eyes meet for a second, then scowled and headed outside, slamming the doors behind him. I glanced around the lunchroom. Ethan wasn’t the only one staring. I saw at least a dozen pairs of eyes on Sebastian and me. I needed some space.

  I got up from the table and crossed the cafeteria. As I walked past a group of girls, I heard Roisin say loudly, “Who gets a makeover on a day like this? I mean, did you see those contact lenses? It’s like, ‘Look at me!’ – and while the rest of us here are in mourning. What a slapper.”

  I glanced in their direction and saw that they were all looking at me. Roisin gave me a sly grin. What did I ever do to her? I ducked my head and hurried past them. I did not have the bandwidth to deal with them right now.

  In the afternoon I had Modern Languages for the first time. Yesterday should have been the first but I’d cut school. The teacher, Miss Olivia Lynch, had noticed. When I walked through the door, she started speaking to me in French. Then she switched to what sounded like German, and then some incomprehensible gibberish. I stood there with a blank look on my face.

  “Y
ou can’t speak French, German or Gaelic? Since we didn’t see you in class yesterday, I’d naturally assumed you were already fluent in several languages. Pity. I guess it’s true what they say about American education.” My cheeks flushed red as the other students giggled at my expense.

  She let me stand there for a few moments, pretending to shuffle papers on her desk, before looking up at me with an exasperated expression.

  “I need a seat,” I prompted. I was relieved to see Patricia was in this class with me, and I was eyeing an empty seat next to her, but I didn’t know if I could just sit where I liked or if Miss Lynch had a seating chart.

  “Well there are several to choose from,” she said with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Just don’t sit in one that’s already occupied. In Ireland, we like to get to know someone before jumping in their laps.”

  12

  “I cannot believe she said that to you.” Patricia grabbed my hand after class. “The first one was mean, but she’s harsh on lots of students. But that second thing…unbelievable.”

  Jackie was furious when she heard. We’d agreed to meet and walk over to the hurling match together after school. “That was totally inappropriate. She doesn’t even know you! She’s implying, what, you’re a slut just because you’re American? She should be fired.”

  “She’s not the only one. Roisin called me a ‘slapper’ earlier. Same thing right?”

  “Yeah, but Roisin is just jealous,” Patricia said. “And she likes Brody, who basically just asked you out.”

  “So I had it coming…” I said.

  “It doesn’t excuse it, but it does explain it.” Jackie agreed. “But Miss Lynch is a teacher, she should be fired. You should report her.”

  “I’m giving everyone a pass today,” I said. “On account of my new look. But I swear, I didn’t do anything special. I woke up this morning and looked like this.”

  I pointed to my eyes, “No contacts.”

  I held out my hair, “No hair dye.”