The Voice inside My Head

by S. J. Laidlaw

  “She smelled of lemon and strawberries,” says Zach indignantly.

  “Point remains,” says Reesie.

  “Any chance the police washed her clothes?” I ask her.

  “They wouldn’t do that. It would be tampering with evidence.”

  We start walking again, pondering the question on all of our minds. If Pat wasn’t wearing those clothes, then someone put them on that dock. But who would do that, and why?

  “If someone hurt Tricia, they might put the clothes on the dock to make it look like a drowning,” I say slowly.

  “The distress call,” says Zach, picking up on my train of thought.

  “What’re you boys talking about?” asks Reesie.

  We fill her in on the little we know as we head for the Spiny Starfish to see if Mini Mike can add anything to what he told Zach last night.

  The Spiny Starfish is hopping with lunchtime customers, and the only available tables are at the far end of the pier in the direct sunlight. The sun hasn’t lessened its power since we started up the hill to the police station, so we decide to stand in the shade by the bar. Ten minutes later we’re still waiting, as Mini Mike rushes past us with pizzas and beers. My stomach rumbles so we give in and take a seat on the deck. It turns out there’s a strong breeze off the water, so we get to enjoy the illusion of coolness while soaking up cancer rays. Mini Mike appears with menus almost immediately, which makes me wonder why he couldn’t have taken a minute to speak to us earlier.

  “Hey, Zach.” Mini Mike claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t see you here much in the daytime. Can I get you a beer?”

  “No.” Reesie butts in before Zach can answer. “We’re here for information.”

  “I want pizza,” says Zach, eyeing Reesie to see if she’s going to object to that as well.

  She looks at me for support, but I shrug.

  “Fine,” she says. “I suppose we don’t have anything more important to do than sit around filling our gullets.”

  “Share a pepperoni?” I ask Zach. He nods gratefully and I turn to Mini Mike. “We were wondering if there was anything else you could tell us about the distress call the night Tricia disappeared,” I say, as I hand back the menu.

  “It came in around midnight from the Shark Center. Whoever was on the radio didn’t identify himself, but it was a guy who said there’d been an accident. He was putting the call out to anyone who could locate Dr. Dan. Of course, that time of night, everyone knows he’d be at one bar or another. Mind you, even three sheets to the wind, he’s one hell of an emergency surgeon. Point is, it took awhile to track him down, and by the time he got to the Shark Center, there was no one around. No one gave it another thought. Kids get up to mischief on the radio all the time.”

  “Did anyone tell the police?” Reesie asks sharply.

  “Don’t think so,” says Mini Mike, frowning. “I didn’t even make the connection until I got to talking to Dr. Dan about Tricia’s brother coming around with questions. We really thought it was a prank. The kids often do that,” he says with a worried frown.

  “Did Dr. Dan even look around to see if someone was hurt?” I try not to sound accusatory. I know all too well how easy it is to see what you should have done after it’s too late.

  Mini Mike shifts in front of me, momentarily blocking the harsh glare of the sun.

  “He didn’t find your sister, Luke. He looked everywhere at the time. There was no one there.”

  I exhale and turn away to stare at the endless miles of ocean. Feeling a hand on my arm, I turn to meet Reesie’s warm gaze.

  “There is one more thing,” says Mini Mike. “I don’t know if it’s important, but I talked to my girls who were working that night. They said all the shark kids were sitting together early in the evening but one of the girls, not your sister, left in a bit of a huff after some kind of argument. Your sister followed soon after, and the boy was with her.”

  “Pete?” I demand, feeling like my head is going to explode.

  “Pete left with my sister?”

  “That’s right,” says Mini Mike. “Does that help?”

  I stand up. “I have to go.”

  “But what about pizza?” groans Zach. “I’m starving.”

  “You’ll live,” snaps Reesie. “Now get your backside out of that chair.”

  “You should have at least let me order a beer,” Zach grumbles, trailing us off the deck. “It’s made from wheat, you know.”

  “Really? That’s very interesting,” Reesie retorts, rushing to keep up with me as I stride through the restaurant. “I’ll keep it in mind next time you’re vomiting it all over your bedroom floor.”

  I don’t listen to the rest of their arguing as I hit the street and break into a run. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion trying to dodge ambling tourists and whizzing motorbikes. I bump into several people, dimly aware of outraged exclamations. I don’t even notice the truck lumbering straight for me. Only Zach’s firm hand on my arm, yanking me out of the way at the last minute, saves me from getting flattened. Reesie races forward to cover my other flank. People leap out of our way as we barrel on.

  We’re at the Shark Center in minutes. I rush into the office, accusations ready to pour out of me, until I see there’s no one there. I walk straight past the counter and through the door to the back office, but it’s also empty.

  “The dock,” says Zach, but I’m already out the back door and heading for the boat.

  CHAPTER 16

  Fully loaded, with at least a dozen divers, the boat is just pulling away from the dock when I emerge from the Shark Center. I sprint, with Reesie and Zach right behind me, and in the heat of the moment one of them shouts something like, “Halt, in the name of the law!”

  One guess which one that is.

  Pete looks at us, climbs onto the gunwale of the boat, grabs the last rope securing them and, for a nanosecond, I think he’s going to hold the boat till we get there. But in a fluid maneuver that he’s no doubt done a million times, he slips the knot and pushes the boat out, giving me a three-finger salute, the cool-guy’s kiss-off.

  “Freeze!” screams Zach.

  “Get back here this instant!” adds Reesie.

  I hit the dock at warp speed and leap into the growing space between solid wood and receding fiberglass. In midair it occurs to me where I’m going to land if I miss. I hear a splash at the same moment I thump onto the deck. I’m the only one not craning over the side of the boat, so it doesn’t take long to find Zach bobbing in the water, looking surprisingly calm.

  “Dude, throw me a rope.” He waves both arms and begins swimming after us with a speed I wouldn’t have thought him capable of.

  Reesie, who’s still safely on the dock, throws him a life buoy, which he ignores. I make eye contact with Reesie, and she shrugs helplessly as the boat chugs away. I hurl the rope used to tie the boat up. Zach grabs it and hangs on while we continue to motor out to sea. Someone, not Pete or Tracy, shouts up to the captain to stop the boat. Pete and Tracy are leaning over the side like everyone else but they’re glaring at Zach. He smiles and waves.

  “Hang on, buddy,” I shout, trying to keep the panic out of my voice as the coral disappears from under him and the water turns a darker, sinister blue.

  “No hurry,” he calls back lazily, wrapping the rope around one fist and lying out full length with one arm extended as we drag him along like bait.

  “What’s going on here?” Dr. Jake appears from the motor room. I wonder who’s driving this tub, but I seem to be the only one worrying. Half the divers and Tracy cheerfully fill him in.

  I start pulling on our end of the rope, but Zach must have taken on water because I barely gain a foot of rope before I think my hands are going to drop off.

  I shout for help, but it seems a detailed explanation of how Zach got on the end of the rope is necessary before anyone can think of rescuing him. After an eternity, or about the time it would take three great whites and a hammerhead to sniff out snack food, Dr
. Jake gives the order. A couple of brawny guys in wetsuits leap forward to give me a hand.

  Pete still doesn’t help. He may be hoping I’ll get dragged over the side myself. Tracy, on the other hand, launches into spirited cheerleader mode, shouting encouragement to me and my muscled assistants, because it really is all about teamwork. Only when Zach’s head appears over the side of the boat does Pete step forward to grab Zach under his arms and heave him over the side. The force sends him airborne, past the bench, and headfirst onto the deck. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a last-ditch effort to finish him off. Zach lies still for several moments, gasping like a beached fish.

  “You okay, buddy?” I crouch down to help him up onto a bench.

  “Cosmic,” Zach wheezes, giving me a thumbs-up before putting his head between his knees.

  “So you decided to swim with the sharks after all,” says Pete, looming above where I’m crouched at Zach’s side.

  “You could say that.” I straighten up and turn to face him. We’re almost touching in the narrow space between the fully loaded benches.

  “You’re not scared anymore?” asks Tracy, who’s taken a seat across from Zach.

  “Nope,” I say, not shifting my gaze from Pete.

  “You’re the one who should be scared,” says Zach.

  “Whatever,” says Pete, looking from Zach to me and turning away like he’s already bored.

  He hops up on the bench that runs along the middle of the boat and holds up his hand like he’s marshaling a huge unruly crowd instead of a small group of divers seated quietly along the sides.

  “How many of you have cameras?” He looks around at the group. Several hold up their hands.

  “Well, today we’re going to learn to identify sharks.”

  “Thanks,” I say loudly. “I’ve already got that covered.”

  “I want you to photograph every whale shark you see today, particularly behind the gills. Then we’ll use our computer program to identify individual sharks by their spot patterns.” He pauses for the requisite oohs and aahs from the shark lovers. “We also want pictures of scars. As much as spots, scars make every animal wonderfully unique.”

  “Glad to hear you like scars,” I say.

  Tracy looks at me quizzically, but Pete continues as if he hasn’t heard.

  “Whale sharks are highly migratory. The same shark can turn up in locations thousands of miles apart, but no matter where it goes, it can always be identified because its spots never change.”

  “It’s not the only one.”

  “You have nothing to fear from the sharks.”

  “Ha!”

  Finally, he stops talking and gives me his signature cool-jock stare. I stare right back.

  He blinks. “Have you got something to say to me, Luke?” His eyes shift nervously from me to Tracy and back again.

  “I think you’re the one with something to tell me, Pete.”

  I glance at Tracy just in time to see a look pass between them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you were with my sister the night she disappeared.”

  The divers listen politely, wondering how this fits into their presentation.

  “You can’t prove a thing.”

  “I know you reported an emergency the night she disappeared. What did you do to her?”

  “Shark!” someone shrieks

  “You got that right,” I agree.

  “GO, GO, GO,” shouts Pete, scuttling along the center bench and scooping a mask and snorkel from a bucket at the back. He doesn’t bother to put them on before doing a perfect swan dive into an ocean frothing with fish.

  I race to the back, knocking over divers right and left, who are suddenly all out of their seats. I snatch a mask and snorkel from the bucket.

  “SHARK, SHARK, SHARK,” rings out the chorus behind.

  “YES, YES!” I shout back, not pausing to think as I vault the back railing, hitting what must be the diving ledge. Teetering there, still clutching a mask and snorkel, I suddenly remember where I am and sink down onto the small platform, watching Pete splash out of reach. I feel a moment of relief when the other divers swarm past me to chase him.

  But then I see it.

  Its dorsal fin crests a good four feet above the water as it does a lazy arc around the boat. Every inch of it is visible in the horrifyingly clear Caribbean Sea. Roughly twice the length of our boat, it floats alongside as if it’s doing a little reconnaissance before moving in for the kill. It has to know how easily it could take us down. One well-placed bump and we’d be miles offshore, in thousands of feet of ocean, just waiting to be someone’s dinner.

  As it reaches the front of the boat, it angles away, swimming more quickly but with an economy of movement, its massive tail sweeping back and forth, barely disturbing the surface of the water. Pete, now followed by a posse of like-minded nut-jobs who, it turns out, were not trying to apprehend him after all, snorkel after it with a good deal more splashing and noise. Only when it’s led them half a mile from the boat does it dive into the crystal depths. I watch in disbelief as they swim sadly in circles, bobbing and diving, seeking one last glimpse, not even considering their own precarious situation. I notice Zach is among them, which doesn’t really surprise me. He’s one of the converted, just like my sister.

  I relax on my perch and wait for the crazies to give up and return to safety. Looking at the vast watery wasteland, I try to imagine what it would be like to enjoy the rocking of a boat on a sparkling ocean under a cobalt sky. Pat spent weeks doing exactly what I’m doing now, although technically she was in the water and close to the shark instead of a sensible distance away. I try to imagine that our spirits are closer as I experience what she must have felt so many times. I’m seeing what she saw, feeling what she felt. I close my eyes for a moment, letting her spirit wash over me, which totally explains what happens next, not to mention the indisputable truth that communing with spirits is a bad idea.

  I open my eyes to discover the massive killing machine has snuck up on me. Its wide gaping mouth that could effortlessly swallow a guy four times my size bursts from the water inches from my dangling feet.

  ME: This is so your fault.

  PAT: He likes you.

  ME: Of course he does. He’s probably hungry.

  PAT: You see it, don’t you?

  ME: My impending death? Yeah, I see it.

  PAT: It’s the largest fish in the sea. It could swallow you whole.

  ME: Thanks for that tidbit of wisdom. I can see why you wanted to introduce people to the joys of whale sharks.You’re a real natural.

  PAT: And yet it won’t.

  ME: Won’t what?

  PAT: You know. You can see it in its eyes.

  I look more closely at the rubbery gray maw bobbing inches beneath my feet. Obviously, it must be looking at me, but from this angle all I see is mouth.

  ME: I can’t see its eyes.

  PAT: You haven’t pulled your legs up.

  ME: What?

  PAT: Because you know it won’t hurt you.

  ME: You’re delusional.

  PAT: Am I?

  ME:

  “It’s back at the boat!” The cry rings out from the distant thrashing disciples, who think this wild, star-speckled creature is there for their entertainment. They race toward it, practically drowning each other in their haste, but the beast is in no hurry. It watches me a few moments longer, then arches its back, its dorsal briefly cutting the water, does a graceful flip and disappears into the depths. Its departure is effortless and final. There’s no negotiation, no last chance to say good-bye, no way of understanding why it chose to hang out at all or why it left when it did.

  “Where is it?” asks the first of the divers to reach the boat, struggling out of his flippers and handing them up to me so he can climb the ladder.

  “Gone.”

  “Aw, darn, did you get a good look at it?”

  “No, it disappeared too qui
ckly. I don’t think I ever really saw it at all.”

  The guy gives me an odd look as he swings onto the dive platform and clambers over the back of the boat. I stay where I am and help successive divers, until Tracy shows up to relieve me. Pete takes his time leaving the water, making a show of being a gentleman, letting everyone go ahead of him.

  I move to a bench, where Zach joins me. “It was so awesome,” he crows. “You should have seen it, man. It was like mega-huge and it was covered in freaking remoras all over its head, and the mouth was like …” He chatters on but I stop listening.

  ME: Is that it?

  PAT: What?

  ME: You saw that every day. The beauty, the total freedom.

  Is that what it felt like to be free of us?

  PAT: You’re free now. You don’t have to go back. What’s it like for you?

  ME:

  For the next several hours, the same scene plays out over and over. We find one. The divers explode into its world, chase and harass it, only to lose it when it’s had enough of them. I don’t try to talk to Pete. I want answers, but for now my questions have nothing to do with the night Pat disappeared or his involvement. Even if he did something to her — and I will get to the truth of that — he can’t be anything more than the end of a story that I need to understand from the beginning.

  The sun is low on the horizon when we finally head in. Reesie, solid and motionless, is sitting on the dock where we left her, waiting. She stands up and catches the rope Pete throws, tying up the boat with the easy efficiency of the island-born.

  “So do you want me to call the police now?” she asks, loud enough for Pete to hear, as he jumps off the boat and reaches up for the equipment I start to off-load. Zach joins Pete on the dock and starts ferrying equipment to the Shark Center, while Dr. Jake and Tracy help the divers collect their gear and go through the well-rehearsed routine of trying to sign them up for future trips.

  “What’s this about police?” asks Dr. Jake after the last of the tourists is out of earshot.