Shining Sea

by Mimi Cross

  BOBBY FARLEY: Holyshit

  SARAH HISANO: They flew her from emergency center on mainland she’s not waking up

  BOBBY FARLEY: Sheila coma?

  SARAH HISANO: Yes coma

  PETER HILL: Heard from my dad she has something weird

  SARAH HISANO: Hypoxia

  MARY GARRAHY: HYPOXEMIA

  BOBBY FARLEY: Wtf is that

  KEVIN EATON: Official name: high altitude pulmonary edema.

  MARY GARRAHY: It’s serious. Oxygen deprivation can cause brain damage.

  PETER HILL: Doesn’t make sense rock hook is at sea level

  SARAH HISANO: So? Sea level?

  KEVIN EATON: She passed out at school. How did she wind up with something like altitude sickness?

  Mr. Premed is super smart. His question . . . could create a lot more questions.

  Impatiently, I text Mary—

  I need to talk to you.

  But the text doesn’t go through, and besides, the group message is an hour old. I need to go back down to the keeper’s house, see if the electricity’s working, call Mary from there.

  And say what?

  I close my eyes.

  “She’s not really a flirt,” Mary told me one day on the patio at school as we watched Alyssa wriggling on some senior boy’s lap. She said Alyssa barely knew him.

  “O-kay,” I said as Alyssa and the boy stood up and exchanged a hip-grinding kiss. “So, then, do you Mainers have a special word for what she’s doing?”

  “I don’t use words like that,” Mary said in mock shock. But then her expression became solemn. “I worry about her. I don’t get it. Why so many guys?”

  I hadn’t replied. Hadn’t really cared what Alyssa did, or why.

  But now she’s in a hospital in Portland.

  Not only do I care, I’m the only one who knows what really happened to her.

  DISSENT

  I sit motionless on the edge of my bed.

  Alyssa. What had she seen in Bo’s eyes? Had she felt the tidal pull of him the way I do? Had she been lured? Have I?

  In my mind, I see them, his body curving over hers, the two of them fitted to each other.

  Humming softly, I try to push the sickening pictures away. And fail.

  Bo . . .

  The promise of light on the water, the yearning I feel when the late-afternoon sun slants through my bedroom window. When warm spring air blows gently on my skin.

  That’s not sickness. That’s possibility. That’s—Bo.

  Please don’t be true, please don’t be true . . . The words become an endless loop. But I can’t make a deal with God on this one, because it is true. The boy I’m in love with is . . . inhuman.

  Of course I’d known. But there’s “knowing,” and there’s knowing.

  Had Bo known what it would be like to suck the breath from Alyssa’s body?

  I realize I believe he had.

  Jumping up, I begin to pace—

  The door swings open—

  Bo and I stare at each other.

  His hair is wild, his beautiful, otherworldly face haunted. Hunted. My immediate thought is, Shouldn’t he look healthier after nearly sucking the life out of someone?

  He takes a step toward me—

  I take a step back.

  “I see,” he says.

  “I—I didn’t hear you. On the stairs.”

  “Of course not.” He looks at me strangely.

  No, of course not. He never makes a sound on the stairs, always seems to float just above them. His watery walk has fascinated me from the second I saw him. But right now? He seems more fire than water.

  “Where have you been?” I blurt. “What are you going to do? The police, they were on their way to the school when I left.”

  “School.” His laugh is a footnote. “What a weird place. I didn’t mean to hang around. I just wanted to check out the radio station. And then . . .” His eyes are caliginous whirlpools. He turns and closes the door. Legs trembling, I sink down on the desk chair.

  Bo purses his lips, glances at the bed. Normally we would both be on it.

  “The police won’t be a problem.” He sits down in the armchair across from me. “They wouldn’t recognize a clue to this kind of . . . crime if they found one. And that girl—”

  “Alyssa.” The fact that he doesn’t know her name disgusts me.

  “Alyssa.” He shakes his head. “She won’t remember. At least, I’m pretty sure she won’t. If she does, she’ll be scared. Confused. She’ll think she’s crazy. So she’ll make something up.”

  “Confused like me? Do you think I’ll make something up? Some excuse to forgive you?”

  “Arion, I’m so sorry.” He looks at me intently, as if he’s listening to something.

  I know he is. He’s listening to the parts of me that no one else can hear. But can he hear how afraid I am? Why I am talking about forgiveness? He tried to kill someone!

  Tears well in my eyes, which is understandable, unlike the words that burst from my lips now. “Why her? Why not me?”

  “What the—how can you ask that?”

  “She threw herself at you, I saw it, but you—Was her ‘essence’ so irresistible?”

  Bo shakes his head, his expression baffled.

  “It wasn’t her ‘sweet cloud of life,’ then? Her ‘honey mist’—isn’t that how you described the breath to me once? My breath? You couldn’t resist her body.” Before I can say more, I walk to the window, press my forehead to the cool glass. I know perfectly well what I saw today. He didn’t want her body. But the truth—I can’t seem to hold it in my head. He almost killed Alyssa. And yet, I—I—

  Can feel only jealousy.

  He stands now and comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder—

  The floodgates open. The current runs between us, a racing, pulsing thing. I desperately want to touch him too, want to kiss him.

  But I shout, “Don’t touch me!” and jerk out of his reach. I do this, when what I really want to do is throw myself at him, like Alyssa had.

  This crazy desire to be with him, even after what he’s done, and the misplaced jealousy—

  Suddenly I understand.

  “Your Siren Song—turn it off! Make it stop!”

  “Arion, no, please. I didn’t want to do it!”

  “You didn’t want to do what, kiss her? Feel her body against yours?” Crossing quickly to the door, not knowing where I’m going, I do know I’m being idiotic. Maybe if Bo were someone else, another boy, a human boy, these accusations would fit. But I know that what Bo did wasn’t about lust—it was about hunger. Need. Only, again—it’s like I can’t keep that idea in my head, can only feel the sharp pangs of jealousy.

  I burst into tears, trying to focus on reality. I saw what he did!

  What he did. The slippery eel thought of it slithers to the far reaches of my mind.

  It could be me next time. The idea lands hard inside me, then lifts off again—vanishing.

  “You wanted her, you can’t tell me you didn’t, I saw the whole thing!” I bring my fingers to my lips, as if I could touch my words, as if, even after I’ve said them, I can catch them, mold and shape them into what I really want to say. You nearly killed her!

  And then, finally, Bo’s music quiets. His voice, too, is deadly quiet, as he asks me, “What is it that you want to say so badly, Arion?”

  I feel his Siren spell slipping off of me, sliding over my skin almost, as if it’s nothing but water, and I’m stepping out of a pool.

  Before I speak, I will him to disappear, to leave and never come back. Then I take a breath. He doesn’t flinch.

  “If I hadn’t stopped you—you would have killed her.” But even as I regain control over my voice, my words, I lose it.

  And that’s when I say it.

  “You’re an animal.”

  The words ring out against the white walls. Time skids to a standstill.

  Bo’s eyes brighten.

  The tears won’t fall,
though. Sirens. They can’t cry.

  He lifts his chin.

  “Fine. I would have killed her. Is that what you want to hear? You stopped me, and I’m glad. I’m grateful. But yes, I would have killed her. And I would have enjoyed it.”

  I gasp. He looks at my mouth.

  Then he gazes into my eyes, and for a split second, there’s this moment, I can almost see it, something glimmering at the edge of my vision, something waiting, offstage, a moment of clarity, in which we can still step toward each other and save what we have—

  But what we have isn’t real.

  For a heartbeat, as if remnants of his Siren Song still linger in me, I want him anyway.

  And that sickens me—I’m sick.

  “You knew, Ari.” His voice is shaking. “You’ve always known. I told you what I am.”

  “You told me, but—” What is knowing? Is there a brain in your gut? Because that’s where I feel this, the truth of it.

  “Like I said, I would have enjoyed killing her, would’ve been into it. Killing you—would bring me even more pleasure. Does that make you feel better?”

  A choking sound escapes my lips. The ephemeral moment where anything can possibly be fixed between us, ever, evaporates.

  “I’m not who you thought I was, am I?” His voice drops lower. “But you’re right, you are confused. Lines are crossing for you. Music, friendship, sex . . . and what you know of Sirens. But if you were a Siren, you’d understand.”

  He walks toward me. “If you were a Siren.” The words peal with warning.

  “No!” I explode. But it isn’t just the idea that he wants to Deepen me, that he thinks he can make that choice for me—against my will—that he can take my other choices away—

  There is also this: fear. I feel it fully now. Finally.

  “If you were a Siren.”

  The words echo in my head, as if the inside of my skull is a cavernous room. And other words reverberate as well—

  “Music, friendship, sex.” And I hear his music now, ramping up again. Feel the pull of him, through my fear.

  And I want to grab him—want to kiss him. Want to lie down on the bed, let his pull take me like a riptide. I want his tongue in my mouth—want to fill myself with him, feel him in the dark void that’s already forming at the thought of losing him, a chasm that’s already beginning to split me in two. My body trembles with energy I can’t control, but instead of crying out, I do understand, I love you more than anything, I want you, don’t ever leave, I fight the feelings, and scream, “Get out! Get out, get out!” and start to shove him toward the door before his Song can overtake me.

  “Wait! Arion, listen—” A burst of music seems to emanate from him, permeating me—

  “No! That’s not fair! I won’t listen! To your music or your threats! Just go!”

  I watch my hands on his chest, my fists, pushing, pushing, pushing him away—

  His ocean eyes fill with sharp light. “Is this really what you want?”

  “Yes! And you want something else! Someone else! Get out!”

  I’m wrong, and I know it. He doesn’t want Alyssa, not that way. But does it matter? Even with the river of induced jealousy coursing through me, even with Bo’s Song in my ears—

  I know he would have killed her if I hadn’t been there. Know it in my gut, in my heart.

  We’re done.

  I squeeze my eyes closed—and my throat burns, wears itself raw as I shriek, “Get out,” over and over again, even after he’s gone.

  RISING TIDE

  A great clap of thunder shakes the sky, and I spin toward the windows—then back toward the door—fighting an almost physical compulsion to run down the stairs after Bo. My heart lurches in my chest as I grasp the doorframe— I feel sick. Dizzy, like I’m seasick. I feel heartbroken—because I’m lovesick.

  Love. Sick.

  I struggle against the pull of him, but I can’t help it, I climb the stairs of the tower as quickly as I can. When I get to the watch room, I grab the binoculars from the floor. I just need to see him one more time. Then I’ll be done. Imagining I’ll see him striding away from the lighthouse, or heading toward the water or Summers Cove, I step outside onto the gallery deck—

  The wind snatches the door from my hands, slamming it back against the bricks, and I throw an arm up against a brilliant burst of light—Maybe the storm won’t last, maybe it will all blow over. But then my eyes adjust to the brightness. No, it’s the sunlight that won’t last. I’ve been fooled by a hole in the clouds. A menacing bruise of a cloudbank is moving in from the horizon—

  “Arion!”

  My name floats high on the wind. Even as rain splashes my face, my heart lifts.

  Bo! How could I ever have told him to leave?

  No. I had to tell him to leave.

  “Arion!”

  Wet hair plasters my face and my neck. Tangled with wind—his voice is hypnotic as ever.

  “Arion, please!” The Call comes again, and again, like a chorus. Beautiful, sensual, words on the wind. Where is he? My limbs feel languid and strange. My skin grows warmer until I feel liquid, a part of the rain. I just want to see him. His voice . . . it’s so dreamy, and dark—and different. Oh, Bo . . .

  “Arion, help! Down here! I need help!”

  Not possible, he’d never— Stumbling, I lift the binoculars up—

  “Logan!” The name bursts from my lips, waking me, as if from a dream.

  Logan Delaine is dangling off the side of a sport fishing boat tied to the seawall!

  The boat tosses wildly in the waves—at any moment, it could be smashed to bits.

  Pushing off the railing, I run for the door. The wind holds it fast. Heaving my weight backward, I haul the door open and race across the watch room.

  Hurtling down the stairs, I try to make sense of what’s happening. It should have been impossible to hear Logan’s voice above the storm—and I can’t imagine why he’s down there.

  Logan, what the hell are you doing? You idiot—get out of the water! Whose boat is that, where’d you get it? And Logan, your voice—

  It feels like I’ve never heard it before.

  GEMINI

  Knives of rain stab at my face as I dive down the steps to the beach. Racing across the sand, I vault up onto the breakwater, tearing along the concrete path that tops the black granite boulders.

  “Logan!” Black sheets of rain pound the roiling sea. The fishing boat spins in the water.

  The full moon won’t rise until tonight, but already it pulls on the Atlantic. Monstrous waves lash at the seawall. Dodging under the rail at the end of the path, I navigate the uneven tops of the rocks, crouching down, crawling now, leaning into the wind as I work my way toward the boat. A wave breaks on the rocks in front of me, spraying water five feet into the air, nearly toppling me off the wall. Another wave hits, soaking me—

  Logan is no longer visible.

  Panic explodes in my gut as if someone’s landed a kick there. I scream out his name—

  The wind throws it back in my face. Where is he? Was he forced from the boat by the waves?

  A giant breaker roars up over the rocks—for a second I’m blinded by a wall of water. The wind tears at my clothes as I make my way to my feet, trying to get a better view of the boat.

  How is he keeping it tied to the seawall? The Coast Guard—why didn’t I phone them?

  A curling wave breaks over me, knocking me to my knees. Briny water burns my throat as a mouthful goes down. I gag, fighting the water like a drowning person.

  A snarling wave pushes the boat closer— Luck! The wall isn’t much higher than the deck; I just need to jump out, clear the rocks along the side. The next wave brings the boat nearer still. I take a deep breath—

  And jump.

  Landing on the slick deck of the fishing boat, I run to the far side where I last saw Logan, shouting his name uselessly into the wind—

  Then I hear it. The humming. With a sound like a Doppler shift, omino
us music fills my ears—the ethereal songs of my nightmares.

  I cry out as the aural hallucinations vibrate inside me somehow, as real as the rain that pelts my skin. Fantastically orchestrated melodies, spectral harmonies familiar only from the dreams that have recently become so vivid—

  I cry out once more as I see him.

  And for a moment, the raindrops stall in midair. The ocean, impossibly, stills.

  His face is as familiar as the music.

  As familiar as the first time I saw it.

  Moving as smoothly as a shadow, he emerges from the ocean, lifting himself halfway up the side of the boat with muscled arms, his dark skin dripping seawater.

  Logan.

  But—not Logan.

  Hanging off the boat, the lower half of his body submerged in the rough sea, is a boy with the same face, the same dark brows and shadowed jawline, and now, spreading slowly across that face, the same wide white smile.

  This boy is almost unbearably beautiful, but he is not Logan. He is not my friend, my sulking, laughing Logan, with the rainy-day eyes. At the realization, I gasp for breath—

  But there’s none to be had. There’s only water where the air should be—

  And I can barely choke out his name.

  SIREN

  “Nick.”

  “Arion.” His tone is casual, his voice—sublime.

  It’s as if the stars have fallen from the sky. Fallen and found a home, in him.

  His grin grows but doesn’t reach his silvery eyes.

  We stare at each other as the storm slaps the sea.

  “So nice to finally meet you face-to-face,” he says. His eyes glint with dark humor. “Join me in the drink?”

  With one hand, he reaches for me—

  And then—I’m in the sea.

  His hands circling my waist, he holds me above the waterline. But even with most of my torso out of the water, the waves crash mercilessly against me.

  They seem to roll off Nick as if his dark, gleaming skin repels them.

  Moving his hands to my hips now, he lifts me slightly higher, the tips of his thumbs pressing low on my pelvis, and to my horror, I find that nothing about him repels me.

  I close my eyes, or rather, they simply shut—