Fish Out of Water

by Ros Baxter

  “Sweet mother, Doug, don’t you remember about my allergy?”

  I had to stop and breathe, because the thought of piscinavores makes my throat do these weird little gulps. I’ve had to invent the seafood allergy to cover my tracks. What annoys me more than anything are the people who claim to be vegetarian, but say they eat fish. Leaving aside the sheer stupidity of the statement – you know, someone claiming to be a vegetarian while also referring to eating an animal – it just makes no sense. Being a piscinavore is like being a cannibal who says “I don’t eat people, only concert pianists and famous painters.” Me, I’m quite happy to eat some clueless old bovine, but fish. Man, fish are sentient beings.

  “Go wash your hands. And rinse y’ freakin’ mouth. There’s Listerine on top. Go now.”

  In Aegira, everyone’s vegetarian, but here on land I eat meat. It’s cool, I’ve looked inside the minds of cows and I can guarantee there’s nothing there. I even went to an abattoir once to check. Even as the poor things were lining up to go into the slaughterhouse, their minds showed up nothing but a picture of a blade of grass and vague feeling of an itch on the rump.

  “Alright, alright,” Doug complained, making for the bathroom. “Although it’s not like I’m going to kiss ya, Sheriff.” He paused, then a dark look spread across that hot face. “Am I?”

  Oh man, he looked good when he got that look in his eye. A hundred delicious memories competed for my attention, and they weren’t all of Doug naked. Not all of them.

  I swallowed and pointed to the bathroom.

  When he got back, I’d recovered enough to try again.

  “Doug,” I began. “I might need your van. Later tonight. Look, it’s only for a few-”

  “Oh no.” He was short. He sounded pretty definite. “No, no, no missy. Not after the Harley. I loved that bike.”

  “Please, Doug,” I asked. “It’s important. I promise I’ll keep it safe.”

  “This anything to do with that dead blonde?”

  This freakin’ place and its freakin’ rumor mill. “No,” I lied smoothly.

  “Right, so that’s a yes,” he said. Then paused. “Compromise?”

  I was already mentally saying no. I never compromise.

  “How ’bout I drive you wherever you need to go?”

  It was my turn to be definite. “No way, baby. I gotta do something solo tonight.”

  “Well, sorry then,” he said, and I could hear the ring of finality in his tone.

  “Doug,” I wheedled. “Don’t make me steal it.”

  “You steal it and I’ll tell your Mom about you and her assistant.”

  Wow, I suddenly developed a whole new respect for his tactics. Dirty, clever. I liked it.

  “Chip?” I was all innocence. “Poor boy’s only nineteen. That’s a terrible implication.”

  He looked right into me. And I could see the tiniest scrap of hurt there. Which was so unfair. It had been eighteen months. And he dumped me. Kind of.

  I made a decision.

  “Okay Doug,” I said firmly. “You can drive. But you gotta stay in the car. I’m maybe gonna have to put a large object in the back and you are not to ask me about it.”

  “Sure,” he agreed easily. “So where we taking the stiff once we swipe it?”

  Chapter Three

  Kool Mints and Larceny

  I tiptoed out and shut the door gently behind me. Not actually sure why I was tiptoeing.

  Something about the gravity of the moment, and what I was about to do.

  Billy would be long gone from the morgue by now, but I wasn’t planning some kind of confrontation. I was doing a job and leaving. As quickly and, hopefully, painlessly as possible.

  I’d changed into sneakers and jeans, and I was packing my Glock 17 in the back of my pants. I remembered my instructor back in the city saying that the good news was that the Glock is easy to shoot, and the bad news was that the Glock is easy to shoot. The short, light trigger pull is vulnerable to accidental discharge, so it demands an experienced hand and a cool head.

  Luckily, I’ve got both in spades.

  But I was still sending up some kind of prayer to the Goddess that I wouldn’t need to use it. Apart from anything else, Mom hates weapons as much as any mermaid and if she heard about some shooting stuff involving me, I’d be off brownie privileges.

  And when you’ve only got three weeks to go, every last brownie counts.

  I hustled over to the morgue in Mom’s ride, the route all too familiar. My own car was just too conspicuous, but I had to be careful. Mom would be pissed if I got a ticket in her beloved Oldsmobile, and I certainly didn’t want to attract any attention. But I wanted to get to Blondie before Larry did. As I was opening up on the back road, my cell chirruped at me. All my senses went into screaming panic. Who could it be? So late, and in the middle of all this.

  My eyes flicked over to the green screen where it lay on the passenger seat. I squinted and concentrated hard at the number. Not Aldus. Not Ma.

  Then it clicked and I snatched it up.

  “Susie? Y’ok?”

  Juddery sobs greeted me and a cold hand squeezed my rib cage. My hand went unconsciously to the scar on my arm, fingering its plasticy length. “Susie, Susie!” I could feel my panic rising as I tried to still the quiver in my voice.

  “Raaaaania!” The wail cut through my senses.

  “What is it, baby? What is it? Are you hurt?” My hand flew automatically to the Glock I’d stashed in the glove compartment while I drove. I was going to fucking kill him. I had no idea how he had found them but this time I was really going to kill him.

  More sobs, and I had to visualize a stop sign like the yogi taught me so I could hold back the “what the hell is it?” that threatened to erupt from my throat.

  Sweat and bile rose like a phoenix inside me. “Susie?”

  “I – I’m sorry Rania,” the little voice spluttered. “I had another dream. Daddy was back. And the fire was back too. I w-was s-s-scared. I’m sorry!” At the effort of the sentence the little voice broke off again, sobbing wildly. Relief snaked through me, releasing my chest and stomach and letting me breathe again.

  Bad dream, just a bad dream.

  Bad dreams were bad, but she was okay. I pictured her red curls and consciously tried to slow my breathing. “Shhh Susie,” I started. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay to have bad dreams.”

  A little hiccup, then, “You said I could call. You said… y-you said anytime…”

  “Of course bella, of course, of course,” I soothed her. “That’s why I gave you my special number. Any time. We’re a team, remember?”

  The little voice sniffed in agreement on the other end of the line.

  “And you know what?”

  “W-what?” She was still stammering but the sobs were starting to recede.

  “I have bad dreams too.”

  “You do?” She sounded amazed at the revelation.

  “Uh-huh. Sure do.”

  “But you’re… you’re so brave.”

  Oh man, there it was again. I thought about Missy earlier on in the evening. I seemed to have done a great job convincing everyone how tough I was. Little did they know what an absolute chicken shit I was underneath it all, really.

  Three weeks.

  Man, three weeks…

  “Nah,” I assured Susie. “You’re the brave one. Remember how good you did that night?”

  There was silence on the other end and I imagined Susie’s chubby little face scrunched in concentration. “You said I did good,” she said slowly, like remembering lines for a play. “But I just did what you told me.”

  “That’s true,” I said slowly. “But y’know what? I’ve seen grown-ups go crazy at times like that. Grown-ups who couldn’t follow even the simplest thing I told them to do. You? You were super-cool. You are definitely the bravest six-year-old I have ever, ever met.”

  “Really?” I could hear the smile creeping into her voice. “Pinky promise?”


  I laughed, the last remnants of tension floating from my shoulders. “Absolutely, baby. Double pinky promise.”

  “Sooo…” Susie seemed to be weighing up the merits of asking something. “Rania?”

  “Yep?”

  “What do you do? When you have your bad dreams?”

  Curl up in a ball and cry like a baby into my pillow so no-one can hear me.

  I decided against honesty. “Is your Mommy there?”

  “Yes,” Susie said uncertainly.

  “Well, bella, what I do is I jump right out of bed and go and get in with my Ma. And she gets me a hot chocolate.” I knew I was on pretty safe ground here. Susie’s Ma was just the hot chocolate-making type.

  Susie was quiet again. “But Rania?”

  “Yep?”

  “I don’t wanna scare my Ma. She… she looks at me sometimes, then holds me real tight, like she’s scared he’s gonna come back. Like she’s scared he’s gonna light another fire…”

  My breath caught in my throat at the thought of this little girl, who’d been through so much, not wanting to upset her Ma. But she needed to tell her Ma what was going on for her.

  I was pretty sure Dr Phil would call that a light bulb moment.

  “Well, darl’n, you know what? All your Mommy wants is to help. She wants to help make you feel better. She’s gonna worry anyway. You might as well let her make you some hot chocolate. Doing that might make her feel better.” I avoided thinking about my own Mom, trying to get me to open up, trying to get me to tell her what was wrong. Too much Dr Phil.

  “Mmm.” Susie seemed to agree with this advice.

  “And bella?”

  “Yes, Rania?”

  “You know he’s never going to come near you again, right?” I only met Susie for the first time that night, a year ago, but it mattered. It mattered to me that she felt safe. We’d been through it together, that awful thing. We’d spoken many times since I’d given her my cell number. But I hadn’t heard from her for a while. I’d thought she was getting better.

  Susie sighed sweetly on the other end of the line, and I was sure I could hear a little baby-sized yawn as well. “Yeah, I know, Rania. I know you’re gonna keep us safe.”

  Before I realized it, I’d arrived at the morgue, with shaky legs and my head spinning, but trying to focus on what I needed to do. Blondie. Larry. The autopsy.

  I had my lock-pick set strapped to my abdomen, just in case Billy had locked the cold storage. I could feel the rough calico against my overheated skin. But I was pretty sure I wasn’t gonna need that either. Billy’s as sloppy as he is irritating.

  I gave the back door a little push, and sure enough, I didn’t even need the key Larry gave me. It slid open with a tiny pop and the gentlest of creaks. I stopped for a moment. Something felt slightly out of place, a vague stirring in the symmetry of sound that was the Dirtwater night.

  I couldn’t place it. I pushed through the open-plan front area, back towards the office, the cold room and the labs. It was all exactly where it should have been, but I couldn’t shake the clammy hand of doubt that was caressing my neck with its sticky, uncertain fingers.

  It stayed with me as I set to work.

  Somewhere a clock was ticking, marking out the seconds while I prevaricated.

  Lucky I’m not the type to spook easily because something about its insistent rhythm and the blackness of the night was playing havoc with my danger radar. I stopped, in Lantara like my mother had taught me. Tune out all sound, listen for the note, focus on what you can hear.

  At the farthest reaches of perception, I made out the tinny echo of John Mellancamp. I realized with relief that was all I could hear.

  I moved over to the cold store. Two drawers, not that there’s more than one body to store in this town very often. I tugged on the first drawer, and it was locked. Not that one then. Billy would never do something as careful as that. I pulled on the second one, suddenly hyper-aware, feeling even the cold steel of the handle on my gloved palm.

  And there she was.

  Her moonbeam hair was splayed out around her, and if I didn’t know better I’d say Billy had arranged it that way. Maybe he did. Maybe even a clod like him could tell there was something special about this one. She still had on the jeans and the cheap white trainers. I touched her cheek, which felt soft and cold. I couldn’t help but whisper out one final prayer.

  “Ease her journey, Goddess Mother,” I intoned. And, to her, “Sleep well, little one.”

  Guilt washed over me, watching her so peaceful and still. “I’m so sorry… about what we’re going to do. But if I’m gonna find out who hurt you, I need something to go on.”

  4:00am: Dirtwater Morgue

  “Okay, so you weren’t kidding.” Larry’s face was grim, the deep lines that normally accentuated his handsomeness intensifying his seriousness. In some other kind of man it’d be freaked out, but Larry’s seen a lot. “She really is from someplace else.”

  “Yep.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Someplace wet?” He was asking the question but it wasn’t really a question.

  “Yep,” I confirmed again, shortly. “Very wet. What gave it away?”

  “Well…” Larry scratched his head, as if where to start?

  “The dual respiratory system, that’s kind of unique, and these interesting internal gill things. Nice. Beautiful, actually, I’d be inclined to say. So… tidy.”

  He stood back, as if admiring a work of art, and considered Blondie for another moment or two. She was stretched out on the long white bench. It was dark. He’d used only the lights he absolutely needed for the clandestine procedure. But I could tell he’d been careful, and neat as ever. The railroad track across her chest and forehead was made up of perfect little stitches, and there wasn’t a trace of blood or fluid on her.

  He kept looking at her, carefully wiping down a line of tiny silver instruments.

  “Then there’s the dermis. Our skin’s waterproof, but this stuff, this is something else altogether. Looks like ours, but is actually made of these microscopic organic shields. Scales, I guess you’d call then. Perfectly adapted for long term submersion. Reminds me of this incredible scuba get-up a SEAL buddy of mine usedta have. I won’t even go into what I found in here.”

  He tapped Blondie’s forehead gently.

  “But let’s put it this way Rania. I always knew you were a smart girl. But what I’ve seen here today makes me wanna ask what the hell’s a smart fish like you doin’ in a dive like this?”

  I smiled at him wanly. It felt weird, hearing her described this way. Hearing me described this way. “What else?”

  “Well. There’s the muscular-skeletal system, but I probably shoulda guessed about that. After all, those arm wrestles have been messin’ with my head for… what? Thirteen years now?”

  He shook his head. “Incredible artistry, y’know that? The weighting system built into the sinews. That how you guys stay under? No dive belts needed. And then her vocal apparatus. Amazing. I guess it’s hard to communicate underwater without some special equipment.”

  I was smiling again although my whole body felt numb.

  But we needed to cut to the chase. I needed to know what he was able to find out about what happened to her. Whether he could give me any leads. Because I’d surprised myself by not being able to watch the autopsy. Weirder and weirder. I’ve seen dozens of them, and I was only sick once, the first time. But something about her, so still and perfect and secret. Relying on me to find out what happened. I couldn’t watch her get cut.

  And maybe it was more than that. Maybe I was just getting squeamish about death as my own appointed time drew closer. As I wondered if I’ll be lying on some slab, just like Blondie…

  So I’d sneaked outside and avoided the temptation to ransack the morgue for stray cigarettes, raiding the fridge instead. Larry keeps it stocked. Three bagels, four slices of cheese, two quarts of orange juice and three Hershey bars later, Larry was done. “So did sh
e give anything away? About her death?” My voice sounded shaky and I didn’t like it, so I tried again. “I mean, probably not, I know. Nothing visible from the outside. Anything internal?”

  Larry scratched his big grey beard again as he spoke carefully. “Most things seem to be in place. Far as I can tell, of course, not being an expert on what ‘in place’ is supposed to look like for her. But there was something odd.”

  I leaned forward, desperately curious and sick inside at the same time.

  “It’s her ears,” Larry said. Then paused, like he didn’t quite have it right. “Okay, not her ears exactly. More like deep inside the ear canal.”

  “What is it?” The creepy fingers of fear I hadn’t shaken off tightened their grip.

  “It’s like…” He searched for the right analogy. “The tissue in there’s all been melted.”

  “Melted?” I was confused. “Like with heat?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “But… not. I mean, it looks melted. Hmmm… no. Dissolved. Turned to mush and nothing.”

  My mouth was suddenly very dry, and I got a sheen on my top lip. But I wasn’t gonna lose my lunch in front of Larry, so I reached for the jar of kool mints and gobbled four of them in a row. He silently handed me a glass of water.

  “Anything else?” I was asking more to keep busy than anything else.

  Larry consulted some notes he’d made on a little pad next to the kool mints.

  “Um,” he said, and was I just imagining it or did he look kinda shifty?

  “Stomach contents are pretty standard vegetarian fare, but I’d say she’s from the city. God knows you can’t get a good no-meat chow mein round here.”

  Huh. I was listening but not computing.

  “Otherwise seems to be in good health. No surgery, broken bones, illness.”

  Again, not surprising. Aegirans don’t get sick often. With little pestilence and crime, they keep themselves nice well into their sixties and beyond.

  Larry went on. “She’s never had a baby.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Watch-keepers are young, focused. But Larry’s words made my throat close over. No babies. And now she’ll never have any. They love children, in Aegira. They got population control sorted out several millennia ago, realizing the population couldn’t grow like on The Land if they were to continue to hide. So Aegirans have only one child, but each belongs joyfully to the community, and they share and delight in every birth.