Fish Out of Water

by Ros Baxter

  Larry put his book down.

  “Rania. There is one other thing, and I don’t know what to make of it so I’ll just tell you.”

  He paused again. I’d never seen him look so uncertain as he ran his hands again over his mouth and rubbed at his beard. “Actually,” he corrected himself. “Maybe I’ll just show you.”

  He lifted the sheet that he’d used as a modesty cover for Blondie. Her legs were slightly apart underneath it, and the gold of her skin looked impossibly smooth and unbroken against the white of the cotton. Larry pointed, high on her thigh, almost to the top of the inside of her leg. I could see another tattoo, blue-green like the watch-keeper fish. But fresher, a very recent tattoo. I could see the angry red lines indicating it had just been done. And this time it was a name.

  My name. Rania Aqualina.

  Me.

  I’m the reason she was here. She came for me.

  Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw that big old aquarium, and things started to make sense. I knew how she got here.

  But why me?

  I was heading out to Doug’s van to go over the drill, trying not to think about the tattoo, just about the plans I’d made with Larry to make the body disappear. Luckily for me, Larry’s got contacts, because a missing body might cause some waves, sure, but having the wrong people find this particular body could cause a freakin’ tsunami. A whole world of trouble.

  For me. My Mom. For my investigation into who hurt her.

  And maybe even for the peaceful Aegirans as a whole.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Doug.”

  He winked one of those swiss chocolate eyes. “I’m your go-to man, girlfriend. You ever need a rocket launcher, call me.”

  “Doug,” I exploded. “Please don’t tell me those things. I am enforcement, remember?”

  He looked at me pointedly, a smile playing around full lips. “Sorry, oh little-sister-of-mercy. I mistook you for a body-snatcher. Silly ole me.”

  “Hardy har har.” I guessed he had a point. I don’t need to read his mind to know he’s got secrets of his own. And he quite likes the stakes even.

  It’s weird, you know, that we can’t read human minds. All fish species, yep. Cows, check. Other mermaids, if they let you in, sure. But not humans. I’ve always found that strange. I mean, as far as I can tell, human minds are pretty basic. You’d think they’d be easily accessible. But no. Princess Lecanora used to say we were locked out of human minds because we’d cast them aside. Somehow in the process we’d lost some essentially human part of ourselves that meant we could never really get them, the straight land-dwellers. She said the Prophecy was all about the universe trying to find a way to reconcile the two parts of us, and maybe even the two parts of the world. Earth and Sea.

  Nice idea. Shame I won’t be around to see it all happen.

  As I stood by the van, I could smell Mexican anise and heat. Licorice and madness.

  Without being told, Doug had parked on a kind of meandering back road that snakes up behind the morgue, close to where I’d stashed Ma’s ride. It was out of the way, but still only a few hundred yards across the bramble and gooseberry patches to the morgue. I breathed in wild anise and made Blondie a silent promise.

  I will find out who you are. And I will get you home.

  I told Doug where we were going once I came back to the van with her, and passed the keys to the facility Larry organized.

  “You want me to help?” He was looking at me dead-on.

  “Nah,” I sighed. “I’ve got it.”

  “What about hefting?”

  “I can get her back here. Might need some help at the other end. Stairs.”

  I sighed again, and pulled the van door open in the thick, wild silence of frontier heat.

  I felt my heartbeat ratchet up as I turned back to the morgue. But Doug stopped me.

  “Sheriff. I gotta say something.” A deep frown dipped between those fudgey eyes.

  I didn’t need someone spooking me anymore than I already was. “It’ll be fine, D.”

  “No, Rania,” he caught my arm. He never called me that. “For some reason I feel like I gotta tell you this now.”

  Something in me fretted that he was going to choose now for some romantic declaration. Truth to tell, after I climbed out the window that night a year ago, I mostly felt relief (apart from the ego blow and despite how much I liked hanging with Doug). Then when he reappeared it was easier to play the injured party. You see, I knew then what I know now. I have no future. Even someone like Doug would eventually want more than three weeks. Even if sometimes it seems like falling back into those strong arms would be the easiest thing in the world.

  “Later, D,” I said it as gently as I could, pulling away from him.

  When I got back to the morgue, Larry was gone, like we’d agreed, and Blondie was waiting. I decided against a gurney, figuring it would make the two of us that much more noticeable as we headed to the van. Instead, I placed my hands under her armpits and pulled her upper torso up towards me, balancing the top half of her against my chest while I made sure I had purchase. And then I lifted her higher, bringing her into a fireman’s haul over my right shoulder, stepping back to adjust her weight and drape her legs down the front of my body.

  I jiggled a little. She felt stable. As stable as corpse on your shoulder can be, I guess.

  I relaxed a little, feeling confident, certain the expedition was almost over and happy to be making my way out knowing Blondie was going to be safe from prying eyes and the possibility of outing us all.

  Then the feeling came again, the wave of wrongness. I didn’t have the right words for it, but it was like fingernails on the blackboard of my senses. A disturbance in the air, a shift in the invisible alarm shield we all wear around us that tells us when everything is okay.

  Right then I knew for sure that it was so not okay.

  This was beyond weird. I’ve always been an intuitive kind of person. I mean, even apart from the mermaid thing, I’m a woman. And a cop. Experience hones your instincts to a razor point. But this was different. It was sensual, like I could smell the change in the air.

  My mind whizzed through the possibilities of what was freaking out my radar.

  Maybe Doug was out of the van and coming in here to help? But I didn’t think so. It was not The Plan and Doug’s not one to jeopardize a mission without a good reason.

  I realized whatever it was, it wasn’t getting better for me standing there trying to smell it.

  I had to start moving. I closed the cold drawer as softly as possible.

  Blondie and I were moving as one as I retraced my steps.

  Back out through the morgue, automatically picking up a Have you shared your wishes with your loved ones? pamphlet with my spare hand as I passed through. I thought about Mom.

  Should I be telling her what’s going to happen in three weeks?

  I chastised myself quickly, remembering I had way more to deal with right now than what kind of funeral I want when I finally bite the dust.

  I’d project managed interfering with a body, I was stealing a corpse, and I’d suddenly developed some primal sixth sense that was telling me somehow but for certain that something menacing was waiting for me in the dark.

  I was still a couple of hundred yards from the van when I heard something. Singing? I was half-way across the bramble and could see the van when it happened.

  Five years I worked homicide in the city and I never got shot.

  Not that I wasn’t in dangerous situations, many times. But I was always too quick.

  My first time, I thought, as I sank to my knees like a folded piece of paper.

  Always important to try new things.

  Blondie slid off my shoulder as I hit the dirt.

  I was in agony, but couldn’t work out where I’d been hit. The world was awash with pain. I was supine and vaguely aware of scrunching my knees up to my chest as I retreated into some fetal hug, thinking: I’m supposed to have three more weeks.
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  The pain was inside my head, and in my ears, like some demented thing.

  I must have taken a hit to the head. That’s gotta be bad.

  Then I couldn’t think at all.

  The pain was getting worse, building to a screaming zenith and underneath the blind rage I was feeling at being hurt this way was a matching frustration that I couldn’t work out where the hell they’d hit me. I was worried about Blondie, I was worried I was making too much noise, I was worried someone would find me…

  Then it was over. Very suddenly.

  Doug was beside me, cradling my head in his hands and he’d done something else too but I was still picking my thoughts up off the nearest gooseberry bushes and couldn’t work out what the hell he did to make the pain stop. He shushed me by putting a finger to my lips and it was only then I realized I was moaning.

  “Shush. Stop. Rania, stop. Look at me girl. Look at me, you gotta stop.” I could see his lips moving but I couldn’t hear him right.

  And then I realized what he’d done. He’d put something in my ears. Like a dog with a flea collar on, I tried to brush the things away. They were some kind of ear plugs, hard plastic knobs rammed deep inside the ear canal. But my arms weren’t working like they should. They were flapping around uselessly, oblivious to my commands.

  Doug turned my face to his impassive one and motioned not yet.

  Then he gave me the wait signal, pointed to the van, and heaved Blondie over his shoulder. He darted over to the van really fast and low for someone so huge, and deposited Blondie unceremoniously through the already-open door.

  Then he came back to me and motioned again: now.

  I realized I must look startled as he bent to pick me up because his face started signaling effectively even with his hands around my torso and out of action.

  Don’t argue.

  This time it was me he was tossing onto the van floor before the night was a kaleidoscope of spinning wheels and jarring steel and he sped out of there. I was lying right next to Blondie, although Doug obviously dumped her fairly perfunctorily before he came back for me, because she’d kind of half rolled over. She looked twisted up, and messy. I could see clumps of dirt and grass in her beautiful hair from when I dropped her. I lifted my right arm to try to straighten her up as we lay together on the steel floor of Doug’s van. I managed to lift my arm, but only just, and a rough stab of nausea knifed into my belly. I rolled quickly over onto my back again, trying to prevent it. But I couldn’t stop the torrents of vomit from pouring out of me. All I could do was try not to mess Blondie up further in the process.

  I could feel the van pull up as I finally lay still, in a putrid pool of fear and injury.

  Doug yanked open the van door and I realized we’d parked a few doors down from Mom’s place, at the park. He’d driven us up onto the verge and behind some trees, offering at least a little protection from the road.

  He looked down at me, lying on the floor of the van and reached for my face. I was confused by why he was choosing now to have a tender moment when I realized he was taking the tiny plugs out of my ears.

  “You okay?” He looked rough, although I guessed not as bad as me.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “But I’ve got bad news.” He wasn’t biting. “It’s worse than the Harley.” I motioned to the vomit.

  He laughed, and even in the dark I could see the lines smooth out on that patrician face. “Jesus, Sheriff, that’s disgusting. You’re cleaning it out once you’re ok. Goddamn women, they always get carsick.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but don’t think it was anything to do with your driving.” I paused. “What the hell happened back there?”

  “No idea,” he confirmed unhelpfully, rubbing rough palms up and down my arms as though to warm me up. “I was watchin’ you carrying Blondie over like she was no heavier than a bagel, then I heard this sound. My ears hurt. But you dropped. You were rolling and clutching at your face and head.”

  “Hang on.” I blinked, trying to clear my head. “Didn’t you hear the shooter before that?”

  “Sheriff,” he said quietly, stopping the rubbing and cupping my face. “There weren’t no shooter. Just you. And Blondie. I ran over and there was blood all over your face. Coming outta your ears. And you were screamin’. I could see you were screamin’. But silently, y’know. No sound. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

  “So that’s why you did the thing with the ear plugs?”

  “Well…” He looked sheepish. “I’d like t’ tell ya it was my idea, but not really. Something I saw in Iraq. Went to a test of this new generation of weapons the terrorists are usin’. Scariest shit I ever saw. Crippling people with sound. It was pretty crude, but effective.” He looked like he was made of stone, remembering. “I’ve carried a couple of pairs of these little babies ever since.” He motioned at two bloody plugs lying in his open palm.

  “Military issue. Cut out 90 per cent of all sound. Dunno what made me connect the dots tonight, really, but I tucked them in my ears before I ran over to you, and the pain stopped. Then, when I put them in your ears, you stopped the freaky quiet screamin’ stuff.”

  I looked at him, impressed. A girl could sure get used to having this guy around.

  “Just as well too, Sheriff.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked quickly, suddenly worried that maybe someone had heard us.

  “‘Cause I can’t stand to see a goddamn woman howlin’.”

  I looked at him again. He was laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. “Anyway, GI Jane,” he went on. “Think we better get Blondie outta here. We got enough to deal with without some nosy neighbor havin’ a peek. Once we got her sorted, we can go get your Ma’s vehicle. You gonna be ok to walk?”

  I wasn’t sure. I heaved myself gingerly over the side of the van, and planted my feet softly on the ground. It felt like I was taking my first steps.

  “Just give me a minute,” I suggested.

  “Fine,” Doug said. “I’ll get Blondie in the house. We can transfer her to Larry’s facility later. Right now I think you need to lie down. But maybe we shouldn’t leave her out here.”

  I felt a rush of gratitude that he was taking care of her, although I was about to insist that I could manage her, when I felt my legs giving way beneath me and realized I couldn’t. “Okay,” I sighed.

  “Thank you, God,” Doug sighed back. And then, to his shoulder, where our dead mermaid was already swinging serenely: “I thought I was going to have to insist, Blondie. And the good Lord knows that woman does not like it when you insist.”

  And then he was off.

  I took the opportunity to practice walking. I definitely did not want Doug hefting me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes again. The simple, rhythmic task was useful to stop me from completely freaking out. My mind was buzzing as it sorted through strands of information.

  Someone tried to kill me. Worse. Someone tried to kill me with some seriously scary weapon I couldn’t even hear. And it was too early. I still had three weeks. Who was it? The big creepy guy Dan and Missy saw earlier? Did he kill her? And why? Did they want Blondie?

  The last final piece clicked into place.

  They did this to her, too. This was how they killed her. My poor Blondie.

  The nagging thought that had started to scratch at me a little back at The End of Days, at the mike, dug its claws deeper into my heart.

  I don’t want to die. Especially like this.

  I was down the dark end of the park when Doug returned, and he wasn’t alone. I could feel Mom’s voice poking in my head before I saw her. Oh Mother. Someone tried to kill you?

  My Mom never freaks out, and I couldn’t take it now. Stop. Mom, stop.

  I felt her start up again. Someone tried to kill you!

  I reached for what I knew was a cowardly appeal, more to make her stop than for any other reason. Just take care of me.

  It had the desired effect. She stopped her maternal rant in the inner reaches of my mind, which I was too
wiped out and too tired to close off. She just ran to me instead, wrapping me up in her arms and picking me up like I was a feather and carrying me up the stairs, despite my protestations, despite Doug’s barely audible “Holy cow, the mother’s just as strong as she is.”

  She wouldn’t let me talk, she’d seen enough in my head. She lay me gently on my bed, pulling freshly laundered sheets up to my nose. I tried to protest.

  I had to get Blondie inside. And then get her to Larry’s contact.

  And then get Ma’s car.

  I had to…

  But I was so tired. I felt like I’d run a marathon. Like I could die now, peacefully, in my sleep. I felt like if I wasn’t gonna die I was gonna sleep for a thousand years, like a fairy tale.

  Mom got her elixir out of the bathroom cabinet. The one saved for major flesh wounds and broken hearts. She dabbed some on my temples, and whispered into my burned out mind.

  “Sleep, Ransha, sleep. Doug and I will do what needs to be done.”

  Chapter Four

  Sting-rays and Eight-ball

  Day Two: 10:00am

  He is riding the ivory stallion, and I am bumping along sitting astride it, behind him. My heart is full and I can feel the ride’s bony back between my legs and the strong, muscled back of my lover pressed against my chest at the same time. The setting sun dips in front of us as we bounce across the plain. It is huge and orange and glowing with possibility.

  All is well. After everything that has been, all is going to be okay…

  I was groggy and disoriented, my mind blank, as I twisted and bucked in the bright room, sheets pinning me down. My eyes connected with furniture and light that I didn’t recognize, that made no sense. I was a girl, riding off into the sunset, my heart full. What was all of this? A slick black space occupied the zone where I somehow knew my thoughts and memories should be. I gasped and spluttered like a drowning woman. I groped for myself, for my soul, not knowing who or where I was. A prickly rush arced through me and I tasted blood on my tongue as I bit down against the terror. Blank consciousness overwhelmed me for a few seconds before I remembered who and where I was. Before the simple furnishings – the netbook on a desk, the Goan wall hanging – declared themselves mine.