The Mermaid and the Murders

by Rachel Graves

  “We had, but I still thought…I guess I wanted to see who won the last race.”

  His dad’s face crumpled in on itself, his chin reduced to a bunch of hard wrinkles, his eyes squeezed shut. I wanted to help but I didn’t know what I could do. It wasn’t like I could go get Ryan. Really, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to help. I mumbled something useless and slunk out of the kitchen, taking the side door through Ryan’s dad’s den.

  “Hector?”

  “Um, no. Sorry.” The man who’d asked hadn’t looked up at me before he spoke. He did now, and I judged him to be the same age as Ryan’s dad: late forties, early fifties.

  “Do I know you?” He looked me up and down.

  “Danika DelMar?”

  “Oh. You’re one of Heather’s friends. You rode to school together in the morning.” He nodded even though I hadn’t asked him a question. “I’m her father.”

  “Hi.” What could I say? Was I supposed to know she was dead? Did he know the police had questioned me?

  “I was hoping Hector could explain it all to me, how three kids who grew up together, who had such a great future, could be cut down like that.”

  “Three?”

  He blinked, not expecting the question. “Ryan, Tiffany, and my Heather.”

  “I knew Ryan and Heather were dating, but I didn’t realize they knew Tiffany.”

  “Her father was on the county board. He helped Hector and me get started. Tiffany, Ryan, and Heather used to play together at county meetings. About a million years ago, back when this was a hick town and we never thought our children would ever be hurt.”

  He stared down at the empty glass in front of him and I realized he’d been drinking. I wasn’t sure what to say or how to help him. I muttered useless words of apology and left.

  I found Ashley and Jen outside on the patio where Ryan had told me about going away to college. He’d picked out a school in the center of the state. He kept trying to convince me to go with him even though I’d told him I couldn’t handle being away from the ocean. “Can we go?”

  “Oh hell yes,” Jen answered. “I’ll find Sarah.”

  Ashley nodded, her eyes red with unshed tears.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. Not really. You?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  She grabbed her car keys and started juggling them from one hand to the other. “No one’s okay and no one wants to talk about it.”

  “Can you blame us?”

  “No.”

  Jen and Sarah came back before I could think of something else to say. I felt like I should talk to Jen about things. Find out what she was thinking or feeling, but in the car, all I did was look out the window, my head a jumbled mix of crazy emotions.

  When we got back to Jen’s car, I asked her for a ride home. As she drove, I realized there were things I wanted to know that Jen could help me with. “Where’d you buy your car?”

  “My mom knows a guy who works at a dealership. I wanted to get something off the Internet, but she didn’t trust it.”

  “Could you get me his name? I think I’m going to buy a car.”

  “You can’t drive.”

  “I’ll learn. I don’t want to be forced to get rides from Ashley forever.”

  Jen snorted. “She treated Heather like shit on Thursday.”

  “No doubt about that.”

  “So it makes sense you want to be free of that.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to abandon her. I just want to have an option. Like you’ve got an option.”

  “And Sarah?”

  “Sarah can take the bus.” We both laughed, but the sound was hollow.

  Jen pulled up at my house and looked at it for a second. “Are you safe here? Alone, I mean? My parents wouldn’t care if you crashed at our place.”

  “I don’t know. Is anyone safe anywhere?” I didn’t think whoever killed Heather and the others would respect a locked door, and I was probably stronger in the water than any of them. Since all the deaths seemed to take place there, I felt like I should be the one inviting Jen to stay with me.

  “Well, if you decide you want some company, call me.”

  “Sure thing.” I got out of the car, waved good-bye, and walked up the steps. When her car was gone, I turned around, walked down the stairs, and headed toward Maritime Masterpieces. I’d spent the morning feeling like I couldn’t do anything; now that I could, I didn’t hesitate for a minute. My emotions were a mess; but if Edgar was the guy who’d taken my photo all those years ago, he might have some information for me. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do more with my afternoon than learn the truth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maritime Masterpieces sold the kind of things people bought on a trip to South Florida. Glass fish the size of my fist, paintings of dolphins in the sunlight, and sculptures designed to look like coral reef. I could imagine my mother’s photos being sold here, decked out in artful frames and destined to sit on some northerner’s wall as a completely out-of-place reminder of their trip. Did the artists mind that their pieces were only appreciated as mementos and not for the work and creativity they represented? Perhaps, but maybe the high price tags made up for it.

  The slow season meant I stood alone in the space, surrounded by souvenirs-to-be. I browsed for a few minutes before a man came out of the back. He was around my mother’s age, mid-to-late thirties, fit but not healthy or strong. He looked like he needed a few days of good rest. I noticed his blonde hair and broad chest, registering it as desirable, but not my thing. He looked a bit too perfect, like a Ken doll that walked.

  “Can I help you with something?” Apparently, the Ken doll also talked.

  I’d been facing a glass dolphin statue, studying the man out of the corner of my eye. When I turned around, his face changed, blanching white. He recovered after a few breaths. Before I got a chance to say anything, he took a few steps toward me, holding out his hand. “Edgar,” he said with a smile.

  I took his hand, expecting him to shake my hand and let go. Instead he covered my hand with his for a second, looking into my eyes. I wasn’t sure how to interpret the gesture. It bordered on creepy. I felt relieved when he let go.

  “No last name?” I asked.

  “I use one, but people like us don’t really have last names, do we?”

  “People like us?” I raised my eyebrows worried what this stranger knew.

  “You’re Danika DelMar, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I know your mom and dad. You take after your mom, right? Either way, you’re people like me.”

  “Oh.” I shifted my body back a little, shocked. I’d never been recognized before.

  “What brings you up here?” He gestured around the gallery, but I was pretty sure he meant dry land.

  “I live here.”

  “Really?”

  “I go to school and everything. I’m a senior this year.”

  “Fitting in okay?” he asked with studied indifference that hit home.

  “Sure am,” I lied. He didn’t need to know about the precarious edge I walked every day, the way I had to hide from my friends.

  He laughed, but when I didn’t join him, he stopped. “Well, you’d be the first. Most of us spend half our time feeling alone and the other half worried someone will find out what we are. I guess you’re not having any trouble with that.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. No one mentioned the council to me until yesterday. I thought I was the only…” A bell chimed in the front of the shop and a tourist came in to look around. “The only person like us in the place.”

  He said quietly, “I have a feeling there’s a whole generation of people who think the exact same thing. That’s what the council was supposed to prevent, but…” He let his voice trail off.

  “But what? What actually happened?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Would I ask if I did?” I didn’t bother to hide the frustration in my voice.


  “I guess not.” He glanced at the tourist, who seemed headed toward the door, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “Well, how can I put this? There were two factions in the council. One group wanted peaceful coexistence.” The door opened and he stopped while the tourist left.

  “And the other group didn’t?” I spoke in my normal voice.

  “The other group felt strongly that we owned this place and we shouldn’t have to share it. The rest of them have the whole country; why can’t we have one place?”

  “Guess you were part of the second group, huh?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t. I was with your parents in the first group. We all thought everyone could get along.”

  “And what happened? Some big council fight?”

  “No.” He shook his head, clearly surprised. “Your dad was beaten to death by a bunch of dry-landers. He stopped them from getting to your mom and you, but they killed him.”

  Stunned, I couldn’t speak. Edgar waited while I got myself together. When I found my tongue, I could only ask, “Were you there?”

  “They put me in the hospital.” He put his hand on my arm. “Danika, I’ll bet you like school. I know you did when you were young. But dry-landers don’t respond well to people who are different. Is it worth risking your life?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Was he telling the truth? Was that why Mom never answered my questions about Dad? “I don’t know.”

  “It sounds like you’re like your dad, part of a bunch of different groups. He had his family, your mom’s family, and the council. All those people wanted a part of him. It killed him. Now you’re part of a lot of different things: school, your mom’s people, your dad’s people. That’s got to be exhausting. Why not make a choice, a safe one, and stop torturing yourself?”

  “I’m not torturing myself.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice had shifted from comfort to condescension, immediately offending me. How dare he decide what was best for me? How dare he give me this information and then obviously try to influence me? He didn’t know me. He wasn’t part of my life. I had a right to know the history of my family, the stories of my town. Edgar didn’t get to be in control.

  “I need to get to my homework. Thanks for the history lesson.” I grabbed my bag and walked out of the store as proudly as I could manage.

  ****

  At home I went up to my room and tried to read for AP English. Two paragraphs in I threw the book against the wall. Hefting it with all my strength I sent it flying into the drywall hard enough to leave a dent. But after a loud thunk, there was nothing left to distract me.

  If fiction wouldn’t work, I hoped my anatomy and physiology classes would. I grabbed my workbook, the famous A&P coloring book, and started in the endocrine system, repeating the names over and over to myself. Only, when I leaned back to look at what I’d done I realized how stupid it was. I was learning about body systems for a body I didn’t have, wondering how much of it applied to me. Did the ammonia in my blood change the way my lungs worked? Did my cells store oxygen the same way? More questions I didn’t have answers for.

  I struggled to keep it together for another few seconds before I finally gave up and screamed. The sound echoed in the empty room, rolling out the door into the empty house. This is what I’d chosen for myself, an empty house filled with books when I could have an ocean filled with cousins and sisters.

  Silence came back at me, as cold as Ashley’s face when she’d been mean to Heather. I could have a normal eighteen-year-old’s life: the drama and the fun, partying, school. And I could be with Sam, under the waves with a lover I wouldn’t drown. I could have all of it, live between the worlds for a little bit longer. But was it worth it? What Edgar said about trying to fit in being too much work—did I believe him? I’d told everyone I wanted time alone but that wasn’t right, not exactly. I was restless and I wanted to do something, to make a choice and not just wait for some magic moment when it would be clear what I should do.

  I paced in my room, walking fast until I practically ran in a circle. Something inside of me felt trapped, and I had to let it out but I didn’t know how. Usually I could swim my anger away, but this felt different, like all the things I usually did were part of the problem. I needed something new, something that would make me feel strong and powerful, like I could decide my future.

  When it came to me the answer sent chills down my spine. Oh sweet Mother Ocean, I wanted to hunt. I’d never wanted to hurt before but now being in control, being the one in charge, and winning a fight, I wanted all of that. I wanted to wrap my tail around something and squeeze with all my strength. I wanted to be stronger than someone, anyone. I wanted to be ferocious.

  I stopped pacing and let out my breath. Sweat started to form on my arms and my stomach balled itself into a tight knot. This new feeling, the need to dominate, scared me but the more I thought about it, the more hunting made sense. I felt powerless, so why not seize what little power I had?

  Well, other than that it could ruin my relationship with Sam, make me no worse than the murderer, and, oh yes, the little matter of ending a life. Other than all that, hunting was perfect.

  I walked out on to my balcony, hoping the cool breeze would help calm me. Instead, I saw fins in the sunlight. Dolphins probably, or maybe a shark. A shark!

  Oh yes, I was going to go hunting. Not for a man, not for a mate, I was going to hunt something bigger and scarier than that. I hoped for a hammerhead, a big mean shark, and I hoped once I got this stupid urge out of my system I could go back to my normal life.

  The ocean turned into liquid gold in the afternoon sun. Warm water rushed over my gills as I swam, fast into the center of the sea. My thoughts moved as quickly as my tail. Instead of trying to focus I decided to let go, to let myself feel everything, but hold on to nothing. I’d been through so much; but the faster I swam, the more it seemed to fall away. I could feel it all but none of it touched me.

  My stomach rumbled. The little bits of food I’d eaten were nothing compared to the bounty Mother Ocean offered me. But when a school of silver mullets passed by me, I ignored them, wanting something bigger.

  I found the nurse shark outside of my reef, gray and long, its body a tube of pure muscle. Nurse sharks aren’t fierce. They’re skittish creatures that eat lobster and only attack humans who acted stupid. Even as I thought about finding something meaner, I shadowed the six-foot shark. Stalking it felt natural to me. I stayed behind my prey, waiting for it to be distracted.

  The shark sensed my presence and took off, swimming fast to deeper water. I chased it, my tail going faster. Soon we were side-by-side, coal black eyes staring at me as the beast turned to bite. I threw my shoulders back and sent my tail forward, wrapping around it like a lover. I squeezed and my scales released blood into the water with a thousand small cuts. The shark thrashed, fighting against what it must’ve known was coming.

  I felt my teeth grow in my mouth, sharp fangs coming forward. When the shark came forward to bite me, I moved quickly and bit it first. My teeth sank into gills, the flesh rough like sand, the slits in the skin moving between my teeth. I kept biting, my tail pushing the life out of the beast.

  Around us, other sharks gathered, large and small, brought by the smell of blood. I ignored them; focusing on the death I intended to deliver. The creature in front of me had seconds left but I knew it could still hurt me. Fighting off my hunger, I drew back, ducking around the mouth. My arm moved too slowly and I felt the intense pressure of its bite. Pounds of pressure started to come down, enough to crack a lobster’s shell, enough to break my bones. The pain left my vision red and my tail moved in deadly instinct.

  A tight squeeze with a sideways motion, one I’d never made before, and half the shark fell away. Even in death, it was reluctant to let go of my arm.

  When the pressure eased, I looked into the depths of the water around me. Sharks. Everywhere. I was surrounded by hundreds of them. I let the body hang from my arm and swam fast, headed toward
safety. Beneath me, the battle began, menacing gray bodies fighting for the bottom half of my prey.

  I pulled myself on to the beach, feasting on the flesh of my victim. Primal joy spread through me with each bite. No fish had ever tasted so good. Going up against something that could bite back, against something almost stronger than me, winning made it seem like I could win at anything. I called myself a shark-killer, saying the words out loud to no one. A shark killer who could take on the ocean, a powerful mermaid to be feared and admired.

  Whoever was going after my friends should be afraid, because they were next and they’d end up as defeated as the shark I bit into. I ate until my tail dried to legs, delighted that the guts of it were behind me in the ocean somewhere. I ate as I savored the strength I felt, even though my arm hung almost useless with pain.

  Satisfied in a way I had never felt before, I curled on the sand next to the remains of the shark. Staring into those dead eyes, I realized this was how the murderer must feel: powerful, strong. I wondered for a second if my mother felt this when she killed, this mixed with the powerful pleasure of sex. I shivered at the thought, because it enticed me and I knew how brutal I could become if I gave in to that urge.

  Instead, I stood up, and carried the remains into the house. I used a sharp filleting knife to separate the skin from the meat, cut steaks and cubes of the creature I had killed until I filled the refrigerator. By the time I finished, my arm sang with pain; but when I checked it, nothing felt broken.

  My grandmother and my mother both agreed that a mermaid’s best medicine is swimming. I went back to the water and turned away from my reef, the scene of my hunt and toward the beach where I’d celebrated my birthday. The shark’s death brought me clarity and I wanted to use it to consider everything, Sam, me, the murders, my life: I wanted to examine my world with the pure thoughts of a predator.

  ****

  Saturday night, a full moon above me and high tide lifting me up. Normal girls would be out on a date or even stuck inside studying, but I floated on the waves, watching the stars. I’d already found a mate I didn’t have to worry about hurting. A magical partner who wouldn’t drown. And while mermaids lived for a very long time, Sam aged very slowly. We could be together for a long time.