Underground_A Merfolk Secret

by M. N. Arzu

  Adrian remained silent, and Andrew kept looking at the leg muscles. Purple and green imprints were visible on the sides, two inches below the hips.

  “Did someone grab you?” Andrew asked, confused.

  “I got stuck in a narrow passage,” Matt’s brother said, shrugging.

  “Well, we can work with your leg muscles without a problem, but your back is going to need a lot more attention. It can become a serious injury in no time. Your best bet is to get some scans done with Gwen, and then we’ll—”

  “Scans? As in a lab?” Adrian’s whole body tensed beneath Andrew’s eyes, a fine line of red scales shifting on his spine and shoulders.

  “Whoa, it would be perfectly safe and painless. In fact, Chris got his labs done last week.”

  “Of course he did,” Adrian said in a rather dark tone.

  “Look, you can come and get therapy, and things will get better, but I’d be working blind, and that’s not the best way to treat you.”

  “I’ll take whatever I can, Andrew. I always take whatever I can.”

  28

  Invitation Only

  Kate was having a complicated week.

  Ken wanted to bring Ray back to the world before Patrick did the honors, but every angle they produced lacked a solid narrative, and most importantly, didn’t answer the question of where Ray was right now. It wasn’t shaping up to be the feel-good piece her editor wanted. Essentially, they had to go against the Pentagon, the United Nations, and the extremely well documented event of Ray’s death with no hard proof at all. Because we say so wasn’t really cutting it.

  Ken wasn’t happy.

  Kate was sent back to researching Patrick while keeping an eye on Julian Brooks’s moves, while Jeff was researching conspiracy theories. Granted, half of those theories were completely out of reality, but some were based on hard facts, and every single one of those was a mine waiting to be explored.

  “Hmm… Something weird is going on,” Jeff said as he stopped typing, reading some obscure forum or another.

  “Weirder than usual?” Kate asked, highlighting a few lines from an article Patrick had written two years ago.

  “There seems to be some sort of convention here in New York.”

  “Another one of those Scales with Suits contests?” she absently asked, still reading. A lot of people were interested in merfolk, but some took it to the extremes, to the point they had ditched the fancy costumes and had tattooed their bodies with scales. All sorts of events had surged in the last year that catered to this crowd, and the business couldn’t be better.

  “I don’t think so… This is very hush-hush. A couple of people practically dropped their lives to be here tonight. Apparently all the top members have gone dark.”

  Kate frowned. “Really?”

  “Yeah. They have told people not to expect updates or answers for a while. The community thinks that something big is happening… Hmm, someone’s offering a big discount on Save the mermaid! t-shirts.”

  She rolled her eyes, and then looked at her watch. It was lunchtime. “Well, if it is something big and fancy, I can call a few contacts and see if someone is hosting an out-of-the-blue mermaid party. If it is as important as you think, we might score a story, after all.”

  * * *

  Chris sighed as he let himself relax in his bathtub. He knew people loved to do this sort of thing in hot water, but the only way he could stand that was under a shower, not underwater. His bath was as chilly as the pool, which meant it was perfect for a merman’s needs.

  His bathroom was decorated in shades of blue, with a sand-colored floor and white towels. A couple of paintings depicting the ocean adorned the walls, and little shells made their way up on the shower tiles. By the edge of the bathtub, two plastic ducks stared at him, at complete odds with the room around them.

  Almost twenty years ago, they had been the only toys he’d taken with him from his home to Julian’s house, and they were the last possessions of his childhood he still had. He’d outgrown the clothes, or lost everything else, but the photographs of his parents and those ducks still remained as physical reminders that that life had been real.

  He was going to see his parents in less than a year. The thought boggled his mind. He was both excited and scared to death, because he was no longer the child they had left behind, and he had no idea if they would approve of the man he’d become. What if he didn’t live up to their expectations? What if they blamed him for causing so much trouble for the entire merfolk world?

  What if they wanted Chris as he was when he was eight years old, and all they would see in him was a stranger?

  He moved to grab the ducks, recalling the many nights his mother had bathed him while he played with them. He would ask all sorts of questions regarding his tail, and as he watched the ducks floating on the soapy water, he realized his parents had never seen his colors. That they had missed the best parts of his life, but that he had centuries to tell them all the stories of his brothers and Julian and the whole world.

  I have so much to show you! he thought with giddiness, the ducks smiling at him as if they were sharing a secret. He didn’t have to fear this. He just had to…be…

  Something heavy invaded his mind. He actually ducked, trying to dispel it, and when that didn’t work, he tried to follow it back.

  Hey! Matthew said as Chris stumbled against him, literally pushing him out of his thoughts.

  Matt? What the hell?

  You felt me, huh?

  You hit me like a train. What are you doing?

  Scott’s teaching me how to trace… Matt confessed in a rather dark mood.

  Chris got stuck between feeling outraged at Matt trying to intrude in his thoughts, and thoroughly confused about how Scott was teaching Matt anything telepathy related.

  Slow down. What, exactly, do you want to do?

  The silence stretched for almost a minute, until Matt’s resigned voice came back. Adrian’s been lying to me. I want to know why.

  Cold emptiness filled his stomachs. Give me a minute. I’ll be right there.

  * * *

  “Look, I’m not even sure if this is a good idea,” Matt said as Chris sat down on the edge of the pool, ready to shift into his tail again.

  “It works better underwater,” Scott said, a look of you moron directed at Matt. He was starting to like the kid, he really was, but in moments like this…

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” Matt said with gritted teeth, “the last time we connected with Chris through you, I started getting dragged into his dreams. I just don’t want to make it worse.”

  “I can’t really understand that,” Scott said, frowning. “I was light years ahead of you two, and I was never dragged into my parents’ dreams, or any of yours for that matter.”

  “Maybe I have a power you don’t have.”

  “Maybe you’re just imagining they are Chris’s dreams, but in reality they’re yours,” Scott said, ignoring Matt’s statement.

  “Guys, come on. Don’t start,” Chris said, getting into the pool. “You need me for range practice, anyway. So, we’re just going to do a wide sweep of the city, not engage with Adrian’s mind. Is that understood?”

  Matt sighed. “Yes. And if he picks us up, I’ll just say hi.”

  Chris nodded once, and submerged.

  “Remember,” Scott said, “it’s all about visualization. If one image brings nothing, change the setting until it clicks with your mind. Don’t connect with Christopher until you have that image under control.”

  Taking a deep breath, Matt followed Chris to the deepest part of the pool, and exhaled, his lungs easily shifting to take in water instead of air. Calming his nerves, Matt closed his eyes. The most common visualization they all used was the ocean, so he went with the familiar exercise. The pool disappeared, and Matt saw Chris’s blues beside him, and Alex’s yellows and greens close by. His father was still at the office, far enough that Matt couldn’t find him on his own.

  I’m neve
r going to get better if I keep using the same images. There’s gotta be something else… Something to guide me…

  An idea flashed into his mind. He changed the ocean for the school’s Olympic swimming pool, a place he knew and loved. He dove deep and then looked up. In this imaginary pool, ten lanes extended to his right and left, blue lines painted on the floor, and blue tiles waiting at the end. He imagined Chris in his merform swimming in the lane beside him, and Alex swimming two lanes further down. The image felt stronger, somehow, the familiarity of his surroundings easing the mental strain of this exercise.

  Okay, let’s see if this works.

  He reached for Chris’s hand, and the moment he touched his brother, he immediately felt the pool getting bigger, way bigger, in all directions. He could no longer see the edges or the lines, and as he turned around, even the lanes had endlessly multiplied at both sides. Startled, he let go of his brother and opened his eyes in the penthouse pool.

  Are you all right? Chris asked, looking at him.

  Yeah, it just—I mean, it was—You can reach so far!

  You’ll reach just as far in no time. Come on, let’s give it a try.

  Was it him or was Chris just as eager to find Adrian’s mind as he was? With all the turmoil in his head, Matt hadn’t really been paying much attention to his family’s moods. Granted, he didn’t need to feel the Squid’s lovesickness or Julian’s worry, but he was getting so used to relying on this developing sense of his that it was weird to realize how much he’d been neglecting it. Especially with Chris.

  Letting the thought go, he refocused on his Olympic pool, and was back in a couple of seconds. When he reached for Chris’s hand, he was prepared for the dizzying effect of the ever-expanding pool.

  Now, picture Julian, Chris instructed, but picture him swimming away. If you call him or imagine him coming to you, he will hear us.

  Matt did as Chris told him. It wasn’t just a matter of sneaking around Julian; if their father knew they were trying once again to sneak anywhere, they were never going to hear the end of it. In his mind, he saw Julian’s deep reds and blacks lazily moving fifty lanes to the left, way ahead of them. When his mind moved in that direction, it felt as if all fifty lanes contracted to thin lines, and suddenly Julian was right there, barely out of reach.

  Chris? Julian asked, as if he were unsure he’d heard something. Christopher dropped Matthew instantly, leaving Matt completely out of balance, but still in his imaginary pool. A mental current started to pull him to the right, and half dizzy, half intrigued, Matthew let himself be dragged into it.

  In the distance, further than fifty lanes, maybe even more than a hundred, he saw a tight red-and-yellow ball. As he stared at it, he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was staring right back at him—and it wasn’t happy. Zigzagging faster than Matt could track, the energy lunged at him, changing to all sorts of colors as it came looking for his spying intent.

  Scared out of his mind, Matt swam up in a mad dash to escape it, and as he reached out of his mental pool, he also reached out of the penthouse pool, breaking the surface with a shout, and gulping air as if he hadn’t been breathing water five seconds ago.

  “It’s coming—he saw me—God, what the hell was that?” he said in a rush as he got out of the pool, somehow believing he was going to be physically attacked underwater.

  “What? What happened?” Scott asked, while Matt’s mind untangled reality from imagination. “Matt, what did you see?”

  “I think it was Adrian. I mean, I know it was him—but I—I don’t know, I think I took him by surprise or something. He was really, really pissed. I don’t think he realized it was me.” Matt’s hand shook as he ran it through his hair. “Down there? In my mind? I was the enemy, Scott. And I don’t think Adrian takes kindly to his enemies.”

  * * *

  Strangely enough, Kate’s own contacts didn’t give her the SWIMMERs’ meeting address; Jeff did. He had diligently worked through their network until he found the golden location.

  “That’s what they’re calling it because it’s for golden members, get it?” Jeff said as the elevator doors opened and they exited into the lobby of a fancy hotel. She’d corroborated that one of their conference rooms had been booked in the morning, which lent credence to Jeff’s information. All they really knew for sure was that the high members were meeting here tonight, but how many or who they were, remained a mystery.

  “What I wonder is who the organizers are. You don’t get this type of place out of the blue without some serious money to pay for it.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Rumor has it that the head of the SWIMMER network lives here. Which makes sense when you think about it: Not only do we have the SWIMMER guy, we also have Julian Brooks. New York really has someone from every country in the world living here, even merfolk.” He whispered the last two words. Kate chuckled.

  Everyone who entered the hotel could be a SWIMMER secret member, and she was already thinking about how to get into the room where they would meet, when she spotted someone out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing: Patrick O’Connor had just walked into the lobby.

  “Oh crap, he also got the tip about the SWIMMERs,” she said, as she looked the other direction and nudged Jeff to keep walking.

  “Who?”

  “Patrick. I just saw him come in.”

  Jeff frowned. “Maybe the three of us could work together and get into the room?”

  “Maybe when hell freezes over. He wants to take our story away, Jeff, not help us out. He already thinks we’re some sort of corrupt media defending the government, remember?”

  They both turned a moment later, just to see Patrick walking to the conference room area, no hesitation in where he was going. “Oh, hell no,” she said, as she walked in the same direction, Jeff in tow.

  “What? What did I miss?”

  “He didn’t get a tip,” she said right in time to see Patrick showing some sort of card to a man in front of the conference room door. “He got a freaking invitation.”

  29

  On Board

  Matt was back on The Deep C, but everything looked out of place. He was looking at Christopher’s back, water dripping from his hair, blue scales glistening along his spine and shoulders.

  I’m too tired for this now, Matt thought, half closing his eyes. He’d forgotten how exhausting tracing could be, especially when Christopher had abruptly left him out of a long-range connection. He’d done it so Julian wouldn’t know what they were doing, but the splitting headache that followed him to the dream world was an unwelcome souvenir.

  I have to wake up before Chris gets whacked, he thought, sluggishly moving closer. Chris was humming again, but it sounded magnified somehow, as if he were hearing his thoughts along with the melody. Matt needed to silence him somehow, to quiet Chris’s mind so he could go back to sleep.

  The shadow passed over Christopher’s back, and Matt found it funny that it was his own shadow that had appeared. With sudden trepidation, he realized that he had only a couple of seconds before Chris would relive the attack. It snapped him out of his lethargic mood into instant action.

  Merfolk didn’t sweat, but Matt felt his heart accelerating, adrenaline invading his veins as he tried to stop the dream.

  No. No, no, no, no, no! Chris! Chris! Wake up! Wake up!

  “Wake up! Matt, wake up!”

  Every single one of Matt’s muscles was tense, and the moment he opened his eyes, he lashed out, hitting Chris on the chin and kicking him in the abdomen, tangled sheets and tangled shouts ending up in a mixture of panting and groans.

  “What—where—?” Matt said, trying to get his bearings in reality, not understanding he’d just sent his brother to the floor. “Chris?”

  All he got was a prolonged groan as he blindly looked for the nightstand lamp switch. It wasn’t even midnight, but he’d been so wiped out, he’d called it an early night.

  “Chris!” he said as he finally turned
the light on.

  “You’re welcome,” Chris said as he sat up, holding his ribs and rubbing his jaw.

  “What?”

  “You were having a nightmare. I heard you and came to wake you up, but you were in really deep.”

  “I was dragged into your dream again…” Matt whispered, thoroughly confused. “Except—you weren’t sleeping?”

  “Too early for me,” Chris said, as Matt helped him up.

  “So I was just—”

  “Having a nightmare,” Chris said again. Matt sat down on his bed, feeling the air rushing out of his lungs.

  “Scott’s right,” he whispered, “I’ve been dreaming about The Deep C, but all this time it was just me. I was never really in your dreams.”

  Chris looked at him, thoughtful. “That would explain why I never seem to remember them.”

  “But the night that you dreamed you were hit and we all woke up—”

  “That one was mine, you’re right. Maybe you picked it up and then kept dreaming about it?” Chris shrugged, wincing. “I don’t know. We can ask Julian when he gets home.”

  “He’s still at the office?”

  Chris nodded, wincing again. “Remind me never to get in a fight with you,” he said, still holding his ribs. “Man, you pack some serious punch for sure. Go back to sleep.”

  Chris left his room, but Matt didn’t turn the lights off, not when the dream was still so fresh in his mind. It was so real, how could it not be Chris’s memory? How could Matt imagine so many details? Was he obsessed with Chris’s attack to the point his subconscious would go to these lengths?

  Two hours later, sleep finally won over his increasingly jumbled questions, giving no answers to Matt’s tired mind.