“Why start now?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Is that what you call her?” Sybil stormed around the desk and sat.
Edward threw himself onto the sofa and dropped his head in his hands. “Look, it didn’t mean anything. It’s just, since we...well, after...” He raised his head to glance at the photograph of the little girl.
“How dare you bring her into it?”
He met her eyes, flinching at the stone cold hatred in them. For the first time, Edward noticed piles of papers strewn over the desk. And on the floor to one side. “What is all this?”
“I have work to do.”
“You have work to do?” Edward jumped to his feet. “You cold hearted bitch. No wonder I...” The pain on Sybil’s face drained his anger away. “Do you even care about anything except your work?”
Sybil turned her chair away from him. Conversation over. Edward followed her gaze.
“And that. More fool me for buying it.” He glared at the painting and at Sybil’s back. There was no response from either, so he stalked out of the room. The front door slammed.
Tears coursed down Sybil’s cheeks as she pushed herself out of the chair. Ever so gently, she opened her fingers wide and held them to the canvas, not quite touching it. She closed her eyes.
IN THE KITCHEN, A NOTE was propped up against a clean glass. Edward tossed his overcoat on the back of a chair and his briefcase on the floor.
“Sybil?”
He spotted the note. “Left early for conference. Sybil.” He crushed it in his hand and flung it against the wall.
After pouring himself a drink in the glass so generously left there, Edwards headed for Sybil’s study. A rare opportunity to spend time in there without her to chase him out.
In the middle of the room, he stopped, mouth open. One wall was covered with the printed pages of mermaid stories. Stuff from the internet. Fables. Reports of sighting. References to their origins. Larger pieces of paper with scrawl all over them were taped to the walls.
One word stood out, written in red on numerous pages. Colony. Often followed by another. Family.
There was a list of names, in Sybil’s handwriting.
Oannes.
Triton.
Poseidon.
Neptune.
Nix.
Lorelei.
What the hell was going on? He swallowed half the drink. She’d lost her mind. His eyes honed in on the painting.
THERE WAS NOBODY ON the main street where Edward left his car, then hauled the sheet-covered painting out of the boot. Even this late at night, there should have been someone around.
The alley echoed his footsteps. He walked and walked with not a soul in sight. The far end of the alley was barely in view and when he glanced behind, the main street was invisible.
He must have missed the shop. Perhaps its lights were out. He needed to find it. Concentrate.
Edward turned back. He counted his steps until five hundred. There was no way it was so far.
Puzzled, he rested, putting the painting down to give his aching arms a break. He peered around but it was so dark he couldn’t make out anything other than the still-distant main street. The shop was halfway between both streets. He was sure it was.
With a groan, he lifted the painting and counted two hundred steps into the darkness. That was where the shop should be.
But there was only a blank wall.
“Where are you?” he screamed at the sky.
SYBIL WAS IN A CORNER of the study, rocking slowly from side to side, grasping the photo of the little girl to her chest. Mascara streaked her face. Her stockings were ripped. Hair spilled from her bun.
She’d torn the papers from the wall and they lay where they fell. The seashell lamp was on its side, light bulb flickering through broken pieces.
Edward dragged himself in, carrying the painting in exhaustion. There was silence as his eyes flickered from the carnage of the room to the state of his wife.
“Sybil?”
“Put it back where it belongs.” Desperation colored her voice.
“I was trying to. It doesn’t belong here.”
“You gave it to me.”
“And look what it’s done to you, to us.”
“Hang it back up.”
“I’d rather sell it—”
“Hang it back up.”
With a shake of his head, Edward unwrapped the painting.
Sybil’s breath drew in audibly as the canvas was exposed. Through wide eyes, she watched every move he made as he carried it to the wall and hung it.
“Shouldn’t you be at the conference?” He straightened the painting. “I think you’re obsessed.”
Ever so gently, she returned the photograph to the desk, careful not to touch Edward as he brushed past.
“You should get some help. Like your very angry looking merman.”
“Close the door, please.”
Although Edward looked as though he had more to say, he shrugged and pulled the door shut behind himself.
Sybil went to the painting, eyes half closed, the panic draining away.
She touched the frame, tentatively, tenderly. The merman smiled, one arm extended forward.
BLACK GARBAGE BAGS were piled near the back door. Sybil carried another into the kitchen, leaving a trail of folders on the floor.
She retrieved the fallen folders and tossed them into the bag, twisting the top until it was knotted.
At the counter, she removed her wedding ring and placed it beside the photograph of the little girl. With a sad smile she picked this up and kissed it.
From the front of the house came a soft thud.
Sybil put the photograph down and glanced at the clock. Ten a.m. “Edward?”
Another thud.
The sound was from the study. Sybil’s face paled. She hurried there, hands clenched until she reached the doorway.
She stopped with a small gasp. Her hands unclenched and she stepped inside. “I was waiting.”
IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT when Edward arrived home. He paused in the doorway to the study, eyebrows raised at its return to order. All the mess and papers on the wall were gone, and there was a pleasant scent in the air. A bit like the sea.
“Sybil?” He carried his overcoat and briefcase to the kitchen.
Black rubbish bags were piled near the back door. “What the?” Another thing to do.
He needed a drink first. Then he’d find her and apologize and give her the pretty pendent he’d bought tonight. It didn’t have mermaids, just lots of diamonds.
The photograph of their long-dead baby daughter was in the middle of the counter, her violet-as-Sybil’s eyes watching him.
Did Sybil put it here to remind him, get back at him? The accident wasn’t his fault and he was under the limit. No prison time. Only a lifetime sentence of grief.
He swore and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Added a shot, then another. And saw the wedding ring beside the photograph. The glass dropped from his fingers, shattering when it hit the floor.
“Sybil, where are you?”
Edward stepped over the shards and pooling liquid on the floor and kept going until he found himself in front of the painting in the study.
“This is your fault.”
He reached up to the top of the frame and stepped into soaking wet carpet. His hands dropped in surprise as he saw a trail of water below the painting. When he touched it and brought his fingers to his nose, it was seawater. Impossible.
There was something different about the painting. Why would Sybil damage an expensive painting by adding a rock to the seascape, for surely there weren’t six in there before?
Edward almost ran from the study, returning a moment later with his camera. He flicked through the images he’d taken the other week for insurance.
There were clearly five rocks and five mermaid creatures in every photograph.
After tossing the camera onto the desk, he shoved his glasses over his nose. Wha
t would possess Sybil to add a rock? She couldn’t even draw, let alone paint with oils.
Six rocks. Six figures.
He’d never noticed the extra mermaid swimming toward the rocks. He rechecked the camera but there were five, all on rocks. Nobody in the water.
The cell phone rang. He grabbed it from his pocket. Barb’s name flashed on the screen. His eyes returned to the merman’s rock as the cell kept ringing.
The mermaid in the sea was now at the base of the merman’s rock.
Edward ripped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The cell stopped ringing.
“I need to see someone.”
Glasses back on and heart pounding, Edward gaped at the merman who reached out to the new mermaid, his face alight with joy and welcome.
Her arm was raised to his, their fingers almost touching. A breeze ruffled her hair, exposing the side of her face. And her violet eyes.
“Sybil?”
The mermaid’s arm sparkled as sunlight glinted off a bracelet. A gold bracelet with mermaid charms, diamonds in their tails.
The cell rang. It fell from Edward’s fingers.
THE OLD MAN WITH LONG white hair waited.
He was perched on a stool where he watched the wall in his shop. The wall with a hook but no painting.
The cawing of seagulls filled the air and a warm sea breeze stirred the dust in the shop. Then, the painting materialized in the empty space.
With a satisfied smile, Doctor Grok nodded. “You like!”
Who is Doctor Grok?
His origin is a bit of a mystery, but he knows what people need, rather than what they want. His peculiar shop has peculiar powers and he appears in someone’s life when they least expect it. He’ll be appearing in many new short stories in coming months.
PHILLIPA NEFRI CLARK also writes romantic mystery novels and loves to hear from her readers.
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With special thanks to Nas Dean and Steam Power Studios. Your ongoing support and expertise means the world to me.
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