* * * * *
Abby’s breath heaved in her throat as she stumbled through the sprinkling of trees that bordered 495 South. She pushed herself faster, not sure where she was heading, but certain she had to follow Eleanor’s orders, even if she had no idea what they meant.
The woods wasn’t deep at all, just a narrow strand of trees that followed the highway. Abby scurried inside a clump of pines and slowed to a brisk walk. Keep moving, she thought. You have to move. Except she knew there was no way she could walk to Clifton. It was miles away. There was no time. Not if she wanted to save Brian. Though she hadn’t a clue how she was supposed to do that.
She kept seeing his face: blue, slack lips; eyes closed as he lay still on the ground. With all her magic, she still couldn’t revive him. She wondered if she’d done something wrong. She’d taken CPR more than two years ago. Maybe she’d hurt him when she’d pulled him from the car. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t wake up.
Don’t be stupid, she thought. That doesn’t make any sense. If you hadn’t pulled him out, he’d have died in the explosion. So why did she feel like it was all her fault? He’d certainly thought so, that much was clear. In his few moments of lucidity, he’d asked why she’d tried to kill him. Abby felt sick when she remembered what Brian had said. She couldn’t understand why he thought she would hurt him. Hadn’t he known how she felt?
Apparently not, thought Abby, dragging a hand through her hair. Her skin was sticky, and she smelled like gasoline. But then she remembered the song in her throat, the way her voice had made him sick. And how she’d practically leaped out of his car, forcing him to abandon her on the side of the highway and meet his father on his own. And what did is father tell him then? To watch out for her because she was with the snakes; she was like the very monster she needed to kill. A terrible image of her nightmare with Eleanor rushed through Abby’s mind with such intensity, that she had to stop walking and steady herself with the branch a tree.
But why would he think that? Abby wondered. How could Brian’s father know? A sickening dread filled Abby’s chest as she remembered what she’d done to her mother at Logan. “Oh god,” she moaned, doubling over, the fear too much for her to bear. Did my singing kill her too?
Eleanor, she called, speaking the name with her mind. Eleanor, please. I need you now. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into the tree, liking the way the bark cut into her skin. Maybe the pain would help her think. Eleanor, she thought, help me now.
Silence. There was no one was there.
“Please,” moaned Abby. “Eleanor, please.” She slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out the feather. “Help me,” she whispered. “I need to know what I’ve done.”
Nothing. The siren was gone. All she could hear were her own racing thoughts. “No,” moaned Abby. “You have to come back.” She stared at the feather in her hand and wondered why it felt so cold. “Eleanor?” she asked. The feather pulsed once, its color growing bright, then fading into a smoky gray. “Come back,” whispered Abby, dropping it to the ground. But then she changed her mind and scooped it up again, shoving it back into her pocket just in case.
Abby lowered herself to the forest floor and yanked the mermaid box out of Brian’s pack. Once she had it, she glared at the mermaid engraving, her long hair flowing in the miniature ocean, green eyes closed as if in sleep.
“Wake up,” Abby shouted. “I know you’re there. I don’t know what you did to that feather, but you’re not leaving. I need to talk to you.” Brian’s face rushed through her, his dark eyes confused, his voice blaming her for his death. Why had he said that? Abby wondered. What in the world had gone wrong?
“Eleanor,” said Abby, touching the mermaid’s face. Then something clicked in her mind, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key. She held it up to her face, eying the spot where the green eye had been. Only now it was covered by a silvery lid, closed just like the eyes on the mermaid box.
Abby ached with exhaustion. She turned her head and stared up at the sky as dappled sunlight slid through forest’s canopy, giving her the sensation that she was miles from the highway, though she could still hear the traffic whizzing by.
Please, begged Abby, shutting her eyes. But when she did, all she could see was Brian— the way his mouth curved into a questioning grin. Eleanor, you have to help me now.
“The water,” sang a voice, smooth as the wind. Abby’s palms began to grow warm, and an electric shock jolted her skin.
“What?” she yelped, dropping the key. It fell to the ground by her feet, its bright green eye staring up at her face.
“Wear it around your neck,” said the voice, or was it a chorus of voices? For it’s tone had shifted and more voices were there, winding together into one. “The key must go around your neck.”
Is it Eleanor? wondered Abby, glancing at the box in her lap. The mermaid’s eyes were open too. They were staring at Abby with such intensity, that the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
The feather, thought Abby, yanking it out of her pocket. But it hadn’t changed; it was as dead as before.
“Go now, little sister. This cannot wait.” Abby glanced back down at the key, but its eye was closed. She wondered if she had imagined it open before. She looked at the mermaid box, half hoping its eyes were closed too. Oh. She swallowed, fear rising in her throat. The mermaid’s eyes were even brighter now, their brilliant green glaring straight at her.
“All right,” whispered Abby, shoving the box back into Brian’s pack, anything to get away from its awful stare. Deciding she should listen to what the voices had said, she rooted through the backpack, searching for something to hang the key from. But except for the mermaid box, and a couple of pencils, the pack was completely empty. Nothing there, she thought, about to give up. But then her eyes slid over the ground to the very spot were the key still sat. Shoe laces, she thought, yanking off one of her sneakers. In no time, she had undone the lace, slid it through the key and tied it around her neck. Perfect, she thought, slipping her shoe back on. It would be hard to walk in, that was for sure, but at least the key wasn’t going anywhere.
Wait a second, she thought. What if it shocks me again? She was about to take the key off and put it back in Brian’s pack, when her own soft voice cut through her mind.
Keep it on, she thought, not knowing why. It won’t burn you, not anymore. Deciding to rely on her instincts, she slid the key under her clothes, hoping that her intuition was right.
Abby scrubbed her hands across her face, and tried to recall how the voices had sounded. It hadn’t been Eleanor, that was for sure. The feather was cold, so it couldn’t have been her. But if it wasn’t Eleanor, then who had it been?
Doesn’t matter, she thought. You know what to do. Just get to the water as fast as you can. You just have to believe that she’ll meet you there. You have to do this. It’s all you have left.
Abby pulled herself up from the forest floor, trying not to think of her mother’s frozen face, or Brian’s body on on the side of the road. Instead, she forced herself into a jog, focusing her thoughts on the feel of her muscles, on evading the exhaustion that had overtaken her before. A little farther, she thought, that’s all you have to do. Then you can hitch a ride home.
It was hard to run with one loose shoe, but Abby managed to stumble along. And as she did so, her mind rolled back to Brian. His accusation still stung, bringing tears to her eyes. She couldn’t figure out what he’d meant. How had she gotten him into the wreck? She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t told him what to do.
Maybe he hit his head during the collision. The thought made Abby momentarily relax. But then she remembered the Camry’s air bag. It had exploded on impact; his head must have been fine. Or maybe not, thought Abby. Maybe that’s why he died. Just bring him back. It’s all you can do— if Eleanor’s right and you actually can.
Just thinking about Eleanor made Abby’s insides go tight. Abby couldn’t believe that she’s just wanted to l
et Brian die. She wanted him to die so you could save him, thought Abby. Besides, she didn’t make you leave. And yet Abby had, there was no denying that now. She’d listened to the siren and left Brian behind. And now she was on a quest to get him back. A quest that would no doubt involve fighting the killer in the water. She tried not to feel afraid.
Just run, thought Abby. Don’t think about it now. And so she jogged for ten more minutes or so, until the trees thinned to an even patchier strand, and she could see the freeway off to her side, its body winding like a vein.
Now, thought Abby. Do it now. Abby slowed to a walk as she neared the road. Carefully, she climbed over the guard rail and onto the highway’s shoulder, her heart like a drum inside her chest as she searched the road for signs of the wreck. No. She was too far away. Relief flooded through her, and she started to sway.
Please, prayed Abby, find me beautiful. Please, somebody pick me up.
Abby stuck out her thumb and stared down the road, a tight smile on her lips. She got into the first car that stopped, a silver Nissan driven by a middle aged man with a scraggly Red Sox cap perched on his head. She could feel the man’s stare before he even rolled down his window. But when he asked where she was headed, she widened her smile and hopped inside.
“Clifton,” she said, as his eyes roved over her body. She swallowed the song that was beginning to rise. “And please,” she whispered, “make it quick.”
16. The Swim
Abby stared at the darkened ocean, the mermaid box tight in her hand. It wasn’t that late, only around nine o’clock, but the night’s blackness concealed her from view. For years she had stood at this very spot, readying herself to submerge. She used to study the houses that littered the shoreline, their soft lights twinkling like distant stars. Inside, they were filled with normal people— people who’d never danced with dolphins, who’d never chased a sea horse beneath the waves. She’d been given a gift, a secret pleasure, a world open to herself alone.
Only now all she felt was anger and guilt. Anger at her father for making this part of her because it hadn’t turned out to be a gift after all, but a terrible curse she could never shed. Even when he’d tried to take it away, all he’d left her with were scars. The prick of a needle, an operating room. Why did Eleanor show that to you? Why did she make you remember your past? Abby would give almost anything to put those memories back. To lock them away and never know.
But the guilt was stronger than her anger right now. It dug through her chest, stinging and sharp. And though she was guilty of many things, it was Brian’s death that hurt most of all. Because even if she hadn’t actually killed him, it was her fault he’d seen her leave the water on her birthday. Why had she thought she would never get caught, that no one would ever find out what she was? She should have never come up to the surface that morning. She should have stayed submerged until night had come. It was seeing her that had brought him down this path, and now he was dead, and she was to blame. Now she must face the snake alone.
Just thinking of the snake sent a chill through her blood, and for a moment she wanted to run away— to charge through the grass and away from the water, to hide in the forest and never return. For the first time in her life, she was entering for a reason. For the first time she would be swimming toward her fate. An image of Lauren Liney flashed through her mind: the ruby bubbles, the mark on her neck. And then Gretchen’s face, and Matilda’s student from TV. All of them had been murdered in the serpent’s search for her. So, in a way, it was her fault that they were dead. At least that’s how it felt as she stood by the water, studying the waves like a crystal ball. As if they could tell her what was to come.
“Don’t be scared,” she whispered, her voice lost in the wind that whipped the sand up in sheets and pulled her hair back like a flag. But she couldn’t stop the fear from coming. She couldn’t put it aside, make it go away. She remembered the last time she’d entered these waters. That horrible feeling of being chased. She’d felt it in the ocean, sensed something near. But when she had turned, all she’d seen was darkness. Yet she knew it was there, stalking her in the deep. Just like she knew it would be there now.
Eleanor, she called in her mind. But there was no answer. She was alone.
Abby gnawed at her lip until it bled, liking the taste that slid over her tongue. Somehow, it made her feel alive. Because if she could bleed then she was still here.
You have to go in. Do it now. An image of Brian flashed through her— Brian holding her in his arms, promising to help, promising not to tell. Then she saw his face at the scene of the crash. His terrible words, eyes full of blame. Oh god, thought Abby. What have I done?
Just stop it. You can’t do this now. If you want to save him, you have to go in. Quickly, Abby removed her clothes and shoved them into Brian’s pack. Then she dug a hole and buried the thing. You need a marker, she thought, so you can find your stuff. She grabbed a piece of driftwood and jabbed it into the sand, hoping it would stay in place. She knew a rock would be better, or a pile of shells, but she didn’t have time to collect those things. She had to get in the water now, and this was the best that she could do.
She was about to head in when she remembered the feather, still in her jacket pocket, now buried beneath the sand. She considered getting it, but decided not to. Eleanor had been pretty specific in her instructions: she’d just said to bring the box and the key. Besides the feather was gray; it wasn’t working anymore, and it would be too easy to lose beneath the ocean’s waves.
Abby made her way toward the water, the key banging against her chest with every step. Her skin burned from the cold, but she kept on walking, trying to remember how she used to feel when she’d entered this place not so long ago. Brave, fearless, unafraid of sharks— that was the girl she used to be. A thin film of terror slid through her body, weakening her, but she didn’t stop.
Come on, she thought. Do it for him. Abby lunged forward, hips dipping toward the surface as the strange cramping sensation slid up her legs. Then her body folded beneath her, and she was lying face up in the surf, her silver tail pointing toward the open sea.
Go! Before somebody sees you. Come on, you can’t get caught! Abby forced her head beneath the water, wishing she’d thought to pack her headlamp today. The sea enveloped her like a tomb, and she peered anxiously through the darkness, trying to decide which way to swim.
“Eleanor,” she called in her mind. She held the mermaid box even tighter, waiting for a response.
Silence.
“Eleanor, where do I go?”
Then she saw it in the water, the winding green path that stretched through the darkness, a trail made by the box in her hand.
What? thought Abby, staring down at the box. The thing had begun to spin, its separate pieces grinding against one another. It was moving so fast that it started to pulse, and its hard edges turned fluid as if it were alive. Soon its once wooden exterior was beating like a heart, as its mermaid’s eyes illuminated the way.
Don’t drop it, thought Abby, but she could barely hold on. She was gripping the box with two hands now, as it tried to squirm out of her grasp. Abby felt like she was holding a thick ball of slime. Careful, thought Abby, grasping it even tighter, while straining for the sound of Eleanor’s voice, probing for the siren with her mind.
“Eleanor?” she called inside her her head. The ocean was completely still, much like her last night beneath the waves when she had witnessed the murder, seen all that blood.
No, thought Abby. Don’t think about that. Just follow the path. That’s all you can do. It’s the only way to bring Brian home.
Gingerly Abby flicked her fin, and, holding the thing that used to be a box out like a lantern, swam forward, into the deep. Please, she prayed as she moved through the darkness. Please, let this work. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Because where was Eleanor? Shouldn’t she be here by now? Instantly, Abby thought back to Eleanor’s feather, bu
ried in the sand. Wait, she thought. Maybe I needed that too. But then she remembered its dull, limp body. It was useless now. She would have to do this on her own.
Abby swallowed as the pressure changed. She was swimming deeper, heading into the ocean’s depths. She had yet to see or hear another living thing. No one was around— just like before.
Oh god, prayed Abby as the emptiness engulfed her. Oh god, oh god. Please let this be right.
Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy) Page 22