Submerged: The Mer Chronicles

Prologue

Preface

I dip my head under the waves, moving slowly towards a man cast adrift. Two days ago, his fishing boat was lost at sea during a brutal storm, and now, he's running low on supplies in his small life raft. The fear in his veins seeps into the air and sea, calling to me. His fear of never being found, of starving to death under the brutal Mediterranean sun, comes to me slowly, and then all at once, that fear blossoms and helps me track him across the ocean. For those condemned to the ocean like me, the way fear comes to you is a little like falling in love—the possibility is there, piquing your interest, and then it surrounds you becoming undeniable, the very reason for your existence. And I am unable to break away, I must track the fear, follow it, no matter the risk.

This sailor's fear tastes sweet, like a wisp of cotton candy against the harsh taste of salt on my lips. I relish it. Night has fallen; the lonely moon the only witness to what is about to pass, and she won't spill my secret. She likes watching life slip away.

When I see the lonely rocking boat from under the water, I begin to surface. The sailor's tanned hand dangles over the edge. I resist the urge to grab his battered fingers and bring him into my watery realm. The perfect moment must come first, and I will know it when I see it. I lift my eyes out of the water and move forward, slowly, intently, watching my prey, because that's what this sailor is—just another kill.

I place a silent bet with myself before I make my next move. Will he thrash beautifully? Fighting to the last minute? Or will he be too wasted and tired to fight and simply stare into my eyes, allowing the inevitable to come?

I move closer to the boat, sliding through the water, and he stirs. At the sight of my human-half about the water, the man rolls over and jerks upright.  Overgrown, curly, brown hair falls across his forehead. A scruffy beard is just starting to come in. He looks at me the way they all do. Mesmerized. The deep purple hollows under his eyes tell me it has been days since he really slept. I would fix that. Sleep will come soon. 

I hold the side of the boat now, my dripping arm reaching towards him.

"I must be dying," he whispers. "You can't be real."

"I'm real enough," I reply, as I move my hand to his face, feeling the stubble that is coated with sea spray. "Come closer," I whisper, gently guiding his head closer to mine. I know he can taste the salt on my lips, and I can pick up the fear on his—sweet like candy—tempting me. But I cannot make my move too soon. Patience.

 "Are you taking me away?" he asks in a gravely voice. They all the sound like this after days with no water.

A thrill of excitement shudders my entire body. I love when they tremble, so fragile before me, so trusting. It makes the kill that much better. "I'm going to take you. That's right." I move back a little, and he reaches for me.

Desperation flashes across his eyes. I thrust my entire body out of the water, seizing his outstretched arms. In one fluid motion, I drag him over the side. His body lands on top of mine. He recoils when his legs contact the lower portion of my body. My fish tail is cold against him, and I wrap it around him, binding his legs.

 In one practiced movement, I force him below the waves. My heart pumps faster, and I smile at him as he fights against me. I spin us downwards, loving the dance we performed, hoping the moon can see. Me—spinning towards the ocean floor with him wrapped in my embrace—and him— trying to break free.

 As his fighting weakens, I hold him still for a moment, pressing one finger to his chapped lips, trying to calm him, while keeping him under.  And finally, it comes. He gives one last violent kick, which I parry with my strong tail. He is no match in my element. He is the prey. I am the predator.

 He reaches towards me, as if to stroke my hair, then slips away. Limbs floating like buoys in the water. The fight, the dance, is over.

 I take his body back to his boat. A frowned upon practice, but I still do it. In case someone comes looking, at least they will have a body to bury.

 After all, it was not so long ago that I was one of them. A human, and not this thing that kills—that gets high off of fear and death. Some days, I allow myself to remember. The memories of human life are dim and faded, but still a longing is there for what once was, for the days when I didn't depend on death to live. But those days are long gone.

Now, I am this.

Whatever "this" is.

A predator.

A killer.

A monster to be feared.

Half-human, half-fish.

I am Sirenean.

This is my story.

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