Submerged: The Mer Chronicles

The Beginning

~One year earlier~

The first time I tried to confront Gramps about my parents, I was nine. Pretty brave, considering he spent 20 plus years barking orders as a Navy Officer. Let’s just say, I chickened out. I may or may not have peed myself a little too. But that’s beside the point. The brilliant idea to try again happened when I was 13. The result? An earful about being grateful and not digging into my past. Gramps also made me watch re-runs of The Lawrence Welk Show every night for a month instead of going to the skate park with my friends. In case you’re lucky and you don’t know, that show is God’s gift to old people and pure torture for anyone with a pulse. So yeah, I learned my lesson—Lawrence Welk style—for a little while anyway.

But this year I had a plan. Year 17 would be different. That’s why I was tucked in a wicker chair, sitting in the darkest corner of our porch at 12:00 a.m., waiting for Gramps to return from his late night security duties. No way was he going to see this one coming. Surprise was the name of my game. And my game was flawless. Now, all I had to do was follow through. I sucked in a ragged breath. The knots twisting and tangling in my stomach told me following through would be easier said than done.

The yellow beam from Gramps’ flashlight broke through the thick ocean fog, marking his movements as he trudged along the shoreline towards the house. I tried to push my jitters to the back of my mind, but the same question kept popping up, like a pesky fly that won’t go away. 

Why did the paper report I was dead?

I clutched a crumpled copy of the newspaper clipping in my hand, moist now from my clammy palms. The Xeroxed copy was proof of Gramps’ lies. Last week, I decided to do a little archive digging at the San Diego Library on my parents. I spent hours combing through old newspaper clippings. When the hit finally came back on my parents’ names, I practically choked on my chai latte. After a stern look from the librarian to keep it down, I learned that I’m descended from some famous fishing family—killed at sea during a freak storm. There was just one teensy little problem. The article said no one survived the accident, including me. The whole thing totally weirded me out. The paper said I was supposed to be dead for crying out loud. Why would someone lie about this? Why would they even care? Not to mention, Gramps had to be involved. Shivers ran up my back at the thought.

Tonight, I was going to force Gramps to come clean. No more secrets. After all, there were certain talents I had at my disposal that most didn’t—my answers would come, one way or another. I swallowed down the nervous lump in my throat as he opened the gate to our yard.

He hobbled up the path that led to our porch, corncob pipe tucked into thin lips. The sweet smell of cherry tobacco clung to him, the familiar scent greeting me before he did. I leaned forward as he walked up the steps, knowing the sudden movement would grab his attention.

He glanced up, bushy gray eyebrows rising when he saw me sitting in the corner.

“What the hell you doin’ up so late?” he asked, voice gravely from years of heavy smoking. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Well, today is my birthday. I’ve been 17 for five full minutes.”

Gramps gave a little grunt. “Hard to believe.” He paused on the steps, puffing on his pipe, bluish smoke drifting upwards in thin curlicues. “Seems like just yesterday, you showed up ‘round here.”

“I ... I want to talk about that.”

“What?”

“How I showed up here. Especially when the paper reported I was dead.” I flashed the heavily creased article at Gramps. A glint of recognition crossed his face, before being erased by his usual scowl.

He shook his head and shuffled towards the door. “I’m not talkin’ to you ‘bout all that hogwash. I’m goin’ to bed. And you should too. It’s late.”

I toyed with the locket dangling around my neck; hidden inside the locket were two golden coins. These weren’t ordinary coins though. No, these coins were tricons—a type of shipwrecked gold that doled out small, practically miniscule wishes. Nothing major, things like a teacher misplacing a quiz, a fall on your skateboard, or like what I wanted now, a sudden slip of the truth. The tricons were my secret weapon ... and Gramps knew their limited but very useful power.

He saw me fiddling with the necklace and paused, pointing his gnarled finger at the locket. He knew I could use the coins against him, even though I had never dared to do that before. “Why you messin’ with that thing?” Gramps asked. He cocked his head at me, a small smile tugging on the edges of his lips, like I didn’t have the heart to actually use the tricons against him. Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn’t. And maybe I wouldn’t. But if he tried to test me, I’d be hard pressed not to follow through.

I met his misty blue gaze. “I just want you to talk to me.” The time was now to take the velvet gloves off, and start coming clean. My fingers fiddled with the locket, trying to find the clasp. “I don’t want to use the tricons on you. I’d rather save them, you know. So you could just tell me the truth.” 

Gramps hesitated, running a hand through frizzled white hair. “I can only tell you what I know, Kova. No more,” Gramps said, his tone almost resigned to the fact that the truth was coming out. 

“Fine. Tell me about the accident. Why did they report I was dead?”

“Off limits.”

“Why?”

“’Cause,” he whispered, looking down like it pained him. “It’s not for me to tell you.”

“But you know!”

“Of course I know. But it’s not my place.” He paused and lowered his voice. “You know who you should ask.” I didn’t reply, biting the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest not to buckle under pressure. His pointless attempts to pass my questions off to someone else were not going to work—not this time. I wasn’t going to wait for answers. Gramps knew the truth, and I was sick of him hiding it from me. I wanted answers now. Gramps’ eyelid twitched, a nervous habit, giving him away. “I know you’re hiding something.” Finally, it felt like I was the one holding all the cards for once.

He grumbled a few curse words under his breath and started for the screen door. Oh hell no. Not tonight. I clicked my locket open, holding a rough golden coin between my thumb and forefinger, making a silent wish for sleep. As soon as the wish was made, the coin disappeared. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

He looked up at me, his weary eyes red around the edges. For a second it looked like he would protest, but then he shuffled over. “Just for a minute,” he relented.

As soon as he sat down on the porch chair, his eyelids fluttered shut. I quickly grabbed my other tricon, wishing for one slip of the truth.

 “Why don’t you talk about my parents?” I whispered, wanting to get the question out before the wish wore out. Wishes can do that you know. It’s a waste of a tricon, so you have to know right away exactly what you want or the whole thing can misfire and leave you completely and utterly wishless.

“Enemies,” he hissed back. The words hit like a semi at full speed. What did that mean? A snore rattled his chest a moment later, jolting me from my tumbling thoughts. I gave him a little shake, and he jerked up right. “What the—“

“Don’t worry about it. You ... uh ... just fell asleep for a little bit.” I helped him to his feet and opened the screen door. The affects of the wish made him slower than usual, leaving him dazed. In his confused delirium, he followed me inside, no more questions asked.

But as I climbed into bed that night, I couldn’t shake his words. Enemies. The bizarre clue was another puzzle piece to my past, but none of the pieces added up. Unless, the one thing I secretly feared most was true—Gramps really wasn’t my grandpa at all.

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