Becoming Mermaids

Chapter 14: Should I Lie with Death my Bride

Samantha swam from one end of her concrete enclosure to the other, then flipped and went back the other way, upside down. From a distance, the underwater viewport reflected like a mirror, and she was sometimes surprised to see the huge fish waving its long, speckled tail, only to realize it was her own body. She tried to avoid touching the walls or making a sound— the echoes were unbearable.

Days gave way to weeks and she was bored out of her mind. Mentally, she was becoming more like a fish every day— just swimming back and forth, dull-witted. All the fury she spent the first few days softened with time— she couldn't hold onto her rage forever. She found that she could make a whole day pass, if she wanted to, by just resting and letting the clock wind. It was getting hard to tell when she was sleeping and when she was awake, the way she drifted in neutral buoyancy.

Sometimes, people came to the window, and she swam up to see them. She had grown so used to being an animal that she wasn't embarrassed about being topless— and bottomless, and everything in between— it had ceased to raise any goosebumps. She cupped her hands around her eyes on the window and saw small groups of men, sometimes women, in business suits and military brass. She had the vague impression she was being exchanged, several times, but none of this mattered to her daily routine.

They always talked a bit before leaving. Sometimes they gazed and marveled, but mostly they were unimpressionable. No one ever came to the other side of the glass, or called down from the ten-foot gap between the water and the deck above, or dived in with scuba suits. They knew she could get into their minds with the sound of her voice and didn't know what else she could do. They were afraid.

There was no consolation in that. In their fear, they overcompensated, building a high-security prison for a naked girl with a fish tail. Solitary confinement in a sensory deprivation tank. Unwilling to meet her face to face and give her people-food, they tossed in buckets of wriggling sardines for her to catch. The swarms scattered and burst into milky clouds whenever she caught one and tore it apart with her teeth. Her nails were getting very long, almost like claws. She ate less and less every day.

* * *

Emilio McCormick fidgeted just outside the Double Hoops sports bar, checking the address on a slip of paper. The whole front wall was open to let in the spring air, but it was 10 a.m. and deserted. The bartender was unnecessarily wiping the counter to keep busy. She didn't seem to give a damn whether he came or left. Celebrities on TV were chatting amicably about the mermaid conspiracy.

Emilio tried to not draw attention to himself as he slipped through the restaurant, but bumped a chair, which made a deafening squeak. The bartender looked up. Emilio apologized— to the chair— and snuck around sideways to the bar.

"What do you want?" The bartender was heavily tattooed under her halter-topped muscle shirt, to fit the look of the place.

"Hi, I..." he began, not sure how to ask his question without revealing too much. He wasn't very good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

The bartender wasn't going to help him out. Her attitude was pretty realistic, too.

"I— I'm here to meet with someone."

"Can you be more specific?"

"The, um... Charybdis."

The bartender winced. He had said too much. Fortunately, there wasn't anyone around. She gestured over her shoulder with her chin.

Behind the black velvet curtain that hid the kitchen, she led him to a table on a rug, moved them both, and opened a door in the floor. A ladder disappeared into the darkness. "Behind the boiler," she said. "Use the password there."