Becoming Mermaids

Chapter 12: So Dark...

The second break-in was less fun than the first. Coquette was the life of this particular type of party, but this time she was more preoccupied and less willing to flirt with the possibility of getting caught.

They decided to skip the wheelchair and let Andy drag her in a sleeping bag, or else carry her. He would park the van near the back door of the aquarium and use his memory of the complex to minimize the distance.

Their goal was the kelp forest: a huge, glass-paneled fishtank filled with local fish and seaweeds. The aquarium staff, for the sake of their own collection, made sure that the fish in there were not the biting kind.

The drive was mostly silent. Occasionally, Coquette needled Andy, but with a purpose in mind. "Sam's got a nice singing voice, doesn't she?" she said to gauge his reaction. Andy nodded.

Sam understood what she was getting at. She'd used her siren call on him— sang to him over the phone and altered his mind. He wasn't like a zombie or anything, but his uneasiness about her mermaid tail had been completely wiped out. He wanted to be with her, whenever he could, just as much as when they first started dating. As far as Sam could tell, though, he was honestly and truly in love.

She would have felt bad about it if it had changed his personality or taken over his mind completely, but as it was, it was just a booster shot for their relationship. The same might be said of wearing perfume or a subtle eyeliner. Couples have always affected their partners' emotions, and nobody ever felt that was wrong. That was kind of the point, wasn't it?

The same had happened to her during those hours she thought the eggs were her babies— she became fiercely protective; they didn't seem gross to her at all. All because some motherhood hormone was surging in her. Nature does this all the time. That's what she reminded herself whenever he started to lose enthusiasm and she gave him a refresher by humming in his ear.

The parking lot was empty, overlooking the silver bay. The moon bulged more on one side than the other. "Look at that!" Coquette pointed. "Right there! The ocean is right there, and you wanna jump in a fishbowl!" Sam ignored her.

This lock seemed to take longer than the one on campus. Sam was beginning to worry that Coquette was stalling, making a show of the lock-picking, but eventually the door clicked and Coquette whispered, "There." It opened. She gestured in a "there you have it," sort of way. Andy bent at the knees and hoisted Sam's sleeping bag over his shoulder with her in it.

The more romantic carrying position— in his arms with her hands around his shoulders— was hard on his back. He could carry her like that over a threshold, across a bedroom maybe, but not a hundred yards. So she made due with the indignity of being carried around like a cavewoman.

It was in this embarrassing position that she waved good-bye to Coquette. Coquette looked hurt— there was a finality in her eyes that suggested it would be the last time they'd ever see each other. Sam lowered her waving fingers, puzzled. As Andy jauntily carried her down the hall, the rectangle of moonlight and Coquette's sad expression sank into the distance.

Andy slowed and balanced himself with his hand on the wall as he approached the exhibit hall. Their entrance was through a back hallway, not meant for the public. When they emerged into the main exhibit space, he just stopped and stared.

"What?" Sam asked after a while. She was starting to get nervous.

"Wow, it's..." He didn't finish that thought.

"Turn around, let me see." Part of the problem with this position was that she could only see what was behind him. He turned carefully and she saw what he was looking at: the nighttime had transformed the aquarium into something magical, illuminated only by the light of the water. It was almost no light at all, just the moonlight that diffused from a skylight down through the kelp and the fishes, and projected wavering lines on everything in the room. Like a stained glass window, constantly moving.