Horror overcame Coral. But not because of the human or even due to the confrontation with Duke.
Her sister’s tail was gone, vanished, replaced with a pair of legs.
Coral recoiled, a net of fear trapping her in place.
For the first and last time, she saw her sister as human. Did the crown princess’s love for a human change her? Had she been human all along?
The boy reached for Coral next, offering a hand. Compassion shone in his dark gaze. The sight was nearly foreign. So foreign that all Coral could do was stare into his eyes for a few extra fathoms.
His black irises were the most beautiful she had ever seen. Dark but warm. Deep as the uncharted sea. So different from the terrifying black of the Abyss.
Temptation urged her to take his hand. But then she looked at the crown princess. At her lifeless human body that had seen so much pain.
Pain at human hands. At a prince’s hands, no less.
And Coral backed away.
She noticed for the first time that the water around them had turned to blood.
Her own blood drained from her head. It had finally happened.
Red Tide had come.
A fragment permanently broke from Coral’s heart. The emptiness it left behind turned gray, leaving a procession of dread in its place. She twisted the pearls on her wrist, vowed never to take them off. Coral would wear the bracelet as a constant reminder.
Her sister was gone.
The future queen was no more.
Eleven
Brooke
After
“Come on, Brooke. It’s not much farther.”
Hope says my name as if we’ve been friends for years. She’s beginning to act like a pesky little sister, something I’ll need to nip if she grows too clingy.
I don’t want a sister. And I don’t need one. Hope with all her innocence will never change that.
The trek up the hill takes longer than I expect. Sweat sticks to the small of my back. Cooling me to the bone. Making me wish for a jacket. Though warmer than usual for winter, the wind still bites. I pant and my side cramps, reminders I’m too out of shape for this.
Hope, however, has clearly made this hike recently. She’s all confidence and determination, a kid at recess, excited for her chance to play outdoors.
We pass several adults on our way. They nod as we walk by, smiling. Watching.
Babysitting.
“Don’t mind them.” Hope spins and skips backward. “They’re here to make sure we don’t—”
“Kill ourselves? Run away?”
“Something like that.” She winks. Runs ahead. Rather than letting me make her uncomfortable, she appears to take my bluntness as playful teasing.
But we both know those are real possibilities for this place. For people like us. I don’t know Hope’s story, but I do know mine.
I’m not afraid of death. For more reasons than I care to remember.
“Can I ask you something?” I say when I catch up, out of breath and aching.
“Anything,” she says.
I hate that I believe she means it. “Are you on meds?”
She nods. “I’m not afraid to say I need them. It’s okay to need them, Brooke. It doesn’t make you weird. I’ve learned that at least—that I can talk about it and it’s not weird. Being able to say, ‘Hi, I’m Hope and I take medication for depression.’” The way she says depression makes it sound like she’s discussing something as common as the weather. “Your meds don’t define you. They’re your normal, you know? Everyone needs a normal.”
I want to tell her I don’t need anything and I don’t want to talk about it. That I’ve avoided taking my own meds off and on for months. I’m tired of feeling like an experiment.
I’m about to snuff out her “normal” theory when we approach one of the babysitters about halfway up the hill. The grandmotherly woman wears a lanyard with the word volunteer stitched into it. The handwritten name tag at the lanyard’s end says Beck.
“Mornin’, girls.” Beck offers a salute that would make any Girl Scout proud. Though her weathered face tips off her age, she matches our upward pace without hesitation, falling into step on Hope’s other side. “Headed to see the view?”
“We promise to be good, Beck.” The ease with which Hope speaks to the woman at least six times her age lets on they’ve made this walk together before. On more than one occasion. “Brooke here hasn’t had the grand tour yet.”
Beck picks up speed, her smile as long as her stride. “Allow me, then. It isn’t much farther. You’re a lucky one, by the way,” Beck says to me. “This girl’s special. Hold on to her.”
I frown but follow, purposely falling behind. How could I have thought for a minute we’d be able to roam without supervision? Maybe Hope needs a sitter, but I’m almost an adult.
Ha, some adult I’ll make. No job. No home. Nowhere to go but nowhere at all.
This is it for me. The end. Last page. Final word. Jake and Hope and Beck . . . They can try all they want. But the truth is my time here is only prolonging the inevitable.
At the hill’s crest, a breeze greets us, spraying us with salty air from the ocean. It’s several miles off, the peaks of the cypress trees between here and there standing like sentinels, guarding the precious secret the water seems to hold.
“Return to me,” she calls. “Remember.”
I give her the cold shoulder. Find a rather interesting rock to study.
“Storm’s comin’ soon.” Beck rocks back on her heels and whistles. “We probably shouldn’t stay out here too long, girls.”
I scoot toward the ledge, hyperaware of Beck’s close eye. The fall would be a long way down. I’d hit branches and needles before I met the out-of-sight ground below. It might not even kill me. I’d suffer. Maybe live.
I’m not okay with that.
“Isn’t that smell amazing?” Hope flings her arms wide, offering herself with abandon to the view. “I wish we could go down there.”
I almost say what I’m thinking but bite the inside of my cheek instead.
“As a matter of fact, I think Jake’s cookin’ up a field trip to do just that.” Beck takes out her phone, scrolls, and taps. “Yep. In March. Should be fun.” She pockets the device and closes her eyes, basking in the beauty.
I picture myself plummeting with nothing but the wind in my face and life at my back. Who would notice? Who would care?
“You are not nothing.” Hope repeats the words from earlier. They etch themselves into my skin.
Resentment traps me in silence. She doesn’t know me. This place is temporary. The people, seasonal. I stick to my guns. Lifelong friendships cannot be formed. Things do not get better. I’m about to say as much, but then the wind whips around my head, brushing against my ears, urging me to look up.
And there she is again, the one who will not be ignored. Her water is so blue, the waves ebbing and flowing, inviting the storm in, welcoming the clouds to do its bidding. The ocean is not afraid.
And neither am I.
An ache inside threatens to break open the cracks I’ve worked to fill. I look away, back toward the ranch. Seeing the ocean, so close but a million miles away, is a pain I cannot endure. I don’t want to wait anymore. The hurt is a death of its own.