“What have you done to me?”
“We all have a little human in us, dear. You just have to know where to find it.”
As Coral stepped forward on her newfound limbs, she stopped to look back at the sea, at the darkness that had consumed her.
It consumed her still.
“There is nothing left but death for you there,” her grandmother said.
Emotions more powerful than any Coral had ever experienced rose, and temptation pulled her toward the nothing. She’d forgotten about her sister and Red Tide, about Jordan’s rejection and her father’s hatred. In the Abyss, there was no Duke. No Disease.
She put her own longing for nothing aside and focused on a newfound desire. One that blossomed within her every new second she spent as a human. And her certainty on one matter grew.
The Abyss was not a place. It was the Disease.
Coral was sick. Her insides were as black as the revenge she sought.
“You tricked me,” Coral said. “You are a sorceress.”
“I have never liked the term sorceress. It is far too foreboding.” Her grandmother offered a mischievous grin followed by a wink. “Who comes up with these things, I’ll never know. The storytellers like to elaborate. Perhaps because what I am is not so interesting.”
“What are you, then? A witch?”
“Some call me guardian. But by others I have been referred to as friend.”
“You are no friend to me.” A war raged inside Coral. She couldn’t cope with any of it. Not without her sister. “How do I go back?” She didn’t care if her family didn’t want her. She only wished to return to the safety of the cold, dark sea. It was familiar. It was home.
“There is only one way back, though I don’t recommend it. It’s best you find a way on legs. Trust me on this.”
The little mermaid—no—girl. The girl had no idea what to do with her grandmother’s vague answers. Still, she’d decided. “I’ll stay.” There was so much her sister had kept from her. Coral wanted to know it all.
Her grandmother led her up the shore, toward a small cottage that looked out over a flower garden and the sea. None of the colors stood out to Coral. All were silent, their song left behind with Coral’s innocence.
She would remain human, for now.
The crown princess needn’t have worried about her baby sister’s heart, though. Once curious about humanity, now Coral sought only one thing. She stared at the pearl bracelet on her wrist with newfound resolve.
She would find the human who had brought Red Tide upon her sister.
Then Coral would make him drown.
Twenty
Brooke
After
The first light after a storm is the most beautiful.
When I open my eyes, free from the exhaustion that usually plagues me after a long night of tossing and turning, I don’t remember where I am. I haven’t slept so well in ages. I inhale and take in the scent of the ocean, the feel of something warm and solid wrapped around me. I lean into that feeling. The comfort of home.
“Mmmm,” I sigh aloud. Summer. Forever my favorite—
I stiffen. Inhale again. All at once the warmth I woke with flickers. Dies. I blink and look up. The cave. The storm. Winter.
Panic overwhelms every other emotion.
He’s gone.
And here I thought this would change nothing. That this wouldn’t have to hurt at all.
“Over here!” a voice calls in the distance, a mere faded echo beyond the cave’s walls.
I still feel his embrace around me. His summer scent remains. He’s taken everything. And nothing. He was never—
“Hurry!” A woman’s voice. “I found her!”
I try to move, but the feat proves impossible. Try to inhale again, but the task is more than I can bear.
I wish I hadn’t fallen for him. I wish we’d never met at all.
“Brooke,” Jake says. “Can you hear me?”
Yes, I think.
“She’s hypothermic. Get Search and Rescue up here now.” Static crackles.
A muffled male voice sounds through a speaker.
I don’t register his words or see what happens next. I don’t care. I’m so tired and cold and I suddenly feel everything and it hurts and he hurts and this hurts.
“Hold on, hon. We’ve got you.”
The bottle. What happened to my bottle?
I keep my eyes open long enough to glimpse the ocean once more. Her waves push and pull, playing a tug-o-war with my heart. “Let go,” she seems to say.
If I could spring to my feet and run into her arms, forget everything, I would. But a stiller, smaller voice sweeps across my heart. One I remember from before.
“True love makes life, even a broken one, worth fighting for.”
Do the words belong to me? Or were they spoken by another? Someone stronger. Braver.
“Hold on,” Jake says again as I’m lifted off the ground. “You’ve got this. Fight, Brooke. Fight.”
I’ve decided my ending, my mind tells the sea.
I don’t want to live anymore, my heart reminds the waves.
There’s nothing left for me here, my soul reminds my depths.
I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense. But Jake’s voice is the one that rises above all else. When she grabs my hand, I feel her warmth. And something cracks deep inside.
No, not cracks. Fills in.
So I hold on.
Even if only for a season.
Spring
“When words fail, sounds can often speak.”
Interstitial – Prince Letter
Twenty-One
Merrick
That was close. Too close. Extremely close.
Merrick stepped into the large meeting room at the library and peered through the window on the door. He’d become paranoid. For a split second, he believed he saw his father. In this measly little ocean-town-slash-tourist-trap where the man hadn’t set foot in years. Merrick’s head spun. They’d survived a few months without raising suspicion. If Hiroshi found them now, he’d ruin everything.
Merrick still hadn’t tracked down his mom.
A text chimed from the phone in his pocket as Merrick set up the metal chairs in a circle.
The librarian poked her head in the room and eyed the space. She looked up at the clock and said, “Five minutes.”
He nodded and went to check the refreshment table. Coffee and tea, check. Donuts, cookies, brownies, check, check, and check. The suicide survivors group that met every Wednesday evening would be here any minute. This was possibly his favorite thing about his part-time job at the library. Maybe it was that he got to listen in on the session. He never spoke up, but hearing the others’ stories made him feel a sense of belonging. They’d all been through something similar. Maya hadn’t died, but Merrick had been affected. It helped to know he wasn’t alone in that.