The Twice Lost

middle of the Bering Sea, leaving Luce alone with her alcoholic uncle . . .

He tried to stay focused on Kathleen, but he couldn’t help noticing the incredulity twisting through Nick’s face. He decided to limit his explanation of how he’d survived on that island to the parts that wouldn’t sound too crazy, like relying on the geothermal springs for warmth in the winter and hunting seals.

Even so the story sounded dreamy, fantastical. And he hadn’t even gotten to the part where his daughter showed up but transformed into a mermaid.

Andrew heard Nick’s chair scrape back and turned to look as the other man stood up. “This is all very interesting, but there’s a lot of yard work I still have to get done today.”

“Nick,” Kathleen objected, “this is important. It’s important to me to understand as much as possible, and I really think—you need to hear this too.”

“The only reason I agreed to go through with this was that I was hoping you’d find some closure, Kath!” Nick’s knees were trembling, and his voice grew sharper with every word. “I’m waiting for you to put this—this senseless episode behind you, and stop dreaming. And now this man comes in here and starts spinning these fairy tales, and I have to watch you sitting there and swallowing every preposterous word without the slightest sign of critical reflection!”

Andrew couldn’t resist defending himself. “A lot of what I’ve said you can double-check that it’s true. That the High and Mighty vanished, and I was on it, and that I was presumed dead along with everybody else. All that’s public record; you can check . . .” Andrew’s voice trailed away.

“Not interested,” Nick growled. “Kath, come get me when you’re done here.”

“You’re not interested, because you don’t want to know the truth!” Kathleen snapped. Then she turned pointedly away from her husband, her lips compressed. “Andrew, I’m so sorry about the interruption. You were saying?”

“I’m thinking . . . maybe I should leave?” Andrew asked.

“Only if you want to leave me seeing her in my mind all the time, and wondering,” Kathleen said. “Something—the sense that I’m really connected to my regular life, I guess—it feels broken. Once you know that something so extraordinary is that close . . .”

Nick stalked out of the kitchen and through a back hallway. They heard a door slam. “I’m real sorry,” Andrew said. “I didn’t mean to start any kind of trouble for you.”

“You didn’t,” Kathleen breathed. “The trouble was there already. Nick wants to believe that it’s all because of your daughter, but really . . .”

Andrew didn’t feel particularly sorry at the news that Kathleen’s marriage was troubled and then noticed how not sorry he was.

“Anyway,” Kathleen went on, “please tell me your story.”

Andrew did: how Luce had found him and how he’d refused for months to believe that the mermaid in the water was really his daughter and not some kind of delusion. Then, once he’d accepted it, what Luce had told him about the reasons for her change. Kathleen listened intently.

“So—is she the only one? Or is this . . . this transformation through trauma something that happens to . . .” Kathleen’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no.”

“She’s not the only one,” Andrew said quietly. “We had a run-in with a pack of them later who seemed pretty pissed about Luce rescuing me. I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it’s the same for all of them. Girls who people think are runaways or whatever, lots of them are actually out there in the ocean.”

They both stopped talking for a moment. There was no view of the sea from the kitchen, but it was close enough that they could hear, very faintly, the rumble of the waves.

“Kathleen?” Andrew said. “Sorry, but it gets worse. A lot worse.”

She looked up, eyes starry with tears. For a second he wondered how old she was; she was lithe and youthful, but from the lines around her eyes Andrew thought she might be forty or so. About his age now.

“Tell me.”

“Well, I had a visit from this FBI guy, and he told me that tribes of mermaids are out there killing people, like bringing ships down somehow. I think I got a taste of how they do it myself, actually.” Andrew didn’t mention that the momentary swirl of mermaid song he’d heard still went on coiling endlessly through his mind, even in his sleep. He found it both disturbing and oddly comforting.

“They kill . . .” Kathleen was staring out the window; her voice sounded as if it were journeying across strange expanses on its way to that peaceful kitchen.

“And now our government’s out there killing them right back. The guy told me straight out they’d fired spear guns at Luce, back before you saw her.”

“But she was so sweet to Chrissy, and I swear the way she looked at us . . . There was no malice in her face, Andrew! I’m sure she never killed anyone.”

“I’m not sure,” Andrew admitted. “Not a hundred percent. But she saved me, and that guy said something about her saving somebody else, too. The deal can’t be so simple that just slaughtering all the mermaids is the only choice.”

“And then anyone . . . who has a missing daughter, or a sister . . . they’ll lose their chance of finding them again forever.”

Her sister, Andrew thought. He couldn’t have explained why, but he was suddenly completely certain. Her sister’s out there in that damned cold nothingness. That’s why she’s taking this so hard.

“Luce said they never get any older than they were the day they changed,” Andrew said as if he were answering a question. “So even if somebody went that way a long time ago, she’d still be real young. Kathleen, I know you’ve done a lot already by talking to me, by even believing me—”

“I haven’t done anything for you; you’re the one who’s helping me!”

“I got a huge favor to ask.”

Kathleen only looked at him. There was no questioning in her eyes, only misery. He wished he could hold her.

Andrew knew he was about to get Ben Ellison in serious trouble. The FBI agent would probably lose his job over this. Sorry, Ben. Sorry. Maybe he would understand there was no other choice, though; not when Luce’s life was at stake.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to . . . to put out another video.”

* * *

The black boat slid among the network of tiny wild islands and narrow channels north of Seattle. The sky was the morose steel blue of a thickly overcast dawn. The divers had been up all night hunting, sounding out prospective mermaid lairs that had shown up on the scans. More and more often now the caves they checked proved to be empty, though some of them had suspicious signs of habitation: piles of empty shells or trinkets dangling from the rocks. Mermaids were obviously getting away from them, but there were no hints to where they’d all gone.

It was somebody’s fault, clearly. And somebody was going to have to take the blame. The government operatives had managed to decrease radically the incidence of shipwrecks along the West Coast, but if the sinkings started up again as soon as their backs were turned, it was sure going to look like they were a bunch of incompetents.

“There’s one . . .” The major was peering through high-powered binoculars, and he’d caught a distant but distinct glimpse of coppery fins. Not far from the mermaid there was an abrupt jag in the coast that seemed to indicate a promising cove. “About time. We’ll try to come up on her nice and gradually, see if there are more of them with her.”

Some of the men thought that was stupid. They’d realized by now that the damned tails could stay under for at least half an hour, sometimes much longer. They were incredibly fast swimmers, too; no human diver was a match for them. Their only real options were to take mermaids by surprise or else corner them. In this tangle of islands it would be absurdly easy to lose sight of their quarry. “With all due respect, sir,” a high-pitched voice objected, “she’ll dive. We should speed up and nab her before she sees us.”

“She hasn’t seen us,” the major said confidently. “Goddamn. She’s playing. And, wait, it looks like there’re at least two of them. Slow approach, like I said, and stay right up against the rocks. We’re about to hit pay dirt, men.”