The Twice Lost

into the harbor again before the falling water left her stranded.

She hurled herself through the retreating tide as best she could, asphalt and broken bricks and spilled garbage only inches from her face. Behind her blood trailed in crimson plumes. But there, just ahead, the highway shone in a long plane of glittering water interrupted by cars and trucks knocked askew like hundreds of small lacquered islands. And beyond the highway there was a large gymnasium caved in on one side, rows of treadmills heaped in muddy confusion—beyond that, the broken, swaggering masts and boats turned belly-up that promised deep water. If she could get there, at least she wouldn’t have to face that horrible burning in her tail again, that immolation buried in her own flesh . . .

The deep gouges in her tail slowed her movements, sending blades of cold agony through her with every beat of her fins. She was no more than a foot above the pavement now, and as she skimmed across the double yellow lines at the freeway’s midpoint she began to understand that the water below her might run out and leave her floundering before she reached the gleaming green depths on its far side. Terror charged through her muscles, and her tail began to lash in wild defiance of the pain. With every stroke her shredded fins slapped horribly against the coarse pavement and pebbles grated against her raw wounds. But she was close now, so horribly close; already she was crossing the yacht club’s parking lot on a plane of water so shallow that she had to constantly crane her neck to avoid dragging her face across the stones and torn metal thrown everywhere by that enormous wave. The masts now were just ahead, and suddenly instead of skimming above asphalt Anais saw the dark stained beams of the boardwalk that ran out between the ruined boats. In only moments she would plunge into deep water and sink her tail far from the harsh, pursuing sun, the naked air.

Wood slammed into Anais’s belly, and the last cascade of water dashed back to sea without her. Salt water pooled under her flailing tail and then gradually drained away through the cracks between each plank. The harbor glinted. How far away? Was it six feet? Eight? It struck her as impossibly distant. Sunlight fluttered onto her scales like butterflies. Then, as Anais smacked and thudded at the planks, those butterflies burst into penetrating flames.

Something dark squealed as it loomed above her, cutting off the sun. Sharp, repetitive screams burst in her throat like tiny exploding stars. She was filled by fire, and her wounded tail thrashed uncontrollably. Her torn fins caught against rusty nails and ripped again. Everything seemed blinding bright, set alight by pain. A car door slammed close by.

“Aaaah,” a voice groaned. “Aaah, no, no. My Anais . . .” Rough hands shoved and then rolled her like a sloppy, blood-spattered carcass over splintering wood. She couldn’t stop screaming.

Then . . . then the wood came to an end, and Anais dropped through empty air. She landed with a splash in the green harbor. Flotillas of debris bobbed thickly around her. Her tail soaked up the cool, quenching water while she gulped harsh, staccato breaths. Someone was close by. Someone was dropping into the water next to her and binding her shoulders in huge greedy arms . . .

At first the delicious relief of simply being in somewhat less pain was enough to keep her from caring who was gripping her. The fire in her scales was doused, drowned, and even if blood kept on unraveling from her salt-stung wounds she was alive. If she could just make it past Sadie and the others she would still have a chance. Though, come to think of it, she was feeling awfully weak and sleepy. Maybe she should rest before she tried anything like that.

A heavy hand pawed at her cheek and hot, humid breath gusted into her ear.

The sodden wool of a large expensive suit pressed against her side. Two thick legs kicked and then found purchase on a submerged pier. That someone was standing slightly above her now, the water’s surface just reaching the knot of his tie, so that she sagged a little in his grip.

Anais’s relief was replaced by the intensely disagreeable awareness that Secretary Moreland had saved her life. Couldn’t it have been a younger, hotter guy? Someone more like Dorian? Her tail flicked with irritation, but that only made her torn fins burn. Vaguely it occurred to her that she’d lost a lot of blood. She didn’t feel well at all. Clouds of tiny black fish seemed to swim through her head.

“Anais,” Moreland moaned into her ear, “Anais, it’s all over. Everyone knows, everything’s been exposed. But thank God, it’s all over! Oh, Anais . . .”

“I want to be human again,” Anais snapped. It was disgusting to feel him squeezing her this way. It made her feel so cheap. “Like you promised! I want to be human, and I want my house back, and all my parents’ money. And I want to never see you again!” She gave a quick, revolted squirm. “Get off of me!”

It took her a few moments to understand that the high, whining sound in her ear was coming from Moreland’s throat. “Ah, tadpole,” Moreland wheezed out at last. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you. It’s much too late for that. The jig, as they say, is up. In the last fifteen minutes or so there’s been simply astounding news blaring over the radio. And it’s all about me and you. It appears that your Charlie Hackett secretly recorded tapes of the two of us talking, and now he’s gone and given everything to the news channels. Everyone knows the little tricks we’ve been getting up to, and they’re not pleased with us at all.”

Anais didn’t understand what he was talking about—and even more, she didn’t want to understand. Too late?

“Anais,” Moreland crooned. “Anais, darling. Sing me to sleep.”

Anais thrashed hard enough that he loosened his grip slightly. She turned to look into his jowly, contorted face. His gray eyes slopped in their sockets like dirty water as he gave her a kind of simpering smile. He reached to stroke her hair. She felt too weak now even to try to shake him off. The water below her looked dark as wine, wrapped by unwinding blood.

“Sing me to sleep, Anais. That’s the only thing I still want. Sing me to sleep, once and for all, and then . . . you’ll be free, free, free to go.”

Her head pitched a little. He should take her to a hospital, Anais thought blearily, not keep jabbering on about singing. And anyway, she didn’t feel like it. “No.”

Now it was Moreland’s turn not to understand. “No?” He stared at her. The front of his white shirt was tinted pink with bloody water. “No? Anais, I’m sure you don’t mean that!” His awful, whimpering laugh disgusted her. “What could possibly make you happier than killing me?”

“I said NO!” Anais whined. She really wasn’t feeling well now. She needed a nice soft bed where she could sleep. “I don’t care about killing you. And I’m sick of doing what you tell me!”

Moreland gaped at her for another long moment. His face seemed oddly blurry and the sunlight was much too bright. Pink-tinged water jostled around their shoulders as his caressing hands slid with a slow, contemplative movement toward her neck. His thumbs brushed her windpipe. “Sing to me, Anais!”

“I already told you no.”

There was just a hint of pressure on her throat now. She thought she might fall asleep right there in his hands.

“You will do what I tell you! Anais, we don’t have much time!” He was trying to stay calm, but his voice lurched into high, trembling notes. He shook her, quick and sharp. “Sing to me now!”

Anais closed her eyes. The sea inside her seemed as red as jam; it was full of layered crimson lights that throbbed like jellyfish. “I don’t care about you,” Anais slurred. His hands were tightening on her throat. It felt awful and constricting, and she made a drowsy effort to pull the hands away, but somehow when she grabbed for his wrists she kept missing. “I don’t care what you do. Whatever.”

She barely heard Moreland’s strained cry as he threw himself from the submerged pier, still choking her, and tried to drive his way deep below the surface. He thrashed down a few feet, keening desperately the whole time, his suit-clad legs kicking wildly at her gashed scales. Anais flopped limply, her closed eyes consumed by that deep red sea. Her mind was dissolving, becoming part of the ruby water. In a remote way she was aware that they weren’t far from the surface. No matter how Moreland thrashed, the two of them formed a buoyant tangle that refused to sink, and Anais’s fins curled like a sail and resisted the water.

Her body floated like a raft, belly up in the harsh summer sun. Moreland flailed and wept and splashed, driving his knees into her stomach to make her sink. They went down and wavered back up into the air again and again. Anais’s golden hair spread into a second sun on the ruby water.

He’d been right, she thought. It was all over. And then even that final drop of awareness poured out to join the sea.