But it was the jellyfish that were the most captivating to Bernard and Gabriella. The jellyfish were brainless and beautiful, more like bedazzled free-floating organs than animals. Yet they were also supremely deadly. Bernard was especially compelled by the pictures of the Portuguese man-of-war. He was fascinated and disgusted by the polyp fins and the colorful tendrils hanging below like red cabbage.
“I love jellyfish,” our mom said. “They don’t lift a finger and just wait for you to drift into them and then they paralyze you dead. Would you like to see them? I know where to see jellyfish right now.”
She was staggeringly drunk. But Gabriella and Bernard took the bait. She called for a car and soon the three of them were on their way to the Coney Island Aquarium. They got there right around 3 a.m. Of course, it was closed. Instead, they went to an after-hours aquarium-themed bar across the street. Our mother continued to drink while Gabriella and Bernard were entertained by a group of merchant Marines on leave.
Eventually, our father got home from work. He panicked, waking us up and asking us where Mom and the other kids were. We didn’t know, but we were also less worried than he was. We had known our mother our entire lives and were not particularly impressed by her nighttime departures. Her insanity was normal for us in a way that it wasn’t for him.
Our mother fell asleep at the bar and slept there until dawn. When she woke up, the three of them tromped off to the aquarium, which was just opening up for the morning, receiving its first batch of tourists. They marched right up to the tank containing the jellyfish, where our mother plopped down on her ass right on the floor, exhausted, while Gabriella and Bernard wandered around in the shimmering half-light, enthralled.
“I never want to leave here,” our mother said. “I never want to leave this place right here. I want to stay right here in front of this jellyfish tank forever.”
Eventually, she fell asleep again on a bench in front of the shark tank. Luckily, Bernard remembered our home phone number. The aquarium people called our father and he went and picked them all up.
After that episode, Mom went away for a while to “rest.” When she returned, she was thinner and paler and seemed even more haunted. It would only be one more year before she blew her brains out in the White Room.
For Alistair, Henley, and me, the part of the episode that we remembered was our dad freaking out and calling every single person he knew in an effort to locate her. He was convinced that she had left him. But Gabriella and Bernard had more tangible memories of the affair.
“Pez, you are a goddamn genius,” I tell him. “The aquarium! Exactly right.”
I call Alistair again.
“I know the answer to today’s hunt,” I say. “The jellyfish tank. Remember the time Mom dragged Bernard and Gabriella to Coney Island in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t remember that at all,” he says. “When was that?”
“Listen, just come up here,” I say, hanging up the phone.
Pez smiles at me.
“Why are you helping him?” he asks.
“He’s only got one life left,” I say. “Until we know what’s going on, I don’t want anybody to end up like Henley. I’ll take the hit this time.”
“That’s not the only reason,” he says. “You aren’t telling me everything.”
“We’ll have to take the train,” I say. “By the time we get there, the aquarium will be closed.”
“So what?” he says.
“Alistair has the game superpower to open any door,” I say.
Alistair, Pez, and I go down to the F train. As I approach the turnstile, all the electronics shut off for them just like they did for me. All three of us click through and go down to the platform. It seems that I am allowed to hook others up with my train pass without consequences.
On the train, I remind Alistair of the time when our mother went crazy and dragged our youngest siblings to the aquarium to kick off her nervous breakdown. He believes me, but I can tell that he is only pretending to remember. So much of what happened in our childhood has fallen to me to tell the story. I was the oldest and I remember everything the most clearly.
It is dark outside by the time the three of us arrive at Coney Island. We walk down Coney Island Avenue past the Applebee’s and the IHOP, to the aquarium. It was washed out to sea during Hurricane Sandy and most of it was utterly destroyed, but it has finally been rebuilt. One of the strangest things about the aquarium is that it is open 365 days a year, even on Christmas.
I have been out here on my own quite a bit, actually, especially since it has reopened. I find the shark tanks soothing. Watching the silent predators prowl around ceaselessly calms me.
A security guard stands in front of the aquarium, smoking, but as we approach, he turns and walks away, doing his rounds in the back where they keep the penguins and otters. We don’t look like burglars or terrorists. We look like we are on our way to some charity gala. We approach the front doors and Alistair holds up his phone.
The doors open and the red lights in the windows turn to green. Not only have the doors opened for us, but the security system seems to have been shut down as well.
“Incredible,” says Alistair with a small grin.
It’s dark, but the aquariums are glowing, beautiful. It feels like we are intruding, but then again, it’s not like the fish are doing anything important.
I can’t remember exactly where the jellyfish are. We walk through one room and then another. As we approach barred security doors, they open magically and the security systems around us continue to shut down. It
