He took another gulp of whisky, surprised the ice was melted. The sea was quiet tonight, barely murmuring as it swept in and out. Yesterday he thought he’d caught a glimpse of a mermaid, or mer-something – one could not exactly sex them from that far away, and he was done with leaving drones in the ocean. He did not want to know.
If it was her after all, fuck her.
He threw the square tumbler into the pool where it sank immediately.
“Fuck everyone!”
The next morning he woke in the lounge, arm numb, head throbbing, with the morning sun creeping into the sky.
Did he go on writing in diaries? No. He tongued his inner cheek, his teeth. His mouth tasted of dead things. His breath would likely kill a dog at ten paces.
It was time. Been a month or more and lately something inside him had been niggling him. His conscience? He did not think he had one of those. Maybe he had just had enough.
Enough, yes.
His resignation from the Institute had been sent long ago. Since he’d made a point of pissing off everyone there, repeatedly, nobody contacted him anymore. Wallowing in his aloneness was what he had wanted. Saturate himself in sorrow. He had cried his heart out to the sea, some days.
Shameless. Stupid. No one had seen. No one cared.
He did not deserve one jot of anything from anyone.
Time.
Though he dreaded the task he had set himself that first day she’d gone. After all, this was the beginning of the end. He meant to walk into the fucking sea once he was done. That was going to be bad.
Digging in the garden though… pretty sure it would be worse.
CHAPTER 13
He rose, walked toward the steps that led down into the house and felt lancing pain in one foot. Discovered the rose stem stuck to his sole. He laughed and enfolded the stem in his fist, crushing it to his skin. Blood seeped from his fingers.
Karma.
He jogged down the stairs, gulped some water from the kitchen faucet, picked up a notepad and pen, then set off for the garden shed to fetch the shovel. The rose stem, he left on the sofa. He might throw it away later. The pain of the thorns though… he might need that again.
Now.
How many had there been? Seven?
He’d never asked if they were all here. Merrick had not said, and he’d not asked, preferring to not know. Preferring to think maybe his lover had let them go.
He knew though. He knew. No excuses. What was the likelihood of Merrick doing that? Zero?
Funny how this paralleled what he’d done, except he had actually let Raffaela go.
No excuses.
None.
He’d been as bad as Merrick. Though he used to leave for work and come back to find them gone, he’d also seen where the garden had been touched on those days.
Digging them up, deciding who was who from the clothes and hair color, from what was left of them, burying them again, then making a notation on the map of his property, yes, it was difficult.
By the end of the day, he was done. Completely done.
After showering until the hot water ran out, he headed for the fridge. Something cold and very alcoholic was desired…
Sitting on the sofa with a glass of red this time, he leaned hands on his knees, cupping the glass.
Map done.
Names on it. Probable dates of… taking them. Check to all of it.
Where they’d been found by Merrick in the first place, he left blank for all but one that Merrick had let slip. The rest, he didn’t know.
He went into the study, laid out the map and took a pic, then attached it to the pre-written email.
One more deep breath. His mind felt blank of anything, full of nothing. This was it.
After this he would go.
If the cops read it straight away, he’d have the sirens and the knock at the door in a few hours, tops. A swarm of them, then him handcuffed, taken to the station, interrogated.
None of that was happening.
He pressed the send button.
After picking up the book, he went out the door that led to the beach. He stripped until he was naked, though he kept the memoir in one hand as if it were a bible. In the shallows where the water tickled over his feet and ankles, he stopped and breathed deep, smelling everything, seeing the seagulls whirling above him, the light fluffy clouds.
It was the waves that had been calling him.
They had reminded him of his vow.
Come, the waves said again. Come to us.
He raised the book, the memoir he had so painstakingly written. He drew back his arm, and he hurled it toward the deep. Then he walked in and kept walking until he floated.
And found out drowning himself wasn’t so simple. His mind somehow thought he shouldn’t inhale water. He began to tread water.
A hand grabbed his ankle, and yanked.
He’d been lured.
Lack of oxygen made everything blur as he was towed, molested, made love to, and he connected the dots as he drowned. This was a Ravening.
But he saw a face he recognized.
The light spread, fired up his mind. Brought him out of the darkness.
Water tinkled past his ears. Fish and tails. A gooey circle of light above, radiating down. That was the sun. The distant flowing shadow of a school of small fish, or of large ones? His eyes could not
