The Deep 2015.06.23 Read online

  "What if I am?" she said. She meant it to sound funny, the teasing of a friend. It came out biting.

  Tim didn't withdraw or seem offended. He grinned. "Don't make me a chicken. I hate that."

  "You've done this before, then?"

  "Lots of times. BA-GAWK!"

  Tim's sudden cluck, delivered at high volume and accompanied by a frenzied flapping of his arms, was so surprising that Sue was completely silent. She just stared.

  Tim grew solemn. "See, that's why I don't want you to make me be a chicken with your mad hypnosis skills. The last guy never made me not be a chicken." He sighed. "It's awkward at funerals."

  That last was too much. Sue laughed. The laugh broke something inside her. Not in a bad way – it was like it shattered chains that had hung around her soul since she first heard about Debi. She didn't think she had laughed much since hearing her sister had gone missing. Maybe not at all.

  It felt good.

  Tim grinned at her. Then his face grew serious. No mockery, none of the urbane cynicism she saw in so many of the people she worked with back in what she thought of as "the real world." Just simple concern.

  "You okay, Sue?"

  She nodded. Opened her mouth. She was going to tell him about Debi. Not just about her missing, but… everything.

  "As good as can be, I guess."

  "You want to finally tell me what's eating at you?"

  Of course he didn't know. No one did, really. She and her father had booked the first boat that was going in the general direction they required, and had paid the captain extra to make a quiet side trip. But he was the only one who knew about the side trip – and not even he knew why.

  "I –" she began. But before she could say more than that….

  "Sonofabitchbastardbitch!"

  The voice that interrupted her was as intrusive and irritating as Tim's had been welcome and inviting.

  Sue didn't know much about Geoffrey "Don't Call me Geoff" Taylor III, other than that he was very rich, he worked in commodities, and he was very rich. Those were the three bullet points he kept coming back to, and he stayed on message with the tenacity of a well-trained presidential candidate.

  Currently Geoffrey was at the stern of the boat, a fishing rod in his chubby hands, looking at the thing like it had betrayed him – worse, had disrespected him – when it failed to bring in something roughly the size of Jaws.

  Tim rolled his eyes covertly. "His Lordshipness heaveth a mighty rod," he whispered to Sue.

  She giggled. Well, almost. Again, she thought that Tim was more than he seemed to be. He looked like just a middle-aged dive leader, no one of import, no one of interest. But he was, in fact, very interesting; and just in the twenty-four hours the boat had been underway she had begun looking forward to the times they could bump into one another.

  "Sonofabitchbitchbitchbastard!"

  "He's got a way with words," said Tim.

  "Shakespeare is green with jealousy," she agreed.

  "Well, he's dead, so maybe green with decay?"

  "As long as he's green."

  "Sonofabitch!"

  "Dude's very limited in his cursing."

  The new voice that joined them was low, even, slow. Not slow in any way that communicated stupidity. It was the slow of the waves, the gentle roll of a voice that has spent so many hours and days and weeks atop the surf that the ocean has become a part of it. Jimmy J – and that was what everyone called him, though Sue had no idea why, or what the "J" stood for – was in his late twenties. He looked like the prototypical surfer, with long blonde hair that shagged a bit at the shoulders. He was broad-chested, with narrow hips and tan skin that set off his blue eyes. The kind of look that just about any girl would go ga-ga over in about three seconds. And it didn't hurt any that he was affable, genuinely warm in his attitudes and funny in a laid-back way. He was also clearly devoted to Tim.

  Join the club.

  Jimmy J poked Tim's shoulder. "One of us better go help Duke Luckyfingers before we sink under the awesome weight of his vocabulary."

  "I think it's your turn," said Tim.

  "And I think these many years at sea have addled your gray cells, kimosabe."

  Tim held out a fist. Jimmy J grinned. Held out a matching fist. "Your beautiful butt is mine this time."

  "Flattery will get you nowhere."

  Sue listened to the banter with a smile pulling at one corner of her lips. The two sounded like more than coworkers. They were more like best friends – even brothers.

  Their fists bounced. Once, twice. On the third drop, Tim opened his hand flat while Jimmy J kept his tight.

  Tim's grin widened as Jimmy J sighed. "In what world does a piece of paper beat a rock? Like, is it titanium paper? Is it on fire? Does it have superpowers?"

  "You're stalling," said Tim.

  "Damn right."

  "Sonofa –" began Geoffrey.

  "Fine." Jimmy J held up his hands. "I'm going." He stepped out of the salon, joining Geoffrey on the deck. "You okay, Geoff?"

  Geoffrey didn't look away from his ineffective casting. "It's Geoffrey, you twit! I told you that!"

  Jimmy J looked over his shoulder, grinning at Tim and sending a wink Sue's way. "Right. Geoffrey. Like the Toys 'R' Us giraffe."

  Geoffrey began a new round of "sonofabitch"ing, this time directed at Jimmy J as he moved toward the irritable (rich) commodities trader. The two men huddled together, and in a moment their voices disappeared in surf and wind.

  Then Jimmy J must have had the audacity to suggest moving on to a more fruitful venture – like searching for the Loch Ness Monster. Because Geoffrey shouted, "No, I will not stop. I –"

  Suddenly, his whine was cut off by the only-slightly-higher whine of the reel unspooling. The sound set Sue's teeth on edge for some reason. On some deep level she wanted to scream at Geoffrey, to shout, "Just let it go!" The feeling surprised her. She prided herself on being rational – with everyone but her father, at least, and he was a very special case – so the sudden, deep urge to shriek a warning was out of character; nearly alien.

  But it was there. It was real.

  Let it go, Geoffrey!

  Let it go!

  "I caught something!" Geoffrey was screaming. "I told you! I told you I'd –" Then his voice slammed to a halt as the line spun so fast the rod nearly yanked out of his hand. And nearly yanked Geoffrey overboard along with it as the commodities trader refused to surrender the rod.

  Jimmy J grabbed hold of Geoffrey, and that helped. But only for a moment. Then both of them started skidding toward the dive platform – the flat back end of the aft deck.

  "Uhhh… Tim?" Jimmy J's voice was almost comically high, the first time Sue had ever heard him leave what she thought of as his "Dude Voice" behind.

  "Duty calls," said Tim. He hustled over and added his strength to the already-straining muscles of Jimmy J and Geoffrey.

  Sue wondered – suddenly and less fleetingly than she would have supposed – how strong he was. And how his arms might feel around her.

  "Mr. Raven!" Tim shouted.

  A voice floated down from above. The boat was divided into three parts: the middle level was the common level, holding a salon, galley, and one of the two bathrooms. Belowdecks held the berths, galley storage, and a bathroom/shower combo. Above was the wheelhouse, from which the boat's owner piloted.

  Mr. Raven was a squat man who looked like he was in his late fifties. Though a lifetime in the sun had turned his skin to something like old leather, and he could have been considerably younger. Still, young or old he had the soul of a cantankerous eighty-year-old. He seemed to view the passengers as something to be tolerated rather than appreciated, their money their only redeeming factor. He stayed up in the wheelhouse most of the time – even slept there – and no one seemed overly mournful about that fact.

  "Yeah?" shouted Mr. Raven. Sue didn't know his first name, had never heard it spoken. She occasionally wondered if he even had one, or if he had once lost it
– along with his sense of humor – to long years eking out a living on the sea.

  "Cut the engine!"

  "Why?" came the shouted reply. It sounded muffled, and she suspected Mr. Raven hadn't bothered to even look at what was going on, let alone leave the wheelhouse. But a moment later the engine cut and the boat began its lumbering drift to a halt.

  "Told you!" Geoffrey was still crowing. "Told you I could…."

  Sue smiled as Tim and Jimmy J moved to help the commodities trader and got roughly pushed aside for their troubles. "Mine!" he screamed. Sue wanted to laugh. No doubt he thought he sounded tough and strong in his righteous claim of ownership to a massive catch. In actuality he sounded like an infant.

  She shook her head and turned to the salon.

  And had to consciously struggle to keep every muscle from contracting as she came face to face with one of the passengers. And probably the only one she liked less than Geoffrey.

  Mark Haeberle was in his thirties. One of those people who carried a sense of danger about him, like a dark cloud centered over one small location. His eyes were dark, his black hair perpetually mussed. Whenever she saw him, her skin felt like insects were writhing across it.

  She had caught him looking at her a few times on the first day of the trip. A wasted day, with the ocean too choppy for Mr. Raven to permit diving. They spent the day in the salon, reading or playing cards or just shooting the breeze.

  But Haeberle stayed apart. He had arrived at the last second, tossing his gear on board the boat just as it was pulling out, shouting for them to wait. But other than that he had hardly said two words to anyone. He had simply sat. Watched.

  The watching gave her the creeps.

  He grinned at her. The smile was wide – too wide. Not the reassuring smile of a stranger who means no harm, not the warm smile that Tim wore. It was… predatory. The smile of a wolf looking at the herd, scoping out the weak, the weary, the old.

  "Sorry," he said. His voice was a whisper. "Didn't mean to scare you."

  But she got the feeling he had meant to do just that. As though checking what her reaction would be, what kind of person she was.

  "You didn't," she said. She forced her shoulders to loosen, consciously made herself stand in a relaxed pose that she hoped would give lie to the near-panic he seemed to cause somewhere deep within her. "Just startled is all."

  His smile widened. "Liar liar," said the smile.

  He moved out of the room, onto the aft deck. He didn't join the still-arguing trio of Tim, Jimmy J, and Geoffrey. He stood apart, staring at nothing. He wasn't there to help.

  So what is he doing?

  Scouting the competition. Alpha.

  What if he decides there is no competition?

  He'll take what he can. What he wants.

  She shivered. Turned away.

  The stairs that led belowdecks were thudding that solid clump, clump, clump that signaled someone coming up.

  A moment later Cal's head appeared. Then the rest of him.

  Sue felt her shoulders tense again. Didn't bother trying to conceal it this time. Her father knew how she felt, knew that it wasn't likely to change. There was too much history there.

  Cal Richardson was fifty-eight. Salt-and-pepper hair that hid his age, eyes that were awake and aware. He was fit and trim – starting to fade a bit with age, but only in tiny increments. Women were still attracted to him, men found him easy to be with.

  But not you, Sue. No, you have to be the one person in the universe who can't stand being with him.

  Life's a bitch, eh?

  Her father stopped at the top of the stairs. Just stood there, and she couldn't figure out why until she realized it was because of her. Because she was here.

  "Hey, Sue," he said.

  "Hey."

  The exchange was awkward. Nearly as painful as complete silence would have been, if not more so.

  After a few seconds, her father cleared his throat. She got the feeling that if he'd been wearing a button-up he would have pulled at the collar nervously.

  "You wanna get a beer or –"

  "No," she said. "I don't want to get dehydrated."

  "Oh. Sure. Right." He looked downcast. "Right, that was stupid."

  There was an even longer pause, and Sue wished her hips and knees were on reversible joints so she could kick herself in the butt.

  He's trying.

  So what?

  So give him a chance.

  Right.

  "What if we just hold the cans?"

  Sue didn't answer. She didn't even understand the question, and after she replayed it in her mind to make sure she hadn't missed something – she hadn't – it still didn't make sense.

  "What?"

  He smiled. This time it was a bit less strained. "I'm just looking for an excuse to stand in the sun with my daughter. Beer was what came to mind. But no one says we actually have to drink it."

  Sue felt her own face shift. A position so strange she almost couldn't place it.

  Are you smiling? At him?

  I think you might be, Sue-girl.

  Smiles had been in short supply since the news of Debi.

  "Well? What do you think?"

  "Sure."

  The foredeck wasn't nearly as big as the aft, but it was large enough for them to stand and watch the ocean as it drifted toward them, passing below the still-moving keel of The Celeste. The boat was a queer mix of luxury and utility: a dive boat that tried to cater to serious divers, many of whom took an almost perverse pleasure in their ability to weather Spartan conditions; and the overnight dilettante, who expected hot showers and well-cooked meals.

  Tim was an excellent cook. Another point in his favor.

  "Sonofabitchbastardbastard!" Geoffrey could still be heard, shouting his rage at the universe. It was at least somewhat muted over here.

  Sue scanned the horizon. Back and forth, back and forth. Looking….

  For what? You hoping to see a boat? A raft? A single diver, alive in one of those made-for-Lifetime miracles?

  "You think there's any chance?" she said. She was speaking to herself, mostly. A conversation she had had every day for the last three weeks, though it was a bit quieter, a bit more desperate and at the same time a bit weaker with every passing day.

  It almost surprised her when her father answered. "I… I'd like to think so."

  "That doesn't answer my question." She turned to face him when she said it, putting him on the spot as much as she could with only the force of her gaze.

  "I don't know what happened, Suzy-Q," he finally said.

  "Don't call me that," she snapped.

  It grated. She hadn't been called Suzy-Q by anyone for years. The last one had been Debi. They fought.

  They always fought.

  Family trait.

  Her father looked pained. She wondered if he would move from distress to anger to the usual end of their conversations: a fight that would have them no longer speaking for some unknown time. Probably.

  He surprised her. "Sorry," he said. He looked at the deck. They were almost motionless on the water now, only the gentle swell of deep ocean rising then falling, rocking them, soothing them. "I don't know what happened to Debi," he continued. "Could've been anything. She could have had a gear malfunction. Maybe she went too deep and got narced. Maybe –"

  "No. None of those happened. Not to Debi. She was too careful for any of those things to happen. You know that. Besides, it wouldn't explain why her boat and the rest of her crew were never found, either." She stopped. Looking. Looking at the waves and the water and the nothing that they represented.

  "It's that damn place she went to work for. All their experiments. All their stupidity," she said.

  Her father was shaking his head before she finished. Of course he was. "We don't know if that had anything to do with it, Sue. We'll probably never know."

  He punched the rail that surrounded the deck, a waist-high piece of wood polished by years of sea and wind a
nd the sweat-slicked palms of countless passengers. The motion startled her with its sudden violence. She felt herself drawing away from him. Tried to stop it. Couldn't.

  "Dammit." He spat the word. "I wonder why we bothered coming. It's been three weeks, no one's heard from her or her boat, no one –"

  "So what, we just give up?"

  "Sue, if the Coast Guard and six naval vessels couldn't find her, what chance do we have on a single dive boat where most of the passengers don't even know we're looking for someone? It's, it's…." He threw his hands wide, his body giving eloquent voice to his frustration, his impotent rage.

  Then he sagged. Suddenly Sue saw her father as he rarely permitted anyone to see him: a man beyond his prime. A man who held himself straight and strong, but at a cost.

  He's getting older.

  He'll die someday.

  She was a bit surprised how much that realization bothered her. She didn't want him to die.

  Debi was dead. He was the only family she had left.

  "I don't even know why we're here," he said again.

  She reached out to him. He didn't see it. And because her hand stopped a few inches away from his shoulder, he didn't feel it either.

  Just do it. Give him some comfort.

  He doesn't deserve it.

  He's lost someone, too.

  That last thought was what drove her. What decided her. She would reach out. She would begin the process of mending… whatever they had. Not a relationship, not exactly. But perhaps it could become one. Someday.

  Her hand moved closer.

  "I told you! I told you I'd catch something! I –"

  Then her hand froze. Because Geoffrey stopped his triumphant screams, and began an entirely new kind of shrieks. The shouts of a man in pain, in terror.

  The banshee wail of something horrific.

  Sue's hand dropped. Her father turned. His eyes locked with hers.

  Geoffrey was still screaming.

  Sue and her father ran toward the screams.

  CAUGHT

  ~^~^~^~^~

  Tim Palmer was not born to the sea. The water came to him as a rebirth. A baptism that was as close to a spiritual awakening as any he had felt in his life.