Page 22

Sam spent the rest of the day walking around local hotspots in a fruitless search. Mary called to give out, and he picked up the phone long enough to tell her he’d had a fight with Goldilocks and apologised for storming off. Apparently Goldilocks had returned to the table, gathered up Sam’s things and left, and his expression had been too scary for either of them to question him on it.

It was late when Sam returned to the boat, his entire evening eaten up by frustrating searching. His schoolbag leaned up against the door.

Sam eyed up the bulging, overstuffed bag. He unzipped the top, and neatly folded inside were Goldilocks’s clothes. The merman must have returned to the water. Sam sat on the trunk next to his door and pulled out his phone. He easily clicked his way to the phone call menu using the icons, but after that things became difficult. He couldn’t find Connor’s number. He scrolled and squinted, but with a growing ball of frustration deep in the pit of his stomach, Sam realised it was impossible. The moon was high in the night sky, so bright that the ocean was well lit, but it wasn’t enough to turn the screen into less of a glare. An overwhelming feeling of anger charged the muscles in his arm; Sam wanted to hurtle the damn thing into the ocean. Actually, no. He wanted to smash it into the boards between his feet. He’d get more satisfaction seeing the technology shatter rather than letting it peacefully disappear beneath the waves. Sam stormed into his cabin and dropped the stupid thing onto the table.

He started the engine, untied quickly, and set out. He would do something productive. Pull pots. Catch fish. Something to stop seeing Austin’s hurt expression in his mind. Austin wasn’t nice. Sam knew that. But no matter how much he thought about it, Austin was young. He was like Connor, without a family that loved him. He was vulnerable. And to have Goldilocks talk to him like that?

Sam ran his fingers through his hair roughly, upset the more he thought about it. Why did he have to do that? Why did people have to talk to other people like that? It wasn’t about being nice: it was about being decent. Mary’s lectures started echoing in his head, telling him that he mistook ‘pushover’ for ‘nice’. That people weren’t like that.

Sam lined up with the first of his buoys and pulled in the pot.

Mary was wrong. People could be good. People could be nice and not be taken advantage of. Sam forced himself to think of Laurence. Laurence and Trevor, who were both nice and decent, and got on fine in life. Sam wouldn’t describe either as a pushover. He’d heard Laurence speaking up to defend Connor, and he knew he would go to war for him too. And Trevor? Trevor had grit in him. Sam didn’t know the exact details of what happened between Trevor and Connor’s mom, Edith, but he knew that Trevor had stood up for Connor. If nice meant pushover, then that wouldn’t have happened.

Sam wrenched open his pot, finding one enormous lobster nestled inside. He picked it up and stopped in surprise to see something white and long wriggling on it. Sam turned over the lobster, frowning as he found a worm wrapped around it. Part of the worm disappeared into a crack of the lobster’s shell. Sam scrunched his nose.

He turned to the cabin, but stopped mid-step as he heard a splash to his side.

He was on the ocean. There were always splashes as the waves lapped against the hull. But Sam knew exactly what Goldilocks’s splashes sounded like.

Sam scowled. “I’m not in any form to talk.”

“There is a vessel,” Goldilocks said. “Sinking.”

Sam’s gaze jerked up from the infected lobster. He turned to Goldilocks as he lifted himself onto his favourite perch. “Where?”

“I will show you,” Goldilocks said.

“Al – ow !” Sam’s eyes flashed to his arm. One end of the worm was at his skin, digging into the soft underside of his wrist. He dropped the lobster, and the worm detached from its body, staying lodged on Sam’s wrist. “What the hell!” He seized its body to tear it off, and pain bloomed in his palm as if he’d grabbed a handful of blades.

Goldilocks snarled. He grabbed Sam’s elbow. Yanked him.

Sam tripped over his own feet and fell against the merman. Goldilocks grasped the worm and ripped it from Sam’s arm. He held the wiggling creature at arm’s length, squeezing it into a fist. It shrieked, and Sam covered his ears with an alarmed cry.

How was it even making that noise? Sam stared, aghast, but could see no mouth. It writhed in Goldilocks’s grip, thrashing with manic enthusiasm. The muscles in Goldilocks’s arm bulged as he flexed. The worm trembled, shook, and slowly went slack in Goldilocks’s fist. Goldilocks turned the creature over, his top lip peeled back.

The worm fell to the deck in two halves, the middle mere goo, pulverised by Goldilocks.

Sam stared at the thing in shock, belatedly lowering his hands from his ears. The screeching had ended.

“Do not touch it,” Goldilocks warned. His arm wrapped protectively around Sam’s waist, holding him flush to his body. Sam felt the tension in him; he was taut, coiled. Ready to fight. Goldilocks tilted his head down, eyes fixing on Sam’s hands. “Show me.”

Still dazed, Sam lifted his arms. There was a round incision that oozed blood on his wrist. But far more alarming was the hand he’d grabbed the worm with; cuts crisscrossed the skin of his palm, bleeding heavily. It was only when he looked at it that Sam felt the sting.

“We need to disinfect these,” Goldilocks said urgently. “Ghouls are deadly.”

“Ghouls?” Sam repeated. He looked at the worm again. “That’s a thing from your world?”

Christ, if they had worms this aggressive, Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to see any more of their world.

“They are diseased creatures,” Goldilocks said. “Dangerous to even my kind.”

Sam winced as the stinging became a throb. Blood dripped down his fingers, and Sam fought the urge to shake out his hand to flick off the liquid. “I’ve got disinfectant in my medkit. But – ah shit, Goldilocks, which way is that sinking boat? I’ll get us moving and tend them on the way.”

The gills at Goldilocks’s neck flared out in agitation. He looked as though he would object, but he caught himself. “That way.” He nodded toward the horizon. Goldilocks slipped overboard and then reached through the railing to grab the remains of the worm. “Disinfect,” he insisted.

Sam rushed to the wheel, putting the engine up to full, and took off in the direction Goldilocks had indicated. He flipped up a switch to hold a steady course and dug out his first aid kit, keeping an eye on the horizon. The coast was to his right, an irregular line of black mounds with the yellow glow of house lights dotted across the dark. To his left was the open ocean, no ships in sight.

Sam grabbed his medkit and used his elbow to hold it still while he worked the zip open. Blood fell in thick drops onto his desk, staining maps and notebooks. Worn wood and equipment. The already red cloth of his medkit dotted dark brown in spots. Sam grabbed the disinfectant and grabbed a spare cloth to lean over, attempting to minimise the mess. Sam opened up the disinfectant, hesitating as he uncapped it. Its chemical smell challenged the iron stench of blood. He held his breath. Poured.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the stinging pain. He sloshed the peroxide on his wrist to get it over with and grabbed out bandages. He didn’t skimp on his hand, packing the wound with gauze and securing it with a tight wrap. He quickly wrapped his wrist next. Both hands trembled as he leaned out the doorway, pain running through him in currents.

“Still this way?” Sam called.

Goldilocks’s tail flashed out of the water ahead, slightly to the right. Sam adjusted course until he was following Goldilocks exactly. A blinking red light a few feet above the water stood out against the darkness ahead. The red light became a shape, and as he got closer, he saw the sinking yacht was already half submerged. Sam turned on every outer light as he neared, and he recognised the sinking ship as it lit up. The blue sails blended perfectly with the ocean, almost entirely invisible where they sat in the water. The white hull glistened in the moonlight, but dark waves were quickly dulling that glow.

Fionn’s sailboat.

A man perched on the back half of the vessel that was still above water, waving his arms. Fionn. He stood in a white shirt and tan trousers, with no life jacket anywhere in sight.

Sam muttered a curse under his breath as he came abreast the sinking ship as near as he dared. He had to keep enough distance so that if it pitched suddenly to the side, the mast wouldn’t crack into his hull. Sam set his boat to hold position and kept the motor running. He rushed out, grabbing a life preserver.

“Come closer,” Fionn called. “I can’t jump from here.”

“You can swim, right?” Sam called. He tossed out the life preserver. “I can’t get any closer without risking this boat too. Jump in and grab that. I’ll pull you in.” He knew Fionn was a good swimmer, and the waters were calm. If it came to it, Goldilocks would intervene.

Fionn cursed colourfully and at length, but he didn’t fight Sam. He jumped overboard, resurfacing right next to the life preserver, and Sam pulled him in, annoyed when he saw that he’d wet the bandages on his hand. He’d re-wrap in a minute. Sam offered his hand when Fionn reached the hull and pulled him safely on deck.

“Is there anyone else on board? In the water?” Sam asked, examining the yacht. He frowned, puzzled, as he looked at the vessel. It was sinking straight down, tipping forward with its nose gone under the water, but it didn’t list to either side. There was no sign of it rolling. Sam scanned the water and saw the colourful outer layer of a life raft sinking into the depths next to the yacht.

“No,” Fionn panted. He bent over double, hands on his knees. “Just me.”

“I’m going to put some distance between us then.” Sam strode into the cabin and moved his boat back. He stared out, examining the yacht as they retreated, but it was too dark to see beneath the water. The yacht was sinking as if the hull had cracked right at the bottom. As if the water had flowed in evenly, so it went straight down rather than rolling onto either side.

“Did you run aground on something?” Sam asked. He killed the engine and dropped the anchor to hold them steady. “I know it’s not that deep here, but you should have had plenty of clearance at the bottom.”

“I don’t know,” Fionn said. His teeth chattered, and he stood rigidly still, not budging from his spot. Cold or shock?

“Come in here,” Sam ordered. He dug out a towel and offered it to Fionn. He then opened the chest with his bedding and grabbed one of the warmer blankets. “Here. Sit. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Fionn snapped, his voice acidic.

Sam ignored the bite in his voice as he grabbed the radio. He called the coast guard, reporting the ship. “We’re about two kilometres east of Hook.” Sam could see the little island jutting up from the ocean in the distance. “Latitude is…” Sam squinted at the screen. “Seven-eight…” He blinked. “Three—”

“The hell are you talking about?” Fionn erupted, startling Sam into jumping. “Are you trying to send them to the Arctic?”

Yeah. Alright. The coordinates were obviously not seven-eight. It’s just that with the screen and the lighting, it was messing with Sam’s eyes. But he knew the first two numbers. “Sorry, I mean five-two.” Sam focused. “Point…three-three…”

Fionn stood and snatched the radio from Sam’s hand. “It’s not those either. Are you listening? Write this down.” Fionn called out the latitude and longitude, reading them from the screen without any difficulty. “No, there’s nobody in the water,” Fionn answered. “It’s my yacht. I didn’t get the chance to call it in. My radio wouldn’t work, and my damned life raft wouldn’t inflate either. No, don’t send out a helicopter. I’m fine. Right. Yeah, sitting tight.” Fionn thrust the radio back at Sam, clearly in a bad mood. He returned to his seat.

Sam replaced the radio in its spot.

“Your radio didn’t work?” Sam asked.

Fionn snapped. “I said that already!”

“And your life raft wouldn’t inflate?”

“Are your ears as fucked as your eyes? Is that it?”

Sam tilted back his head, but he didn’t let it sting. Tried not to, anyway. Fionn’s emotions were undoubtedly running high right now, from fright and fear as much as anything else. His boat was sinking, and until two minutes ago, he’d been in dark waters without a life raft, preserver, or anyone aware that he was in trouble and needed help. And as Sam thought about that, the sting eased.

“That’s weird,” Sam said, trying to keep his tone pragmatic. “It’s a new yacht.” Relatively speaking for yachts, and this one had definitely been well maintained. “Both should have worked fine. And what about your own mobile? Or the satellite phone? Even if the radio was down, you should have been able to call for help.” And Fionn, who was accustomed to solo sailing, would know damn well that he had to have his radio in working order.

Fionn stared dumbly at Sam. Another round of shivers racked through his body, and Sam grabbed another blanket to wrap around him. One didn’t seem to be enough to keep him warm. “I’ve been doing technology cleanses. My phone is in my car. The satellite phone wasn’t where it should be.” He stayed silent for three blinks. “I always leave it in the cabin. Right under the radio in its own special waterproof case. The case was empty.

I can fingerprint the…” Fionn trailed off, staring at the mast of his yacht sticking up out of the water. “It hasn’t sunk yet?”

“It’s shallow here,” Sam explained. He looked at where the tip of the mast was peeking out of the water. A red light winked just above the surface, and hopefully it would stay in that position so that nobody accidentally sailed over the spot and ended up with a nasty surprise.

“I could have stood on that.”

“You could have.”

“I didn’t need you to save me.”

Sam loosed a long breath. “I’m sure you would have been fine either way. Do you want me to bring you in, or would you rather we wait for the coast guard? They have a quick response time.” Thanks to the touristic nature of sailing in the village during the summer, there was a dedicated sea rescue base nestled only one harbour over from the main pier. It wasn’t fully manned all year round, but once spring came and the bad weather broke, a dedicated team patrolled the waters for the entire spring and summer and until the autumn storms chased away the last of the tourists.

“Why would someone try to sink my boat?” Fionn’s voice lifted abruptly, his tone shrill.

“Because you’re an asshole,” Sam said back without thought.

“Mary might have—”

Sam laughed, though he tried to stifle it when Fionn glared. “It wasn’t Mary,” Sam said, trying to catch himself. Mary didn’t know the first thing about boats, and he doubted she could have sunk Fionn’s sailboat even if she tried.

“You might have,” Fionn snapped.

Sam leaned against his table, crossing his arms. “Right. And if I sunk your boat, why would I come help you?”

Fionn glared. “I don’t know. So you could pretend to be a hero to get me off your back?”

“I think you are vastly overestimating your impact on me.”

Fionn scowled, his face a wash of pale skin that gave away his fear despite the bluster. His eyes lowered from Sam’s face to his chest, and the scowl wavered. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

Sam glanced down and cursed. His bandages were reddened, completely soaked through at the front. He’d bled all over his shirt. Sam went back to his first aid kit, grabbed out the scissors to cut the drenched bandages from his hand, then kicked out a bin from under the desk to drop them into. His hand was a mess, the extent of the injuries hidden beneath blood. With his back to Fionn, he sloshed another pour of peroxide onto the wounds, shuddered as he bit down the pain, and packed the wound again with more gauze and a tighter bandage.

“I’ll pay for the doctor,” Fionn said. “You hurt it pulling the rope, right? My dad will send you money.” He bent down, dropping his head into his hands. “He’s going to kill me.”

Sam eyed him as he redressed his wound. “I was injured already. It’s fine. And I’m sure he’ll be glad you didn’t get hurt.”

“You don’t know him, so shut your mouth,” Fionn snapped, lifting his head to glare at Sam. “Do you have any idea how much that yacht cost?”

Same as a house, probably. He leaned against the table again and gave up on the idea of being nice to Fionn. He wasn’t responding well to it. “Do you have insurance? Anyone who buys a yacht like that gets insurance too. Your dad won’t be losing out on any money.”

Fionn narrowed his eyes at Sam, but he didn’t snap at him again. “He usually is careful about paperwork,” he finally admitted reluctantly.

A high swell lifted the front end of the boat, and the lobster Sam had pulled slid across the deck into the cabin. Fionn stared at the lobster as if it might have sunk his boat, so Sam assumed he was lost in his thoughts. Sam pulled on a pair of gloves and then turned the lobster onto its back with a pair of pliers he had on deck. The lobster had been alive when he’d pulled it; Sam was sure of that. But now it was still and dead. Its legs were curled in, and it didn’t even twitch. Careful not to touch it, just in case another little ghoul was hiding inside, Sam grabbed a tub for the corpse and placed it in there. It was only as he grabbed a marker to write on the tub did he go still.

“What’s wrong with it?” Fionn asked. “You pulled it dead?”

“There was a parasite in it,” Sam said. The marker hovered above the lid.

“I’ll write it,” Fionn said.

Sam glanced at him.

Without making eye contact, Fionn gestured to the tub in Sam’s hand, with the marker poised over it. “Whatever it is. Just give it to me, tell me what you want written.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, his face warming as he looked down. The marker trembled in his grip.

Fionn got up, and he took the marker and tub from Sam. “What am I writing?”

“Just the date and time,” Sam said.

Fionn inscribed both neatly on the tub, offered Sam back the marker and returned to his seat within the cabin. As they waited for the coastguard, Fionn got bored with the silence and loosed a dozen snapping insults about his boat and his suspicion that Sam had set him up, but he didn’t mention Sam’s eyes again.