[story] falling out of love at this volume: there are tales of things in the lake
author: untrainedviolin
They speak of hearts breaking, in cracks and shards and splinters, like a fragile glass thing inside your chest. I used to scoff at that. I was so arrogant then, so confident that it was pointless to call yourself heartbroken. You cannot break a heart.
Now I’m not so sure. I don’t feel how they said I would. Instead it feels like something in my chest is shrinking, and with it everything else. Other times it feels like something warm has settled somewhere in the middle of me, curled up within the small spaces, and sometimes it reaches out its too-hot arms and strikes out at my entire body. And still other times it’s like I am made of pain and loneliness, and instead of filling me it empties me out and leaves me cold and shaking and crying.
If one person can hurt you like that, what are rib cages for?
I've come to think that maybe God intended the rib cage to protect the heart from itself. That maybe it was meant to keep the heart locked up, to keep it safe from all the hurt the world could inflict on it. Why else call it a cage?
And if that’s true, then maybe the heart worked better than God planned it to. Maybe the heart was God’s rebellious daughter, maybe it flashed him the middle finger, climbed out from between the bars and found the world anyway. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams. Someone said that once. And once we discovered that, we climbed back inside our cage, where it was safe and dark, and we crouched and we cried and we tried to shrink ourselves to minimize the pain. A mistake. The less of you there is, the more the pain can consume you.
I’m rambling, I’m sorry. This is not the story I set out to tell.
Anyway, she broke up with me. My girlfriend. She left and moved on without a backward glance and I was left with the wreckage of our relationship. At night I curled up in bed and wished for her again and again and again and again. I was going through a maddening cycle: sometimes I thought I was over it, and that I could live without her and to hell with people who left you in the dust. And the next morning I would wake up and the hollowness in my chest would be too much to bear, and yet. And yet.
I did not want to leave the town. We had moved here together, and instead of leaving, as she did, without looking back, I stayed. I kept up my job at the bookstore. I had been here six months, five of them with her, and I had set down roots of a sort. I loved the small lakeside town and the people in it. I was determined to make the most of it.
On the seventh month I learned the stories about the lake.
It was a bad day. I was in the hollow part of the cycle, and I went to the local bar to rub off the edge. Being with people helped. Even a little bit. (Did I find it pathetic that after a month it still hurt? Yes, but then I had loved her. I still did.) I had only a few friends, even after almost a year, because I was afraid to socialize. There was Annette, the barmaid. Rudy, the man who ran the bookshop I worked in. Michael and Anna, the sweet old couple who lived next door and had been married to each other forever. Not much else besides them.
I thought to try and make new friends, so I set out, leaving my hair undone and my shoulders bare. The summer wind was warm and easy on the skin - I didn't mind. When I got to the one and only bar in town I was sweating slightly. Although it was windy, the air was still humid somehow. I didn't mind that either - I liked the warmth. I was the reason we'd moved down here. She wanted somewhere cold. But she obliged me, and not once during the months we lived here did she complain.
The place was already crowded when I arrived. I managed to squeeze in by the bar and ordered cranberry juice and vodka. The man next to me chuckled and said, "Bit too early for that, isn't it?"
I eyed his full mug of beer and the three empty ones next to it, and said, "Not really, no." He left me alone after that. Although it was crowded, I found an empty table in the corner. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it would do for now. I sat sipping my drink in silence for a while before Annette dropped into the empty seat in front of me. "Slow night?" I teased.
"Hardly. But my shift's almost over and we're off to a bonfire down by the lake. Wanna come? You look lonely, you lovely girl." She smiled at me. She knew what had happened, and I knew why she was doing this. My heart warmed. I hadn't noticed how attractive she was until then.
"Sure. Why not?"
Following Annette's lead, I stumbled slightly over rocks in the dark. She led me to a small shack I hadn't seen before, outlined by the roaring fire. As we approached I heard coughing and groans. The lake lapped at the shore some feet away.
"What's up with you?" Annette asked.
"Mark here," said a blonde girl, jerking her thumb toward a guy stirring the flames with an intense look on his face, "doesn't know jack shit about starting a fire."
"It looks pretty good to me," Annette said sceptically.
"It smokes more than it burns!" the girl complained.
"Shut up, will you," said Mark. "I did a pretty damn good job considering the wind."
I spoke up then. "Yeah, he did." Mark looked up at me then, quirked an eyebrow, and said, "Thanks." I shrugged back at him.
"Okay guys," Annette said, putting an arm around my waist and pushing me closer to the bonfire, "this is Sara. Be nice. Sara, that's Joan, Rod, Aisha. You've met Mark. And that's Lilly." The blonde girl's name was Lilly. Okay. Okay. Okay.
"Who's up for hotdogs?" Joan asked, passing them around on sticks.
"Aisha, these are chicken, so you can have an extra one."
"Thanks," Aisha said. She took two and passed the other one to me. I thanked her.
Mark clapped his hands. "Ghost stories, anyone? I have three about the lake."
Everyone groaned. "We all grew up around here, Mark," Lilly complained. "We’ve heard all the stories."
"I haven’t," I said.
"There," said Mark. "You see? She hasn't." And so it began.
There are tales, Mark said to me, the firelight flickering eerily on the planes of his face while others rolled their eyes and toasted their food, of things in the lake. Things that take you when you least expect it. Things that -
Oh just get on with it, Mark!
Okay, okay!
They say there are mermaids in the lake, you see. For years fishermen have disappeared mysteriously, their boats overturned, their catch getting lost in the depths again. This could be explained - gusts of wind, overloading, losing balance. But thirty years ago, a man called Ezekiel Johnson came back from the dead. The week before he came straggling into town, they'd found his schooner floating abandoned on the lake. On the deck was a full net of fish, and nothing else. Seven days the dragged the lake, looking for his body. They didn't find it, and eventually they gave up. But then on the eighth day of his disappearance, as the day was inching into night, Ezekiel Johnson came, staggering and shivering and sopping wet, into the bar that was then simply a place to go and rest your feet after a hard day. He stumbled in, rolling as if on sea legs, and cried about mermaids. Mermaids who smiled at you and made you feel like the fourth of July, before they opened their mouths and showed their razor teeth and bit off your flesh.
Everyone laughed at him, of course. Mermaids? That was ridiculous. Flesh-eating mermaids? Even more so. There were no fucking mermaids out in the lake. They didn't exist. And besides, even if they did, everyone knew they lived out in the ocean. Around here the lake was the only body of water for miles around. How the fuck could there be mermaids? (Everyone was nervous, of course. Everyone wanted to ask him where he'd been. They were afraid of him.) The town doctor was called, and Ezekiel was escorted away. Three days and two nights of him raving, and rumors of a huge chunk of flesh missing from his right leg, and the doctor shook his head, made the sign of the cross, and draped the white sheet over the motionless body of Ezekiel Johnson.
But his stories weren't forgotten.
I laughed. "You're saying there are mermaids in the lake. Really? Like, really really?"
He looked at me, crestfallen. "I thought you'd be impressed," he almost whined.
"Don't worry," Rod said, his deep voice sounding amused. "He just thinks you're cute."
"I'm gay," I said to Mark in amusement.
"Shit, man," he muttered. "Of all the luck in the world."
It was a nice night. When I left it was close to midnight, and I felt happy for the first time in several days. I walked back to my house - mine now, and mine alone - following the shore, and the water of the lake lapped contentedly at the sand by my feet.
It was two days after that night that Mark showed up at my door with a bottle of wine and the keys to a yacht. A yacht, of all things.
"Did you forget the bit where I told you I'm more than a bit into girls?" I asked, leaning against the door frame.
"I didn't! Of course I didn't, how could I?" he asked. "I just wanted to invite you for a little sail, that's all." And so, sceptical but still excited, I went.
We got into his car and drove to the other end of town, where all the boats were moored. There was a tiny dock, and an equally tiny yacht anchored next to it. With exaggerated gestures, Mark helped me into it, and I stood at the prow watching the water while he piloted the little boat out onto the middle of the lake. With a start I realized that something silver was flashing underwater, and figured it was probably fish.
"Okay, Mark," I said, turning around. "What's the real reason for this?"
He came over and leaned against the railings next to me. "You see, Sara... I've been keeping this little secret for a while now. And the other night, I decided you are the perfect person to tell it to. I hope you don't mind - we did just meet, after all."
I shrugged, to show him I was listening.
He leaned closer. "You remember the story I told? The one about Ezekiel Johnson, and the mermaids, and everything?" I nodded. "All of it's true."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. His face soured, and the look in his eye got dangerous, and I stopped immediately. It occurred to me that I was alone, in the middle of a huge lake, with him. There were no other boats nearby. I could swim, yes, but it was a long way, and I'd never been a very strong swimmer.
"I'll prove it to you," Mark said, and without warning he jumped into the water. I cried out in shock. I didn't move - I had no idea what to do. Meanwhile he just floated there, treading water with a triumphant expression on his face that slowly began to fade.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked.
"Wait for it!" he shouted back.
"Can you swim?"
"No!" At that my heart skipped a beat. "But I'll be okay, just watch!" He relaxed and began floating on his back.
I remained where I was, anxiously biting my nails. He seemed okay - at least he knew how to float - and I was prepared to dive in and save him at any moment. I kicked off my shoes in preparation for it - and it came.
He began flailing, the stupid idiot. His waterlogged clothes began to pull him down, as did his shoes. He began to sink, but he didn't call out to me for help. I dove into the water anyway. I hit the water wrong, and my stomach stung painfully as I swam toward Mark. He was fighting to reach the surface, but...
I was almost positive it was the lakewater in my eyes, but it seemed that even as Mark was flailing, another pair of hands seemed wrapped around his waist, pulling him down. A cloud of black hair formed a halo around his head. I blinked and they were gone, but Mark was still drowning. I kicked my feet harder and when I got to him I grabbed one of his hands and began the arduous task of pulling him upward. I was sure I was doing it wrong, but neither of us had much time - or air.
I kicked and I kicked and I tried to make him do the same, but he was losing consciousness already and I had a spasm of anger. I didn't want to die in a stupid fucking lake with a stupid fucking idiot who stupidly jumped in and didn't know how to swim! I wanted to let go, but I didn't. I didn't have a lot of strength left and it seemed the surface of the water was getting no closer - but we made it in the end.
I broke the surface, gasping for air, and with one last tug pulled Mark up with me. Luckily the boat wasn't too far, and luckily there was a ladder on the side. Mark was unmoving at this point, so I hauled him to the boat and pulled him up the ladder myself. He flopped on the deck like a dead fish. I wanted to lie down on the deck and catch my breath but there wasn't time. I listened to his chest with a finger on the pulse point in his neck. I thought I could feel something, but I checked if he was breathing anyway. He was. I slapped him, hard as I could, and his eyes jerked open. He took in a huge breath, and violently coughed out water.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I shouted.
He waved a hand at me, still gasping for air. But I was too angry to stop. "Are you stupid or what? You can't swim but you jump into the water anyway? What if I couldn't save you? You are a stupid fuck!"
Mark's face contorted. With effort he sat up and supported himself against the railings of the deck. "Don't...tell me... you didn't see," he gasped out.
"See what?"
"Arms..." he said. At that a chill ran down my spine. "Arms... Sara she grabbed me... was about to pull me up..."
"What arms?" I demanded. "All I saw was you drowning yourself over something - I don't even know what!"
"So you didn't.... you didn't..."
"No, I fucking didn't!"
"Nothing! You saw nothing?" Mark looked disbelieving.
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Nothing," I repeated firmly.
We remained on the lake another thirty minutes while Mark got his strength back. I tried to get him to teach me to pilot the boat since he was still weak, but he brushed it off. We sailed back to shore in complete silence. We didn't speak as he drove me back to my house. But as I had my hand on the door handle, he said, "Thank you. For saving me."
I looked at him. I remembered the ghost-white arms that were around him. "You're welcome. Thanks for the ride."
"So I heard you and Mark had a little...accident, up at the lake," Annette said, dropping off my cheeseburger and fries. She looked furtively around before sitting next to me.
I made a face at her. "If you could call it that."
She sighed. "Listen, Sara, Mark has this... I don't know what you call it. A thing. He thinks the mermaids are real."
I felt goosebumps on my skin. "What?"
Annette rolled her eyes. "I know right? All I know is he fell in the lake when we were seventeen. We were on a boating trip, okay? And we didn't have the steadiest boat. You know one of those tiny sailboats? Yeah, those. And a wind kicked up, and... he fell in. He lost his balance and he fell. We couldn't find him. That was in the morning. Come sundown we were still looking. We all thought he'd died, you know. He can't swim." I nodded at that. "Right? I mean, you saved him yesterday. I can't thank you enough." Annette heaved a sigh. "Anyway, around close to midnight, maybe, we'd all given up. My parents were telling me to go home. Rod already had, and so did Aisha. But I didn't want to, and we got into a huge argument right there by the dock. And then all of a sudden someone's shouting a few feet away from us. It's Mark, he just came trudging out of nowhere sopping wet. Exactly like Ezekiel. And like Ezekiel, he starts raving about mermaids." She shivered. "He had blood on his shirt. There was... a hole. In his side. It was awful. A piece of him was missing. He was like that for two days. And then he snapped out of it. We all forgot about it. But he didn't, apparently." She reached out and took my hand. "What did he tell you yesterday?"
I shrugged. "Nothing. Not really. He was talking about...arms."
"Arms?"
"Yeah. He asked if I'd seen them. Arms. Wrapped around him. Pulling him down." I shook my head. "Annette, that's stupid, right? We were in the middle of the lake. There wasn't anyone else there. No one can swim out that far by themselves. Right?" I wanted to ask, so badly, Annette there aren't mermaids, right? They don't exist, of course they don't. Right?
Annette grasped my hand tighter. "Sara. Stay away from Mark for now, okay? Trust me. You do not want to see him."
That night I left my house. I walked past the noisy, crowded bar. Past the empty streets, and the bookstore where I worked. It had been almost two months since she left me, and I was starting to believe I would be okay. I didn't lie to myself - I still loved her, and I still wanted her back. But she was not coming back and I would need to learn to live without her. I was starting to.
I walked to where we had the bonfire last time. I hadn't seen any of the people there besides Mark and Annette since. Without a fire the shack seemed forlorn and abandoned. It probably was. I walked around it. I didn't know what I was doing - I just wanted to be outside and completely alone. And it seemed like I was - until a splash came from the lake and laughter rang out. Instinctively I retreated, but there was nothing else.
"Hello?" I called out.
"Hello? Who's there?" It was a woman's voice.
"Sorry! Did you want to be alone?"
She laughed again. Despite myself I walked toward the shore.
"No," she called back. "Who are you?"
"No one important," I said, less loudly this time.
"No one is ever unimportant. What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" Our conversation began to feel a little surreal. Without thinking I walked closer, and the water washed up over my feet.
"I'm just taking a breather. Sisters are so tiring sometimes, aren't they?"
"I don't know," I said, stepping closer. "I've never had sisters. Where are you?"
"Over here," and though it was dark, I did see her. She was sitting waist-deep in the water, nude. Her hair was dark and reached past her waist.
"Why are you naked?" I asked her.
"Oh, darling, I'm not!" She flicked an errant strand of hair from her face. White teeth flashed. "Who are you?"
"I'm Sara," I said cautiously.
"Oh, I know you. You've been here a year, right? You were with that other girl. What was her name?"
"Christine."
"Ah, yes, Christine. Come closer, will you? I can't see you."
"I'll get wet," I said in feeble protest. Her eyes were unwavering on mine and seemed to pull me closer anyway.
"You mean wetter, right?"
"What - " I looked down and realized with some shock that I was already chest-deep in the lake. She was still, and the water only came up to her waist. "How are you doing that?"
"Doing what, darling?"
"That thing - "
"I know why you're here, you know." She leaned closer, her lips inches from mine. "You miss her, don't you? You miss the taste of her on your tongue."
"I - " I wanted to leave, I wanted to walk away before the current could sweep me farther out. The undertow was strong here, and I was worried about drowning.
"Oh darling, don't worry," and her arms came around me. They were warm.
"Don't worry," she crooned, don't worry, and suddenly she wasn't talking anymore but somehow she was, and she was still saying don't worry and her lips were on mine. Was this why sailors came back to the sea no matter how their wives begged them to stay? Was this why old mariners never left the shore? Her tongue was in my mouth and she tasted of sunlight and dark water. She tasted like Christine on summer days. The water closed over us. My arms were around her. I could feel the scales of her tail against my legs.
I no longer minded. I let her pull me down into the water.
"Did you hear what happened to that girl?"
"The one who disappeared?"
Annette paused in the act of clearing up the dishes. The two women at the other table went on, hashing out the rumors of Sara'd disappearance. Annette shook her head, swept the tip into her apron pocket, and stacked the empty dishes onto her tray. She gave the table a quick swipe with a washcloth and walked quickly away. Dropping the dishes by the kitchen, she signaled to the cook that she was taking a break and stepped outside. She lit a cigarette.
It had been two days since her house had been found empty by her ex-girlfriend. Her name was Christine. She had gone to the police station and a search had ensued. In the meantime Christine had moved back into town. Annette was worried about Sara, and Mark was going around making ominous noises about mermaids. He kept saying she would turn up any day now. You would see. She would be the same.
Annette wanted to believe and disprove him at the same time. She didn't want him to be right, but she wanted Sara safe. But if Sara came back and it was Mark all over again....
Annette exhaled a cloud of smoke. She had been thinking of learning how to blow circles. Rod had showed her how to last time. Opening her mouth in an "O", she exhaled, but all that came out was formless smoke. "Well, that was shit," she said out loud. Suddenly the sound of dishes breaking came from inside. Someone screamed, and several voices were raised in alarm. The noise made Annette jump. She ran inside, pushed past the busboys who were crowding at the entrance to the kitchen, and stopped. Her jaw dropped, and she could feel her entire body begin to shake.
Sara stood in the middle of the bar. Everyone was staying as far away from her as they could. She was dripping. A puddle was forming around her feet. Her clothes were sagging and bloodstained. She saw Annette and smiled. Her teeth were red.
"Hello Annette," she said. Her voice shook. Sara pulled in a breath and pushed back her hair. Annette saw with horror that three of her fingers were missing.
"Sara," Annette said, not daring to step closer. "Sara, what happened?"
"Have you heard, Annette?" Sara asked. She didn't seem to have heard Annette's question. "Annette, there are mermaids in the lake."
the end
They speak of hearts breaking, in cracks and shards and splinters, like a fragile glass thing inside your chest. I used to scoff at that. I was so arrogant then, so confident that it was pointless to call yourself heartbroken. You cannot break a heart.
Now I’m not so sure. I don’t feel how they said I would. Instead it feels like something in my chest is shrinking, and with it everything else. Other times it feels like something warm has settled somewhere in the middle of me, curled up within the small spaces, and sometimes it reaches out its too-hot arms and strikes out at my entire body. And still other times it’s like I am made of pain and loneliness, and instead of filling me it empties me out and leaves me cold and shaking and crying.
If one person can hurt you like that, what are rib cages for?
I've come to think that maybe God intended the rib cage to protect the heart from itself. That maybe it was meant to keep the heart locked up, to keep it safe from all the hurt the world could inflict on it. Why else call it a cage?
And if that’s true, then maybe the heart worked better than God planned it to. Maybe the heart was God’s rebellious daughter, maybe it flashed him the middle finger, climbed out from between the bars and found the world anyway. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams. Someone said that once. And once we discovered that, we climbed back inside our cage, where it was safe and dark, and we crouched and we cried and we tried to shrink ourselves to minimize the pain. A mistake. The less of you there is, the more the pain can consume you.
I’m rambling, I’m sorry. This is not the story I set out to tell.
Anyway, she broke up with me. My girlfriend. She left and moved on without a backward glance and I was left with the wreckage of our relationship. At night I curled up in bed and wished for her again and again and again and again. I was going through a maddening cycle: sometimes I thought I was over it, and that I could live without her and to hell with people who left you in the dust. And the next morning I would wake up and the hollowness in my chest would be too much to bear, and yet. And yet.
I did not want to leave the town. We had moved here together, and instead of leaving, as she did, without looking back, I stayed. I kept up my job at the bookstore. I had been here six months, five of them with her, and I had set down roots of a sort. I loved the small lakeside town and the people in it. I was determined to make the most of it.
On the seventh month I learned the stories about the lake.
It was a bad day. I was in the hollow part of the cycle, and I went to the local bar to rub off the edge. Being with people helped. Even a little bit. (Did I find it pathetic that after a month it still hurt? Yes, but then I had loved her. I still did.) I had only a few friends, even after almost a year, because I was afraid to socialize. There was Annette, the barmaid. Rudy, the man who ran the bookshop I worked in. Michael and Anna, the sweet old couple who lived next door and had been married to each other forever. Not much else besides them.
I thought to try and make new friends, so I set out, leaving my hair undone and my shoulders bare. The summer wind was warm and easy on the skin - I didn't mind. When I got to the one and only bar in town I was sweating slightly. Although it was windy, the air was still humid somehow. I didn't mind that either - I liked the warmth. I was the reason we'd moved down here. She wanted somewhere cold. But she obliged me, and not once during the months we lived here did she complain.
The place was already crowded when I arrived. I managed to squeeze in by the bar and ordered cranberry juice and vodka. The man next to me chuckled and said, "Bit too early for that, isn't it?"
I eyed his full mug of beer and the three empty ones next to it, and said, "Not really, no." He left me alone after that. Although it was crowded, I found an empty table in the corner. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it would do for now. I sat sipping my drink in silence for a while before Annette dropped into the empty seat in front of me. "Slow night?" I teased.
"Hardly. But my shift's almost over and we're off to a bonfire down by the lake. Wanna come? You look lonely, you lovely girl." She smiled at me. She knew what had happened, and I knew why she was doing this. My heart warmed. I hadn't noticed how attractive she was until then.
"Sure. Why not?"
Following Annette's lead, I stumbled slightly over rocks in the dark. She led me to a small shack I hadn't seen before, outlined by the roaring fire. As we approached I heard coughing and groans. The lake lapped at the shore some feet away.
"What's up with you?" Annette asked.
"Mark here," said a blonde girl, jerking her thumb toward a guy stirring the flames with an intense look on his face, "doesn't know jack shit about starting a fire."
"It looks pretty good to me," Annette said sceptically.
"It smokes more than it burns!" the girl complained.
"Shut up, will you," said Mark. "I did a pretty damn good job considering the wind."
I spoke up then. "Yeah, he did." Mark looked up at me then, quirked an eyebrow, and said, "Thanks." I shrugged back at him.
"Okay guys," Annette said, putting an arm around my waist and pushing me closer to the bonfire, "this is Sara. Be nice. Sara, that's Joan, Rod, Aisha. You've met Mark. And that's Lilly." The blonde girl's name was Lilly. Okay. Okay. Okay.
"Who's up for hotdogs?" Joan asked, passing them around on sticks.
"Aisha, these are chicken, so you can have an extra one."
"Thanks," Aisha said. She took two and passed the other one to me. I thanked her.
Mark clapped his hands. "Ghost stories, anyone? I have three about the lake."
Everyone groaned. "We all grew up around here, Mark," Lilly complained. "We’ve heard all the stories."
"I haven’t," I said.
"There," said Mark. "You see? She hasn't." And so it began.
There are tales, Mark said to me, the firelight flickering eerily on the planes of his face while others rolled their eyes and toasted their food, of things in the lake. Things that take you when you least expect it. Things that -
Oh just get on with it, Mark!
Okay, okay!
They say there are mermaids in the lake, you see. For years fishermen have disappeared mysteriously, their boats overturned, their catch getting lost in the depths again. This could be explained - gusts of wind, overloading, losing balance. But thirty years ago, a man called Ezekiel Johnson came back from the dead. The week before he came straggling into town, they'd found his schooner floating abandoned on the lake. On the deck was a full net of fish, and nothing else. Seven days the dragged the lake, looking for his body. They didn't find it, and eventually they gave up. But then on the eighth day of his disappearance, as the day was inching into night, Ezekiel Johnson came, staggering and shivering and sopping wet, into the bar that was then simply a place to go and rest your feet after a hard day. He stumbled in, rolling as if on sea legs, and cried about mermaids. Mermaids who smiled at you and made you feel like the fourth of July, before they opened their mouths and showed their razor teeth and bit off your flesh.
Everyone laughed at him, of course. Mermaids? That was ridiculous. Flesh-eating mermaids? Even more so. There were no fucking mermaids out in the lake. They didn't exist. And besides, even if they did, everyone knew they lived out in the ocean. Around here the lake was the only body of water for miles around. How the fuck could there be mermaids? (Everyone was nervous, of course. Everyone wanted to ask him where he'd been. They were afraid of him.) The town doctor was called, and Ezekiel was escorted away. Three days and two nights of him raving, and rumors of a huge chunk of flesh missing from his right leg, and the doctor shook his head, made the sign of the cross, and draped the white sheet over the motionless body of Ezekiel Johnson.
But his stories weren't forgotten.
I laughed. "You're saying there are mermaids in the lake. Really? Like, really really?"
He looked at me, crestfallen. "I thought you'd be impressed," he almost whined.
"Don't worry," Rod said, his deep voice sounding amused. "He just thinks you're cute."
"I'm gay," I said to Mark in amusement.
"Shit, man," he muttered. "Of all the luck in the world."
It was a nice night. When I left it was close to midnight, and I felt happy for the first time in several days. I walked back to my house - mine now, and mine alone - following the shore, and the water of the lake lapped contentedly at the sand by my feet.
It was two days after that night that Mark showed up at my door with a bottle of wine and the keys to a yacht. A yacht, of all things.
"Did you forget the bit where I told you I'm more than a bit into girls?" I asked, leaning against the door frame.
"I didn't! Of course I didn't, how could I?" he asked. "I just wanted to invite you for a little sail, that's all." And so, sceptical but still excited, I went.
We got into his car and drove to the other end of town, where all the boats were moored. There was a tiny dock, and an equally tiny yacht anchored next to it. With exaggerated gestures, Mark helped me into it, and I stood at the prow watching the water while he piloted the little boat out onto the middle of the lake. With a start I realized that something silver was flashing underwater, and figured it was probably fish.
"Okay, Mark," I said, turning around. "What's the real reason for this?"
He came over and leaned against the railings next to me. "You see, Sara... I've been keeping this little secret for a while now. And the other night, I decided you are the perfect person to tell it to. I hope you don't mind - we did just meet, after all."
I shrugged, to show him I was listening.
He leaned closer. "You remember the story I told? The one about Ezekiel Johnson, and the mermaids, and everything?" I nodded. "All of it's true."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. His face soured, and the look in his eye got dangerous, and I stopped immediately. It occurred to me that I was alone, in the middle of a huge lake, with him. There were no other boats nearby. I could swim, yes, but it was a long way, and I'd never been a very strong swimmer.
"I'll prove it to you," Mark said, and without warning he jumped into the water. I cried out in shock. I didn't move - I had no idea what to do. Meanwhile he just floated there, treading water with a triumphant expression on his face that slowly began to fade.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked.
"Wait for it!" he shouted back.
"Can you swim?"
"No!" At that my heart skipped a beat. "But I'll be okay, just watch!" He relaxed and began floating on his back.
I remained where I was, anxiously biting my nails. He seemed okay - at least he knew how to float - and I was prepared to dive in and save him at any moment. I kicked off my shoes in preparation for it - and it came.
He began flailing, the stupid idiot. His waterlogged clothes began to pull him down, as did his shoes. He began to sink, but he didn't call out to me for help. I dove into the water anyway. I hit the water wrong, and my stomach stung painfully as I swam toward Mark. He was fighting to reach the surface, but...
I was almost positive it was the lakewater in my eyes, but it seemed that even as Mark was flailing, another pair of hands seemed wrapped around his waist, pulling him down. A cloud of black hair formed a halo around his head. I blinked and they were gone, but Mark was still drowning. I kicked my feet harder and when I got to him I grabbed one of his hands and began the arduous task of pulling him upward. I was sure I was doing it wrong, but neither of us had much time - or air.
I kicked and I kicked and I tried to make him do the same, but he was losing consciousness already and I had a spasm of anger. I didn't want to die in a stupid fucking lake with a stupid fucking idiot who stupidly jumped in and didn't know how to swim! I wanted to let go, but I didn't. I didn't have a lot of strength left and it seemed the surface of the water was getting no closer - but we made it in the end.
I broke the surface, gasping for air, and with one last tug pulled Mark up with me. Luckily the boat wasn't too far, and luckily there was a ladder on the side. Mark was unmoving at this point, so I hauled him to the boat and pulled him up the ladder myself. He flopped on the deck like a dead fish. I wanted to lie down on the deck and catch my breath but there wasn't time. I listened to his chest with a finger on the pulse point in his neck. I thought I could feel something, but I checked if he was breathing anyway. He was. I slapped him, hard as I could, and his eyes jerked open. He took in a huge breath, and violently coughed out water.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I shouted.
He waved a hand at me, still gasping for air. But I was too angry to stop. "Are you stupid or what? You can't swim but you jump into the water anyway? What if I couldn't save you? You are a stupid fuck!"
Mark's face contorted. With effort he sat up and supported himself against the railings of the deck. "Don't...tell me... you didn't see," he gasped out.
"See what?"
"Arms..." he said. At that a chill ran down my spine. "Arms... Sara she grabbed me... was about to pull me up..."
"What arms?" I demanded. "All I saw was you drowning yourself over something - I don't even know what!"
"So you didn't.... you didn't..."
"No, I fucking didn't!"
"Nothing! You saw nothing?" Mark looked disbelieving.
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Nothing," I repeated firmly.
We remained on the lake another thirty minutes while Mark got his strength back. I tried to get him to teach me to pilot the boat since he was still weak, but he brushed it off. We sailed back to shore in complete silence. We didn't speak as he drove me back to my house. But as I had my hand on the door handle, he said, "Thank you. For saving me."
I looked at him. I remembered the ghost-white arms that were around him. "You're welcome. Thanks for the ride."
"So I heard you and Mark had a little...accident, up at the lake," Annette said, dropping off my cheeseburger and fries. She looked furtively around before sitting next to me.
I made a face at her. "If you could call it that."
She sighed. "Listen, Sara, Mark has this... I don't know what you call it. A thing. He thinks the mermaids are real."
I felt goosebumps on my skin. "What?"
Annette rolled her eyes. "I know right? All I know is he fell in the lake when we were seventeen. We were on a boating trip, okay? And we didn't have the steadiest boat. You know one of those tiny sailboats? Yeah, those. And a wind kicked up, and... he fell in. He lost his balance and he fell. We couldn't find him. That was in the morning. Come sundown we were still looking. We all thought he'd died, you know. He can't swim." I nodded at that. "Right? I mean, you saved him yesterday. I can't thank you enough." Annette heaved a sigh. "Anyway, around close to midnight, maybe, we'd all given up. My parents were telling me to go home. Rod already had, and so did Aisha. But I didn't want to, and we got into a huge argument right there by the dock. And then all of a sudden someone's shouting a few feet away from us. It's Mark, he just came trudging out of nowhere sopping wet. Exactly like Ezekiel. And like Ezekiel, he starts raving about mermaids." She shivered. "He had blood on his shirt. There was... a hole. In his side. It was awful. A piece of him was missing. He was like that for two days. And then he snapped out of it. We all forgot about it. But he didn't, apparently." She reached out and took my hand. "What did he tell you yesterday?"
I shrugged. "Nothing. Not really. He was talking about...arms."
"Arms?"
"Yeah. He asked if I'd seen them. Arms. Wrapped around him. Pulling him down." I shook my head. "Annette, that's stupid, right? We were in the middle of the lake. There wasn't anyone else there. No one can swim out that far by themselves. Right?" I wanted to ask, so badly, Annette there aren't mermaids, right? They don't exist, of course they don't. Right?
Annette grasped my hand tighter. "Sara. Stay away from Mark for now, okay? Trust me. You do not want to see him."
That night I left my house. I walked past the noisy, crowded bar. Past the empty streets, and the bookstore where I worked. It had been almost two months since she left me, and I was starting to believe I would be okay. I didn't lie to myself - I still loved her, and I still wanted her back. But she was not coming back and I would need to learn to live without her. I was starting to.
I walked to where we had the bonfire last time. I hadn't seen any of the people there besides Mark and Annette since. Without a fire the shack seemed forlorn and abandoned. It probably was. I walked around it. I didn't know what I was doing - I just wanted to be outside and completely alone. And it seemed like I was - until a splash came from the lake and laughter rang out. Instinctively I retreated, but there was nothing else.
"Hello?" I called out.
"Hello? Who's there?" It was a woman's voice.
"Sorry! Did you want to be alone?"
She laughed again. Despite myself I walked toward the shore.
"No," she called back. "Who are you?"
"No one important," I said, less loudly this time.
"No one is ever unimportant. What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" Our conversation began to feel a little surreal. Without thinking I walked closer, and the water washed up over my feet.
"I'm just taking a breather. Sisters are so tiring sometimes, aren't they?"
"I don't know," I said, stepping closer. "I've never had sisters. Where are you?"
"Over here," and though it was dark, I did see her. She was sitting waist-deep in the water, nude. Her hair was dark and reached past her waist.
"Why are you naked?" I asked her.
"Oh, darling, I'm not!" She flicked an errant strand of hair from her face. White teeth flashed. "Who are you?"
"I'm Sara," I said cautiously.
"Oh, I know you. You've been here a year, right? You were with that other girl. What was her name?"
"Christine."
"Ah, yes, Christine. Come closer, will you? I can't see you."
"I'll get wet," I said in feeble protest. Her eyes were unwavering on mine and seemed to pull me closer anyway.
"You mean wetter, right?"
"What - " I looked down and realized with some shock that I was already chest-deep in the lake. She was still, and the water only came up to her waist. "How are you doing that?"
"Doing what, darling?"
"That thing - "
"I know why you're here, you know." She leaned closer, her lips inches from mine. "You miss her, don't you? You miss the taste of her on your tongue."
"I - " I wanted to leave, I wanted to walk away before the current could sweep me farther out. The undertow was strong here, and I was worried about drowning.
"Oh darling, don't worry," and her arms came around me. They were warm.
"Don't worry," she crooned, don't worry, and suddenly she wasn't talking anymore but somehow she was, and she was still saying don't worry and her lips were on mine. Was this why sailors came back to the sea no matter how their wives begged them to stay? Was this why old mariners never left the shore? Her tongue was in my mouth and she tasted of sunlight and dark water. She tasted like Christine on summer days. The water closed over us. My arms were around her. I could feel the scales of her tail against my legs.
I no longer minded. I let her pull me down into the water.
"Did you hear what happened to that girl?"
"The one who disappeared?"
Annette paused in the act of clearing up the dishes. The two women at the other table went on, hashing out the rumors of Sara'd disappearance. Annette shook her head, swept the tip into her apron pocket, and stacked the empty dishes onto her tray. She gave the table a quick swipe with a washcloth and walked quickly away. Dropping the dishes by the kitchen, she signaled to the cook that she was taking a break and stepped outside. She lit a cigarette.
It had been two days since her house had been found empty by her ex-girlfriend. Her name was Christine. She had gone to the police station and a search had ensued. In the meantime Christine had moved back into town. Annette was worried about Sara, and Mark was going around making ominous noises about mermaids. He kept saying she would turn up any day now. You would see. She would be the same.
Annette wanted to believe and disprove him at the same time. She didn't want him to be right, but she wanted Sara safe. But if Sara came back and it was Mark all over again....
Annette exhaled a cloud of smoke. She had been thinking of learning how to blow circles. Rod had showed her how to last time. Opening her mouth in an "O", she exhaled, but all that came out was formless smoke. "Well, that was shit," she said out loud. Suddenly the sound of dishes breaking came from inside. Someone screamed, and several voices were raised in alarm. The noise made Annette jump. She ran inside, pushed past the busboys who were crowding at the entrance to the kitchen, and stopped. Her jaw dropped, and she could feel her entire body begin to shake.
Sara stood in the middle of the bar. Everyone was staying as far away from her as they could. She was dripping. A puddle was forming around her feet. Her clothes were sagging and bloodstained. She saw Annette and smiled. Her teeth were red.
"Hello Annette," she said. Her voice shook. Sara pulled in a breath and pushed back her hair. Annette saw with horror that three of her fingers were missing.
"Sara," Annette said, not daring to step closer. "Sara, what happened?"
"Have you heard, Annette?" Sara asked. She didn't seem to have heard Annette's question. "Annette, there are mermaids in the lake."
the end