I spent four days in the depths.

The only stimuli were the cool

slipstream flowing around my body, the endless green haze of deep water,
and the pain from my injuries. There was no sound, and my eyes simply
focused out into infinity. At first I would check my direction by
turning on the indiglo in my watch. The light seemed so bright that I
would turn it on with my eyes closed, then open them slowly. I only
varied from east by a few degrees north or south. It occurred to me that
with so little stimuli that I could intensely feel the changes in the
flow of water as it washed over my body and my fins even if I altered
course a minute amount. Staying on a straight course was so easy that by
the third and fourth day I simply checked the compass twice a day.
Though I was in the center of what seemed to be infinite space, the
sameness of it all made it feel very small. I traveled for four days
straight, and not even the temperature or smell of the water seemed to
change. I was reluctant to go toward the surface due to my injuries.
With a lot of time to think, I recalled hearing at some point about how
great pressure prevents bacteria from infecting wounds. People with
lower intestinal injuries are put into hyperbaric chambers so that their
body can heal, because the pressure inhibits bacteria from feeding on
their body's waste. I figured that the pressure in such a chamber can't
be more than a few atmospheres, at most. But I also didn't know the
depth to which predators could dive. I could go higher, but I was
worried about swimming in the ocean with my wounds merely poorly sewn
up. If they opened and leaked blood, I could be attracting unwanted
company.
I pushed through hunger on my second day in the deep, and again the pain
this brought faded away, replaced by the ever-present knowledge that I
needed to eat. I could feel the strength I had gained from feeding
slowly ebb away. My mind wandered in the deep, and again I found it
difficult sometimes to define dreams from reality. Daydreams dropped
into sleep, and sleep devolved into waking. Sometimes, I swore I heard
and saw sharks coming straight at me. I would awaken, body warm with
adrenaline, to find myself alone in the deep.
Often, my mind focused on my family. They lived in Wilkes-Barre,
Pennsylvania. That's where I grew up. My father, a burly, red-faced
firefighter who was retiring at about the time I had my accident with
the necklace. Mom, homemaker, who shuffled us to and fro basketball,
recitals, and school plays. My sister entered college the same time I
had entered the Marines. I was supposed to follow her after my
enlistment. And, I had a kid brother, who was just starting high school
this year.
Wilkes-Barre was a coal town that was saying goodbye to its best days
just as I was born. First, its clothing industry went over to China,
then its coal industry disappeared into memories of black dust and
forbidden mining tunnels. Then, just before I was born, a massive flood
decimated the town. It never quite recovered.
Still, it was a happy town, in its own way. The mine-scarred hills that
surrounded the town grew over with trees, and the river that had brought
the flood was diked. It had the comforts of a city and the familiarity
of a village. My parents would take us on a walk, down the block to the
ice-cream store. For some reason, every block had at least a bar or a
VFW. I grew up thinking it was normal to call trick-or-treat at the
bars.
In the summers, we went up to the lake country in New York, where my
family owned a house on the water. It was there that my siblings and I
became fascinated with the water. It seemed that we'd swim from sunup to
sundown. Our mother and her friends would play club at the picnic table
in the shade on the shore and watch us. "I swear, by fall they'll have
gills," was something we often overheard.
How was I going to meet my folks? I decided it was all situational. I
had to get to the West Coast, and then decide. Maybe I could coax a
boater to lend me a cell phone. Maybe, I could steal one from a boat.
Perhaps I could find a beach that had easy access to a pay phone. I
tried to think of ways I could send a letter, but nothing came to mind.
But, if I can possibly contact my folks, what then? I have a girl's
voice, so simply speaking to them won't convince them of who I am. The
key would be to get them to agree on a meeting. Perhaps I could say that
I'm a friend of their son, and that I have to meet them to explain what
was going on. But if we ever met face-to-face, could they comprehend
what had happened to me?
Maybe, I could try reaching my sister. Folks born and raised in Wilkes-
Barre aren't usually very open minded, but she was always a hippy. I
remember the ruckus caused when my mother found a book on Wicca in
Sarah's room. "Sarah Perkowski, you are not going to worship Satan in my
house!" "Mom, it's not about 'Satan!'" "I don't care!"
Besides that, I never really picked on Sarah. She was one of those artsy
kids who simply don't fit in small-town schools, because there aren't
enough other artsy kids. So, she had a pretty rough time just being an
outcast. The only reason she didn't get picked on a lot more was because
she was smart, pretty, and I was popular in school. I had been a starter
on the basketball and soccer teams every year from freshman to senior.
Though I'd never been college-great, I'd been small-town great.
Hell, even I had picked on Sarah about her witchy stuff. But she was a
hard target to pick on. She always had a way of letting taunts roll off
her back. "Yeah, Jason, I'm a witch. Oh of course, it's only about
running around the woods naked, exactly. Oh and cavorting with demons?
Yep, that too. I sit in a pentagram and offer myself to Beezlebub. Uh-
huh."
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the best way to
contact my family would be through Sarah. Even though anyone would agree
it's pretty radical to meet a mermaid, and then comprehend that mermaid
is actually your brother, I figured that she could handle the situation
far better than my retirement-aged parents. Mom had only left
Pennsylvania to go to New York, once to Canada. Dad had been out of the
country once - to Vietnam, then straight back to good 'ol PA.
Sarah was the key. But after meeting her, then what? How would I be able
to spend time with my folks? There was no way I could live on land. I
would have to be hidden from outsiders, and I'm handicapped outside of
the water. They can't live in the water, obviously.
I thought about our house on Lake Carter, in New York. It was a pretty
big lake. A puddle compared to the ocean, of course, but perhaps if my
family lived there on the water, and I in the water, we could make a
compromise. Or perhaps Dad could build a boat house that actually served
as my house. But how could I possibly get to that lake? Even if I did,
it seemed like a dangerous prospect. There were a lot of houses on the
lake, and a lot of boats. If I was spotted enough, a search would be
done, and I was sure to be eventually found out. The idea of being
dependent on my aging folks wasn't very appealing, either.
I also felt ashamed. What would my parents, especially my dad, think
about me being turned into a creature so feminine? I felt that he would
blame me for changing on purpose. I didn't know if he would even want to
meet me. My change is so freakish in every aspect that he might not want
anything to do with it, whatsoever. He had always been so supportive of
my athletics. We would play basketball in the driveway for hours on
hours after school. I remembered how his broad face beamed when he came
down to my graduation from Marine recruit training. In body and face,
I'd always had his looks, whereas my sister had the look of my mother. I
know he was proud of the man I was, or was becoming. Now, I'm no longer
what he wanted me to be in any regard.
I wanted to pray to God for guidance. We hadn't been raised as perfect
Catholics, but when I was young we went to Church for all the holidays
and observances. I went to chapel sometimes while in the Marines. I'd
prayed for my grandparents when they passed away. Other than that, I
hadn't really ever thought of praying for much. Now, I wanted to pray
for this transformation to be undone. But the very fact that God had
allowed it to happen convinced me that prayer was useless.
Gluboks cryptic comments also dissuaded me from faith. He had mentioned
gods, not God. I regretted not asking him more questions, until I
recalled that he wasn't keen on conversation. Alone in the ocean, I
yearned for his company. Then, I laughed to myself. One must be pretty
desperate to yearn for the company of a massive, irritable squid.
I went six days without eating. Still, I kept moving east. Even thinking
started to grow tiring. I simply kept moving and dozing. I had company
only in dreams. Sometimes, I was with my family on leave. Other times, I
was getting drunk with my comrades. I had a dream that the entire
mermaid affair was simply a dream, and when I woke up in the barracks, I
was unbelievably happy. But somehow, this dream dissolved into
unfortunate reality, and I awoke in the deep. Other times, mostly while
drifting into sleep, huge, phantom sharks darted at me from my
unconscious mind, snapping me into terrified wakefulness.
Despite what had happened to me the last time I played with the sharks,
I realized I would do it again for the chance at a meal.
I finally decided that I had healed well enough to go back up, into the
living altitudes where I could find, or be, prey. As the water grew
lighter, my mood elevated. Without realizing, the gloom of the dark had
somehow affected my spirit. The bright glow from above grew more
defined, until I could see the surface from below, like a vaulted
ceiling in Heaven. The waves were as tall as a man, the sky was steel
grey, and the air was filled with salty spray as a whistling wind blew
from frothy wave peaks.
My view of the ocean grew and shrank as I slid from the wave peaks into
their troughs. The ocean's color was the same steely grey as the sky,
only darker. It looked like rippled metal. From the peaks, I could only
see waves in every direction. It felt like I was a microbe on the center
of a gigantic, flat coin. The horizon was simply the merger of sea and
sky, a flat, uninterrupted line between two colors. I sank back under
the waves and continued swimming.
Later in the day, the sea grew calm. The clouds broke up under afternoon
sunshine. I broke the surface and cruised along. Every few minutes I
would dip my head under the water and listen for the sound of prey, but
to no avail.
I was skating just below the surface when I heard the whispers of prey
thrashing. I thought it might be an audible mirage or a trick of my mind
and tried to forget about it, but it only became more distinct and
clear. Soon, I radared in on the location, submerged, and headed toward
it.
The sound grew stronger and stronger. Not only did I hear the smooth
swimming of healthy fish, but the hiccupping of wounded fish. I
descended to fifty meters and kept my eyes peeled. The first thing I saw
was a shark, swimming parallel to me, toward the sound. It had a massive
crescent tailfin that seemed to be half as long as the body. It was also
nearly twice my length. I gave it a wide berth. Multiple targets
appeared ahead of us. A loose school of fish was milling around a point
of interest, darting in and out, and random sharks of different sizes
mixed with them. The fish were like nuclei around the cloud at the
center of an atom. The water in the center of their attention was
cloudy. I smelled blood.
I dove deep and looked up to observe the action from below. For a
moment, my heart stopped. Above the swimming fish was a massive black
body. It took me a moment to realize it was a large boat.
"Fishermen," I realized. I felt the urge to swim right up to the boat
and make contact, but something restrained me. It took me a minute to a
second to realize that I simply couldn't swim up and say 'hi.' This
angered me, until I realized that the presence of a fishing boat meant I
was somewhere near land. I could follow this thing back to its port.
I lay on my back and observed. Tiny pieces of fish floated down toward
me like snow made of meat and scales. The fishing boat was chumming the
water. Mackerel and junkfish, and the sharks, were all attracted to the
smell. From all sides of the boat I could see shiny pieces of metal
dropped into the water, and dancing in the sunlight. As I saw fish
strike them, I realized they were jigs.
The fish were feeding on the chum and attacking the jigs, and the sharks
were going after the fish. After an hour, I realized that the orbiting
sharks had something of a choreographed routine. They had a traffic flow
that they intuitively followed. It all seemed to be timed off the
largest shark present, which happened to be the big fellow I swam in
with. The smaller sharks followed in his wake, and snatched up pieces
left by his carnage.
I swam up and drew my knife. I fell in line behind a shark that seemed
to be about my size. I was so close I could taste them, and somehow I
could even feel energy rippling from their bodies. I could see their
dark eyes shifting in their sockets, and their gill coverings flowing in
the water. I could see their fins shift and bend as they maneuvered. I
started to shake uncontrollably.
The shark in front of me suddenly angled into the mass of fish. The
water tasted and smelled terrible here, like the air in a greasy
kitchen. I realized I was only a tailfin thrash away from the bottom of
the boat, but I couldn't look up. I simply registered its shadow.
With a swift stab I impaled a fat mackerel. I accelerated to make a
clean escape, nearly catching the hook of a jig in my eye as I did so.
Before I left the range of the boat, I saw a mackerel hooked on a jig. A
fisherman was trying to reel the desperate fish up. I pulled my catch
from the knife and in two quick slashes kill-stabbed the hooked
mackerel, and cut the fishing line above the leader.
I didn't slow down, but moved out of the way and at while maneuvering
and keeping my head on a swivel to scan in all directions. I ate on the
move, then swung wide around the whole scene and came in for another
run.
Again, I moved in behind a shark. I entered the fracas, trying to look
in all directions at once while also focusing on a target and
maneuvering away from danger. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a large
movement. It was the big shark, with the gigantic tailfin. He wasn't
heading straight for me, but all the other sharks were giving way to his
approach. I rolled to my right and suddenly felt a sharp, stinging pain
in my dorsal fin. I rolled, and felt something tear and hook into me.
Thick wire and fishing line wrapped around my waist, and pinned my wrist
against my body when it went taught. Out of the corner of my eye, I
could see a bright jig had snagged my dorsal fin. Its hook went all the
way through my flesh.
I rolled and reached for my knife with my free hand. As I did so, I drew
another line around my torso, trapping my free arm. At the same time,
the lines went taught. It felt like I was being cut in half by piano
wire, and the tearing pain from my dorsal fin nearly blinded me. I was
about to transfer the knife when the pain hit, and I lost grip of it. It
was attached to my wrist by a 'dummy' cord I had weaved, but there were
a few feet of play in the cord. I reached for it, but another huge tug
on the line paralyzed me. At my angle, the knife was free floating
straight for my face. I rolled hard and it passed by my ear. This only
entangled me deeper in the lines.
I looked up. I was only about 10 meters from the surface. I was being
reeled in. I realized I just had to reach my knife. I could fight these
lines, but didn't want to cut myself up. I started worming an arm free
when adrenaline suddenly swamped my body. I heard a loud, rushing noise
and knew what was coming. I turned to see the big fella headed straight
at me. He could tell I was handicapped and decided I was going to make a
good meal.
In a split second, I decided that the boat was a pleasant place to go. I
shot upward and the huge shark barely missed me. But it didn't stop. It
was doing a fast u-turn. Without the ability to maneuver I had no chance
against this thing. I kicked up hard and broke the surface, and came
down with my stomach resting on the gunwale of the boat. Tourists lining
the gunwale with fishing rods exploded away from me. I could still sense
the predator below me coming for another pass, and I flopped down a few
feet, knocking my jaw on the hard deck. I saw stars and heard screams
and shouts.
"Oh my God! A mermaid!"
"Mermaid!"
"Jesus Christ! That thing is real!"
My point of view was only a few inches from the deck. I saw lots of
white, suntanned legs in Hawaiian shorts and feet in boat shoes and
Tevas. I took advantage of their shock. I wiggled, grabbed my knife, and
started cutting. Once my right arm was free, I quickly sliced through
the rest of the line. The jig that had penetrated my dorsal fin dangled
like an earring. It was just barely out of reach. It would have to stay
like that for now. I could hear cameras clicking, and shouts of
authority - maybe the crew?
I turned, reached the gunwale, and hauled myself up. I was about to flop
back into the water when hands grabbed me all over, and threw me back
into the boat. I landed on my fin and shrieked in pain. I rolled onto my
stomach.
"Get her," a tanned man yelled. It was the crew that had grabbed me, and
I guessed this middle-aged guy in a polo shirt was the boat's captain.
The crew formed into a group. I stared up at them, held out my knife,
and gave them a look that told them I was going to fillet their guts
with that ten-inch blade. It suddenly dawned on me that I was going to
have to hurt someone. They were in shock simply from me landing in their
boat, and my brandishing a sharp weapon must have simply been too much.
They looked nervous and a few simply backed away, holding their hands
up. Should I say something, or act mute? As I pondered this, they were
starting to come to their senses. One kid came running back with a net.
The captain grabbed it from him and started approaching me. He made
gentle, petting notions with one hand.
"Easy now, easy, we're not going to hurt you."
I waited for him to make his move. If I could snatch fish straight out
of the water and dodge sharks, I knew my reflexes were way too much for
a human. Not only did I know it, I _felt_ it in this body. But, crawling
around only on my belly was a handicap. All my power was in my tail. As
the captain approached me, I instinctively knew how I would be using it
to fight bipeds on terra firma.
I saw him throw the net before he realized he was throwing it. His eyes
narrowed, his nostrils flared slightly. Waiting for his body to commit
to the momentum of the throw was the hardest part.
The captain threw. I moved in one motion that used the muscles from my
tailfin to my fingertips. I came up on my fingertips and kicked my tail
toward the captain as hard as I could. The force took me by surprise,
nearly giving me whiplash. My tail, just north of my tailfin, clocked
the captain right in the ankles. To my shock, I felt the first ankle
break under the blow of my tail. My upper body spun, following my tail,
and the net hissed onto the empty deck. Its weights clunked against the
wood. I spread my arms and came to a stop. The captain's feet were
pointed to the sky as his head and shoulders hit the deck. He collapsed
and lay there, knocked out cold.
A storm of screams arose from the passengers. The young crewmen stood in
absolute shock. I heard a gasp, and a woman collapsed onto the deck in a
faint. I stared at a clump of crewmen. Two of them darted right for one
another, knocked skulls, rebounded, collapsed to the deck, and scrambled
back to their feet. One of the boys simply grabbed his head with both
hands, stared at me, and shrieked. I could feel the panic and fear in
the air. It was like being at a rock concert so loud that the sound
vibrates your entire body. Somehow, it was tangible to me. I could sense
it, like I could sense whether an animal was sick or whole.
I looked around. I was on the quarterdeck of the boat. The crew along
the gunwale ran forward. A group of about fifteen tourists huddled in
the stern, too afraid to try and pass by me. As I looked at them, their
faces contorted into masks of absolute fear and horror. People were
crying and huddling together as they whimpered.
I stared at them. For some reason, a thought filled my mind, but it was
directed at them. _Fear._
The people transformed into quivering bodies and howling masks. Three
people passed out. Others started pissing themselves. Shrieks of horror
rose from all over the ship. I'd never seen people this thoroughly
horrified in my entire life. They looked like depictions of people in
old paintings of the unfortunates in Hell. And it was somehow
transmitting from me.
I suddenly felt guilty, and shocked, that I was the source of this
horror. But I realized that to reverse it, I had to calm down.
Apparently, I could induce fear voluntarily, but it also seemed that I
transmitted it involuntarily, when I was afraid. The fear I was
witnessing, and the realization that I was causing it, was raising my
anxiety. It was like a feedback loop of emotion. As I watched an old man
grab his chest in pain, I realized that the crescendo of this loop could
be the deaths of some people. I fully felt that I had barely started to
realize how much horror I could induce, and it was already too much. The
last thing I wanted to do was kill people through sheer terror.
The sight of the old man clutching his chest nearly made me panic. The
first thing to pop to mind was the word _calm_. I performed the manta
against panic and tried to broadcast feelings of calm and peace. The
screaming ceased as if someone had been controlling it with a faucet. I
could feel the horror in the air melt away. Again, the feelings I
received back from people affected how I felt. I felt more calm and
peaceful. There was a slight bump in the global level of anxiety as I
realized that if everyone was calm, they could figure out that they
could grab me and somehow cash in on the novelty.
_Happiness_, I thought. Calm, peaceful, happy. As if light pierced dark
clouds, the horror melted from everyone's face. I started making my way
for the gunwales. The people broke up from their groups and started
talking calmly amongst themselves as they watched me. I heard honest
laughter. People who had fainted were waking up. The captain groaned,
and some of his crew went to his side.
As I approached the gunwale, people started to crowd me. But I felt no
fear. They stayed about a tail's length away and simply watched. Some
snapped photos. I propped myself up with one arm, and reached up and
grabbed the gunwale with my other. I then grabbed the gunwale with both
hands and hauled myself up onto it. I lay somewhat on my side, with my
pectoral fin over the edge. The slightest push and I'd be into the
water.
The people, sensing that I could escape at will, crowded in.
"I'm sorry," I said. My feminine voice surprised me. I hadn't felt very
feminine as I had fought for my skin! But now, somehow spreading this
mood of calm and joy, I did feel feminine.
"What about your wound?" a middle-aged woman asked. For a moment I
didn't realize what she was saying, until I remembered the jig in my
fin.
"We saw that you couldn't reach it," she said.
I looked around. The crew had gathered on the rungs of the second level
and were observing from up there.
"Ok," I said. "If you can help me."
Someone appeared with a pair of wire clippers and handed it to the
woman. I rolled inward, and let her work on the jig. She was able to
snip it off of me in a few seconds, and she reverently backed away.
"Thank you," I said. "Goodbye."
I rolled off the gunwale and belly-flopped into the water. I dove deep,
deep, welcoming the mounting pressure of the deep. It felt safe.