Dark Water II: Change of Venue

Black Water: Change of Venue

By V.L. Downs

Copyright 2015 V.L. Downs

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I have followed the black water from one coastal town to the next; looking for news of the monsters that inhabit the depths just outside of their ports. I know that they hide in watery backyards of year rounder’s that call these towns, home. I study their faces as I pass them and wonder? Do you know about the evil that dwells here and what gets stolen under a moonless sky? A smile unfurls on their faces as they pretend to connect with me, the outsider. It may look like hometown hospitality, but if the truth be told, their smiles are the masks they use to cover the secrets they keep. This is their blatant attempt to save their own. In one way or another, all are part of the conspiracy to hide the danger that lurks at their water’s edge.

It may be those high school girls that serve homemade ice cream at the creamery, while flirting with the boys that pull up to their window in their reconditioned car, gifted to them by mom and dad. Or the magistrate that looks the other way when the reports of the missing land upon his desk, checking with one eye to see if one of his own appears on any of parchments; when assured that familiar name does not appear, he files them away in a place that never finds the light of day. It could be the charming bed and breakfast widow that greets every new boarder with a smile and a scone, sizing up each new male visitor, pondering if they will want this one. All the while she is accessing the space in the closet at the end of the hall, for just one more suitcase that will never be claimed.

It is all the same in every coastal settlement that I have ventured into. The ocean’s minions and their life’s work, putting you at ease in this summer splendor, so that they are guiltless when you don’t return and the water forgets your name. The people and their secrets are always the same, it is only a change of the venue.

CHAPTER ONE

Gasping for any measure of air, I sat up and pull my legs to my chest. I could feel my body trembling as my eyes dart around the room searching every dark corner. BLAKE! I hoarsely scream out as beads of sweat drip down my face and trickle down my back, further dampening my sweat drenched tank top. For that split second I had forgotten where I was at. Seconds pass and my reasoning begins to realign and I am able to focus, so I look around again, but find nothing. It is just the same motel room I had fallen asleep in just a couple of hours ago.

The trembling is now subsiding and I let go of my legs as I grabbed for the water bottle sitting beside the bed. I take a large swallow of the now tepid water as I make every attempt to get my breathing under control. Taking the hemline of my tank top, I pull it up to wipe away the perspiration from my forehead. I took another deep breath and extended my hand out in front of me, it still trembles, even as the adrenaline loosens its grip. This had been a bad one. I think to myself.

There was a sharp pain in my right foot and a feeling of floating. I can hear my heart beating in my ears as fear overtakes me, but I can’t fight or even move for that matter. My lungs want to suck in precious air to help relieve the compounding terror in my soul, but only the ocean’s fury flows in and out of my chest. Just look! I tell myself, more afraid of what is in front of me, than behind. One peek is all it will take. I open my eyes and…

These dark terrors had become as much of a ritual of my nights, as brushing my teeth or getting up to go to the bathroom, these fucking nightmares. It’s been over a year since I had left Black Water, Massachusetts, high on principal and determination to find my brother, Blake… hopefully alive.

I had lost count of how many towns I had been in or how many crappy motels I had tried to sleep in. Max, a lover and friend had been with me for the first six months, but he his career as a reporter needed some face time so he returned to Florida. We still keep in touch; in fact, he gave me his car. He said he was due for an upgrade but I’m pretty sure that he was just worried about me.

I had come to Black Water more as a necessity than a choice. My Brother Blake was incarcerated at Moresilette Juvenile facility in the whistle-stop town of Braker, just on the outskirts of Black Water. Blake wasn’t a bad kid, just troubled. We had both grown up hard, being the children of a methamphetamine addict that had abandoned us when we young. We were in and out of foster homes, so as far as family was concerned, I was all Blake had and he was all I had. Growing up I had always been able to protect him, but when he was texting in a stolen car and killed a cop’s kid, there was nothing I could do. I moved to Black Water and took a job at the Eccentric’s Gazette which allowed me to see Blake on weekends.

The Gazette was a quirky rag that covered anything odd or mysterious. Yeah, I admit it wasn’t Pulitzer material. Sid the owner and editor probably wouldn’t agree, but he also was too cheap to pay for plane fare so I had to take the bus for every story. At the time it was sufficient, I wasn’t looking to write award winning journalism, just to pay the bills. The circumstances worked out well for both of us, he got a diligent writer and I could be myself, which by most people’s standards was a little rough around the edges.

Blake and I had planned out everything. He just needed to get through five years and I would put some money away, for our new life after his release. This well-defined journey took a detour when a dead male washed up on shore. Granted, drowning wasn’t uncommon around the water, but I had this gut feeling that there was something else going on when I caught a glimpse of the body. The Kid’s chest wall had been slashed on both sides and there was a hole in his foot with a rope of braided kelp threaded through it.

The journalist in me wouldn’t give up till I checked into it. That was when Max got pulled into the picture. He was checking into similar deaths in Florida. We got together to check facts and ended up, checking out each other at the same time, one thing lead to another and well, he is incredible in bed, on a beach, motel room, boss’s desk, you get the picture.

He isn’t only my lover; he has also become my best friend. You see, my brother went out on a night work detail from the prison and disappeared. I was completely fucked up, but Max saw me through it. It wasn’t till after we witnessed an abduction of another prisoner working the beach that we knew that there was something…well, quite frankly, unbelievable happening to males on the beaches.

How do you make anyone believe you when you tell them that Mermaids are abducting healthy young males along the coast? So even though I couldn’t keep my brother Blake out of the hands of one of the dark maiden’s. I haven’t seen him again since that night, but I can assure you that I will be the one getting him back.

That was fifteen months, 24 days and seven hours ago, I have been searching from one town to the next, following the most current reports of drowning along the coast. My name is Clovey Alms and I am not going to stop looking for my Brother. In this, I am relentless!

I had taken a job working in a bar called Brinney’s just outside of Biloxi, Mississippi, mostly because it was right along the Gulf coast. I work nights as a bartender, it was perfect, it allowed me to get in tight with local folks and to subtly question them about stories of drowning and missing persons. This was a talent that Max had so artfully taught me. I had become quite good at worming my way into a conversation or questioning a patron that had a little too much to drink, into spilling the shit about the mysterious things happening in town. I admit that I am not as good at it as Max is but when you have a couple of perky breasts and several too-tight tee shirts, it tends to help with that friendly thing.

Nights at the bar are for gathering information on any local missing person problem and rumors of strange happenings at beach, while days I utilized to follow up on gathered leads. I had heard about six sighting of either glowing water and a couple reports of strange nude women on the beach, followed by a disappearance. The thing that was frightening was the description of the women is always different. I had not yet gotten a description of the blonde, Avanaida or her black and brunette companions. I was beginning to wonder if I was on the wrong track.

I had been told a story by a couple of people, of an old man that lived on his boat anchored just outside of the city limits and from what I had been told, he had often got drunk and blabbed stories of fictional sea creatures. I definitely needed to see if he would talk to me. He went by the nickname Seaweed his real name was John Somerville. It was said that he had not only seen the fish women but that he had actually tracked one or two of them and even caught one of them in a throw net. He claimed that some of the scars on his hands and arms were actually due to being bitten by a maid when he tried to unwrap her, to dump her into one of the fish tanks in his boat. It sure sounded like it could be a good lead, since most people would just dismiss his stories as some kind of malarkey, ramblings of a senile old man or a tall tale with every possible version repeated, I would need to find a way to get him to talk to me.

The road was empty except for some scattered mail boxes. It was one of those rural path roads that started out pavement and turned to gravel the closer you got to the water. The only thing that I had to go on was the description of a mail box with a large hand scrolled wooden sea shell mounted on top and number 632 River Launch road painted on the side. I passed four mail boxes, some were quaintly painted and all had well-manicured yards around both sides of the driveways that lead back to the owner’s properties on the water. It was the fifth box that I passed, not realizing it at first. I ended up turning around and go back to it. The box was less remarkable, coming from the other direction and I almost missed it again; it was partially tilted and hidden by the tall grass from a season’s worth of growth not having been mowed.

I pulled into the driveway that looked as if it hadn’t been driven on in weeks. On the side of the mail box, I could barely make out the name Som--vil-- in worn black paint, four of the letters were unrecognizable from years of weather wear. The wood carved shell was still attached to the top of the pale blue box, but couldn’t be seen from the road. Well this is charming! I stated as I started slowly down the path toward, what I hoped was a home or boat, something. The path leads into a patch of thick tree’s that unfolded to an opening with a small trailer that was barely standing.

I pulled in to what looked like a spot that had once been was used to park. I turned off the engine and stepped out of my car, pushed through the tall grass to the front door of the trailer where I proceeded to knock. The door was only hanging on one hinge and it partially tilted in. I didn’t get an answerer so I yelled in Hello! as I lifted up and pushed the rotting panel in.

There was an old sofa and a chair decomposing in the living room. A scattering of leaves was all over the floor and some had piled against the walls. I yelled again, Mr. Somerville? and took a step in, only to have a part of the floor give way. I scrambled to regain my balance and pull my foot out of the opening. After I adjusted my stance on the rotting floor I looked into the whole that now lead into the crawlspace under the trailer and caught a family of panicked raccoon’s scattering in various directions.

As a piece of the floor dropped below, I knew that there was no way anyone was living here. I stepped back out onto the steps and down into the grass, pushed my way through the tall weeds growing around the trailer. A path with matted grass soon came into sight leading to the water where a boat was anchored to pilings of a dock.

Like the rest of this property, the boat had seen better days. It was buoyant but, full of patches. Some of the windows were cracked and others had been replaced by wood pieces with cheap plastic covering them. It was painted in the remnants of years of colored paint. The name Liza May was painted on the stern in faded dark blue paint. I stepped up on the dock and shouted Mr. Somerville? Where I was suddenly greeted by an old black dog that leaped off the boat and onto the dock. He began to bark loudly at me, jumping forward and then back, erratically. I knew that he was protecting his home and figured I would be okay as long as I didn’t make any quick moves. I cautiously stepped back off the dock, watching the canine for any additional signs of aggression. I was just about to make a break for the car when I heard a gristly voice yells out to the dog. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FUSSIN AT, THOSE DAMN COON ‘S?

A hunched over old man stepped out from behind the enclosed console of the boat and took a couple of steps in the direction of the dog. Shut up you bastard! he scolded. The dog continued to bark and jump forward on the deck; finally, the old man looked up to see me standing on the edge of the dock.

What the hell do you want, you’re trespassing, you got no business here!

Mr. Somerville, Mr. John Somerville?

If you’re from the county, your gonna have to shoot me if you want me out of here!

Mr. Somerville, I am not from the county. I came because some people in town told me some of your stories about the sea and the things you claim to have seen.

They did, did they, well Gidget, story time is over. he said as he reached over the side of the boat and grabbed the retreating dog by the collar, pulling him off the dock and back into the boat. The he and the dog disappeared out of sight.

Mr. Somerville! I shouted and stepped back up onto the dock and moved closer hoping he could still hear me. I need for you to tell me about the Mermaids. This isn’t a prank; they took my brother. I’m trying to find him! I yelled in the direct where the old man had disappeared. After a few seconds passed and the boat shifted in the water, the old man emerged from below. He strained to focus as he looked up at me. He stood there staring at me for the longest time as if he was trying to figure out what his next move would be.

You say they took you brother? he yelled over at me.

Fifteen months ago from a town called Black Water, Massachusetts!

Yeah, I know where Black Water is. he grizzled. Well, you best come aboard then Gidget. he reluctantly offered as he motioned with his arm.

I walked cautiously, watching every step, I had no idea how long this dock had been here and if the rest of the property was any indicator, there was a very good possibility that I could easily fall through and end up in the mucky water below. When I got up to the side of the boat where the old man had disappeared earlier I was greeted by a now friendly black coated pouch. The old man was hollered up from deep in the boat.

Find ya a seat, Gidget, I wasn’t figurin on company. The dog’s name is Black Beard, just call him Beardie.

There was a couple of old lawn chairs at the stern of the boat. They were arranged so that you could watch out on to the water. There was an old blanket folded, lying on the deck between the two chairs. I assumed that it was for Beardie, who was now my best buddy, panting and wagging his tail, he was hoping he could entice me into paying some attention to him. I was about to reach down to pet him when the old man appeared carrying two cans of soda and two chipped and cracked coffee cups. BEARDIE, LAY DOWN! the dog followed his master’s command and scampered to the folded blanket between the chairs. I told you to sit, Gidget he insisted as he swung his arm in the direction of the lawn chairs. I followed the old geezer and took a seat in one of the lawn chairs. He popped one of the pop lids over the side of the boat, where the shaken soda sprayed everywhere. He proceeded to pour the remaining soda into one of the coffee cups and shoved it in my direction.

It was then that I could see how unkind the years had been to him. His skin was sun weathered and looked like leather. His left eye’s lid drooped down to the middle of his eye as if there was a surgical stitch holding it together. The eyeball was exposed on both side of the connected lid. It was milky gray and looked as if it had been severely damaged years ago. He had gray facial stubble at different lengths and there was a long scar on the other side of his face, it started in the middle of his cheek and extended down his neck while disappearing somewhere beneath a faded green tee shirt he was wearing.

I reached over and took the cup. Thank you! I said having absolutely no of intention of drinking from it. When I reached for the cup I noticed that the tips of three of his finger were missing on his right hand. I casually glanced at his other hand to see if that had all its digits, which it did and much to my surprise I noticed that he was wearing a golden wedding band on his left ring finger. Marriage just didn’t seem to fit the profile of the old curmudgeon in front of me, who was unkempt and lacking in social graces. A POP! sounded as he pushed open the tab on the second can of pop. He let the spray dissipate into the water below before wiping his hand on the bib of his torn overalls, he eased down into the second lawn chair and poured his can of pop into the other cup.

So Gidget, what you know about Mermaids? He asked glancing at me with his good eye. I hesitated for a minute, the old man seemed fixated on the view of the water rather than me answering his question.

I know that they abducted my brother after I rescued him from one of their lairs, a glowing coral reef, just outside of the shipping lanes out of Black Water. I know that they are vicious and deadly when threatened. I know that they have some kind of ability to seduce people with their voices and their kisses. The old man chuckled listening to last part of my statement. Did they kiss you, Gidget? he asked still chuckling to himself, obviously tickled by my statement, needless to say, Gidget wasn’t amused.

Mr. Somerville, I really don’t have time for this if you’re not willing to tell me what you know! I said placing my coffee cup on the ledge of the boat and started to get up. Sit back down, I have seen them and more importantly I know where they can be seen. he said with a more serious demeanor.

What do you mean you know where they can be seen? Do you have maps? I’ll take anything. I was excited by this new lead. You know that your boy’s dead, don’t you? he offered as he took drink from his coffee cup. Mr. Somerville, you don’t know that and more importantly I don’t believe that.

The old man sized me up again following my last contradiction, Okay Gidget, but no more Mr. Somerville, Seaweed that is what they call me. He placed his cup on the edge of the boat and reached down to stroke Beardie. "There had always been stories about em from the men my father fished with. I was just a boy the first time I saw one. The engine in one of the boats went down and while every man was in the galley worken to get it goin again; I was on the deck watching the nets that they had just dropped. I was to watch em so that they didn’t get tangled. About fifty yards out I saw a woman in the water watching me.

We stared at each other for the longest time and then she disappeared only to reappear a few minutes later on the port side of the boat. She was a pretty thing; golden almost glowin eyes, long chestnut hair that was all fanned out on the surface of the water. She smiled at me and motioned for me to come into the water with her. I wanted to but figured that there would be hell to pay with my father if I left the nets, so I told her that I couldn’t. She looked sad and then began to sing, the next thing I remember was the screamin and hollerin of one of the deckhands tryin to scare her away. She wouldn’t leave till the man shot a harpoon in her direction. She looked back and her eyes were just a glowin, then she hissed and showed her fangs. I learned that day never to trust em. If Id of got in them waters, well who knows what a happened to me!"

Where was that? I asked

Biloxi, hundred miles out in the gulf where the big fish are.

Is there any sites where the deep waters glow at night.

You mean the places where the beauties play house at, Yep,

If I gave you a nautical map can you show me where? I asked pulling a map from my backpack and wrestling to open it.

I will do you one better Gidget, wait here.

The old man dislodged himself from his chair and disappeared back into the boat. There were some slams and bangs that were so loud that they even stirred Beardie, who let out a couple of whines. It’s okay boy… I hope. I offered as I rubbed his ear. After a few more minutes of the clattering racket, John reappeared haphazardly carrying some scrolls of yellowed paper and an old leather pouch. He handed me the paper as he returned to his seat. Open it! he insisted. I carefully unrolled the first unfolded section of the aged paper and recognized it immediately. It was a nautical map of the Gulf coast, from Florida to Mexico and as I opened the map fully, I could see that another map had been hand drawn over the top of the printed one. A series of lines that ended in a circled spot on the map. The nautical coordinates were written beside each circle, with a date and brief sentence. I looked over at John, he smiled a semi toothless smile. That’s right Gidget; these are all the places where the glowin water or the gals of the sea have been spotted.

I looked back at the map, there had to be at least seventy-five, circled areas. They like our waters, girlie. he said as he grabbed my hand and pushed the leather pouch into it, then he moved his finger down to the unrolled map that lap across my lap, stopping at a spot just outside of New Orleans.

That is where I caught one of em in my net. She was one hell of a fighter and I had to cold cock her before I could untangle her. I was goin to put her in my tanks and maybe make a bit of coin from her, but the feisty bitch awoke and took three of my finger tops with one bite. he said holding up his hand to show me. Not before she left one of her fangs in me! he nodded toward the pouch.

I gently folded the map and gave it back to the old man, then carefully dumped the contents of the small bag into my hand. Out fell a long tooth with a hole in the middle, it was aged and looked brittle. The old man nodded again and I turned the pouch up and shook it out onto my hand. Out came out a weighted disk that looked like a small pool of cooked metal. It was cool to the touch, golden in color, with a small hole on one side and when I turned it over it had something draw into the surface. The medallion was divided into four parts. The first section showed a circle with to two slivers of circle on both sides of whole circle. The second section, next to the first, was a wavy line through the middle of the section and a triangle resting on its apex in the middle. The third was below the first section, it was the sign of a mermaid with her tail in the first half and the same mermaid with legs in the next portion. Finally, what looked like snow falling down and piling on the ground, with a writing I didn’t understand and an X through the whole thing?

Do you know what it means I asked

I been spending the better part of fifty years tryin to figure what it means. That maid was wearin it and I pulled it off her just after she chewed on my fingers. It be gold so I figured it an even exchange.

Mr….Seaweed, would you mind if I took a picture of the map and coin with my cell phone? He held out his hand and I placed the items in his hand. I’ll do you one better, I give you the map, if you promise to bring it back to me when you get that boy back.