Submerged Page 5

  Repeatedly.

  Dappled sunlight played over her eyes as she became a wavelet lapping a Caribbean beach.

  Lobsters scuttled across her body in the cold depths of the Atlantic.

  A seaweed cape flowed out behind her as Lara drew her through the Sargasso.

  She danced a decorous pavane with manatees in the Everglades and raced Gentoo penguins around the Falkland Islands.

  Her fingertips traced the twisted length of a narwhal’s tusk and she tapped her toes gently on the sleek shell of a sea turtle.

  Dead as she was, she ran no risk in teasing the tentacles of a poisonous blue-ringed octopus in an Indian Ocean tidal pool or in wearing a lethal sea krait for a necklace while she explored a mangrove swamp.

  Cecilia’s eyes widened, hungrily devouring so much beauty, such otherworldly creatures. Then, when it seemed as if she’d seen every marvel that her new existence had to offer, she gazed in wonder as her guide brought her into the midst of a sunken city. The weirdly ruddy water felt so hot she guessed they were near some volcanic fissure in the seabed. Massive white and orange blocks could find no resting place as the currents sent them bobbing. Here and there she glimpsed a flash of bright yellow, no doubt a titanic lump of gold from the king’s treasury that somehow had cheated the dulling effect of brine. Just as she was reaching out a hand to touch its smooth surface, she gasped to behold the slow, inexorable advance of monstrously fat, white, ghostly serpents. Even though she had no life left to lose, Cecilia could not help feeling primal terror when she saw that the hideous things were entirely featureless, without even the remnants of vestigial eyes. She opened her mouth to scream.

  “And one for you!” Lara darted in to tear off a bit of the closest horror and pushed it into Cecilia’s mouth. “Go on, you can still taste things if you concentrate. Isn’t that yummy? I swear, this restaurant makes the best veggie-noodle soup I ever ate!”

  Cecilia chewed the savory morsel slowly, processing it along with the fact that she was inhabiting a pot of soup. For the first time since her disincarnation she did not give herself over to shock or panic. She reevaluated her surroundings calmly. The bobbing blocks were chunks of carrots and potatoes, the lump of gold a stray kernel of corn, and the water in the tomato-rich broth was her new home, like all water everywhere, until she chose to say: Enough. I’d like to go Over now.

  “Enough,” she said, then went off script to add: “I’d like to go somewhere else now.” She did not accept the helping hand that Lara proffered. “There’s someone I need to see before I let you take me Over and—and I want to do it by myself.”

  “No reason why not.” Lara shrugged. “As long as you’re not paying a call in the middle of the Atacama Desert.” She took another bite of the giant noodle “serpent” and casually asked, “It’s that guy who let you die, right?”

  Cecilia blushed, though it was difficult to make out, what with the reddish broth around her, then nodded humbly, afraid to meet Lara’s eyes. She feared that even if the naiad helped her see Brent again, it would be done with a smirk. Dead or alive, she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone’s scorn. She’d spent her whole life trimming her sails to catch the approval of others in hopes it would make them like her. The result was a handful of friends who enjoyed having a pet jellyfish but who still left her feeling perpetually unworthy, always on the outside looking in. Brent was the only one who’d ever let her believe there was a place she could truly belong.

  “Maybe—maybe he didn’t really mean to do that,” she said. “Maybe it was just an accident after all. We were going to be married. He made me feel so…special. I want to see what he’s doing now, if he misses me, if he’s sorry for what happened. I want to be able to forgive him. I want closure.” She gave the naiad a sheepish look. “Do you think I’m being foolish?”

  “Not too much. I get it: love isn’t logic, and it does come in handy for making things better. I can wait. Call my name when you want to come back. Now for the outbound leg of your trip, just think where he is and think wet; that’ll land you in the liquid closest to your target.”

  “But I don’t know exactly where my targ—where Brent is right now.”

  “Then make him your where. Only be careful you specify—”

  Lara wasted her words on soup alone. Cecilia had vanished.

  She reappeared almost at once. Her expression was a ghastly conglomeration of disgust, revulsion, trauma, and nausea.

  “—not when he’s in the bathroom,” Lara finished too late to do any good. She tried not to laugh as she patted her errant pupil’s back. “Don’t be discouraged, sweetie. Give it another try.”

  Cecilia made a weak gesture of acquiescence and repeated her disappearing act. Her guiding thought was: Take me to Brent when he’s not doing…that.

  It was vague directive, but it sufficed. Her luck turned good. She found herself suspended beneath the surface of a glass of water. Brent’s familiar voice resounded over her head. He was trying to speak, but huge sobs garbled his words. She looked up and saw his face contorted by sorrow as he apologized for his outburst. “I’m so sorry, officer,” he said. “It’s just that when I think how different it could have been if I’d checked on her earlier, or if I’d insisted she bathe with the door open, or—or something, anything that could have prevented this—this—” He broke down again. “I’ll never get over losing her. Never.”

  “All right, sir.” The policeman who was taking his statement passed him a box of tissues. “I think we’ve got enough. Under the circumstances, this is just a formality. You can go now.”

  Brent stood and shook hands with the man. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else from me, officer. You’ve been a great help in a tragic time.”

  Cecilia watched him leave. When she could no longer see him from her vantage point in the water glass, she whisked herself back to Lara and reported all she’d heard. “I’m ready to go Over now,” she concluded. “He’s blameless. He does deserve the benefit of the doubt. He does love me. He’s heartbroken.”

  “He’s a liar.” The naiad’s simple rejoinder, delivered in such a matter-of-fact manner, dashed the stars from Cecilia’s eyes. “From what you just said, he told the police he wasn’t with you when it happened. You and I know otherwise. But hey, if you’re okay with that and ready to go, who am I to stop you? I’m a psychopomp, not a therapist. Shall we?” She arose from the makeshift divan she’d assembled out of carrot chunks and imitated a maître-d’s most suave Your table is ready, follow me motion.

  Cecilia balked. “Um, if it’s all right with you, can it wait just a bit longer? It might be a good idea if I saw him just one more time.” Lara waved her on her way with a knowing smile.

  “One more time” multiplied. Cecilia left with a mission in mind. Lara’s opinion of Brent rankled her badly, past the point where she could dismiss it and move on. Eternal irritation was one heck of a way to spend the afterlife. While she did accept that Lara was right about Brent having lied to the police, she just couldn’t find it in her now-stilled heart to condemn him entirely. He was her first love, the only man who’d asked—no, who’d implored her to marry him. Memories of sweet words, sweeter kisses, and sex loud enough to piss off the neighbors bubbled up, sending her thoughts from zero to Totally Insane Rationalization with frightening speed:

  My death was an accident. He must have been too paralyzed with horror to save me after I fell. By the time he came out of his shock, I was gone. If he told the police the real story, who knows when they would have let him go? He’s the sole administrator of the Crawn Institute. If he were detained too long, what would happen to it, to the students, to their hopes and dreams? He knows how deeply I cared about those kids. Oh, and what about poor Rita? He must remember that my last words were about helping her, but how could he do that—honor my final request—if he got caught up in a drawn-out investigation? If he did twiddle with the facts a teensy bit, he did it for me! I want Lara to know that, too. I’ll trail him to gather
proof of how much he loves me and how miserable he is now. She might question one instance, but what if I bring her more? Three should be enough. And when I describe each example to her, I’ll—I’ll—her years interred in Poughkeepsie ultimately paid off with an inspired way to make her report to the naiad unimpeachable—I’ll swear to her by the River Styx that it’s so!

  Indeed, there was no stronger or more binding oath recognized among the gods of Greece and Rome. Thus prepared, Cecilia dove into her pursuit of tailor-made truth. Her bodily odyssey carried her to those liquid lookout posts whence she hoped to gather evidence of Brent’s good character and best intentions. The timing of these separate occasions was linear but compressed, verifying Lara’s claim that the speed of minutes and hours and days had a different flow for souls on the near side of the Styx. It didn’t take Cecilia long to embrace the slightly disorienting, highly convenient phenomenon.

  She was present in a cup of coffee served at the reception following her funeral, where she heard Brent pour out his grief to her only living relative, Cousin Maud. Either there was a family gene for painful timidity or the two women had developed the trait independently. Maud was even more of a mouse than her departed cousin. It was heartwarming for Cecilia to witness that dowdy, plain-faced maiden find just enough courage to reply when Brent introduced himself, then offer him a few stammered words of comfort. And wasn’t it just like him to overcome his sorrow long enough to call Maud an angel of mercy and thank her with a smile whose melancholy made it all the more alluring?

  Cecilia next eavesdropped from the antique inkwell on her lawyer’s desk. It was one of those old-fashioned affectations of décor that charmed his conservative clients. As that trustworthy gentleman of the bar read Cecilia’s will, Brent made ample use of a large handkerchief throughout the procedure, no doubt to hide his anguish. He sighed deeply when that document named Maud as the executrix, made a sound that was possibly a stifled sob when the Crawn Institute bequest was mentioned, and nodded stiffly, as one in pain, at each entry on the list of worthy causes Cecilia had chosen to support posthumously.

  He was able to restrain the full measure of his woe until the lawyer reached the sentence at the end of the document that left the entire remainder of the estate to Cecilia’s husband and offspring, if any, and to her cousin, Maud.

  Brent’s unbridled moans sent ripples through the ink.

  Poor darling, she thought. He’s mourning how close we were to being married. She was right.

  This would have been a satisfactory place for her to return to Lara, well-supplied with evidence of Brent’s faithfulness and regret. However, Cecilia’s loving spirit simply could not leave it at that. The intensity of Brent’s lamentations made her fear for his sanity. What if it led to the dark path of taking his own life? She could not go Over with a clear conscience until she saw him able to accept her death.

  Stepping into the stream of time and water once again, she emerged in the ruby depths of a glass containing a fine Romanee-Conti Pinot Noir from her late father’s costly collection. The intoxicating environment made her a bit giddy. It took her a while to center herself and search out her beloved.

  There he was, one hand cupping the bowl of the wine glass where she drifted, the other entwined with the fingers of the woman across the table from him.

  Cecilia’s brows rose. She’d expected to be taken to visit a few more moments along the time-stream showcasing Brent’s slow, reluctant return to the joys of living. Why had she landed in the midst of a scene that showed her former fiancé neck-deep in the social swim? Has it been that long since I died? she wondered. Where did the years go? And then, ashamed of herself: I suppose I should be happy, knowing that he’s been able to make himself a new life after—

  “—two months ago, I thought my life was over, darling,” Brent said.

  His voice was as suave and caressing as Cecilia remembered it, but his words made her jaw drop. Two months? That’s it?

  “I owe everything to you for saving me,” he continued. “Your kindness brought me back from the brink of despair. Your generosity allowed me to keep the Institute open, to help even more young talent.”

  Why would the Institute be in danger of closing? I left it a huge bequest!

  “I’ve never known a woman with the same passionate commitment to music as I. Is it any wonder that I love you? We’re kindred souls, bonded hearts, our fates entwined. Can you forgive me for speaking this boldly? I know we should keep our association strictly professional, but I’m terrified that if I don’t tell you how I feel, I’ll lose you. I can hardly sleep, and when I do, you’re my only dream. I can hardly breathe, imagining my life without you!”

  Cecilia recognized those words. They were almost identical to the ones Brent had used when he pleaded a similar load of true love’s aches and ouches on the evening he first took their relationship from donor-and-donee to bedroom-and-breakfast.

  A shy giggle came from the other side of the table. Although she was floating easily in the sea-dark wine, Cecilia had the sinking sensation she knew the object of Brent’s recycled affection. Sure enough, when she peered through the Pinot Noir, she saw her cousin caught up in the same amorous flutter she’d experienced herself.

  “Oh, Brent,” Maud breathed, adoration in her eyes. “I feel the same way about you. But we mustn’t give in. It’s too soon. People will talk. We owe it to Cecilia to wait a decent interval until—”

  “Until what, Maud?” Brent switched gears, going from soft-eyed swain to steely-voiced commander. “Until you get tired of leading me on? I know I’m not good enough for you. I’m not in your class.” He spat out the word as though it were a dung beetle. “I get it: you’re rich and I’m not. You can toy with me, but respect me? Fat chance. Well, I can’t take that kind of treatment again. It’s what your cousin did. Did you ever see the pre-nup she put in place as a condition for us to marry? I thought you were better than her. I thought you didn’t set conditions on love!”

  I never did! Cecilia’s thoughts were wild. It was my lawyer who insisted! It was written into Daddy’s will and the family trust funds! I—

  “I’m sorry!” Maud seized Brent’s hand in both of hers, skinny fingers digging into the flesh. “I’d die before I’d do that if you ever wanted to—to—” she pulled back into her meek shell suddenly, and in a shaky whisper said “—marry me.”

  Brent took Maud in his arms then and there, kissing her with all the fire of a thousand romance novels. As she melted in his embrace, he proceeded to do things to her on the (thankfully sturdy) dining room table that upset his wine glass and forced Cecilia to take refuge in the decanter, thence to witness Brent’s expertise become her cousin’s ecstasy. By the time he was done, Maud was eagerly acquiescing to take Cecilia’s place as his betrothed.

  It was not enough. “No, Maud. You’ll never be my fiancée.” Brent’s face was as pitiless as his words. In the decanter, Cecilia’s grim expression aped his own, though for a different reason: she recognized his gambit all too well.

  Give a starving heart a morsel of love, then threaten to snatch it away forever, she thought. Make it a big, dramatic, Verdi finale when you deign to give it back. That’s how you scare your prey into a lifetime of blind devotion. She hugged herself. It worked on me.

  She’d called it. Brent let Maud suffer for a bit, then cupped her face in his hands, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and said, “I won’t have you for my fiancée because I want you for my bride.”

  While Cecilia’s cousin wept tears of relief, Brent filled her ears with praises for the forward-thinking laws and customs of Las Vegas, where blood tests and waiting periods were pushed to one side so that loving souls could enjoy all the benefits of matrimony, stat!

  “We’ll leave tonight.” He nuzzled her neck aggressively. “No second thoughts, no waiting.”

  “Don’t good things come to those who wait?” Maud said, making an awkward stab at being kittenish. It didn’t suit her.

  Brent’s bar
king laugh reverberated inside the crystal decanter. “The only good thing I ever got from waiting was thanks to your cousin. If she hadn’t made me wait so long to marry her, she’d be my wife instead of you. What a god-awful mistake that would have been!” He gave Maud a second helping of delight among the dinner dishes, done to reinforce his control and her bondage. It was not so extended or elaborate as the first, but time was a-wasting and last-minute flight reservations had to be made. Nonetheless, he still broke both wine glasses and came dangerously close to sending the decanter likewise crashing to the floor.

  Cecilia saw red, and it wasn’t because she was sunk in wine. Rage burned away any lingering impulses to excuse what Brent had done to her. What steamed her most was that the bastard was about to repeat the noxious process, except this time he’d learned from past mistakes. He wouldn’t give poor Maud the chance for doubt, or thoughts that wisely counseled caution, or the safeguard of a pre-nup, or the opportunity to inconvenience him by dying before he could burrow into her will, like a tick on a Rottweiler.

  He’ll make her into even more of a puppet than I was, she thought. I know Maud. If—when!—he cheats on her, she’ll blame herself and apologize. She’s got all the grit of a bowl of yogurt. She felt a rising tide of fierce protectiveness toward her hapless cousin. He played me for a fool. There’s nothing I can do about that now, but if I let him get away with doing the same thing to her, it won’t matter which afterlife I choose: they’ll all be hell.

  The decanter lurched, banging Cecilia against the curved, transparent wall. Her view changed radically as a triumphant Brent brandished the crystal vessel overhead. “A toast, my dearest! Sorry about the wine glasses, but this will do. To us!” He set the rim to his mouth and drank.