The Sea Taketh (Alex Singer) (41 page)

The wave pulls Philip into the sea. He screams as he’s dragged to the depths. Christian drops his hand, and the ocean returns to its peaceful lulling.

I look at Christian, and, for the first time, truly see him. His intensity, wisdom, and power finally make sense. He doesn’t possess these qualities because he’s a merman, high prince, or immortal. He exemplifies these traits because he is the physical personification of the ocean. I take in several deep breaths at this overpowering realization.

Christian quickly goes to his fallen bodyguards.  

              “That whale turd shot me in the head!” Sven angrily sits up, making me jump. He pulls a bullet out of his forehead and throws it in the sand.

             
“At least he didn’t get you in the abdomen!” Henrik also sits up, pointing to a bullet hole in his stomach. “It’s going to take Marjory forever to fish it out.”

             
I am so relieved to see that they are still alive; however, the mention of Marjory’s name reminds me of the carnage back at the Victorian house. I begin crying with both relief that the guys are safe, and sorrow for the loss of Marjory and Sonia.

             
“Marjory and Sonia are dead,” I say. “Marjory tried to stop them with an explosion, and Philip unloaded a whole round at Sonia.”

             
“Sea quakes!” Henrik jumps to his feet and dashes into the tunnel.

             
Sven picks me up. He and Christian run after Henrik.

             
Once inside the house, we find Sonia on the charred floor next to Marjory. There is a trail of blood behind her and a couple bullet holes in her beautiful face. Sonia breathes a sigh of relief when she sees me.

             
“I would have come after you, but one of the bullets broke my leg. I can’t walk,” she explains.

             
“Christian, where did you send that fiend?” asks Henrik as he gently picks up his wife.

             
“Davy Jones’s Locker,” he says, looking for Marjory’s pulse.

             
“She’s gone,” Sonia says sorrowfully. “She bought me just enough time to get Alex through the trap door.”

             
Christian closes her eyes.

“It is how she would have wanted to go,” he says softly.

              “As far as I can tell, she hit her head on the banister and that’s what killed her. Philip’s bullet went through the Whistler,” she says, pointing to the wall.

             
“It was obvious he wasn’t an art lover.” He looks at the hole in the corner of the painting and shakes his head. “I’m grateful our dear Marjory was spared his bullet.”

             
Removing his hand from his wound, he puts his fingers into the bullet hole in his shoulder.

             
“Christian…” I try to stop him.

             
“I refuse to have that monster’s bullet in me another second!” He rips the bullet out and hands it to Sven.

             
“You’re going to bleed to death!” I exclaim.

             
“Merfolk don’t bleed to death. Bullets are only a nuisance to us. Even with her severe wounds, Sonia will be back on her feet tomorrow. You were far too ill to notice how quickly we recovered from the car accident. Merfolk are like the many sea creatures that heal quickly. You and Marjory were the only two truly at risk, and she knew it.  She loved you like a granddaughter, and that’s why she put herself in his path in an attempt to stop him.”

             
The door flies open. I recognize a few of the IPS agents from the Cottage in Denmark as they dash into the house, followed by Ana. She rushes to Marjory. Christian mournfully shakes his head.

             
“I’m sorry.” Ana comforts him. “I hope you caught him.”

             
“What remains of his body will wash ashore, tomorrow.” His eyes harden as he gestures around the damaged house. “I regret not feeding him to sharks. Now that I’ve seen more of his transgressions, drowning seems too kind a death.”

             
My chest tightens, and I struggle for breath as reality avalanches down on me. Yes, Philip is gone, but so is Marjory. It is an enormous loss. My already broken family has been fractured, once again. My heart feels like it is going to be ripped out of my chest.

             
“Alexandra, you’re safe.” Christian wraps his arms around me.

             
For the first time, I realize I’m crying hysterically. I hide my face in his neck and continue to cry.

             
“He’s gone,” Christian holds me tight.

“She’s in shock,” Ana says.

“He will never hurt you again,” Christian says.

             
“Is th-that the r-reason they w-won’t play m-merfolk r-rules for v-volleyball with you?” I stutter into his unwounded shoulder.

             
He laughs wearily and kisses my head. “Yes. I’m the high prince of the Atlantic Ocean. I can control water.”

             
I nod as I continue to drench his chest with my tears.

             
“With Philip out of the picture, I believe it’s best for you to return home.  The Victorian house is barely inhabitable. ” He looks around as he helps me to my feet.

             
“Poor Marjory,” I weep.

             
“It is a great loss to all of us. However, having you and Thomas here with us gave her some of the best months of her life.” He kisses my head, again. “Now, I have the sorrowful task of informing her son of her death.”

             
“Ana, tell me Bjorn is on his way,” Sven says, looking at his cell phone. “I just received a text from Jen informing me that Officer Smith is driving here.  Someone heard the gunshots on the beach. ”

             
“Yes, he’ll be here any minute.” She sighs. “At least we have job security.”

             
“It has been a rather eventful year,” Christian replies. “Henrik and Ana, escort Sonia and Alexandra to Thomas’s house. It will have to be our make-shift infirmary.  Ana will take care of our patients there. Henrik, change your clothes before you return. Sven and I must do the same before Jason arrives.”

             
“Of course, Your Highness,” Ana puts an arm around my back and directs me from the house.

*     *     *

That night Philip’s face haunts my dreams. I watch in horror as he aims a gun at Christian. He pulls the trigger. My dream moves in slow motion as the bullet flies through the air. I scream, running to help him, but I’m too slow. The bullet pierces Christian in the heart. I hold my hands over the wound, trying to hold back the onslaught of blood. His eyes remain open, but the life slips from them. I scream and scream.

             
“Alexandra, it’s only a dream,” a voice speaks to me through the darkness.

             
I continue to scream.

             
“You’re safe. It’s only a dream,” Christian says.  His familiar touch causes me to open my eyes.  He climbs into the bed with me and wraps his arms around me. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

             
“He shot you!” I sob into his chest.

             
“He’s gone. You don’t need to worry about him anymore.” He kisses my head.

             
“I can’t lose you!” I cry, knowing it’s true. I have lost so much and I can’t bear to lose him also. I exclaim between shallow breaths, “I love you! I love you!”

             
“Take a deep breath before you pass out,” he says.

             
“You don’t understand! I’m
really
in love with you! It’s not puppy-love or infatuation. Why did you have to go and make me fall in love with you?”

             
He laughs. “I could ask you the same question.”

             
“I didn’t know it would feel like this or happen so soon. I’m only seventeen, this is crazy!”

             
“You will be eighteen in three months and seventeen days, no, wait,” he says looking at his watch. “…sixteen days.”

             
“You’re counting down?”

             
“From the moment I met you.”

             
“My age is a small matter compared to everything else,” I say.

             
“Actually, your age is a very important factor in our relationship. You aren’t considered an adult until you’re eighteen.”

             
I sit up and realize I’m in my house.

             
“Christian, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?” I ask.

             
“Thomas insists that we stay here until the Victorian home is restored to its former splendor. I was drinking a glass a wine to our sweet Marjory when I heard your screams.”

             
“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” I yawn.

             
He rearranges the oxygen tubes on my face. “Not at all, with the exception of Philip’s demise, tonight has been the best part of this dreadful day.”

16

Farewells

The funeral director scrambles to move chairs. I can’t believe the number of people who have come to show their respect and offer their condolences. It is surprising to see that almost the entire village has come to say farewell to Marjory. Even the Powers are there. Vanessa glares in my direction while her mother wraps a thick quilt around Jackson. He may be at the funeral, but he is anything but well. Sitting in a wheelchair, his legs are in casts and he is very thin and pale. His pallor exposes numerous pink scars on his face.

              “I almost feel sorry for him,” Jen says as she adjusts the oxygen tubes on my face. “Are you warm enough? Do you want to go sit in the car?”

             
“I’m fine.” I swat at her hands before I put my hands in my pockets and adjust my hand warmers. “With the way everyone acts, you’d think I’m on my death bed.”

             
“Alex, you’ve always had fragile health, but you’ve never been as sick as you’ve been this winter,” Gramps interjects next to me. His eyes tear up. “If this wasn’t Marjory’s funeral, you’d be home in bed.”

             
I know he’s right. I’m still not over the pneumonia, but I change the subject. “Gramps, why is the Powers family here? It’s no secret that they openly disapproved of Marjory.”

             
“It’s expected that they show their respect,” Gramps says, pointing to a limo driving into the cemetery. “Here come John and Talia. Remember, you don’t have to stand up with everyone else. They will understand.”

             
“I’m more than capable of standing.” I get to my feet to prove the point, but my legs feel like Jello.

             
The limo stops, and the door opens. Henrik and Sven step out, followed by Christian. A beautiful black woman exits behind him. When the last man steps out of the limo, I gasp.

             
“The family resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Gramps whispers in my ear.

             
“He looks just like…”

             
“Michael Powers? Of course, John is his older brother. He may have more grey hair, but they both look like their father.”

             
“But his name is John Rockwell?”

             
“John
Powers
Rockwell, he was given Marjory’s last name.”

             
Everyone watches as John goes to Dr. Powers and empathetically embraces him.

             
“Hello, brother. You remember my daughter, Talia?” John says with a hint of an English accent, pointing to the black woman behind him.

             
Dr. Powers also embraces her. “It has been too long,” he says.

             
“Yes, Vanessa, and Jackson, my, have you two grown.  Has it been so long since you came to visit in London?” she says in a very English accent.” She hugs them both, disregarding Vanessa’s scowls.

             
“We are sorry for your loss,” Vivian Powers tells her brother-in-law.

             
“It is an enormous loss. I guess we should have expected her death. Mother was nearly one hundred years old. She enjoyed a very long and happy life.” John pats his brother’s shoulder. “It is unfortunate that it took her death to reunite us. Fortunately, I have learned my lesson. Talia grew up English. It’s time she learned to live like an American.”

             
“You’re staying here?” Vivian Powers asks in astonishment.

             
He smiles genuinely.

“Of course, the Victorian House is my home. I am planning to set up a small practice in Mother’s lovely greenhouse. As you can see, we will have ample time to spend together. M
ichael, I look forward to playing golf with you. And Jackson,” he says to his nephew, “I have the most wonderful news! I was just informed this morning that I am your court-appointed psychiatrist. We will get to know each other very well, and I look forward to every moment!”

             
It is obvious that, although John looks like a Powers, he has Marjory’s enthusiasm and charm. The enthusiasm is almost too much for Jackson to bear, he smiles politely before glaring at the ground.

             
“Daddy, everyone is waiting for us.” Talia says to her father, taking his arm. “We will have to make a special visit to Uncle Michael’s home.”

             
“Naturally, but first…,” John’s eyes sweep over the audience, stopping on me. He smiles and laughs aloud as his eyes go to Gramps. He eagerly hugs him. He shouts far too loudly for any funeral other than Marjory’s, “Thomas Singer!”

             
“How are you taking everything, John?” Gramps asks as he returns the hug.

             
“Bittersweet, it’s all very bittersweet.” He turns to me. “There is no mistaking this young lady. She looks just like her mother. It is a pleasure to meet you, Alex. My mother was extremely fond of you.”

             
“And I loved her, too,” I answer sadly as Christian puts an arm around my waist. John smiles at us both.

             
“Daddy, they’re ready to begin,” Talia whispers to him.

             
“Yes, of course.” He turns to Gramps. “We will catch up at the wake.”

             
Taking Talia’s hand, John walks to his mother’s casket. He lovingly rubs his hand down the length of the oak coffin. He stops and faces the mourners.

             
“My mother, Marjory Rockwell, was a simple woman,” he says with a smile on his face. “She gave me specific directions for conducting her funeral. First, she wanted me to keep it short. She thought that a person’s actions were a better indicator of their worth than the words said about them after their death. She was a wise woman. Second, she didn’t want me to exaggerate the truth. This being the case, I best start at the beginning. Marjory Rockwell was born in Seaside on December second, nineteen-fifteen. She lived her entire life in Seaside, with the exception of the four years she spent earning a teaching degree. She loved teaching and only gave it up to care for me.”

             
Moisture wells up in his eyes. “There were only three things she loved more than teaching: her family, her friends, and the ocean. Although we were often apart, there wasn’t a day that went by that Talia and I didn’t speak to Mother on the phone. She knew everything about our lives and went out of her way to remain a part of them, even though we were separated by an ocean. As for the other two loves of her life, Mother was blessed to live next to both a beach and devoted friends. I tried, on several occasions, to convince her to visit us more often in London, but she refused. Her excuse was always the same; she had work to do here.

             
“As Mother was a very private person, I believe that will suffice. However, I will briefly break with her dictates for a moment. I would like to open up the time for comments by you.” He unexpectedly sits down next to his daughter. There is uneasy silence.

             
Gramps nervously clears his throat as he stands. “Marjory was my neighbor for nearly fifty years. The first day I met her, I was preparing my boat to go fishing when she yelled from the dock. ‘Thomas Singer, I’m Marjory Rockwell,’ she said. ‘Bring me back some cod.’ I don’t know what it was about her, but I obediently brought her back a bucket of cod. When I found she wasn’t home, I was a little putout. But, that feeling vanished when I found Marjory in my own home cooking for my ill wife.”

             
Tears flow down his face.

“I never had to worry about my family being cared for while I was away because Marjory was our guardian angel. When I lost my Helen, she helped me raise Mary. When I lost Mary and Charles, she helped me raise Alex.” He begins sobbing. “Her final act was saving Alex’s life. I will miss my old friend, but I take comfort knowing she is now watching over Helen, Mary, and Charles in heaven.”

              What began as a short and simple funeral becomes a lengthy and heartfelt one. Story after story is shared, making reference to how the “accident” didn’t change Marjory’s personality or love for life. I have no idea what anyone is talking about but assume that the accident was what altered her speech. Regardless, the accolades for Marjory are unceasing. I cry the entire time.

             
I already miss Marjory. Every time I leave my house, I have to remind myself that she isn’t at the Victorian house. She will never walk along the shore with me again. She will no longer watch over me. The world is a darker place without her.

             
I also feel an immense amount of survivor’s guilt. I rationally know that Marjory made a choice, and there was no way I could have stopped her from trying to save me, but I still feel guilty. Philip gave her the opportunity to save herself. He didn’t care about her. I, alone, was his target. She could have stepped aside, but she chose to save me instead. I am the one who should have died – not her. It’s a terrible reality to live with.

             
“Perhaps you should go home to rest instead of attending the wake?” Christian suggests to me on our way to the Ford after the funeral.

             
“I don’t see you missing the wake.” I reply, wiping my cheeks with a tissue.

             
“I’m not on oxygen and strong antibiotics.”

             
“No, you just got shot in the shoulder.” I roll my eyes.

             
“Which is completely healed, a gunshot is nothing more than a pinprick to us.”

             
“Lucky you,” I say, sarcastically, “but I’m still going to the wake.”

             
I decide to use the drive from the cemetery to find out about the accident everyone was talking about. Gramps must know about what happened.

             
“What happened to Marjory?” I ask as he turns up the heater.

             
His jaw muscles tighten. “It’s not something I want to talk about on the day she is buried. We can discuss it later.”

             
Christian, Henrik, and Sven are waiting for us when we pull up to our house. If Gramps won’t tell me what happened, maybe Christian will.

             
“Gramps, I’m going to grab a sweater before going to the wake. I’ll be right behind you guys.” I know they won’t allow me to be alone. I’m proven correct when Christian volunteers to go with me.

             
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” he asks as he puts the code into our newly installed mer-security system.

             
“Nice try,” I retort. “I just thought having an extra sweater would be a good idea.”

             
“It’s a great idea. Did you take your antibiotics this morning?”

             
“Yes, Mother.” I hit him with a throw pillow from the couch as we walk into the house.

             
He laughs as he springs towards me and carefully hugs me before removing my oxygen. He gently kisses my lips.

             
“Can I ask you something?” I say.

             
“Anything,” he replies, kissing me, again.

             
“What happened to Marjory?”

             
The smile disappears from his face. “I thought you already knew.”

             
I shake my head. “I didn’t know that John was Dr. Powers’ brother until the funeral.”

             
Christian nods grimly. “If I thought I would have any hope of succeeding, I would attempt to postpone this conversation, but I know you well enough to know that would be an impossible task. I’ll tell you the major happenings, leaving out the more gruesome details.

             
“Marjory was a member of the Seaside High School Faculty, for nearly twenty years. It was during her nineteenth year as the school history teacher that Richard Powers was a senior, and the star quarterback on the football team. That year the team was particularly talented and the favorite to win the state championship. They lost the championship game by one touchdown. Richard took the loss hard. He got himself completely drunk on the alcohol in his father’s alcohol cabinet and staggered out of his house. This was the state Marjory found him in on the beach about thirty minutes later.”

Christian takes a deep breath before continuing. “Marjory always had a kind heart. She tried to help him. She even offered to drive him home, but he flew into a drunken rage. It was during this frenzy that he brutally raped her. Afterward, he came to his senses enough to know that he had just sexually assaulted his teacher, a woman twenty years his senior, and well r
espected by the community. He decided to hide his disgraceful deed by removing the only witness. Using a rock, he beat her until he assumed she was dead.”