Undertow (11 page)

 “I love you, babe. Work hard so we can play tonight.” He winked at her.

Marissa cleared her breakfast dishes and gave him a kiss goodbye. She stood at the door, coat on and he gave her a weird look. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She just stared at him, unable to figure out what he meant.

“Ditzy!” He laughed. “What about your backpack?”

Why did she keep forgetting all the details? She blushed and grabbed the pack from the sofa where she’d parked it after class on Thursday.
Hard to study without any texts
, she thought. But she wouldn’t need a degree where she was going.

“Off with you, now! Go forth and conquer books.” Jim shoed her out the door.

On Monday in lecture it had all clicked, and she wondered why she never realized the truth before: mermaids were human-like species evolved under water instead of on land, the way that similar creatures appeared on different continents. A rat and a wombat, for example. Maybe they’d branched off from intelligent sea creatures such as dolphins, rather than from great apes. Marissa suspected sightings had been dismissed as folklore to prevent their discovery. People were so arrogant they’d refuse to believe anyone like them could exist elsewhere, especially on their very own planet.

Yesterday, she’d prepped the car, stashing her notebook in the glove box and her boots in the trunk. She added a water bottle and candy bars for food—the nuts in the chocolate had protein, and anyway, the trip wouldn’t take long. If she drove straight through, she’d make Ecola and hike down to Crescent Beach before dusk.

Jim wouldn’t expect her back from the library before dinner, and he’d give her a couple more hours before calling around to ask if anyone knew where she was. Not that she had many friends left to call. Erin refused to speak to her since the eviction and Kelly didn’t call much since Christmas. She knew they all thought she was crazy. It was just as well; nobody would miss her.

The clock on her dashboard showed eleven fifteen. Just enough time. She turned the key in the ignition, and the old Honda sputtered to life. Marissa smiled, and backed the car out of the carport.

Handing a five dollar bill to the attendant without making eye contact, she pulled to the end of the parking lot perched above Tillamook Head; far below, the waves lapped at the rock. He was swimming beneath those waves, she knew, waiting for her. Killing the engine, she grabbed her boots and socks from behind the passenger seat.

Marissa strode to the marker past the restrooms to the trailhead at the far end of the lot, where the sign warned the trail to Crescent Beach was for experienced hikers only. A
wide set of timbered steps led upwards through a grove of old Sitka. Underneath her feet, the ground was muddy from the mists formed as the moisture was pulled up from the cold sea each morning and settled into the dense canopy of needles and vine.

She had to focus on each step on the narrow trail with mere inches of tufted vegetation the only barrier between the cliff and the beach below. Marissa imagined for a moment how easy it would be to take one quick step over the edge into oblivion. Months ago, she’d considered it. Not anymore. Now, she had something to live for, someone. Her thighs ached and ahead a section of trail soared into an invisible sky.

Huffing, she paused at the crest. The descent was in sight now, narrow and steep.

The sand was cold and damp. High tide was long past, but the wind splattered the beach with spray from the ocean. She shivered and burrowed into her jacket, wishing she’d added a sweater to the layers underneath. The coast was always freezing in the winter. Her eyes fixed on the water and the rhythm it beat against the sand. For a moment, fear flashed up and she paused.

Then she heard it: music, like a violin. Or a harp. And singing, a lovely sound of ethereal voices, heavenly. The melody grew louder until it blotted out all the other sounds, and her anxiety fell away like some garment she didn’t need.

“Come to me, my love,” He sang. “I’ve waited for you so long. Come.”

Marissa cast a long look at the gray horizon looming above the ocean. Thick clouds gathered and warned of a storm bearing down upon the coastline. Below, the water churned forward in an icy charcoal mass.

“I’m coming,” she whispered, and stepped into the sea.

Eighteen

S
he floated in the murky water, surfacing in brief spurts of consciousness. In those moments, voices penetrated the barrier between her and the world. Some were familiar; her mother’s voice, wispy and full of fear: “Will she come back?” Others were alien; a sonorous male voice: “She’s stable for now.” The officious tone of a woman’s voice, checking to see if Marissa was awake: “Anybody home today?” Once, she heard Kelly’s voice, followed by weeping. She clawed and kicked her way up to reassure her friend but remained anchored in the netherworld, unable to escape.

Sometimes she bobbed to the surface like a whale briefly coming up for air before sinking back into the watery depths of its home. Other moments were flooded with panic. She opened her eyes but was trapped inside a black cave. Paralyzed and lying prone, a muffled scream escaped her throat.

“Shh, Missy.” A round face, framed in a cloud of tight gray curls, appeared in front of her. “It’s okay, doll. You’re waking up a little, that’s all.”

Marissa identified the outline of a squat woman beside her bed, leaning on a mop in the blue glow which filled the room. She peered down at her benignly, an ordinary looking angel, if she was one.

“You’ll be fine, Missy. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Her eyelids shut as she pondered her words, and she was caught again by the grasping abyss which refused to relinquish its prisoner. She tried to protest but was too exhausted to fight. Everything dissolved as she sank into the black world which had become her home.

“Patients who have sustained a brain injury with coma don’t suddenly wake up.” The man’s voice was familiar, but Marissa couldn’t place it. “They emerge. Gradually. It’s an unpredictable process.”

“How long will that take? Days? Weeks? When will we know if she’s okay?” Her mother’s voice was unmistakable: nasal and anxious.

Marissa stirred, anchored to the bed, unable to break free from its moorings. Her mother was at her side, squeezing her hand.

“Sweetie, are you awake?”

Marissa strained to open first one eyelid, then the other; she kept them fluttering half-open for a moment.

“Doctor, is she waking up?”

“As I was saying, Mrs. Johansen, her recovery will take time,” the man said. “Your daughter is in a sort of twilight sleep, rising to varying degrees of awareness periodically. No one can determine how long her coma will continue.”

Her mother was speaking, but her voice was so distant that Marissa couldn’t understand her words. The undertow tugged again and she railed against it. The man’s voice, its baritone tones strong enough to carry across the lurching waves of her consciousness, prophesied.

“When Miss Johansen wakes up…”

Losing the battle, she sank under the surface and was swept away.

“Good morning.” A sharp rap on the door accompanied the greeting. When Marissa failed to respond, the rapping became more insistent.

“Breakfast,” the voice called again.

Marissa opened her eyes and blinked at the blurred edges of her surroundings. Her contacts must be gone.
A tiny woman shuffled into the room. Plates with stainless steel covers and cups wrapped in plastic graced the tray she carried.

Marissa shook her head.

The woman frowned at her. “You need to eat, or you won’t get your strength back.”

Gray light filtered in the room. On the windowsill sat a bouquet of yellow flowers and a stuffed animal holding a heart-shaped balloon. A narrow table beside her bed held the breakfast tray and a pink teacup; African violets rimmed the top like purple foam on a cappuccino.

The realization struck her: she was in a hospital. It must be a mistake. What was she doing here, instead of in the ocean, with Him?

Marissa focused on the wall beyond her feet, painted mint, or some other supposedly healing shade, while the woman slipped a blood pressure cuff around her right bicep and pumped, squeezing her arm tight until felt it would pop like a balloon. Marissa lay as stone through the requisite ear temp check. She bit her lip and counted down from five hundred, making it to seventy-four before the woman finally left.

Another knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply, a tall man entered the room and strode toward her bed.

“How are you this morning, Miss Johansen?” He scanned his clipboard and looked up at her. “I’m Doctor Spencer.”

He was too young to be a doctor, she thought. His face was boyish, a little too round, and the white coat drooped from his shoulders like a hand-me-down suit. Even his stethoscope looked wrong, slung over his shoulder like a teenager might toss his tie before slurping up spaghetti.

“How are you feeling?” He checked his watch before meeting her eyes.

“Fine.”

He frowned. “That’s not very convincing.”

Grimacing, she sat up. “How long have I been here?”

“A few days. Since Saturday.”

Saturday
. It was like a knife in her chest. She remembered walking into the ocean, going to meet Him.

“Well, I see you are still not very talkative,” he said under his breath. Louder, he said, “Good to see you awake finally. Do you mind if I examine you?”

Marissa remained silent and turned away. He came to her side and held her chin in his hand gently, turning her head to face him. Light from his tiny flashlight pierced her eyes and he scribbled on the chart while her eyes filled with tears. Maybe she’d lost Him forever this time.

The doctor stepped back and adjusted the stethoscope before putting the earpieces in place. He leaned over and awkwardly placed the monitor on her chest. Tears rolled over her cheek but she didn’t move.

“You’ll be fine,” the doctor said, tucking away the medical paraphernalia into his coat pocket. “Now rest for a while. I’ll come by again this afternoon.” Scratching his pen hurriedly across the chart, he flashed her a quick smile and patted the sheet covering her knee, a paternalistic gesture that made him suddenly seem much older.

After he left, she stared at the ceiling. Why was she here? Dismay flooded her. “No!” she screamed, rupturing the silence.

A nurse, older and thicker than the last, burst into the room and rushed to her side. “Are you alright, Miss?”

She thrashed on the bed, her head shaking from side to side. “No! Oh, God, no!” She jerked, yanking the IV needle from her arm; the pain made her shriek again.

The nurse reached over Marissa’s head to push a red button beside the bed. A voice from the nurse’s station crackled over the intercom. “Yes? Do you need something?”

“Nurse Mendova here. Send someone down to sedate Miss Johansen. Now!” She stepped backward but kept her eyes focused on her as though she were a rabid dog.

Giving up the struggle, she let go of the sheets and closed her eyes.