Wrecked (31 page)

Until he’d Surfaced, he had no concept of what a day even was—Down Below, there was simply a shifting of shadows,
a change of the light, no subdivided minutes and hours. He could see the dependence on the clock, on the ticking down of each second as a tool humans used to pretend they had control over time.

Right now, Christian didn’t feel like he had control over
anything
. Not his lungs. Not the night. Not his fate.

Back when he and Valentine were children, they would gather up their schoolmates and play War of the Worlds, between each other, assigning each other roles: Deva, mermaid, harpy, faery, betwixtman, phynnerdee, human. No matter what, no kid ever willingly chose to be a human. That role was always bestowed upon the slowest, chubbiest, most awkward merfolk in the group.

When they played a human, they’d have to close their eyes, hide behind one of the many stalagmites that covered the kingdom floor, and count slowly to one hundred. Only then were they allowed to search for the other children, who were supposed to find hiding spaces among the coral, grottoes, and seaweed that abundantly covered the kingdom. Usually, though, they all hid in a cavern together and laughed at the misfortune of the merman who was stuck playing the human.

The game would often end in tears and for a brief moment, when Christian was in year ten, it had been banned by Sephie. Children who played it were threatened with having their Surfacing taken away. Of course, the ban had been lifted when even the elders balked at punishing children who were playing a game they’d so enjoyed in their youth.

Illegal or not, Christian felt he was caught in the game all over again. And any way he looked at it, whether they were Up Above or bound by the spell of Down Below, it seemed he and Miranda were bound to lose.

“U
PSTAIRS
,” M
IRANDA DIRECTED
,
DRAGGING CHRISTIAN UP THE
carpeted winding staircase to the guest room. A clap of thunder sounded, rattling the windows.

It was just as she’d left it, complete with a half-drunk bottle of orange soda on the desk that Fletch must have left the last time they hung out. A
Fiske Guide to Colleges
was open on the bed, along with a legal pad full of pro/con lists for Stanford, UNC, and Michigan. It all felt like a lifetime ago. Miranda noticed Christian looking around at the walls, which were now devoid of any pictures. It was better that way. It was a chance for her to focus on the future, not the past. But Christian seemed nervous. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong? What did you mean about not being safe? It wasn’t the storm,” Miranda realized.

Christian shook his head. “We couldn’t be by the water. And I don’t think that was a natural storm. Sephie . . .”

“
Sephie?
” Miranda parroted, remembering the name of Coral’s boat. “What about it?”

All of a sudden, Miranda heard the wail of sirens and saw red patches of light dancing across the walls. She and Christian locked eyes.

“Hide!” she whispered.

“Wait!” Christian said urgently. “You need to listen. Sephie is . . .”

“Shh!” Miranda hissed, swinging open the closet door. She heard the sound of the cars parking on gravel, heavy footsteps coming up the slate walk. “Be quiet,” she added, pressing her hand against his mouth.

“No, Miranda, please!”

“Shhh!” She hissed again, closing the door just as light flooded upstairs.

“Anyone in here?” a gruff voice yelled.

“I’m sleeping!” Miranda yelled, running a hand through her hair and trying to look tired and out of it, even though she was still wearing her drenched school uniform.

“She’s here!” Miranda recognized Eleanor’s voice and felt her stomach lurch.

Two officers entered the tiny room, their expressions
annoyed. One had white hair and arms crossed over his chest, as if he had better things to do than handle a teen runaway situation, which was surely what they thought this was. His nametag read
OFFICER LANE
.

The other was lanky, and Miranda recognized him as Officer Beecher, the one who came to the hospital to question her about the accident. Over and over again, he’d asked what had happened in the moments before the wreck. Each time, Miranda had told him the same story: the joking, the crab, the fact she hadn’t been drinking, and no, she didn’t keep track of who had been.

He’d kept asking her to repeat the story over and over again, clearly looking for a flaw; the moment where the narrative fell apart. Now, he looked almost gleeful to have a second chance at casting Miranda as a criminal.

“Where is he?” Officer Beecher asked suddenly, his eyes darting from under the bed to the closet to the closed window.

“Who?” Miranda said desperately, just trying to buy time until her brain stopped feeling so stuck.

“Miranda, please,” Eleanor said, looking at Miranda as if she were a stranger. “The boy from the beach. Please cooperate with the officers,” Eleanor asked, her voice dangerously calm.

“Why did you call the
police?
” Miranda screamed hysterically.

“I called because I was scared to death for you. Then Coral called the police to search for that boy. Apparently, someone
saw you and him running up the road. They traced you both here. Thank
God
, Miranda.”

“
Coral?
” Miranda asked in confusion.

Eleanor nodded. “She just wants to help.”

“He’s not here!” Miranda said unconvincingly. Coral had called the police? Had she known something Miranda didn’t, when she’d given her that lecture?

Miranda watched silently as Officer Beecher headed straight toward the closet. He opened the door and shot a glance back at Miranda, raising his eyebrow as Christian stepped out.

“Miranda,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “Officers, I’ll handle my granddaughter. I just want this boy off my property.”

“No!” Miranda yelled. But quickly, two hands grabbed her arms behind her back, making it impossible for her to wriggle free. On the other side of the room, Officer Beecher had a warning hand on Christian’s arm. “Officer, he’s not a criminal, he’s . . . he’s my friend.”

“Your
friend,
” Eleanor spat. “Your friend who was about to rob us out of house and home. If Coral
hadn’t
called the police when she did . . .” Eleanor shuddered.

“He saved me!” Miranda yelled.

A flicker of confusion crossed Eleanor’s face.

Christian was silent. His face was ashen and his mouth formed a wide O of surprise.

Say something!
Miranda willed.

“Miranda isn’t safe!” Christian said suddenly, his eyes darting
from Miranda to Coral. “It’s Sephie. She’s here and she wants Miranda and . . .”

“Quiet! We don’t need to hear about any ridiculous legends,” Officer Beecher yelled, yanking Christian’s arm so hard that Miranda gasped. “Ma’am?” Officer Beecher asked, staring at Eleanor.

“Take him,” Eleanor commanded.

Miranda watched helplessly as Christian struggled against Officer Beecher’s grasp. Officer Beecher reached for his handcuffs, and then, suddenly, Christian twisted out of Officer Beecher’s grip and wordlessly ran toward the stairs. The movement was so sudden that both Beecher and Lane stood slack-jawed.

Miranda struggled against the viselike grip Officer Lane had on her own wrist, which caused him to hold onto her more tightly.

“Get him!” Officer Lane snapped.

“Christian!” Miranda yelled, not sure if she was yelling for him to run or to come back.

“He’s gone!” Officer Beecher called from downstairs.

Officer Lane glanced at Eleanor, whose eyes were wide with fear.

“I don’t want any trouble, Officer,” Eleanor said. “And I don’t want my granddaughter involved in any of this. She’s gone through enough.”

“Too late for that, ma’am,” Officer Lane said, his mouth set
in a firm line. “There’s a reason the kid’s running. Kid with nothing to hide won’t run. At this point, it
is
our business. And I’m afraid we need to question your granddaughter further. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take her with us.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Let my granddaughter go,” she said in a voice so low it was almost a growl. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Officer Lane locked eyes with Eleanor, as if considering her request. Eleanor glared back at him. “Fine,” Officer Lane let go of Miranda’s wrist. “But I’ll need to speak to you soon, do you hear?” And then he turned to address Eleanor. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Ms. Ashford,” he said, hastily tipping his hat as he clattered down the stairs. The door closed with a thud.

“Why did you do that?” Miranda asked hysterically. “Why didn’t you just let them arrest me?”

“My darling,” Eleanor said, sorrow evident in her face. The lines on her face were deeper than ever before. “Was it drinking? Drugs?”

“
Me? No
.” Miranda said, the words coming out like a whimper. Was Christian really just a criminal? And why had she been
so dumb
to fall for him? “Don’t you trust me?” Miranda asked.

“No,” Eleanor said simply. “You’re out of control. Running around at all hours. Consorting with a criminal. Doing who knows what else . . .”

“I can’t stay here,” Miranda said dully. She attempted to run past Eleanor, but Eleanor was surprisingly quick. She grabbed
Miranda’s wrist, digging her fingernails into Miranda’s skin. Miranda yelped.

“You will come with me, young lady,” Eleanor said through gritted teeth, as she pulled Miranda down the stairs, past the pool and toward the still-open French doors to the kitchen. The lights were on and Teddy was sitting at the granite island, next to Louisa, as Miranda was dragged in.

“Teddy, go to bed,” Eleanor commanded.

Miranda sensed it, a hesitation where Teddy was considering disobeying Eleanor.

“Miranda?” Teddy asked questioningly.

“Theodore,” Eleanor said, a warning note in her voice.

Sorry
, Teddy mouthed before sliding off the stool, leaving Miranda alone with her grandmother. Miranda stared at her grandmother, noticing for the first time how many wrinkles lined her brow. Her arms were as skinny as matchsticks, and the large diamond bracelets she wore made them look even more fragile. Her hair was pure white, and she had a sad, faraway expression in her eyes. Her hand inched over the counter until it met Miranda’s hand. And Miranda didn’t pull away.

“It’s fine,” Miranda said, feeling incredibly tired. What would be the point of fighting with Eleanor? Even if she did, there’d be no way to escape. There seemed to be an alert throughout the island to call Eleanor if she was spotted anywhere. It was over. “Just give me the pills and get it over with,” she said, holding out her hand numbly.

Eleanor paused, as if she’d been expecting a fight.

“Good,” she said, walking over to the cupboard and expertly shaking out a few pills from an amber-colored bottle. “Here. Tomorrow everything will be better. You’ll see,” she said, as she placed two pills in Miranda’s hand. One was red and one was turquoise. Miranda gazed at them, entranced. They looked pretty. They looked harmless. And they looked like something that would finally give her relief.

“Fine,” Miranda said in a small voice.

Eleanor nodded, and Miranda took a deep breath and tossed them both in her mouth.

Louisa, who’d been sitting silently the whole time, stood up and opened the refrigerator. She took out a pitcher of water and poured the liquid into a crystal tumbler and passed it to Miranda.

“Good girl,” Eleanor said, as she grabbed Miranda’s hand. Louisa grabbed the other and together, the three of them walked up the steps to Miranda’s room.