Two and Twenty Dark Tales (34 page)

“Why is that?”

“I was afraid of never being happy, of never being normal, of never
feeling
the way other people seem to feel every single day.”

“And you’re not afraid of that anymore,” he said. “Why?”

Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. “Because I’ve felt that with you. I’ve laughed. I’ve been happy.”

He lowered his face to hers, touching his lips softly against her own. “This is just the beginning, Ruby.”

And then, something strange happened. A subtle buzzing in her head gave way to total release. She looked down, trying to figure out how she could be standing, and on the ground, seizing, at the same time. How she could feel whole and healthy and well while her body was wracked with seizures, her limbs flailing against the hard-packed ground, the teddy bear lying in the dirt beside her.

Others rushed over from the carnival. An older woman knelt on the ground beside Ruby’s other-body, tipping her head back, yelling at someone to get something to put between other-Ruby’s teeth so she didn’t bite her tongue.

And all the while Ruby stood by, healthy and whole. She finally looked up, surprised to see Sam still standing there next to her.

“It will be okay, Ruby. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He held out his hand. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and took his hand, understanding now that it had always been about this moment. She sent one last look to her other-self, her body still jerking, the people around her frantic, barking instructions to each other. Her skirt billowed on the ground around her, the blue ribbon trailing from her hair.

Sam started walking, leading her toward something bright and beautiful up ahead—not too far, just a little bit farther. There was a lightening within her, an easing of a burden she hadn’t known she carried. As the light enveloped her, the rest of her world faded into the background, into nothing—a pinprick compared to the fullness that waited in the light.

She didn’t hesitate as she took the final step, Sam’s hand in hers, his eyes soft and warm on her face.

The old woman had been right. There was freedom, light… and so very much love.

– The End –

Sea of Dew (Extended Version)

C. Lee McKenzie

Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;

Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.

“Where are you going and what do you wish?” the old moon asked the three.

“We’ve come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea.

Nets of silver and gold have we,” said Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song as they rocked in the wooden shoe.

And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.

Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful sea;

“Cast your nets wherever you wish never afraid are we!”

So cried the stars to the fishermen three—Winkin’, and Blinkin’, and Nod.

So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling foam.

‘Til down from the skies came the wooden shoe bringing the fisherman home.

‘Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be.

Some folks say ‘twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.

But I shall name you the fisherman three—Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

Now Winkin’ and Blinkin’ are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one’s trundle bed.

So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.

And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea,

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three—Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

– Mother Goose

I
N
the week before the moon found them beneath the bloated bellies of storm clouds, they drifted in the lifeboat without any sight of land. The boys, the stowaways, the survivors.

And Miranda.

She hunkered under the tarp and a soggy blanket, peering out at them with worry and a sizable dose of fear. She was adrift in a foreign sea among strangers. Yet one of those three had hauled her from the water and saved her life.

Which one? Maybe the skinny one named Winker. He had some kind of tic in his cheek that made his left eye twitch, especially when he looked in her direction. Or could it be the guy whose name started with a B? What was it? Blandy? Blindy? Blakie? He had a vacant look and his lips were always moving, like he was telling himself secrets.

Or could it have been Nodfarker? What a creepy name. And he was bossy, always telling them when to eat, if they could have water, or how much. She’d fantasized about tying his leg to an anchor while he slept, then pushing him over the side of the dinky lifeboat.

Just a couple of problems. No anchor. And then she didn’t have the stomach for that kind of thing. Besides, he was the one who netted the fishthat they ate raw to stay alive now that the supplies were almost gone, so offing him was not her best idea.

Her worst one, however, was easy to pinpoint. She kept asking herself why she’d let that tour guide talk her and her friends into joining the cheap cruise from the mainland to the tropical island paradise of Milaou. His tiny-toothed grin flashed through her mind. She wondered if he was still smiling down there in that death trap of a ferry.

Miranda sat up as Nodfarker leaned over the side of the boat and dragged the net through the water. In minutes he had two lively, silver herring on board where he dropped them on top of the supply box and slit them open before their tails stopped flipping.

She turned her head. I can’t eat one more piece of herring. And if anyone even mentions sashimi to me when this is over, he dies.

“Here’s your share.” Nodfarker held out a chunk of grayish fish.

The smell churned her stomach, but she took the piece between her thumb and forefinger, then looking away and holding her breath, she swallowed it whole.

“You’re welcome,” he said, nibbling at the edges of his portion, taking his time as if he had a juicy Big Mac in his mouth.

Her stomach growled, demanding more food, at the same time bile rose into her throat. Lurching over the side, she cast the chunk of herring back into the sea.

When she turned around, none of them seemed to have noticed she’d hurled precious food. Winker averted his gaze. The guy whose name began with a B had his eyes rolled to Heaven, mumbling something she couldn’t hear. Nodfarker was chewing with his eyes closed.

She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowed saliva to wash down the bitter taste. She had to keep from thinking about her hunger and that revolting meal on top of the supply box.

“Where did the name Nodfarker come from?” she asked.

“Say what?” He opened his eyes and fixed them on her.

“Nodfarker. Your name.”

Winker doubled over in laughter, and the other one stopped mumbling long enough to manage a pale smile.

“It’s Ned Parker,” he said and sliced the second herring into fours. “Your ears must have been plugged with saltwater when I pulled you into the boat and said hi.”

Miranda flinched, remembering her plunge into the sea. She’d felt queasy and left her friends below to go on deck for some air. As she’d stood looking over the railing, the ferry had suddenly rolled, pitching her headfirst into the water. She’d kicked frantically, but it was as though thousands of fingers clutched at her, dragging her deeper. That’s when a single hand descended from above, grasped hers, and pulled her out of the water. Now she knew it had been Ned’s hand that had found hers. He’d saved her life.

He passed her another sliver of fish.

She took it, but this time she didn’t put it in her mouth. Instead, she studied him, doling out the herring to the others, making the portions equal. He moved deliberately, and she flashed on Communion and the way the priest presented the wafer and the cup. There was ceremony when Ned served their one meal.

On closer inspection, he wasn’t really that creepy. He was about her age, maybe a couple of years older. Nineteen? His dark hair had a boyish way of curling across his forehead and his chestnut-colored eyes were steady when he looked at her. Maybe it had been that wretched name that had made him seem so disagreeable. Maybe it had been the terror of falling into the sea and the dark, drenching rain that hadn’t eased until now.

“So how’d you get on that ferry?” Miranda asked.

“We wanted to see Milaou before heading home.” Ned shrugged. “We were down to our last few bucks, so we stowed away in this lifeboat for a free ride.”

“Bad decision.” Miranda bit off a small bite of fish. She’d try nibbling and hope she could keep it down this time.

“Better than some,” Ned said, tossing the scales and bones and entrails of the fish overboard.

“We got away. I don’t think anybody else escaped being sucked under when that ferry capsized.”

Ned held out the bottle of water and the cap. “Three capfuls each, okay? That gives us about four more days, and then we do a rain dance.”

The irony wasn’t lost on her. For almost a week they’d huddled under the tarp, wishing the rain would stop, bailing fresh water into the salty sea to stay afloat, and drinking from the sky. They’d filled the one container they had, and now they already needed to ration every drop.

She sipped her last capful of water, handed it to Winker, and closed her eyes. It was too hard to stare out over the endless water while knowing that in that plastic bottle only four days’ supply was between them and slow, thirsty death. She looked up, hoping to see clouds again.

“We’ll head south.” Ned held up the compass. “Try to find a shipping lane and pray a ship comes along.”

“Why south?” Miranda asked as she opened her eyes and focusing on his face, so all that ocean became a blue backdrop.

“Warmer weather. More chance for a cruise ship.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing.” He reached for the oars. “Time for my work out,” he said as he dug the oars into the choppy sea, then stopped, checked the compass, and rowed onward.

He was used to exercising. Miranda could tell, and as she slowly gnawed at the herring, she distracted herself by admiring the way his biceps rippled under his skin. After about twenty minutes, he stood, unzipped his fly, and sent an arc of pee over the side before he zipped up and leaned back against the side of the boat, resting.

Miranda felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment, then with anxiety. Peeing during the daylight hours and the problems it presented for her hadn’t occurred to her until that moment, and until that moment she hadn’t needed to pee. Until now, she’d managed bathroom privacy at night when the others were asleep, but today she couldn’t wait that long.

When the other two turned their backs on her and followed Ned’s example, she clenched her jaw then asked, “How do I pee on this pleasure cruise?”

Ned grinned. “Guess it’s over the side for you, mate.” He faced away. Winker and the other guy did as well. “You better strip from your waist down, hang over the side, and yell when you want us to pull you in.”

She grumbled under her breath about the injustice and the indignity and the downright crappiness of having to take off her pants, hang over the side of this…this rubberized excuse for a—

“Done?” Ned asked.

“No!”

“All right. Just asking.”

They kept their backs to her as she slipped into the water, clinging to the side, peeing and feeling lonely on the outside of the boat while they sat inside waiting, smug in their maleness.

“I’m finished,” she yelled, and Ned and Winker hauled her in with their heads turned away, then went to their places, keeping their eyes averted as she dried and dressed. The other guy leaned back, mumbling at the sky.

Once she’d finished and sat in her usual spot, Ned nudged the mumbler in the leg. “Hey, Blakie. Entertain us.” Ned answered Miranda’s next question before she asked it. “He’s a math whiz. Give him any math problem and he’ll solve it in his head. He does it all day.”

“And Blakie?” She cocked her head so he’d know how dumb that name was to her.

“That’s how his mom called him in for dinner when we were kids.”

They were longtime friends. She was the outsider in two ways: a female and a new acquaintance. “What about Winker? That’sunusual, as names go.” She hadn’t meant to say that. It had slipped out.

They stared at her, and she had no way to cover her embarrassment at being so rude. She shifted her gaze, but Winker broke the tension and pointed to his jumpy cheek. “Obvious, right?”

Ned smiled and Miranda felt grateful for being forgiven so easily. “Winker’s my word guy,” he said. “So I got things covered, right? One solves my math problems; the other one gets me through English Lit.”

It became the routine, then, that each morning Ned portioned out the fish and the few remaining rations from the wretched box of stale supplies. Blakie amazed them by doing high-level math problems without paper and pencil. They’d spend hours trying to prove him wrong, but he never was, and he never seemed to think he’d done anything especially brilliant. He gave answers to problems like ten to the square root of 675.444 the way Miranda would say, “Two plus two equals four.”

“Blakie does it again,” Ned said, returning their pencil to the supply box for safekeeping. “Damned kid was always a genius.”

He might be a genius, Miranda thought, but as remarkable as the inside of his head had to be, he was one hundred percent unremarkable in any way on the outside. His brown hair hung limp to his shoulders and his eyes matched in color and texture. Miranda pictured him as he would look in clothes other than the Santa Cruz Slugs tee he’d chosen to wear the day of the ferry disaster. She imagined him with a wrinkled shirt—not quite white—a flip phone in one pocket and pens stuck in the other. One pen would, of course, have leaked blue, but he wouldn’t notice that. He wouldn’t notice the mustard or catsup stains on the leg of his jeans, either, or think that his sandals and socks were the biggest anti-fashion statement anyone could make.