The song ended abruptly, jarring. Adria’s breath came in ragged gasps. She tried to push him off her, but couldn’t. He was too heavy. She panicked, beating at his arms and chest. His blood flowed warm onto her skin. She took a deep breath that quavered, and let it out. “I’m all right. I’m all right.” She began to crawl out from under him, his body dragging along her skin as she wiggled free. She was crying now, sobbing. She began screaming, low tiny screams. The screams frightened her because she couldn’t stop them.
She crawled free of him and clawed through the sand until she was free of the water. She sat in the dry sand, letting it cake the wet robe. She held the gun in her hand, loosely.
A wave washed over him, and his hand waved limp, moved by the water. An image of Rachel flashed through her mind. She put a shaking hand against her mouth to stop the awful whimpering screams.
His hand clenched. Adria stopped breathing for a moment. He raised his head. She felt his mind reach out for her. It was like the slow drag of the sea when you’re tired and it would be better, easier to rest, to let the water take you down. He got to his feet.
Adria raised the gun two-handed. Blood flowed from two wounds in his stomach, but he never hesitated; the sea did not acknowledge death. Blood blossomed in his chest. He staggered, but kept coming. Adria fired, watching the bullets explode into his chest, ears ringing with the noise. He fell to his knees and then slid to one side, slowly so slowly.
He lay on his side in the dry sand, staring at her. His dark eyes were patient as the sea, nothing in them that she could read, or understand. He didn’t seem to be able to move. His chest was a bloody mess. He lay only an arm’s length from her. She watched his life pour out into the sand. He blinked. Adria pointed the gun at those eyes and squeezed the trigger. The gun bounced in her hands. A neat red hole appeared in his forehead, blood leaking into his eyes. His eyes stared sightless, the light gone out of them.
Adria did not check his pulse to make sure he was dead. She backed off, the empty gun still in her hand and began running for home. She looked back once from the top of the rocks. The body lay pale and dark, shadow patched. Nothing moved.
Adria ran.
She heard police sirens a long way off. The strobe lights flickered outside her windows, colored shadows against the curtains. The police found blood on the sand but no body.
“The Beach Rapist” did not strike again. Was he really dead? Or had he just started hiding the bodies, letting the ocean take the evidence away? Adria couldn’t sleep with the sea whispering outside her window anymore.
She sold the house for a nice price, even with the murders. Beachfront property was dear. Adria moved inland, far from the sea. But there are nights when the rustle of leaves outside her window becomes the rushing of the sea. And there is an echo in her head, a hiss of distant music.
Adria is looking for some place out of state. Some place where the sea does not touch the land for hundreds of miles on any side. Surely, there she will be safe.
A SCARCITY OF LAKE MONSTERS
I have a degree in biology. Wildlife biologist was one of the few other careers I dreamed about besides writing. This story comes out of wondering if the monsters of fable existed, then how would we deal with them? What if lake monsters were real? It’s another example of my continuing theme of taking the fantastic and dropping it into the middle of the real.
I WAS dreaming of sea monsters when the phone rang. I dragged the phone under the sheets with me and said, “’Lo.”
“Did I wake you, Mike?”
Why does everyone ask that when the answer is obviously yes? And why do we lie automatically? “No, no, what’s up, Jordan?”
“It’s your damn lake monster. He broke through the barricade again.”
I groaned. “What’s he doing?”
“Chasing speedboats, what else?”
“We’ll be right there.”
“Make it quick, Mike. The skiers are about to wet their pants.”
I hung up the phone and sat up, pushing back the covers. Susan was still deeply asleep. Her shining black hair lay in a fan across the pillow. Her face was an almost perfect triangle. The firm jaw was the only hint a person had that this pretty, delicate-seeming woman was one of the toughest people I’d ever met. She was a fanatical champion of lost causes. Right now, it was lake monsters, and our monster was loose.
I touched her tanned shoulder gently. “Come on, wife, duty calls.”
She muttered something unintelligible, which meant she wasn’t awake at all. She’s the only person I know who hates morning more than I do.
“Come on, Susan, Irving broke out of his barricade and is terrorizing the tourists.”
She turned over, blinking at me. “He won’t hurt them,” she said thickly.
“No, but they don’t know that.”
She laughed, a rich, dark sound like good wine. “Do you think they’d believe he was a vegetarian?”
“Not with all those teeth,” I said. “Come on, we gotta go herd Irving back inside and repair the barricade.”