10. Meridian
Meridian
TEN
I wake up Monday morning with a plan: get back to work and prove this wasn't all a dream.
By noon, I'm not diving. I'm anchored in international waters, engine off, staring into the blue-green depths like some lovesick teenager.
"Cyreus," I call out to the empty ocean, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop myself. "Are you there?"
Nothing. Just waves against Deep Pockets' hull and gulls bitching about the lack of fish scraps.
I wait three hours before admitting defeat and heading home empty-handed.
Tuesday, I tell myself I'm scouting new dive sites, but I end up in the same damn spot, calling his name to water that gives me nothing back but silence.
"I know you're down there somewhere," I say to the depths. "I just... I need to know if it was real."
The ocean doesn't answer .
I try making an actual dive, but I can't concentrate worth a damn. The water feels empty in ways that make my chest ache. Every piece of kelp that brushes against my leg makes me jump, hoping for something that doesn't come. I surface after twenty minutes with nothing but growing frustration.
Wednesday morning, Fergus is waiting on the dock as I load my gear.
"Going diving?" he asks, eyeing my equipment bag.
"Maybe. Depends on conditions."
"Been heading out the last couple days. Not bringing much back, though."
I pause in loading my tank. "You keeping tabs on me?"
"Harbor master mentioned you've been burning a lot of fuel without much to show for it." Fergus steps closer, lowering his voice. "Everything okay, Meri?"
"Fine. Just... exploring new areas."
"In international waters?"
The fact that he knows where I've been anchoring makes my stomach clench. "How do you—"
"Deep Pockets has a very distinctive silhouette. And you're not the only one with binoculars in this harbor." He studies my face with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "Meri, if you're in some kind of trouble—"
"I'm not in trouble." I finish loading my gear and step aboard. "I'm just... working through some things."
"Want company?"
The offer is tempting, but the last thing I need is Fergus witnessing me have one-sided conversations with the ocean. "Thanks, but I work better alone."
"I know you do. Just remember that working alone doesn't mean you have to figure everything out alone."
Despite his words, I head out again. I drop anchor in the same spot, cut the engine, and wait. The water is perfectly clear, visibility all the way to the sandy bottom. If there was anything—anyone—down there, I'd be able to see them.
But I call out anyway. "Please. I just need to know."
Hours pass. The sun moves across the sky. My voice gets hoarse from calling into the void.
"This is stupid," I mutter, but I stay put anyway.
Then it happens.
A splash near the stern, too deliberate to be random debris. My heart hammers as I rush to the rail, scanning the water for any sign of what caused the disturbance.
There's nothing visible in the afternoon light, just expanding ripples that could have been caused by anything. But something about the pattern, the way the water moved...
"Cyreus?" I whisper.
Silence. But I stay at the rail, watching, waiting, hoping.
An hour passes before I finally accept that it was probably just a fish or a piece of kelp. But as I start the engine to head home, I catch myself scanning the water one more time.
Just in case.
Back at the harbor, Fergus appears as I'm tying up .
"Any luck today?" he asks.
"Maybe. Hard to tell." I secure my lines, avoiding his eyes. "Fergus, if someone told you they'd met... someone... who seemed too good to be true, what would you tell them?"
"I'd tell them that if it seems too good to be true, it probably is." He pauses. "But I'd also tell them that sometimes impossible things happen, and the smart money is on figuring out what's real rather than assuming everything's fake."
"Even if the impossible thing was really impossible?"
"Especially then." Fergus leans against the dock post. "Meri, I've been working these waters since before you were born. I've seen things that don't make it into the official reports. Heard stories from fishermen that would make your hair stand on end."
I feel a chill. "What kind of things?"
"The kind that make smart people keep their mouths shut and their minds open." He meets my eyes directly. "The kind that might explain why someone like you has been sitting in empty water for three days instead of working."
For a moment, I consider telling him everything. About the rescue, about Cyreus, about what he showed me. But even as the words form in my mind, I know I can't. Not yet.
"I just need some time to figure things out," I say instead.
"Time I can give you. But Meri?" He straightens to leave. "Don't figure yourself out of something good just because it doesn't make sense. "
That night, I lie in my bunk staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the last three days.
The endless waiting, the unanswered calls, the growing certainty that I'm chasing something that was never there.
But then I remember the splash. The way the water moved.
The feeling, just for a moment, that someone was watching.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll try one more time tomorrow.
And if he doesn't come, if there's no sign of him, then I'll accept that it's time to let this go. Time to get back to real life and leave the impossible behind.
But not yet. Not until I'm absolutely certain.
Because the alternative—accepting that I'll never see him again—is still worse than looking crazy.