5. Sharkie
Date: 4-26-2024
Time: 0730
I love pickles so much it almost makes me forget that they’re my going away gift.
After wiping out the convenience store across the road of the three jars they had stocked, I spent my two days on Karma's couch binge-watching Game of Thrones and listening to her gripe about my social skills, as if she has room to talk. She decided it was best to send me off properly and by properly, I mean, with a restock of pickles, extra juice in the jar. Just how I like it.
“You know there’s nothing you can do while I’m in the water, right?” I laugh as I roll the jar between my hands. I’m stalling. A twist of my wrist proves that in numbers. I still have time; I won’t be late. Karma remains quiet, pacing the floor deep in thought.
“Maybe you can take your advice and get laid. You look like you need it more than me.” I prod, hoping to draw a reply.
“Big brooding man from the other night. What was his name?”
I still from her sudden question, the invisible hairs that line the back of my neck coming to a stand just like at the fair, and the first night I stayed here. Even now, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me, but I can’t find them.
“He didn’t say.” I mutter. She looks at me, something about her stare has my adrenaline pumping.
“I recognize him from somewhere.” Her voice is a chilling whisper making goosebumps erupt in my skin. Karma settles behind the quaint setup that she refers to as her ‘office’, the polar opposite of her real office, only a humble monitor and PC here. The light streaming out of the ultra-hd 4k screen is enough to illuminate her fingers flying across the board, logging into Bay’s private server.
Her eyes dart across the monitor, pulling up every profile in the city as she places large, brimmed frames on the bridge of her nose. Please God, not now. I don’t have time to cover for myself, I need to leave. Instead, I find myself stepping behind her, gripping the glass jar hard enough I’m sure it'll shatter in my palms. She continues to put in vague descriptions and narrows it down to a few men around the area.
“Maybe he’s an ex… or some old fling, I don’t know, I didn’t recognize him,” I continue to word vomit while attempting to read what is hidden beneath her steely mask so I can anticipate her next move. It feels like a child trying to figure out what they’re being scorned for. I know I’ve lied to her these past two years, but it’s gone on so long that I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I don’t understand why I’m grasping for reasons to hide him, especially when he doesn’t even bother hiding himself. I mean hell, he’s the one I’m going after, anyway. However, something in my gut tells me I should keep it to myself.
She brings her thumb to her mouth and starts to bite at her nail, staring into the screen with enough intent it might open like a void and swallow her whole.
“I recognize him, I know it.” She mumbles. My brain scrambles to come up with something, anything that will tear her attention away from the screen, knowing I only have a couple of minutes left to salvage the situation.
“Sorry, I forgot you like your men older. I should’ve known better.” My laugh sounds fake, high pitched and cracking. Her head snaps in my direction, a look of feigned confusion and pure anger. She acts as if the whole world can’t see the connection between her and Dutton, the way she always revolves around him, or the way his eyes soften anytime he hears her name.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Cordelia?” She snaps in a tone that is a little too sharp for my liking. I gnaw at the inside of my lip, willing myself not to start an argument right now. If she’s hiding it, then I have no right to be upset. After all, she’s not the only one with secrets.
“You know what I’m talking about.” I try to make my tone lighter, more joking, but there’s a tension in this subject that makes me uneasy. I’ve clearly hit a nerve, I just wish I knew why. We’re best friends, we’re supposed to gossip and tell each other silly things like this. I’ve suspected it for a while, but she never admits to it—maybe because he’s her superior, or maybe I’m just assuming things.
She sucks sharply in her teeth and waves a hand of dismissal.
“Mind your own business and go get on the fucking Titanic.”
Silence. A pin could’ve dropped, and the neighbor would’ve heard it. Fine. If she wants to be that way, whatever, I don’t care. Tears prickle my eyes as I shove the jar of pickles into my bag, tossing it over my shoulder.
“Sorry. Bad word choice. You’re not going to sink.” Her voice creeps behind me, threatening to waver my composure. Yeah, sure, ‘bad word choice’. I don’t know what’s crawled up her ass, but it has me slamming the door without saying goodbye.
She can say whatever she wants to get under my skin, sure, it bothers me, but what she really needs to stop is fucking digging. Her only job is to sit there, look pretty, and make sure I don’t get killed. I shrug my shoulders a few times to try to alleviate the weight of my bag momentarily. The spring air hits my face through the raggedy front door to the apartment, refreshing the stale smell of smoke with an earthy, briny scent. It’s my favorite time of year here, not too hot that you sweat through your clothes and not too cold that you need a jacket. Steady raindrops fall from the clouded sky, dampening my skin.
Placing my headphones on I don’t even acknowledge Rosalie as I follow my usual routine of sliding into the backseat. Only difference is that now, I’m the one to push the button that places the divider between us and as the car moves off, I feel the anxiety that has decided to make its home in my chest. Karma didn’t have to take it that far, but now I know her voice will be repeating my exact fear for the duration of the journey, and I pray the music will create an alternate reality for myself where I don’t have to think of what’s coming next.
Date: 4-26-2024
Time: 0801
Okay, so I hate the ocean and the sky and planes and ferris wheels. Have I mentioned I’m fucking terrified of ships, too? The sheer size of them, the way they supposedly just…float? It gives me the creeps. To make matters worse, the weather went from fairly calm to a scene out of a horror movie.
I look at the swaying death trap before me, the metal moaning as it moves under the strain of the wind, and acid starts to burn my throat. You know in those movies how people walk in slow motion before a dramatic life change… it’s not just a scene, it’s so much more. I know because it’s how I am right now. Each step feels like my foot is stuck in tar as the wind lashes around me, whipping my ponytail into my face, encouraging the rain to batter any exposed skin. The sky is dark and haunting.
“Cordi!”
One eyebrow raises in intrigue as I turn to see Dutton walking in my direction. James is holding a large umbrella to shield his superior from the weather. This is unusual for him, says it’s beneath us to bother with send offs for ‘as long as the job gets done right, we will see each other again’.
Before I can process his movements, arms are engulfing my shoulders, and the powerful scent of his cologne is almost knocking me out. I can’t think straight. His hands clamp down on me so hard I feel my feet sink into the soaked slabs of the dock. Is it hollow beneath me? Has the sea water eroded away a hole that I am going to fall into and drown? I needed space, I needed… air. Fresh air. Suddenly it feels like even the weather was closing in around me, despite the fact James now held the umbrella over us both. The wind continues to whirl around us.
“Just thought I’d see you off and congratulate you on facing your fears. Your parents… they’d be so proud right now.” His tone is reverent. I hate proximity and physical touch, especially with him, but right now I want to drop my bag to the ground, wrap my arms back around him, and accept his comfort fully knowing he’s probably the closest thing to a parent I’ll ever get again, despite how complicated our relationship is. But I can’t.
“Thank you.”
With a final harsh pat on my shoulders, Dutton's hands glide down his designer suit, ridding his palm from the water it had accumulated off my clothes with a small grimace. I blink a few times as I step back, trying to keep my building irritation in check. A soldier comes hurling to my side, hair sticking to his brows and head downcast to keep the rain from blinding him. I hand him my bag, envying how he quickly darts off back into the shelter of the ship.
“Remember to get the job done no matter what.” I know what Dutton’s implying. “They are the enemies. They’re manipulative and well-knowledgeable. You can’t let anything cloud your vision.” His eyes are empty as he peers over my shoulder, and nods to whatever soldier is back there. I’m sure deep, deep down, it bothers him, knowing whose lives were lost in the same form of transportation that I’m now taking. At least we aren't arguing like he was with my mother before she boarded.
Unlike my parents however, I’m determined to actually accomplish what they set out to do. Even if that means I’ll have to haunt Depths shores after I sink to the bottom just to ensure Bay’s legacy lives on.
I’ve never been one for goodbyes. I guess that’s why I turn without saying it, each step resuming as a struggle to move, with my arm raised to my forehead to combat the storm. The soldier standing at the boarding ramp has his hands behind his back and chin tilted up towards the sky like he is soaking up the horrid weather as he peers down his nose at me. This is the army I hold in my hands, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish the goal, no matter the consequences.
The waves crash between the ramp and dock, the sight makes my tactical gear unnaturally heavy despite my body being more than adjusted to weight. At least it doesn’t smell awful here, it just smells like wet tarmac and seaweed. I think back to him. By this time, in a few short days, I’ll have him begging for forgiveness for all the damage his father did.
Maybe Karma was right, and I just need to get laid, get my mind off him for a bit. I shouldn’t be obsessing so hard over the devil reincarnated, but it’s the years I’ve spent demolishing everything that surrounds him that affords him a sizable plot within my mind, tangled up with that constant anxiety in my chest.
Making my way around the dock, I hide under an awning close to the bow. I’m not bold enough to stand anywhere near the middle of the deck but I’ll admit, as scary as it feels to look out to the water knowing that I’m willingly floating into Depth territory, it’s also kind of beautiful.
One thought that rings louder than the rest; will the world still be like this when I’ve accomplished my mission, and his blood is just another to be washed from my hands?