Called Read online

  Things with Jack have been awkward. I feel so guilty when I am with him now. He doesn’t know about me and James. We went snorkeling one more time and I have made excuses ever since. I still like Jack and am so confused. I don’t know what to tell him or what I want him to know. I am walking a balance beam between the two of them and I’m beginning to have regular headaches. The strain of holding down two relationships is beginning to wear on me. Part of me wants to walk away from them both and just go spend time with my ocean.

  My dreams have started coming back. The faces and voices taunt me regularly, inviting me into their world. “Evelyn! Evelyn! Come! Stop! Help!”

  I take every opportunity to slip into the ocean to test how far I can go. Sometimes James comes along, but for the most part, I go out on my own. My head is blurry when he is around and I want it to be clear while I am learning more about myself. I want to find myself on my own.

  I haven’t had to answer to Gwen or Celia. Celia complains when I get sand on the kitchen floor. Sometimes I leave it there on purpose just to bother her. Jack and I have both been busy working the kayak tours of the bay. Jack says he’ll let me do all the talking someday.

  For my first few attempts alone in the bay, I am only able to go out as far as I went with James. The pressure on my chest and body are just too great. But gradually, I’ve been able to make my way farther out and deeper in. By the end of the first week, I reach the end of the pier before I feel the pressure. My ability to transfer between liquid and air breathing is also getting better. I throw up water on my first attempt, but I figure out that a good swallow helps me transfer between breathing methods.

  It’s been three weeks of going out solo and I feel like I am following the calling from my dream. I haven’t heard my name in a while, but I still have that pull in my chest, tugging me out to sea. I’m in the ocean again, alone, and it is dark. I’ve found it easier to slip away unnoticed at this time of day. My roommates don’t ask questions and nobody on shore can see that I have gone underwater without resurfacing.

  After an eternity of swimming over the sandy sea floor, I reach the edge of the continental shelf. It really isn’t very far from the Florida shoreline, but it is something that I am not prepared to cross. It is a looming blackness and I am unwilling to enter. It is so deep and everything about it so unknown that I can’t bring myself to cross that line. I have done all that I can to research the ocean online and in the university library. I have oceanic terms floating in and out of my brain all day long. After all that I have read, there is still no way that I am willing to go into that gigantic abyss.

  I stare at the blackness for nearly an hour before I finally turn my back on the empty space and head back to shore. Salty tears from my eyes mix with the salty seawater I am moving through. I feel sick inside – like I am swimming away from my destiny, but I am not ready to head into that space alone. I need to be sure of what I am getting into. I don’t want to ask James to go with me either. I am so focused on what I am doing, that we haven’t been spending much time together. He wants to go with me, and only me, into the ocean every day. But I’m not the starry-eyed girl he left in a Texas airport anymore. I have a renewed sense of purpose and drive leading me in a new direction. I am stronger now and determined to find my own way.

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  I stretch my legs and look around the University library as the autumn sun sinks below the horizon. I have been sitting in the same chair for two hours and I am stiff and tired. I’ve been reading through a dusty and forgotten old book on the Atlantic Ocean, hoping to find something there that I can’t find online. My eyes hurt. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I need help overcoming the fear that kept me from stepping off the shelf last week.

  “Ah, and what is it that you are so intent on studying today Miss Marin?” Uncle Russ is looking over my shoulder as I read. I haven’t seen him since he dropped off Celia, but I am happy to see him here now. His face is a nice reminder that life outside of my troubles does exist.

  “Oh, um it’s a project for biology.” I’m proud of that lie. I would have believed it myself.

  “That sounds interesting,” Uncle Russ says as he takes a seat across from me. What is the topic and how are you coming along?”

  “It’s just a research paper on local sea life, their feeding habits and migration patterns. It’s not due for another month, but it’s pretty interesting so far.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Uncle Russ picks up one of my post-it covered books. “When I spoke to Ms. Ikenbaum about how you are doing in the class, she had some concerns about your attendance, but it looks like it is all in the interest of individual study.” Crap. He talked to my biology teacher? I lied to the University President about my attendance, and I have no quick lies to fill the awkward silence now between us. I settle for looking dumbfounded.

  Uncle Russ puts the magazine down and meets my gaze. “Evelyn, I promised your mother that I would take care of you. She called me a few days ago, in a panic because she has not heard from you in three weeks. What have you been doing to keep yourself so occupied that you cannot even call your mother?”

  Three weeks?! That can’t be right. I’m sure I’ve texted my mom more recently, haven’t I? I can’t remember. This is not a good sign.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Russ,” I manage to get out, “I’ve been so busy with school and work that the days have been running together. I had no idea that it’s been so long since I talked to my mom. I’ll call her today, I promise. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that Evelyn. I’m fond of your mother. Our friendship goes back a long time. I have made a promise to keep an eye on you and protect you, and I intend to keep that promise.” He stands to leave and looks down at me. “Now, I think you have a biology test to make up.”

  “Yes I do. I’ll go now.” I look down at my textbooks and research materials, unwilling to look Uncle Russ in the eye at such a close distance. He looks over the page I am studying: the Continental Shelf. I am embarrassed again by the lie I told. I snatch up the book quickly, run it to its place on the shelf and head out the door toward the natural sciences building. I risk one backward glance toward Uncle Russ. His face is laced with concern and I am sure Mom will be hearing about my behavior today. How could I have skipped calling her or even texting? I know she texted me a few times. My responses must have been absent-minded and distant for her to reach out to Uncle Russ.

  I call my mom on the way to class. She doesn’t pick up the phone and I let out a guilty sigh of relief. I don’t have to explain yet. At least I have the afternoon to arrange my story for her. What do I tell her? How will she react if I tell her what is really going on? She would probably tell Uncle Russ to send me to a school psychologist or demand that I come home. I can’t risk that exposure. I can’t tell her what is happening. I have to lie. I can’t let her know what I have been up to until I know for sure myself.

  My palms are sweaty and my hand slips as I open the door to the natural sciences building. I pull harder only to meet with the same result. I cannot get the door open. I look around in confusion and see that I am not at the natural sciences building but the smaller history building next door. My yanking has attracted the attention of somebody inside who is coming to open it for me.

  “Hi. I’m not sure why that door was locked. What can I do for you?” I am looking at an older man, probably in his late forties with lightly salted, curly, mousy brown hair. He is wearing tan pants and a tweed coat. Very Indiana Jones. I smile as I answer the stereotypical historian.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I thought I was heading into the natural sciences building.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, you have a good day.”

  “Thank you.” I turn away but my focus is thrown off by what meets my eyes. James is standing just beside the Natural Sciences building, peeking around the corner like he is looking for somebody, but he isn’t alone. Gwen
is with him, facing him. They are talking in hushed tones and standing close to each other, too close. James turns his face toward Gwen and leans in close. I can’t believe what I am seeing. Is he kissing her? Wait, oh my gosh, he is! Everything that happened the first time I introduced them to each other comes rushing back on me. The awkward conversation, worried looks, and rushed conversation – had they been seeing each other then?

  I cannot see straight. What am I doing here? What am I supposed to be doing? Something about a test. This is a test for me. One I don’t want to take. I turn on my heels and go to the only place I can think of. I see the history professor looking after me with concern. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me in this moment. I know where I have to go and nothing will keep me from stepping into the darkness this time.

  I turn so fast that I drop all of my books to the ground. The sound is loud enough for James and Gwen to hear. I stand there, unmoving and unable to meet their gaze. The next thing I know, James is on the ground picking up my books and papers from the ground. I bend to pick them up, still moving with automatic actions. Gwen stays standing by the Natural Sciences building.

  “Oh, my gosh, James! I’ve got it. Go away!” I cannot keep myself from yelling.

  “Evelyn, I’m so sorry,” he says. Yeah, sorry about the spilled books or sorry about getting caught making out with my roommate?

  “Evelyn, can we go somewhere to talk?” he asks. If it weren’t for the books and papers in my hand, I would punch him in the face.

  “No. I don’t need to talk to you.”

  “Evelyn, just let me explain,” he says and I start walking away, loose papers periodically dropping from my arms. James follows.

  “Evelyn, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” So my silence is an excuse for his cheating face? “I wasn’t sure where we stood. And, I have actually known Gwen for a while anyway.” I pause at this admission.

  “So, you were already seeing her when you kissed me?”

  “Evelyn,” he rolls his eyes, “not dating her. I’ve been trying to help her with her transition to the sea.”

  Gwen can do what James and I can do.

  She can breathe underwater. Of course she can. It is some kind of epidemic at the school. I look back at where Gwen is standing, guilt written all over her face. Why hadn’t she told me about breathing underwater? And how was knowing that supposed to make anything better? Gwen turns away from my gaze, heading to her next class – escaping an angry confrontation here and now.

  “Evelyn, there is so much you don’t know about the sea. There is a whole world down there that you can’t even imagine.” I have no desire to have James tell me about the ocean. “Evelyn,” he won’t stop talking and I won’t stop walking away. “Please listen to me. You would be so amazed. I have met so many others who can do what we can do.” I am partially listening as I walk away, wondering if there will ever be a point to his chatter, “There is this woman – it’s almost crazy to look at her – she has lived so long underwater that she’s started turning into… she has these amazing plans… we could do so much…” I cut him off, tired of being around him.

  “James. I have to go. I don’t want to listen to you anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Leave me alone.” I drop my bag on the ground and all of my papers and books with it. “If you want to help me,” I say, you can put all this stuff back together. Get your girlfriend to take it home with her. She knows where it goes.” I walk away as quickly as I can, leaving James with the words he was going to say still stuck in his throat.

  Chapter 8

  I make my way to Pier Park. I head straight into the water, walking angrily into the waves. I ignore the weight of the water in my jeans. I am going into that abyss. I am going to see what is out there for me. I don’t care that other people can do what I can do. I have been called. I’ve had the dream. I am going to listen to it now. I use the fire within me to propel myself forward. I get to the edge of the continental shelf faster than I ever have before. I don’t want to give myself too much time to think. I just have to go.

  I step off the edge of the shelf expecting to sink slowly to the ocean floor below. Instead of sinking, I slide onto the back of a large fish. I am startled and fall forward as the fish lurches up so my legs are saddled astride its large body. My hands hit some kind of bridle that has been attached to the fish. I take hold and trust. With all I have been experiencing over these last weeks, I know this is the only option for me. I have to follow where this path leads. This is my choice and this is where I am going to go.

  As soon as I grasp the bridle, the fish understands that I am secure. It dives down into the darkness below and I dive with it. At first, my uneasiness in the blackness makes my stomach turn. Then, I think I can make out a light on the distant floor beneath us. As the fish and I draw closer to the bottom of the sea, the light grows brighter and brighter until I can see that it is not just one light, but a multitude of lights. Thousands of lights. I don’t believe my eyes as I understand that I am heading straight into an underwater city.

  This isn’t like any city I have seen before. It looks like ancient ruins that are inhabited. As we approach the ocean floor, we are in the midst of several tall buildings. They look like Greek architecture and yet they have an even more ancient look about them. I see columns and spires and buttresses on both sides of me and my fish transport as we swim deeper into the ocean. The stone is grey and the area we are swimming through is empty of all other life. I start looking less ahead of me and more to the sides and below. I am surprised by what is there.

  There are ancient stone traffic ways beneath us and stairs and doorways to the buildings we swim between. The traffic ways are free of the silt I would expect to see in a sunken city. These are still in use. In the doorways hang strips of seaweed that create more privacy within. Some of the windows are lighted by an unseen source that emits a dull yellow glow. That accounts for the thousands of lights. Within these buildings (that look like homes) I can see tools and broken pottery. Inside one dwelling I see an empty table and chairs where it looks like a family has just left their evening meal. Plates of food are left sitting atop the table with utensils nearby.

  But these lighted rooms and filled tables are empty of life, nobody is in sight and all is silent. I feel like I am an intruder and all the occupants of this city have fled from me. I want to ask my finned guide where we are and where we are headed when the large fish stops and turns to face a large gate. On the front of the gate is an eroded sign that looks like it might once have been made of precious materials. On it is a curious writing that I cannot at all make out. It looks like Greek, but I don’t know for sure. Beneath this ancient inscription is a more recent etching that I can read:

  Atlantis: Home of the Ancients

  Headquarters for the Modern War

  Atlantis? War? What?! I’m not interested in war. I had no idea that my new abilities and lifetime of questions would lead me to such a place. War? No. I want answers. I want peace in my heart, not fighting. What have I been led to? Have James and Gwen already been here? The thought of James and Gwen makes bile rise in my throat. I push them out of my mind and swallow hard.

  My companion and I pause only long enough to read the sign when the gates slowly swing open. The gates look so old that I expect to hear a loud grating noise but none comes. I marvel again at my surroundings. Towers and buildings surround me on every side. But instead of the emptiness of the buildings outside the city gates, these streets are teeming with life. People. People are everywhere. Men and women, some walking on the stone pathways, some swimming with webbed feet.

  A fully finned woman catches my attention. She looks like the kind of mermaid that fairytales are made of. Her entire upper body is covered by an iridescent shell top, but the lower half of her body is an unmistakable tail. It shines silvery green in the dull glow that emanates from the windows and doorways of the city. She turns her head my direction and I catch her eye. Her eyes are an unbelievabl
e shade of blue, so dark they could be sapphires. Her hair is a long, tangled mess of silver and brown, pulled away from the front of her face with pink coral. Though I can tell she is an older woman, she has aged gracefully. Her few wrinkles are perfectly synchronized on both sides of her face. She looks flawless. That is until I see her left hand. Her last three fingers are missing. I again look to her face. She has stopped completely, my fish has stopped as well. This merwoman looks into my eyes like she is reading my mind. Having found what she wants she looks down and addresses my finned companion.

  “Well, Pisces, you have brought to us a most curious specimen today.” She says in clear and distinct English. “None of her kind have been seen for many years. What do you know of her?”

  How the fish understands her, I have no idea. Then a series of bubbles comes from the mouth of the fish, Pisces, making sounds that I have never heard, but I understand them like it is my own language.

  “I read her thoughts quite clearly, Lady Pescara, though I do not think she has yet realized she can read mine. I felt the connection, however. I am certain of it.” This fish has heard my thoughts? And he can understand spoken words?!

  “And has she exhibited any other abilities?” the merwoman asks. I sit silently as the two continue to talk about me. There is nothing more I can do.

  “None that I have yet seen for certain,” Pisces responds, “though her waves speak quite strongly to me. I am confident that she has several more of the Complete Seven within her.”

  The Complete Seven? What does that mean? Are there more abilities than breathing underwater? This is not what I expected when I entered the ocean this evening. I am not sure what I did expect, but heading into a war headquarters with talking fish and mermaids was not a part of it. Lady Pescara, the beautiful merwoman, lifts her sapphire eyes and speaks to me.