DARWIN

Friday, April 13, 2018

I barely got a wink of sleep Thursday night, and when Friday morning dawned, the bathroom mirror showed me someone ghoulish and half-alive.

I tried to clean myself up by taking a shower and scrubbing some life back into my face, but it didn't work: when I went into the kitchen to pack my lunchbox, I caught Mom and Grandpa Jon both staring at me, Mom with puzzlement, Grandpa Jon with a mixture of anxiety and deep concern.

Mom, who was making coffee, eventually said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Even without Berechiah's compulsion keeping me silent, I wouldn't know where to begin with this one. "Don't bother me," I snapped when she went to say something else.

She'd raised a brow.

I was like that for a good stretch of the day: hot-blooded, uncharacteristically cranky, and beat to the bone. I didn't bother hiding my scowl, I bumped into shoulders in the halls, I slammed my locker a little too hard, and my responses... Well, they were a little more curt than usual. Not enough to earn myself another visit to Mr. Reyes' office, but some teachers noticed, and looked a little weirded-out by the teeth in my voice.

I also flinched whenever I caught a glance of Helena or Marjorie, either in the halls or the classroom. They both looked normal — so far — and neither of them sought me out or really looked my way whenever I spotted them. So far...it was holding.

But Quentin was nowhere to be found — remembering yesterday's episode, I despaired to think of what had happened to him between after the Seawatchers had cleaned up.

My tutoring session with Thomas was also riddled with tension. He was about as interested in completing the War Games 3 worksheet as I was today, and that was to say not at all. He looked at the paper, tapped his mechanical pencil, and jimmied his leg, but I was certain our thoughts were in the same place: yesterday, and what had happened between when Berechiah had whispered in our classmates' ears and now.

Every now and then, though, he would give a halfhearted answer to one of the questions. All of them, including the latest one, were wrong: "What about Trina? She would go up front, right? And Brick would follow up with—"

"Trina would flank," I interrupted. "They're both the same mass, there's no point in doing any other kind of formation." I dug my fingers into my scalp, feeling something inside rapidly reaching a boiling point. "F*ck's sake! I just said that! Weren't you listening?"

Thomas arched a split brow at me — it was a good thing we were in the library study room, else I would've been getting a look from Ms. King as well. He tapped his pencil twice more against the wooden table before leaning back into his seat, enough that the front legs of the chair left the floor. He crossed his arms and looked at me directly.

I turned away, feeling my face heat up. "Sorry," I muttered.

He shrugged. "Sounds like you're as done with this sh*t as I am." As if to make his point, he slid the worksheet and pencil back into his open bookbag. "Can we talk about Marj? I wanna talk about Marj. Seen her today?"

"Yeah, during class change."

"She look alright? Resting-bitch-face and everything?"

"Yeah." So had Helena — in fact, when I'd passed her in the hall, she'd given me a friendly pat on the back and thanked me for giving her the idea for the Pokémon partner beautification project. I wished that I could've gotten a better look at her face, but from what I'd seen... There'd been nothing else. No hesitation. No wonderment. No confusion. No...anger. No sign that she remembered what had happened yesterday afternoon.

I envied her that. I remembered everything, and it was why I'd been operating at five percent all day. Grandpa Jon had assured me (and himself) endlessly that things were fine all the way home yesterday: that the Seawatcher security was trained to handle such situations; that Berechiah had helped them find the security tapes; that they'd wiped the footage; that they'd encountered no resistance; that on the whole, it had been a very clean operation; that I needed to stop worrying about it... But there'd been several catches in his voice. And even in the darkness of the truck, I'd seen his hands shaking. He'd been thinking about Berechiah's experimental fog and silent song combo — my experimental combo, my idea. My responsibility. My impending disaster.

I looked down at my watch. 12:45 PM. The block or...fog song or whatever was supposed to expire sometime in the afternoon. Helena, Marjorie, Quentin... Their memories would be filling in those gaps in their heads soon and... Holy Arceus, what happened then? What would that even look like? Would it be smooth and peculiar? Or sudden and troubling? Would it be traumatizing? Would they break down, gasp, scream when the memories shot back into their skulls?

I had no idea, but one thing seemed certain: this situation was about to turn really messy really fast, and I could not f*cking relax for the life of me.

"I think we have to do something," I said shakily. I looked at my watch. "It's gonna happen soon."

Thomas said nothing; I turned to see that his brow had hardened with sudden anger...hatred, almost. It was because of what Grandpa Jon had said yesterday: after Berechiah had settled Quentin into a peaceful sleep and the Seawatcher goons headed towards the building to look for the security tapes, my grandfather had told me that arrangements would have to be quickly made for some kind of quarantine for Marjorie, Helena, and Quentin when the fog song expired. Even though I'd promised to make a case for my classmates before Ms. Gray, the three of them still had to be watched closely, and he'd said that the Seawatcher top brass would want this to be done in a controlled environment, like Thomas's favorite furnished room. How this would happen was another thing I didn't know, but I imagined it would again involve Wingulls using Supersonic, a black, nondescript van, and Berechiah on standby.

It was going to be sudden and frightening...and undeserved, for three kids that were, just like Thomas, in the wrong place at the wrong time. I felt like I had to get them out of this somehow... But other than get an audience with Ms. Gray, I had no idea of what to do. Just something. If not to save them, then to warn them.

He was thinking along the same lines: "What do you wanna do, buy them bus tickets?"

"This isn't a joke! Do you want Marjorie to get snatched up in the middle of the day, and be taken to—"

"I wasn't joking."

No — in fact, this was the most serious I'd seen him since our quarantine. Part of me found this interesting — does he still like Marjorie? — but the rest of me tried to focus. Bus tickets. Could we do that?

No, it felt crazy, and too...radical. Upend their lives, put them on a bus, and send them to Arceus-knew-where? And wouldn't the Seawatchers just go after them or something? No, there had to be a better way to resolve this, a way they could get out of this Scott free. Like getting them inducted into the Seawatchers. But how likely was that? Ms. Gray... I need to talk to Ms. Gray. And...

"We have to talk to them," I said, gritting my teeth. "I think we need to explain what's happened...and warn them about what's coming next."

"What good will that do?"

"They need to know. It'll help calm them down." I hoped. This was a crazy situation — it was possible that knowing more would hurt more.

Thomas agreed: "Knowing that there're fish in the sea isn't gonna save them from that room... Or Berechiah."

"I'll talk to Ms. Gray." There was no confidence in my voice. But I'd already promised — if I said it again, maybe I would feel that I could actually do it...

But Thomas's pessimism didn't help: "Why the hell would she listen to you? We're both newbs, and they've got a higher agenda."

"Then what? We do nothing?" He turned halfway away from me, rubbing his temple like he had contracted a headache, and I just barely squashed the urge to lob my pencil pouch at his head. "Tell me," I snapped. "Tell me. What do we do?"

"I don't f*cking know, Snowman."

"Then shut the hell up. Unless you have a better idea!"

He didn't respond to that, just glowered at me. Then his eyes went behind me, and widened.

I turned and saw Marjorie standing outside our study room, peering through the window in the door. The look on her face... It frightened me in the same way Nero's Sharpedo frightened me. She lifted a hand and gave the window three knocks, each rattling the glass.

I looked to Thomas, whose face had become strained. He didn't move.

And why should he? This is on you, Snowman — this was your idea. Take responsibility. My heart thundered in my chest as I went to the door, grabbed the knob. Let her scream. Let her curse. Then—

She didn't scream, or curse. When I opened the door, she slugged me in the face.

That was another thing I should've expected, but I didn't, and I went straight to the floor like an axed tree. Her nails—long and red together—dug into the front of my polo like Pidgeot talons, I prepared myself as best I could to get my eyes clawed out.

Instead, she collapsed to her knees in front of me, and I saw her face up close. For a moment I was confused: I'd only known Marjorie Ellis to scowl or sneer, but today her eyes were wide and red, and her face was smeared with makeup. She'd been crying.

F*ck me, she was still crying: "What did you do to me?" she asked, voice ragged. She'd wanted to scream those words — I don't know why, but I could tell. She wanted to scream, but she was too upset, and it came out as a sob: "What did you do to me?"

"Whoa, sweetheart." Behind her, Thomas pulled the study room door firmly shut, and then squatted down, banded an arm around her middle. "C'mon, stand up. He can't explain if you're all over him like that."

She looked at him as he lifted her to her feet, eyes huge and dark and blank, tears still streaming down her face. "You— You're..." A betrayed fury worked its way across her face. "You're in on this too. Both of you! And that old man from the meeting..." She turned back to me, and I flinched. "Your—He—"

"Here, come sit over here." Thomas tugged her to the table, and pulled out one of the chairs with the toe of his sneaker. "Go on, sit."

She shook her head frantically. "No! Not until you— My head, there's a voice, he—"

"He's telling you you can't talk to anyone but us, right?" Thomas asked. From somewhere, he produced a handkerchief and offered it to her. "And when you try to say it to anyone else, you can't. Right?"

She stared up at him, mouth agape. "How did—He—" She grabbed desperately onto him. "What's happening? What's happening? How do you know— Make it stop!"

"I can't," Thomas said.

"Why not?" Marjorie's voice was rising hysterically again.

"I'm not the one who put it there."

She swung back to me. "Then—"

"He didn't either," Thomas said, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder. He dropped into the chair next to hers. "Can you sit, Marj? It's a long story. Darwin," he said testily.

I was still on the f*cking floor, dazed; I blinked, trying to snap out of it, and managed to get my ass up and into a chair. Marjorie looked between us, confusion, anger, pointed anxiety, despair moving across her face in a flux — I'd never known she was capable of being so expressive. Eventually, she sat down, her nails digging into her skirt.

"You wanna start, Snowman?" Thomas asked. There was no levity in his voice.

I started, but we told the story together, starting somewhere in the middle and working in both directions. I told her about Nero, the Sharpedo, the unpleasant reunion at my grandfather's house. Thomas told her about our hellish quarantine, the Seawatchers, Berechiah, the orientation, the rules.

Marjorie was silent during the entire exchange, and stared directly at me. I don't think it was for any particular reason — I had a feeling she just needed something to stare at, something that wasn't her ex-boyfriend. All the same, it made me hugely uncomfortable — her tears had dried, and so her eyes were heating up with what felt like the fires of hell. I felt like she was going to smite me down any second for delivering this steaming pile of insanity to her lap.

Thomas and I finally stopped talking, and for a while, there was just this heavy, nasty silence. Uncertainly, I returned Marjorie's stare, trying to gauge her reaction to all of this. She just looked...blank. Lost.

Eventually, Thomas reached for her hand. She woke up then, and pulled away from him.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

"Then say something," he growled. "Do you think we're full of sh*t?"

She glowered at me, and I tried not to make myself small. "Cora," she said, so sharply that it almost felt like a rebuke. "She felt sick. She wanted to go to the pool. When she fell in, she...she changed. She..." She tensed suddenly, as though afraid to say it.

"Had a white tail," I supplied. "Long with a giant fan at the end, like a Dewgong's." I nodded. I knew she needed this confirmation, just like I had. "She was a mermaid. She was real. They're real."

She suddenly looked terrified; she began tearing at her skirt again, and I noticed that two of her cuticles were bleeding. "And this Berechiah prick... He made me forget all of that?"

"No," I said. "Well...kind of. He wanted to do a full wipe on you, but that sometimes results in brain damage. We managed to convince them to just make you forget it temporarily."

"That's why you suddenly remembered all that sh*t today," Thomas said. "He didn't cut out the stuff. He just covered it."

Another long silence. We both watched Marjorie, watched her work through it. For a moment, it looked like she almost had it, but then her face changed — broke — and she burst into tears. She covered her mouth, trying to hold them in, but they overwhelmed her, and she folded over.

I was an asshole — I just stared, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was the girl that could supposedly breathe fire, while Thomas lurched from his seat and pulled her against him. "It sucks, doesn't it?" he murmured, running his fingers through her bright red hair. "I about blew a gasket when I first found out. Mermaids, you'd think it would be all rainbows and glitter, right?"

"You're lying," Marjorie gasped. "You're lying, you both— You did something to me. You drugged me! Or this is a stupid prank, and—"

"Nope," Thomas said. "If I wanted to pull a prank on you, I'd put itching powder in your hair, babe. It's true — mermaids, freaky as that is, are real, and they do some wonky sh*t to keep it a secret."

"It's called Pitch," I said awkwardly. Knowing firsthand how crazy this was, I felt a need to comfort her too, but I had a feeling that even a hand on the shoulder would be severely unwelcome here. "They can... It's something they do with their voices. It screws with your head, messes up stuff inside. They've done it to me before, more than once. I swear it's true."

"Lie," Marjorie sobbed. "Lying, you're lying."

"Want proof?" Thomas asked. He stood up. "You tried to tell someone today, right? And you couldn't. Think that was a fluke? Let's go try again. I betcha you won't be able to say two words: mermaids exist. How much do you want to bet I'm wrong?"

I stiffened. That seemed like a bad idea... But at the same time, it would be definite evidence that we were telling the truth, if Marjorie needed anymore. "He's right," I said. "That's how Berechiah set the block up — you won't be able to tell anyone about what happened except for other Seawatchers, like me and Thomas."

Nodding, Thomas swung his bookbag onto his shoulder and then grasped her hand and tugged. She didn't pull away this time — Arceus knew she probably needed the support. Her face had become something upset and hollow, but she followed him to the door. I watched them go, feeling the cords in my neck begin to loosen ever so slightly.

That was, until Thomas said, "Think you can handle the other two, Snowman?"

Then they were gone, and I was left alone with my dread. I couldn't believe that I'd almost forgotten.

***

The bell rang, and I set out for my next class, keeping an eye out for an irate Quentin and/or Helena. I reached my locker without spotting either, but I did hear some of my classmates whispering about Thomas and Marjorie. Apparently, they'd been spotted holding hands, which induced questions on whether or not they were together again; who Thomas preferred, Veronica Hughes or Marjorie; and whether or not Thomas was doing a little "double-dipping", as they put it.

Ha. I wished things were so mundane.

Pre-Cal was next. I went up the stairs of the Armstrong Building, turned a corner...and there she was, waiting for me.

There were no tears on Helena's face, but she didn't look angry, either. Her eyes were bright and clear, and her brow was hard — she was exerting the sun-glare stare full-force, creating the face of a woman who wanted answers. It seemed I'd underestimated her mental constitution.

Or had Berechiah's mental manipulation affected her differently than it had Marjorie? Helena be banked in shroud — all I can do is throw seeds, hope they take root.

I stopped in front of her, and we stood like two rocks in a river as students flowed around us. She looked at me unabashed, expectant. I didn't pretend to not know what she was expecting.

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked awkwardly.

"Curious," she said curtly. "I think I'm owed an explanation."

"Can we talk at lunch?"

Now she scowled — lunch was a whole class period away. But she said, "Fine."

"Outside? Under the tree?"

"Fine, fine. What about Marjorie and Quentin? They were both there too."

I nodded. "Thomas and I talked to Marjorie this morning. But I haven't seen Quentin. Have you?"

"No."

Mucus built up in my throat, and I swallowed thickly. For some reason, I had a bad feeling about that... "I'll find him later."

She said nothing, but shot me a sharp look as she turned into the crowd. "No weaseling out, Darwin. Don't make me hunt you down."

She went to class, and so did I, and though I did my work and took my notes, I barely remembered what we went over. But I became hyper-focused when I reported to my lunch period, and when I swung into the classroom, my eyes scanned the set of desks in the back corner of the room, where Quentin usually sat with a group of friends. He wasn't there — my stomach dropped.

What happened to him? A chill crept down my spine. Seawatchers? Had they already snatched him up, dumped him into quarantine? I wanted to dismiss the idea, but I couldn't scrape it away so easily. There was just something about the fit he'd had last night and his absence today that painted an ugly picture. A picture I couldn't quite figure out... But foreboding nonetheless.

As we lined up to head down to the cafeteria, I texted Thomas, asking if he'd seen Quentin. I also asked after Marjorie. I got back a short reply — Marjorie had calmed down, and no sign of Quentin. My stomach was in knots when I left the cafeteria and went out to meet Helena.

She was there early, again waiting for me — she had a lunchbox too, but she hadn't bothered to open it. It appeared neither of us were hungry today. My throat was dry when I met her expectant stare again.

After a beat of loaded silence, she lifted her hands and said, "What happened? Apparently you and Thomas are supposed to have the answers."

"Yes." So I began, telling her exactly what had happened and why it had happened. Like Marjorie, she remained silent as I rambled, but unlike Marjorie, her face stayed solid throughout the entire spiel: if any of this was revelational to her, she didn't show it. A couple of times — when I talked about Pitch, about quarantine — her brows went up, but there were no accusations, no panic, no tears.

When I finished, she made a simple request: "Promise me, Darwin. Promise me that you're being honest. Promise me that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Swear it on your mother's life."

"I'm not smart enough to make all of this up," I said dryly.

"You and I both know that's not true."

"Okay," I amended. "I don't... I don't care enough to make all of this up." And that was the blunt truth. All I wanted was a straight line to the eleventh grade and beyond — if somehow I was able to step into a parallel universe where none of the bullsh*t with Nero and the Seawatchers had happened, I would've taken the chance without hesitation.

"Swear, Darwin," she said sharply.

Her face had become pale, and I saw veins standing out in her temples. Almost regretfully, I said, "I swear on my mother's life, everything I've said is true. I'm...I'm sorry, Helena."

She turned away from me, and began to pace. I watched her face anxiously, but again, there were no tears there — just an intense consternation that turned her pupils into pinholes. She circled the tree twice, glaring at the ground, her hands folding and unfolding together. Part of me wanted to leave — the tension was killing me. But I knew I couldn't. I had to see her through this bombshell.

"So...Cora," Helena muttered as she came back around. "What happened to her after we were knocked out?"

I stiffened, but there was no accusation in her tone, just curiosity. "They took her away. Probably back to the...back to the Sea House." The Seawatchers had brought a strange contraption with them last night: a canoe-sized tube filled with water. They'd brought it out to the pool and helped Cora inside: she'd sat in it up to her hips, with her tailfin completely submerged, and they'd leveraged her up on their shoulders and carried her back to the van like a queen on a palanquin. Apparently, they couldn't just load her into the van in her mermaid form... I wondered why. Did something happen if merfolk weren't submerged in water when they had tailfins?

"Is she feeling better?"

"I don't know... I haven't heard from her since yesterday."

"Oh." I could tell she had many more questions, but there would be time for that later. Right now, it was time to warn her.

"Listen," I said before she could ask anything else. "The Seawatchers... They're not happy that you, Marjorie, and Quentin know. They want to do something about it."

"Like the quarantine you and Thomas had?"

"Like erase your memories...for good this time." I described how dangerous the procedure could be, according to Grandpa Jon. The stormy look in her eyes grew stormier as I also explained how people usually didn't have a say in the matter, and how it was usually over before the offending party knew what happened.

"What will they do?" Helena asked. "Will they knock us out, throw us in a van, and...? Or will we have a warning?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Why haven't they done anything already? Doesn't the Seawatcher leadership know what's happened?"

"Yes. And I don't know." Though it surely wouldn't have been wise to stage a kidnapping right in the middle of the day, on the campus of a Trainer High School. And after the last bell rang, the three of them would all either be going home with their parents, or be taken home on buses full of kids... All in all, too many witnesses. If the Seawatchers wanted to do this operation that way, they would have to wait for a time until Helena, Marjorie, and Quentin were alone...

"Can I talk to these Seawatchers?" Helena asked.

The request threw me for a loop, because of what a horrible idea it was. See the Seawatchers? As in deliver herself straight to them? "No," I said, my voice breaking in the middle, "you can't."

"Why not? I just want to ask them more about this situation. Maybe if they see I'm not a threat—"

"I don't think they would care. They take their jobs very seriously... My own grandfather locked me in a room, for Arceus' sake."

She didn't look convinced. "You mentioned you were going to talk to them, right? To vouch for us?"

"Well yeah, but—"

"Let me come. I can vouch for myself, make my case."

"No! What if they don't buy it, and decide to not let you leave the premises until your memories are erased? What if you leave the place as a vegetable?"

A troubled look passed across her face, then was swept beneath a hard smile. "I think you'll find I can be very persuasive, Darwin," she said.

I wasn't, though, because I couldn't talk her out of it. She, on the other hand, talked me into waiting for her after school — or, more like she trapped me. While I tried to tell her how risky it was, she texted her parents and let them know that she would be riding home from school with a friend. Then I had no choice but to agree to let her come along — obligation was one of my many weaknesses.

The rest of the day was a personal purgatory, and even when the final bell rang, it sucked that I couldn't let out a sigh of relief and look forward to a nice bus ride home. Instead, I found myself standing on the front lawn between Helena and Thomas as we waited for Grandpa Jon to come pick us up. And it wasn't until my grandpa pulled up and I saw the stunned look on his face that I realized I'd totally forgotten to tell him about Helena.

After I explained Helena's request, he shook his head frantically. "Oh, no, no," he said. "You mustn't do that, my dear. Director Munoz is already unhappy enough at this situation, I don't think—"

"Director Munoz has nothing to fear from me," Helena said, planting her hands on her hips. "I haven't told anyone — that person... Berechiah? He hasn't allowed me to." She spread her hands in front of her. "I just want to talk to someone more about the Seawatchers, and convince them that making me forget them could be a mistake. I'm the president of the Oceanic Conservation Club, for pity's sake — think about that. That I learned the truth about Cora... Doesn't that seem like destiny?"

Was that excitement I heard in her voice? I had done a truly sh*tty job trying to convey the gravity of this situation.

Very surprisingly, Grandpa Jon glanced at Thomas before saying, "No, my dear, this was severe bad luck. The survival of...Cora and those like her depend on what you've learned staying secret, and the Seawatchers can be quite unpleasant in keeping others mum on this. Ask Thomas."

Thomas had a storm on his face. "No, don't ask," he said when Helena opened her mouth to do just that. "Just let her talk to somebody, gramps. Maybe they're feeling charitable today. Or are you okay with them blasting her mind clean without her consent?"

Grandpa Jon looked discouraged; it looked like he'd hoped that Thomas and his bad experience in quarantine could talk Helena out of it. "Of course I'm...not okay with it," he said; he said it like it was a heavy admission. "But it's not up to me — it is up to Director Munoz and the Program Managers to make a final decision on this, and I've always trusted them to do what must be done for the sake of the merfolk."

There it was again, that grave, dark expression in his eyes, one that told me he was remembering something morose. But he said no more, and we all got into the truck: I climbed into the front, and Helena and Thomas piled into the back. We backed out of the space and drove to the edge of the parking lot, the only sounds to be heard the wheels on the drive and the rumble of the engine. The silence was downright foreboding.

And it shouldn't have been: it was my first official day of volunteering at the Sea House...and my dread could not have been stronger.

***

The drive was only slightly less uncomfortable than our first ride down to the Sea House with Berechiah. This silence was at least mildly companionable and intermittently broken up by dialogue — Helena asked about Director Munoz and the other top brass at the Slateport Sea House, and I asked Thomas about Marjorie and Quentin. Thomas reported that after testing Berechiah's compulsion, she finally stopped crying and seemed to come to grips with the truth. This news startled Helena.

"She was crying?" she exclaimed.

"Not hard enough that she couldn't aim when she punched Darwin," Thomas said dryly, "but hard enough to make her makeup run, yeah."

If I'd been sitting in the back, I would've kicked him for bringing that up. "What else did she say?" I asked.

"She didn't say much of anything," Thomas said. He was looking out the window, watching the highway slur by. "She kinda just..." He shrugged. "Got over it. Then we went to class. I told her to call me if wanted to talk, but nothing since this morning."

Helena looked perturbed. Was it as the news that Marjorie had been crying? Understandable — it seemed pretty uncharacteristic for Marjorie.

Neither of them had seen Quentin for the rest of the day.

"What about you, gramps?" Thomas sneered. "You seen Quentin? Maybe you helped slap the tape over his mouth when you and your Seawatcher buddies dragged him out of his own bed and threw him in the trunk."

Grandpa Jon's hands tightened on the wheel. "There's no need for scorn," he said mildly. "The...disciplinary team working on this situation hasn't...been deployed yet."

That he was privy to that didn't make me feel better. "You're sure?" I asked.

"Quite sure — I'm on the team. We were drawing up plans on how to...proceed, though. I was in phone calls with Ms. Gray all day."

"And those plans are?" Helena prompted.

He became uncomfortable. "Surveillance, for right now... Though they are talking about another quarantine. They're just not sure of when and how to conduct it."

Thomas swore under his breath.

We arrived in Slateport City around four o'clock. The beach and ocean seemed to sparkle gratuitously today, a hard contrast to the dark funk in the truck. For the first time in a while, I wondered about Nero. Where had that asshole gone after I'd traded Magdalene back to him? I wondered if I ever crossed his mind, and if he ever reflected on how difficult he and his Sharpedo had made my life. Doubt it. Nero seemed about as narrow-minded as they came.

We went down the Saltwater Highway and turned off to the Sea House, but got held up at the security gate. There was a different guard there today, a rail-thin one with bony fingers, and he refused to let us through with Helena, an outsider, in the car.

"Call Ms. Gray," Grandpa Jon said. "Tell her that she is one of the individuals involved in the incident yesterday."

He did, and must have gotten approval, because he looked both surprised and highly displeased when he hung up and pressed the button to let us through. We went down the road, took the turn for the administrative building, and parked.

Helena's head swiveled when we piled out; I wasn't sure what she expected, but she looked slightly disappointed. "Where are—"

"I don't think they really come to this part of the Sea House," I told her. I gestured behind me. "Down the road, there're some other buildings, and the last time Thomas and I were here, they were all—"

"Darwin." Grandpa Jon was actually glaring at me, so I shut up. Right, I guess there was no point in explaining this place to Helena, and where all the merfolk were, especially if Director Munoz decided that she wasn't going to remember the last couple of days anyway.

We went inside, and went through the same ordeal as last time: bags and cell phones in trays, stepping through metal detectors, signing in at the front desk. The secretary behind the glass cubicle looked as displeased as the security guard had, and made a phone call to Ms. Gray while we signed our names in. Helena looked between her and the other desk, where another administrative assistant was storing away our belongings behind the glass. I noticed that her hands were flexing, and wringing the bottom of her skirt — probably she wanted to wrap those fingers around the strap of her satchel.

After a minute, the secretary ended the call and said, "Ms. Gray would like Ms. Stern and Mr. Briney to report to her office. Darwin and Thomas, you can head to the Liaison's meeting. It's down the hall, the conference room where you had orientation."

Thomas grumbled, but I didn't move. Helena raised a brow at me, looking uncertain. I could understand why: she didn't know Ms. Gray, and she didn't know Grandpa. And I had said that I was going to talk to Ms. Gray myself.

"Can I go instead of Grandpa?" I asked hesitantly. "I want to talk to Ms. Gray too."

The secretary frowned. "She only asked for Jon and Ms. Stern."

I ground my teeth together and glanced at Helena. She shrugged. "I'll be fine, Darwin: I asked to come. Thanks anyway."

But her hands were shaking — she tried to smother them in her skirt, but I could see the vibrations in her arms. She may have asked to come, but she was still just a teenaged girl in an unfamiliar, possibly hostile place, with no idea of what to expect. Your fault, Snowman. Your responsibility. I took a breath.

"No, I'll go," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. The secretary's mouth opened, but I turned to Grandpa Jon before she could shoot me down. "Where's Ms. Gray's office?"

He frowned. "Darwin, it's all right. I'll make sure—"

"Grandpa, please." Despite the p-word, I tried to speak in a tone of voice that brokered no argument. Somehow, it worked.

"Upstairs," he muttered. "I suppose we can all go together."

"What the hell, Snowman!" Thomas said. "You're leaving me to go to that meeting by myself? I didn't get a chance to write that stupid get-to-know-me thing in my journal or anything."

I glared at him. For f*ck's sake. Couldn't he see that I was in a lot more trouble than he was? I was missing the meeting, barging into another, and it was my fault that Helena, Quentin, and Marjorie were in this predicament in the first place. Still, he looked so pissed-off that I felt kinda bad, so I tossed him my Seawatcher's journal, the only item that had been allowed through the metal detectors.

"Use mine," I said. "There. Happy?"

He grumbled, but headed down the hall. Grandpa Jon led me and Helena in the opposite direction, to a bank of elevators. While we waited to go up, Helena poked my shoulder.

"I didn't know you could be cool, Darwin," she said with a big smile.

I didn't feel cool. I felt hot — sweat was speeding down my face, and we hadn't even met with Ms. Gray yet.

***

The office was more like a gray-themed study: gray ceiling, gray walls, dark gray carpeting, even a desk and bookshelves painted gray. And of course, there was also Ms. Gray, sitting behind that desk and not looking very happy to see any of us.

Several other people were also there: two older men and Berechiah, who was in a tie-dyed, long-sleeved shirt, mesh running pants, and blue and purple flip flops today, with his mane flowing free down around his shoulders. He sat in a chair beside Ms. Gray's desk, and despite the smile he gave me, his presence did not make me feel good: Ms. Gray might as well have had a sword or a double-barrel shotgun sitting beside her.

"Darwin," Ms. Gray said stiffly. "And Ms. Helena Stern. Welcome. I'm sorry we must meet under these circumstances." She gestured. "Berechiah, and my two fellow Program Managers: Clayton Myers and Geoffrey Fleming."

The two older guys didn't look pleased to see us either, but Berechiah at least said, "Be welcome, sister."

Helena stepped forward. "Hello," she said civilly. "Thanks for having me. I'm sorry to arrive unannounced, but I didn't want our first conversation to be in quarantine...or in the back of an unmarked van."

Ouch. Helena might as well have fired a gun. If possible, Mr. Myers's already-deep frown grew deeper.

"It doesn't please us to do those things," Ms. Gray said, her tone equally mild, "but I'm sure an intelligent woman like yourself has put together why they are necessary. Else a lot more of you would know about...the seafolk."

"I do know," Helena said. "If the...seafolk have been treated anything like the ocean or water-types in the past, then I can understand why the secrecy surrounding their existence could protect them." She clasped her hands like she was trying to keep herself calm. "But I don't want my memories to be erased. You called me intelligent. I want to stay that way. Darwin's told me that...the memory-erasing thing you do to offending parties can cause substantial brain damage."

Ms. Gray glowered at me, like she was just remembering that Helena being here was my fault. "It can. Can. The risk is..."

"I don't want to take it."

Ms. Gray studied her with narrow eyes for a moment, and Mr. Fleming spoke up. He was a short but wide guy, with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He said, "We wouldn't want this either. But our hands are tied here -- we are strict about this, you understand. And it's this strictness that has kept rumors of the merfolk out of places like the Internet."

"What if I offered to help?" Helena asked. "Darwin told me a little bit about the Sea House. If I offered to become a Seawatcher, would you leave my memories intact?"

Mr. Myers smiled, and for some reason, I didn't like him. "That's not how recruitment goes," he said. "We don't just take anyone off the street."

"You took Darwin and Thomas."

"Darwin is Jonathan's grandson, which is how we usually recruit Seawatchers: through trusted families. And Mr. Ryans-Wade..." Mr. Myers shot a hard look at Ms. Gray. "Well, he's an exception."

"Then can't I be an exception?" Helena asked.

Mr. Myers shook his head.

Helena faltered for the first time, and glanced at me for help. Even so, it was tough to break out of my silence — I felt like my jaw had been wired shut.

"She'd make a good Seawatcher," I said. "She's the president of our school's Oceanic Conservation Club. And..." I racked my brain for something else to say in her favor. "Helena didn't you... Didn't you say something about wanting to major in oceanography or something in college?"

"Marine biology," Helena said, lifting a brow at me. "But yes."

"Marine biology," I repeated. "So that means she actually cares about the ocean. She actually wants to know more... Right? And..." I scrambled for a moment. "Don't you think she would have a better appreciation of the ocean if she worked here with the merfolk? Wouldn't you want people like that working for you?" Right, unlike me... Someone who'd kinda been shoved into this role, and was doing this so that he wouldn't have to undergo Berechiah's mental knife. Thinking about it that way was actually a little depressing.

Mr. Myers narrowed his eyes at me. "Following that logic, we would have to wipe your other two classmates, wouldn't we?"

"They're part of the OC Club too," I argued. "They're at least as interested in marine biology as Helena." I hoped. I think Quentin was there like me — procrastination — and Marjorie... I had no idea about Marjorie.

Mr. Myers huffed. "In the end, it's up to Munoz."

"Can we speak to him?" Helena asked hopefully.

"He's not in today," Ms. Gray said. She leaned back in her chair. "But perhaps... We could set up a conference call."

"Carroll," Mr. Myers said testily. "We already had a conference call. This morning at eleven, remember?"

She didn't look at him — she was still studying Helena. "Stop complaining," she said. "This is a serious matter, Clayton — have you forgotten that? We must take Miss Helena's request under consideration." She gave Helena a nod, as if making a decision. "All right. I'll set it up: we'll speak with Mr. Munoz sometime this afternoon."

Helena nodded back, though, like me, she didn't seem to know whether or not to be happy at this. "All right... Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet," Ms. Gray said. Her face shifted into something like regret. "Now that you're here... I think it best if you stayed for now, until we get this situation straightened out."

My stomach bottomed-out. "She can't leave?" I said. My voice was something high and mangled, and Ms. Gray shifted her attention to me in alarm.

"Relax, Darwin," she said. "We're not talking long-term. Just tonight. We have dormitories for the Liaisons in this building. She can stay in one of the rooms."

"Why?" I demanded. "Berechiah put that voice in her head. She can't tell anyone else about the merfolk! Why does she need to stay here? What are you going to do to her?" Before any of them could respond, I said, "What are you going to do to her tomorrow?"

The Program Managers exchanged looks.

Grandpa Jon spoke up for the first time — I'd almost forgotten that he was there: "Quarantine, correct? Have you scheduled it for tomorrow?"

"Yes," Mr. Fleming said grudgingly. "We were going to brief the rest of the disciplinary team later this afternoon, but..."

I felt faint. "Tomorrow? But you haven't talked to Director Munoz yet!"

"And we will," Ms. Gray assured me. "Today. But we can't belabor this if he decides against Helena, Darwin. These things must be done quickly. You remember how we set this up with you and Thomas, right?"

Yes I did — we'd gotten put in quarantine the same day Thomas had found out. But even tomorrow seemed too soon for this BS. "So let her go home, and pick her up tomorrow," I demanded. "You can put her under surveillance or whatever, but don't keep her here against her will!"

No one said anything, not even Helena, who had gone a little pale. With horror, I realized that they all agreed with me, even Mr. Myers — they were all uncomfortable with keeping Helena here, even if she was put in a furnished cell. But they were balancing the morality of the decision with their obligation to the seafolk, and it looked like the seafolk were winning. I whirled.

"Grandpa!" I snapped.

He looked at me with those dark eyes, and bit his lip. He said, "Perhaps... Perhaps it would be better to let her go home, Carroll. This is a tricky situation — her parents—"

"Yes, my parents," Helena said a little shakily. "You don't know them, they would—"

"You'll call them," Ms. Gray said soothingly. "You'll tell them that you're staying with a friend."

Helena shook her head. "I've never stayed at a friend's house before," she said uneasily. "They'll be really worried."

"They let you come here with Darwin and Mr. Briney. You can convince them to let you stay at a friend's house. And if you can't... Perhaps Berechiah can."

Berechiah frowned doubtfully, but said, "Aye."

I was speechless. Ms. Gray met my eyes and said, "Relax, Darwin. Helena is not a prisoner, she is a guest — we will treat her like we would a mermaid boarding with us."

I tried to see it that way, but couldn't. Even if she was offered room and board, I couldn't oversee the blatant fact that Helena was basically being held hostage — she was being told rather than offered a stay, and the Program Managers had made it clear that they were still considering erasing her memory, and possibly inflicting upon her unwanted brain damage.

Abruptly, I felt poisoned by vertigo — why had I let Helena come along come here? Stupid. I should've brushed her off and just had this conversation by myself. Now, just like when Cora had appeared so suddenly at the OC Club meeting, because I hadn't pushed hard enough... I glanced over at her, and could see her fear — there was a sudden darkness in her eyes where the sun-glare stare usually resided, and her lips were drawn tight.

My next words came out of my mouth, but they may as well have been spoken by someone else, because I did not remember consciously choosing to say them:  "Do you have another free room? If she's staying here tonight... I'll stay here with her."

Mr. Myers' lips drew back. "Do we look so villainous? I must've forgotten to take off my pointed horns."

Ms. Gray scrutinized me, and something flickered across her face. Then shrugged. "There are plenty of free rooms," she said. "And Liaisons stay overnight all the time. So if you want to stay, Darwin, you're more than welcome."

I nodded stiffly, and noticed Helena staring at me with abject surprise. "It's... You don't have to do that, Darwin," she said uncertainly.

"Yes I do," I said heavily. And it was true — it was still sinking in that I'd just decided that I wouldn't be sleeping on my own pillow tonight, but the more I recalled Helena's shaking hands and Quentin's bizarre fit, the less I cared. I wasn't sure if it would make a difference, but this was one situation where it wasn't enough to just toss and turn and hope for the best, that was for certain.

--

Author's Note

Oh man! Writing FLOOD has been a trial lately. It's probably just because, after 300+ days straight of consistent writing, I dropped the keyboard a while back and took a break. Now I'm trying to break back into it once again, and, as it always is at first, it's just rough and unpleasant.

Luckily, I wrote this chapter before I stopped, so it's still pretty good, by my standards!