^"Be My Valentine" (10-29-21)

--

DARWIN

Friday, April 13, 2018

I spent the rest of the afternoon working, which was the worst thing I could have done. I barely heard Lyle when he assigned me to helping clean the bath house, barely heard Hannah when she explained how to work the floors, and I kept running into stuff: walls, corners, people, buckets. My intestines were doing gymnastics, and I couldn't concentrate enough to take in my surroundings or even be awed at the fact that a good chunk of the people I passed in the halls when refilling the wash bucket were mermaids and mermen.

I only came back into focus when I was working with Thomas — after the bathhouse was clean, Lyle sent us into the halls of the Seafolk Suites, where Thomas mopped the floors and I scrubbed the windows. After I mindlessly wiped the same one three or four times, Thomas finally cracked me on the back of the head and asked what the hell had happened. I told him, in dreary, disheartened detail, and when I finished his face had twisted all up.

"So she's screwed," he said. "They're screwed. They're gonna go ahead and let that bastard...talk to them."

"Ms. Gray said she would speak with Mr. Munoz," I said, but I didn't sound too confident in that outcome.

Thomas strangled the neck of his mop like it was Berechiah's throat. "She's givin' you the runaround, Snowman," he growled. "The decision's been made: they're gonna throw them in that room, and then they're gonna wipe them clean. And what do ya wanna bet that at least one of them's gonna come out a little funny?"

"Don't say that," I snapped. "You're talking about Marjorie — don't you care about her?"

He gave me a pained look, one that made it seem like much as he did, he didn't want to care about Marjorie. What was the point, if he couldn't save her from this? It was a sobering predicament.

We continued cleaning. At one point, the doors to the Suites opened, and a group of white-haired merfolk came in, faces tanned and glittering with happy smiles. Terri Mcgee was a the head of the pack, and led them helpfully around the Warning: Slippery Floor sign I'd put up before they all disappeared down the hall. Outside, the sun was going down: probably, those merfolk were getting ready to retire for the evening.

"You think we can do that bus ticket thing?" Thomas asked quietly. He was dunking the head of his mop into the wash bucket.

I remembered the Wingull I'd seen hiding in the tree, and said, "I don't think it would work. Grandpa mentioned surveillance. I think they're already watching Marjorie and Quentin. They'd just follow them, and they'd be alone. Easier to..." I trailed off.

"Then what, Snowman? Tell me. You saw Marj today: she was messed up. And yesterday, she was cryin' too, when that cocksucker talked to her. This...Pitch, or whatever, it screws her up. If her memories are cut out..."

I looked at him helplessly, wishing I had the right answer. But this all hinged on Mr. Munoz — if he said no, it was over, and there was nothing we could do. The Seawatchers had the guns, had Berechiah, had the Wingulls. Still...even though it seemed hopeless, I found myself tearing at my fingertips. I felt like I had to do something.

"We have to make them," I muttered.

Thomas let out a humorless snort. "How?"

I had an idea. It wasn't much... But it was something. "Mr. Munoz was at our quarantine," I said. "Maybe he'll be at theirs. If he is, we have to be there. Maybe if we talk to him directly, we can convince him."

He glanced at me. "You couldn't convince Ms. Gray. What makes you think you'll convince the top dog?"

"I don't know. But we at least have to show him that we aren't okay with it."

Thomas looked up at the wooden ceiling. "Think they'll let us tag along?"

"Maybe if we offer to help, they will. Marjorie was upset, right? When the...disciplinary team comes for her, I don't think she would go willingly."

"Def not. A Wingull would have to knock her out again."

"And think about the kind of commotion that would cause. We got lucky yesterday: Marjorie could be in a public place when they go to take her to quarantine."

"Wouldn't they wait til she's alone?"

"Maybe they can't afford to wait. But you're right, they still want to be cautious. That's where we get them: we offer to convince Marjorie to go to quarantine voluntarily. She'd go if you asked, right?"

"Don't overestimate me, Snowman. She still hates my guts, but she was just scared sh*tless today."

"The Seawatchers should scare her sh*tless too. Especially if they bring those goons with the guns like yesterday."

An abrupt smile came to his face — why did this guy like it when I cursed aloud? "So we convince Marj to come along, we ride with her for moral support... And when we get to quarantine we kinda just...stick around?"

"Yeah."

"What's to prevent our friend Berechiah from makin' us march out?"

"I think Grandpa will be there. He probably wouldn't like it if Berechiah used Pitch on me."

"I don't think Gramps is reliable in these matters, Snowman."

I said nothing to that. "The trouble is Quentin. We have to find out what happened to him and get ahold of him somehow. Do you have his number?"

"Nope. Barely know the guy."

I tried not to get anxious. "Okay, can you call Marjorie, then? Tell her you want to talk to her more about this stuff — she's probably still stressing about it."

"Her phone's dead thanks to you, genius. Well, I guess I could call her house phone, but..." Thomas trailed off, and wrung the neck of his mop again. I frowned.

"What?" I asked. "Do you think this is a bad idea?"

He sighed heavily. "Honestly?" he said. "It feels like we're just spinnin' our wheels, Snowman. But it's better than nothin'."

***

A few more halls, and we were done for the day.

We walked across the pier together, buckets and mops and rags in our hands, and it wasn't until we reached the stairs leading up to the Sea House's Pavilion that I remembered that I'd decided to stay for the night. And it wasn't until that moment that I realized I'd only brought my bookbag, had no change of clothes, no dinner, and really no plan for how I would be spending the rest of the night.

I was deliberating who to ask about this when a cry went up behind me: "Darwin!"

I turned to see someone peeking over the edge of the pier — Cora, backlit by the dying sun. Thomas and I went over and found her in the water up to her shoulders. Below the surface, I saw her long white tailfin sweeping back and forth.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. I'd be lying if I said that a flash of annoyance didn't go through me at the sight of her — her being at the OC meeting was what had set these events in motion. But she looked so upset that I couldn't even muster a frown. "What's wrong?" I asked, kneeling down before her.

There was saltwater sluicing down her face, but I couldn't tell whether or not they were tears. "Are they all right?" she asked. "Marjorie, Helena, Quentin?"

That was the question, wasn't it? "No. Yes... I don't know." I looked away from her. "It's... It's kinda..."

"Darwin, I'm so sorry." She grabbed my pants leg. "Idiot, I be such an idiot... Should not have risked it, but I was so childish and I..." Her grip tightened. "What will become of 'em now? Quarantine?"

"Yeah." I explained our meeting with Ms. Gray, and what was supposed to take place tomorrow. When I finished, she jammed her fingers up through her hair, looking distressed.

"Well, Berry..." She hesitated. "His Pitch...he be the most skilled around. I reckon they won't..."

She stopped, staring up at us: Thomas's lips had thinned, and Arceus only knew what was on my face.

"What can I do?" she asked eventually.

I glanced at Thomas. He said, "Do you have Director Munoz's ear?"

"Nay... Met him once, but..." She trailed off helplessly. "Would he be able to stop this?"

"The big shots said he's got the final word," Thomas said.

Her face hardened. "Then I'll...I'll speak with him," she said. "I'll stop this. Promise."

I wished I could believe her, but Thomas was right: it felt like we were treadmilling here.

We left Cora at the docks and headed towards administration. In the Pavilion, Kathy Ingram was setting up a telescope before a circle of wide-eyed merkids, while several other merfolk lounged in the background, sipping pina coladas or catching the last of the sun's rays as it subsided beyond the horizon line. From there, it was a long walk to the parking lot, where Grandpa was waiting for us in his idling truck.

He got out when we approached, allowing a blast of delicious AC to hit me in the face. "I just got back from seeing Helena," he informed me. "They've put her in a room on the third floor of the dorms. I told Ms. Gray you would take the one next to hers... That is, if you're still intent on staying."

It was hard to nod my head in affirmation — actually, it wasn't. Knowing that I'd complicated my night brought me pain, but I'd already promised, hadn't I? "I'm staying."

Thomas scowled — I'd mentioned my intention to stay the night with Helena sometime during our volunteer work, and by the look he gave Grandpa, it appeared he wasn't relishing the thought of riding home with him.

Neither did Grandpa. But he gave a nod. "All right. Call me if you need anything."

I hesitated, and then said, "Actually... Grandpa, listen."

Quickly, I explained what Thomas and I had discussed when cleaning the lobby of the Seafolk Suites. Grandpa's eyebrows arched when I finished.

"Accompany us to quarantine? I don't think they would go for that," he said.

"You're on the disciplinary team," I pointed out. "Can't you convince them?"

"I don't think it's a good idea either," Grandpa Jon said. "You two being there would...complicate things."

"Of course it would," Thomas said icily. " 'Cause us bein' there would make you scumbags look your sh*t right in the face."

Grandpa was exasperated. "Thomas—"

"And it's bad enough you gave 'Lena a fancy cell," he went on. "Marj's not gettin' snatched up by guys in black."

"Berechiah will be there," Grandpa Jon said. "He'll make sure temperatures don't run high."

"Berechiah won't be makin' sure of anything — not unless he wants a black eye."

"Please Grandpa," I said, trying to get us back on topic. "Shouldn't they at least have some familiar faces nearby when this goes down? This is our fault, after all." Actually, it was his fault, and Cora's fault for coming to the club meeting, but shifting the blame didn't make this feel any less crappy.

Grandpa Jon studied me, then shook his head. Regretfully, he said, "Boys, I know you mean well, but... Truly, I don't think there's anything you can do at this point,"

I fell silent, and glanced at Thomas.

"I don't think you've got a choice, old head," he growled. "Marj and I are goin' on a date tomorrow. If I see some assholes in black roll up and try to nab her... Well, let's just say I know how to holler. Want the Seawatchers to be on the nightly news?"

Grandpa's face withered. He hmm-ed and haa-ed for a moment, but finally said, "I'll talk to Ms. Gray about it. But boys, I don't think this will amount to much."

"Just pick us up tomorrow," Thomas snapped.

That was the end of the conversation. He and Thomas loaded into the truck, and I waved to them from the curb of the administration building before they pulled away. Yikes. What a ride home that would be.

I went inside and got my bookbag from the secretary at the desk. She told me my room was ready and where to find it: the third floor, left wing, a story beneath Ms. Gray's study. I took the elevator up and headed down the hall, but skipped my room, and knocked on the one right next door. Helena opened on the second knock, and before I spoke, I studied her face. She looked paler than usual, but she was calm as she invited me in.

"Ms. Gray told me you were doing volunteer hours," she said mildly. "How was it?"

Who cares? "It was fine." I peered around the room. It was small but well furnished: in the back corner was the bed, wardrobe, and a television, while the front of the room boasted a small kitchenette, a hallway, and a door that must've led to the bathroom. Helena had recently used it: the air in the hall was warm, and I smelled coconut-and-cocoa-butter-scented body wash. (Which, coincidentally, my mom also used.)

Helena went into the kitchenette, which had a small fridge, and pulled out a ginger ale. "Want one?"

"No, but thank you."

She shrugged and sat down at the tiny dining room table, and I took a seat across from her. For a beat, all was silent, save for the TV — it was blaring in the background, talking about an upcoming Pokémon tournament to be hosted in Mauville City.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

She shrugged. "As well as I can be." She sniffed, and rubbed at her nose. "My parents though... They're another story."

I tensed. "What did you say when you called them?"

"That I was staying at a friend's house. Marj's house. That's at least believable. But they were still pretty upset. Today's a day of firsts: first time riding somewhere after school with a friend, first time staying overnight at someone's house." Her gaze suddenly sharpened with threat. "Don't judge me. I've never done it before because I'm not that outgoing. That's all."

I tried not to shrink under her glare. "Well... Me neither. This is my first time staying somewhere by myself too."

"Oh." She relaxed...slightly. There was still plenty else to be upset about, after all.

Another silence, this one slightly awkward. I peered down at my hands, which were wringing.

Eventually, she said, "So...I guess it fell through. My memories are going to be erased, huh?"

I felt my face tighten. "We don't know yet. I going to try and go with you to quarantine tomorrow. Maybe I can convince Director Munoz..."

She didn't say anything to that; did she not think I was capable? I felt my shoulders sag. She was probably right — like Thomas said, I hadn't convinced the Program Managers, had I? My guilt was suddenly immense, and so was my need to apologize. So I did:

"Listen...I'm really sorry about this." I stared at the table-top when I said it, not ready to see her expression.

"You're not the one keeping me here, Darwin."

"But I should've tried harder to stop it. I shouldn't have let you come. And...I should've done something when Cora showed up at the meeting. I knew there was a risk of something like this happening... I just didn't think it would, you know, happen."

"I forgive you. I might as well. I probably won't remember this conversation tomorrow anyway."

"We don't know that."

"But it could. And it..." Her brow suddenly furrowed deeply, the picture of absolute frustration. "I can't stop thinking about Cora, how I saw her in the pool. A girl with a tailfin... A mermaid. If I hadn't seen it with my lying eyes..." She gestured. "And all this. People that actually interact with and help the merpeople! Something like this has my name written all over it. It screams Helena Stern. I meant it when I said it felt like destiny that I'd found that out, that I'd come here today: all those years scuba diving, watching oceanic documentaries, cleaning up trash on the beach, planning out my future in marine conservation... And then I find this, this, actually serving the people of the sea. Something beyond picking up cigarette butts and majoring in marine biology. Actually affecting people's lives, affecting real change... And tomorrow, I might forget it."

I swallowed. What a tragedy, I thought. What bizarre universe was this that Helena Stern wasn't the one that became a Seawatcher, but Darwin Frickin' Blakesley was? This girl loved studying and protecting the ocean, and I... Well, I didn't much give a care, even now. I was doing that to prevent what would be...what might be happening to Quentin, Marjorie, and Helena tomorrow. Irony at its most excruciating.

Helena's shoulders slumped a little, but she looked up at me. "Could you tell me more about the Seawatchers?" she asked. "What you do? What you've done? And about that merman you said started all this? What was his name? Nero?"

"Sure." I hated talking about myself, but for her, I would. It was the least I could do.

***

MARJORIE

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Marj woke up with a start; her heart crashing in her ears so frantically that for a desperate moment, she couldn't figure out why she'd woken so suddenly.

Then she heard it again: a loud, high-pitched sound, rippling through the halls of the house.

House phone, she thought, but her terrified heart didn't start to calm until she'd made the journey out of her room, down the stairs, and into the living room, where the phone sat between the armchair and wraparound couch, blinking cheerfully as it alerted the house of an incoming call. Even then, she only took her first steady breath after she'd made a circuit around the place, checking the doors and windows. Then she contemplated the phone and its obnoxious ringing, which had sounded almost sinister in the piercing silence. She'd have to figure out how to change the settings on this thing — she didn't want any more near-heart attacks late at night.

Or early in the morning — she checked the screen, and it read 4:05 AM. The caller ID said (520) 807-1777. Thomas. She'd memorized his number shortly after he'd first given it to her sometime last year, giddy with first love. Or first...whatever it had been.

She picked it up. "Marjorie Ellis speaking."

"Hey babe. How're you feeling?"

"Annoyed. Why are you calling me so early in the morning?"

"Just checking in. I was tossing and turning from all that happened yesterday, so I figured you would be too."

He was half right — it had taken a while to fall asleep, and she didn't appreciate having it interrupted. "I'm fine. Stop bothering me."

"Until later today, right? We're still on for eleven?"

She made to answer, but a sudden sound cut her off — it came from across the room, from the large pair of windows behind a set of drawn, velvet curtains. Something had hit the glass. Color drained from her face and breath from her lungs. She waited, heart galloping, to hear it again.

Silence.

"Marj?" Thomas asked.

She took a breath. Her wrist was shaking, and she dug her fingers into her nightshirt to make it stop. "Why... Why are we doing this? If they're really going to come get me to take me to this quarantine... Why are we going out into the open? Shouldn't we be...hiding or something?"

"Wish we could." Thomas's voice turned uncharacteristically sour. "But I don't think it would work. They've got eyes on you already, I think, and if you ran, they'd just go after you. So if we're out in the open, and you're with me, well..." Marj imagined him shrugging. "At least I'm there with you. And if we're in public, they can't pull any crazy sh*t. So...eleven?"

"Eleven."

"All right then. Night."

He hung up, and Marj sat down heavily in the armchair, looking up at the dark ceiling. Is this real? She remembered everything that happened yesterday...and the day before that now, with the pool, Cora, the Wingulls, and fighting with Darwin, but for some reason, it just...wasn't sinking in yet. Mermaids existed? These humans called Seawatchers worked for them? And now the Seawatchers were coming after her because she knew mermaids existed, and somehow they were going to erase her memories... She'd cried and screamed and mulled it over for hours, but it still felt like something she'd dreamt up. It didn't feel like this was actually happening to her.

And so she had no idea of how to feel about any of it. Scared? Angry?

Clink. That sound again. She froze. Again, it came from the window. Her heart picked up its pace, and she rose, facing the window. Slowly, shakily, she advanced forward, and fingered the soft velvet.

All at once she yanked it aside, and took in the view of her expansive, gated front lawn. Closer were the shaped hedges lining the outside of the house. Something was nested in the one right below her window: a Wingull, peering up at her with a suspicious glint in its eye.

She almost thought nothing of it, until she realized how weird it was for a Wingull to be so far from the coast. And then she remembered the Wingulls that had attacked her Thursday afternoon when she'd taken Cora to the pool... The Seawatcher Wingulls. They've got eyes on you already.

Marj closed the curtain and made the long hike back upstairs. When she tucked herself back under the covers, she felt a little amazed: something must've been wrong with her, because she was still more afraid of the dark house than she was of the thought of a Seawatcher Wingull keeping tabs on her.

***

They met downtown, in the center of two blocks of rustic shops, condos, and museums. The area experienced heavy foot traffic on the weekends, so it took a while for Marj to find a park, and then she had to hike a ways to get to the designated meeting space, a giant fountain gushing forth from the mouth of an upturned, stone Seaking. Somehow, she still got there before Thomas did.

But to his credit, he arrived only a few minutes later, in a black T-shirt, jeans, and red tennis shoes. "Hi," he said when he came up. He cocked his head, taking in her sleeveless white top and black pencil skirt. "You look cute."

Her mouth flattened out. She used to like it when he said that to her... Now she was pretty sure it was the standard greeting he gave to all the other chicks on his arm. "What do we do now?" she asked.

He shrugged and folded down beside her. Even sitting, he was a full head taller than her. "Keep ourselves busy, I guess. They'll probably find us."

"And...when they arrive?"

"I guess we go with them." He stared out towards the street for a moment before abruptly reaching down and taking her hand. "You scared?" he asked lowly.

She stiffened, and pulled from his grip. "I don't know... Should I be?"

"No idea. I just threw in with these assholes, and all I've seen so far are cheers and smiles."

"And some cute mermaids, I bet."

He shot her a dirty look. "Whatever. Point is, I got no idea if they're good, bad, or in between. Thanks to Darwin, I got to skip all the scary sh*t."

"I guess we'll see."

He scrutinized her. "You don't look...or sound scared."

"Did you lose the ability to see past my resting bitch face?"

"C'mon, Marj, be serious. Tell me. Really."

"I told you: I...I don't know." She shook her head, fingered the strap of her purse. "I've thought about it, and... I don't know. Maybe it'll be better if they do erase my memory. Then I don't have to find out."

His brow hardened. "Even if it might f*ck up the wiring upstairs?"

"What's the risk?"

"Bad enough."

"But I don't have a choice anyway."

He took her hand again, and this time she let him hold it; he tugged lightly at her fingers. "No. And that is the problem."

A cold thread of fear wormed its way to the center of her chest, but before it could be fully realized, Thomas lifted her to her feet. "Want to go to the phone shop? Maybe we can bring yours back from the dead."

They walked down the busy street hand-in-hand, something they'd only done a couple of times before. But it wasn't awkward... At least, not as awkward as it had been on previous occasions. Usually, Marj felt like they didn't fit together — she was too shut in, and he was too outgoing, and so when they tried to meet in the middle like this, it just felt wrong. But today, she took comfort in her hand in his — despite the fact that Veronica Hughes had muddied the water between them, he'd made an effort to be by her side today as her reality became surreal and uncertain.

Still, this seemed less like a date and more like busy work — after they reached the iFix and Repair shop at the end of the block, they kind of stood around, not looking at each other, while the owner's Porygon-Z tried to revive Marj's drowned phone. Thomas spent the time either looking at his own phone or checking out the ones on the wall. At one point, he called her over and pointed out a cheap smartphone the size of an old-fashioned Pokédex.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"Thinking of downgrading?"

He smirked at her. "Nah, but when this sh*t blows over, I was thinkin' of recommending some of the cheap ones to the Snowman. He seriously needs it."

" 'The Snowman'? You mean Darwin?"

"Yup. You know he's still got a flip phone? F*cking embarrassment."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll be on his mind when he goes to the eleventh grade and you don't."

He poked her playfully. "So you do still care, Marj. Nice to know." He studied the phone once more and nodded. "Fire Phone Mini, huh? I'll have to remember this one. Cheap, small, he can finally download the Pokédex app, and he can still call his mom. Win, win, win."

Call his Mom. Marj wrung the strap of her purse. She'd thought about that this morning — calling her mom. Her dad, too. The former was due to be back in two weeks, the latter four, but after Thursday's chaos, Marj had found herself pining for them both in a way she hadn't since she was much younger. But what was the point, she'd told herself — as Thomas had helped her understand Friday morning, that merman's voice had set inside her head like a disease, so even if she'd wanted to talk to her parents about what she'd discovered... She couldn't. She could only present them a facsimile of the truth, one that probably wouldn't make any sense. Darwin and Thomas were the only ones she could speak clearly to about this, and suddenly she felt incredibly lonely because of it. Lonely and increasingly afraid.

"Miss Ellis? Your phone is ready."

They picked up her phone at the front desk — dry and fully-functioning now, thanks to the Porygon-Z — and paid the fee before heading back outside.

There, they found six people waiting for them. Four of them had undisguised firearms hooked into their belts.

"Good morn, sister." The man in the middle was comically overdressed in outrageous colors — black-striped shirt and yellow jeans, with old-fashioned gladiator sandals, goddamn! — but that didn't make him any less intimidating — his voice chilled Marj to the core, because it was the same voice she heard in the beats between her thoughts, sometimes in her sleep, constantly reminding her to shut up about talking about mermaids to anyone but Thomas and the Snowman. " 'Tis a great thing, seein' ye hale and hearty."

His words were kind, and spoken soothingly, but Marj felt that thread of fear inside her expanding, swallowing the inside of her chest, pushing up into her skull. She tried to open her mouth and speak frankly and coldly like she usually did — Are you Seawatchers? The ones taking me to quarantine — but she couldn't get her eyes past those guns. What were they there for? Did they intend to use them? When? When she refused to go along with them?

"Marjorie Ellis?" one of the gunmen asked. "We're from the Hoenn Society of Marine Conservationists. We're here to escort you to quarantine. We were told that you've already been informed of what this means." He shot a look at Thomas. "Do you understand what's happening?"

She was aware of Thomas coming to stand beside her, and suddenly she didn't care if he'd taken Veronica Hughes on a date, didn't care that he was too friendly with every other girl at RTHS — she was so glad that he was here right now, to help her navigate what had suddenly become a very frightening situation. His hand brushed hers, and she slipped her fingers in his. He gave her a supportive squeeze.

"Yes, I know," she said. Her voice came out as harsh as she needed it to be.

"You guys talk to old man Jon Briney?" Thomas growled. "I told him I was goin' along with Marj today, and if any of you guys have a problem—"

"Nay, brother," Berechiah said soothingly. "Your intent has been made known: we shall be happy to have ye. Come along." He gestured invitingly. "We've parked not far away."

He headed off, and after exchanging a glance, Thomas and Marj fell into step behind him. The Seawatcher gunmen brought up the rear, very plainly cutting off any escape. Marj squeezed Thomas's hand again, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She wished she could've returned it... But she was no good at smiling.

They ducked into an empty alley and came out on a narrow drive with a museum on one side, and a small cathedral on the other. The van was parallel-parked by the church playground, guarded by a small flock of Wingulls that took to the air as they approached. One of the Seawatchers unlocked and slid open the side door, and Thomas and Marj climbed inside. Once he belted in, Thomas held her hand in his lap. Berechiah sat on Marj's other side, which she distinctly disliked.

"How long's this gonna take?" Thomas asked.

"Uncertain, my brother," Berechiah rumbled. "A good bit of the afternoon. But we shall see." He caught Marj's eye and smiled. "There be no need for such a face, sister. It would appear my brother has struck a fear in you, but I be quite skilled at what I do. There is little chance you will face harm, from me or the Seawatchers — we do not relish this part of our job, trust me."

Marj said nothing as the van pulled out of the park and ambled down the street. And she tried not to internalize what the merman said — the less she thought about what was happening, the easier this was to handle.

***

DARWIN

Just like last time, quarantine was held near the sea.

But unlike last time, it was in a small cottage, one standing on a steep bluff overlooking the vastness of the ocean. It was somewhere in the miles of private property lining the Slateport Peninsula, but where, exactly, I had no idea: Helena and I went in one of the Seawatcher vans, which had no windows in the back, and I was too nervous to pay much attention to turns and stops.

The cottage was modest and old-fashioned, with fading red shingles and a cream-colored façade — cheerfully innocent on the outside, which was probably the point. But it had bars on the windows and a security gate on front of the door, and I wondered: was that to keep people out, or to keep its occupants locked in?

Inside, it was bigger than the room that Thomas and I had been locked in, with a kitchen, a small den, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. It was all dressed like the home of an elderly couple: sunny color scheme, furniture with patched upholstery, tables with carved feet, flower-patterned curtains, a rumbling coffee-maker, and a full bookshelf that only a retired couple would have time to read. The light inside was also strong and pleasant, and upon entry, I was almost tricked into thinking that this place was just a cute little home away from home, where one went to get away from the problems of everyday life. I might've fallen for it if my eyes hadn't been constantly cycling between Helena, Marjorie, and Quentin.

The atmosphere also kept me sober: we were all sitting in the den now, and around us was the standing wall of the disciplinary team, big guys with guns looking wary of us even going to the kitchen for a cup of joe. Grandpa and Berechiah sat at the kitchen table, and my classmates each had their own seat except for Thomas and Marjorie, who'd piled on the faded old couch. Helena sat ramrod straight in a checkered armchair: from there, her eyes appeared to be without pupils, and she kept picking at the hem of her borrowed Seawatchers T-shirt. Marjorie was shaking but looked a little more put together, and her hand in Thomas's seemed to be soothing her.

But Quentin... I was really worried about Quentin. I'd stuck to Helena's side throughout the morning, so I hadn't been present when he'd been picked up, and Grandpa Jon hadn't reported any trouble when taking him in, but he just looked... Bad. Exhausted, hung-over, sleep-deprived, sick, delirious... One of these words described him, and yet none of them did. As I watched, his head kept bobbing like he was trying not to nod off, and when I got a look at his eyes, they were bloodshot and dilated — way too dilated. He also kept picking at his cuticles and muttering to himself, to someone that wasn't there.

It was...alarming. I wasn't best buds with Quentin, not by a long shot, but I knew him well enough to know that something was seriously wrong with him — it was like he was someone else wearing a Quentin Flowers skin.

How had this happened? A bad feeling appeared in my stomach. He'd been the peak of health on Thursday, before... Before the Wingulls had knocked him out and he'd later spun into that weird fit. That and this bizarre behavior... Were they somehow connected? Had we been right: had Berechiah's Pitch caused this?

I wanted to ask someone to help... But I wasn't sure what could be done right now. Take him to a hospital? They'd call his mom, and no one could know that he was in the custody of the Seawachers right now... Right? We have to do something! We — no. Looking around, it appeared I was the only one alarmed by Quentin's behavior — everyone else, disciplinary team included, looked either caught up in anxiety or thinking about other things. If anyone had truly given a damn, they probably would've said something already.

You say something, Snowman — it's not like you're doing anything, anyway!

And wouldn't you know it, just as I opened my mouth, there was a knock on the door.

One of the gunmen wrenched it open, and Director Munoz pushed through the doorway, wearing a blue Seawatchers polo and black slacks. He was followed in by Ms. Gray and Mr. Fleming, both of whom didn't look too pleased to be there. And Director Munoz, after casting an eye around the room, didn't look too pleased to see me.

He turned and took in Marjorie, then Helena. "Terrance Munoz," he said to them. "I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, ladies. Ms. Gray told me about your meeting yesterday, and I assume Mr. Blakesley did all the other talking for me. Do you understand your situation?"

I looked at Helena, then stood. She rose a moment later. "Director Munoz, Helena Stern," she said. "We're hoping we could change your mind about this."

"Stern?" He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Ah. That explains the resemblance."

Confusion crossed her face, and then her eyes glowed with hope. "You know my father."

"I've worked with Captain Stern many a time on various conservation projects," Director Munoz said. "We're good friends, and so I know how protective he is of you..." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Arceus, what a situation! If he knew you were here right now, he'd probably kill me."

"Let it go, then." I'd never known that I was capable of speaking with such venom, but somehow I packed those four words with enough acid to make Quincy proud. "Nothing's happened yet, and you've got the final say. Just let them go, and we can all go home. No one has to know."

"Better yet," Helena said enthusiastically, "let me join you. Let us—" She glanced at Majorie — "join you. I love oceanic conservation as much as my father does. He would approve of me working with your organization, and he'd be even more proud if he knew that I was actually assisting the merfolk—"

"That's the problem," Director Munoz said regretfully. "If he knew."

She faltered. "I wouldn't tell him," she insisted. "Or anyone."

"I wish I could go on your word alone," Mr. Munoz said regretfully, "but we simply can't operate on blind faith. That's a slippery slope, Helena, one that nearly wiped out the merfolk in the past. The Seawatchers have shouldered the responsibility of keeping all of this out of the public eye so that they may live peacefully, and it's a job we take quite seriously." He looked over to Berechiah. "Are you ready?"

Berechiah inclined his head in agreement, and Mr. Munoz said, "I'm sorry, you three, but we must get started. Be assured, Berechiah is as good as they come in terms of mindwashing, and you are perfectly safe here. We are going to go one at a time, and I must ask that when one is in session, the rest of us wear these special ear pieces." He plucked something that looked like a hearing aid out of his pocket. "They're specially made, and will block out Berechiah's voice. Normally, this wouldn't be necessary, as Pitch only affects the intended target, but sometimes notes slip through and affect others."

One of the gun goons started handing them out, and Director Munoz handed me the ear piece he was holding, but I didn't take it. "Mr. Munoz—"

"I'm sorry, Darwin, that's it. I've made my decision."

"It's not their fault," I argued. "Cora—"

"I know what Cora said. I spoke to her this morning."

My teeth hammered together. "What did she say?"

"She took responsibility for the whole incident, which was right of her. But that doesn't change our operating procedures. We were founded on the need to keep the existence of the merfolk a secret, and that is what we're going to do."

I tried to think of something else to say, but the uncompromising set of his face scrambled me. Eventually, I said, "It's not right. Can't you make another exception?"

"No. Put these on, Darwin."

I looked at Grandpa — who would not look at me — and then glanced helplessly at Helena. She looked sad, and...cheated. Or maybe that was me, feeling like I'd cheated her. I'd been determined to somehow put a stop to this, but there didn't seem to be anything that would change their minds. It was disheartening.

"Young man," Director Munoz said, "are you feeling alright?"

He was looking at Quentin, and finally everyone turned their attention to him. Quentin looked blearily up at Director Munoz and then resumed at picking at something on his wrist. "Fine," he muttered.

"He's not fine," I said. "There's something wrong with him. I think...I think it was the Wingulls. He was acting weird after they used Supersonic on him on Thursday."

Mr. Munoz frowned. "In extreme cases, Supersonic can act like Pitch, knotting things together upstairs. If that's the case, Berry can do something about that."

"Aye," Berechiah agreed. "Come, lad, you'll be first."

Quentin didn't move, and continued scratching, so a couple of the gunmen went over and lifted him to his feet. They were civil about it, and guided him carefully over to the hall where Berechiah was waiting, but I didn't like how swiftly they broke into action when one of us was noncompliant.

Berechiah, the gunmen, and Quentin disappeared down the hall, and Director Munoz said, "The rest of you relax. There's TV and radio, but no cell service here, so pop in a movie to watch if you like. Put the subtitles on, though, because you won't be able to hear it. Jonathan, perhaps you can prepare them something to eat." He lifted an eyebrow at me. "Darwin," he prompted.

I hadn't realized that I was still standing, and I really didn't want to sit. Sitting would mean that I'd lost... But I had, hadn't I, symbolism or no. Slowly, I folded down into my chair, teeth threatening to break against one another. Helena reached over, tapped my knee.

"Thanks for trying," she said quietly.

I couldn't look at her, so as I put my earpiece in, I looked to Thomas. He hadn't moved or spoken since Director Munoz had arrived, and there was something resigned about the way both he and Marjorie leaned against the back of the couch. Perhaps they'd both assumed that there was nothing they could've done about this, so they hadn't tried.

But even so, there was a dark storm in Thomas's eyes. He'd resigned his ex-girlfriend to this...but he didn't like it.

None of us touched the TV, so Ms. Gray chose a movie for us and popped it in. It was a historical drama. Behind us, Grandpa Jon worked in the kitchen, spreading mayo on wheat bread, chopping celery. He was really the only movement in the cottage: the rest of us resembled statues, waiting for this BS to be over.

Then I noticed the coffee cup on the low table rattling, and felt hard vibrations in the canals of my ears. Confused, I risked popping out one of my earpieces, and jumped as a high and peeling sound pierced the depths of my ears.

"Great Arceus!" Mr. Fleming cried. "What is that?"

I exchanged a horrified look with Thomas. I — we — knew what it was.

It was Quentin. He was screaming.

--

FLOOD Artwork: Helena Stern

I don't often draw Helena — in fact, these days I'm drawing Marjorie at lot more often. Hopefully I'll do some more Helena pics soon!