Poseidon’s Children

  POSEIDON'S

  CHILDREN

  Michael West

  Copyright © 2012 by Michael West

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

  Cover art and illustrations: Matthew Perry

  Cover art (inspired by The Evil Dead movie poster)

  and illustrations in this book

  Copyright © 2012 Matthew Perry & Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  Editor: Amanda DeBord

  Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  ISBN Number 9781937929978

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012933493

  Seventh Star Press

  www.seventhstarpress.com

  [email protected]

  Publisher’s Note:

  Poseidon’s Children is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  To Sara Larson, one of my best and dearest friends,

  who was my guiding star on this long and turbulent voyage,

  and to whom I am forever indebted.

  And dedicated to the memory of Stan Winston,

  who understood that creatures could be characters

  rather than monsters.

  The sea has never been friendly to man.

  -Joseph Conrad

  PART ONE

  COLONIAL BAY

  ONE

  Susan Rogers had always been afraid of the water, but not because she couldn’t swim. No, that wasn’t it at all. You see...things lived in there. The sea teemed with monsters both great and small, and though the night surf was black as tar, her mind’s eye saw them lurking just below its churning surface, waiting for her; slimy, filthy things; things that stung, things with teeth that could take the flesh from her bones bit by bit, or just swallow her whole if they were so inclined.

  A full moon shone down like a lighthouse beacon, its bright glow riding the incoming waves to David. Susan watched him wade farther out into the tide, watched brackish water climb his muscular legs to hide his Speedos.

  Cool ocean breezes pulled at her long, blonde hair, and she shuddered. “Why can’t we play out your Cinemax fantasies back in the hot tub?”

  David sighed. “We did that last night. How often are we on a beach with no one else around?”

  She glanced up and down this island shore. The sand belonged to them alone. Behind her, a wall of hotels, shops, and restaurants stood at the edge of the strand, their windows dark; Colonial Bay had gone to sleep. David was right. Not a soul would see them.

  Her body gave another uncontrolled shudder.

  “But don’t you know how dangerous it is to be in the ocean at night? There’s...there’s an undertow or something...” Susan scanned the dunes for an official sign to back her up, but there were none. She crossed her arms over her skimpy bikini top, her teeth chattering. “And besides that, I’m freezing.”

  “That’s because you’re standing out there in the wind.” He moved farther from shore, from safety, his head now a dark shape bobbing in the surf. “Come out here and I’ll keep you warm.”

  Then he smiled; his eyes and teeth sparkled in the dimness, daring her out.

  Susan shook her head and giggled in spite of her fears.

  David was outrageously handsome, a Prince Charming plucked from her every youthful dream, a fantasy she’d abandoned with tea parties and Easy-Bake Ovens. But here he stood, a flesh and blood reality. And whenever he smiled at her that way, silly as it sounded, it set her stomach aflutter and made her feel like Cinderella at the ball.

  She scanned her surroundings again, cursing herself for her phobias. No light but the glow of the moon, no cars passing by, no foot traffic on the beach; the last ferry left dock for the New Hampshire mainland hours before. Off to the right, seagulls lined a rickety pier, staring back at her with intense interest.

  They were the only two people in the world.

  Susan took a deep breath and moved forward, allowing the next wave to bathe her feet. The water chilled her more than the wind, pulling the beach out from beneath her heels with its retreat; grains of sand passed between her wiggling toes, sucked back into the depths from whence they came. She cursed again and took another hesitant step. The icy sea rushed around her legs, gave her a more insistent tug toward David’s island of warmth.

  “That’s it,” he coached, then sprouted a mock German accent. “Come here und I vill cure you of dis phobia of yours.”

  The funny thing was, she thought he could.

  Susan moved farther out, farther from the safety of the beach, past the point where the waves broke, and when the next swell came, she was lifted off the sand, frantically treading water. Something brushed against her leg, tickled her, and she let out a short, high-pitched yelp.

  David reached out, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her to him. He whispered in her ear, “It’s okay...I’ve got you.”

  Susan wrapped her legs around his waist, held on for dear life. She buried her face in his neck and closed her eyes as he ran his hand through the wet tangles of her hair.

  “Nothing’s gonna hurt you,” David promised.

  She clutched him, felt the warmth of his body against her chest and the chill of the ocean on her back. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  She lifted her head, raked a dripping curtain of bangs to one side so she could look into his eyes. “For being so neurotic.”

  “You’re fine.”

  Susan smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”

  David smiled back, grew quiet for a moment, hesitant, and then he said, “Move in with me.”

  She giggled. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  And he was; Susan saw it in his eyes. “What about your father?”

  “I’d rather sleep with you.”

  She smirked and touched her forehead to his. “What would your father say about you shackin’ up with a girl you’ve only known for two seconds?”

  David shrugged and his breath warmed her face. “As long as Dad gets decent grades in the mail instead of arrest reports, he just signs the checks. He’s only come to see me once in the last three years, and even then he acted like I should’ve been honored because he took a couple of hours off from trying to rule the world.”

  “So he doesn’t care...or you’re not gonna tell him?”

  “I’m one of his stocks. As long as I’m not costing him too much money or reputation, he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Below the waves, his hidden fingers stroked her hips. “Just tell me you’ll do it.”

  Susan chewed her lower lip. The answer was there, begging to be spoken, and yet part of her mind wanted to quash it.

  He hasn’t even said that he loves you.

  True, he’d never said the words, but he’d made it known in so many other ways. As soon as the semester ended, he whisked her away from Stanley University, flew her to this island resort where he catered to her every need, and —

  And you love it.

  Yes, she did, every minute of it. She only wished this fairytale didn’t have to end. Maybe it didn’t.

  Susan allowed herself to say, “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  They kissed. It started out tender, but it didn’t take long for it to turn passionate, ravenous — David’s tongue dancing with hers. Susan felt his fingers leave her hips, felt the
m slide across her bikini briefs; they pushed the fabric aside, probed her most sensitive anatomy. David then pulled at his own swim trunks, yanked them down to free his burgeoning erection. She gasped and closed her eyes as he moved inside her. Their coupling mirrored their kiss; the rhythm was slow at first, gentle, building until they were splashing about in the tide.

  Even if he never said it, no one had ever loved her more.

  Susan gripped David’s shoulders, screamed at the stars, and, when she opened her eyes, she saw that the voyeur moon held them in its spotlight. She glanced around, embarrassed, but saw no one. Over at the pier, even the seagulls were gone.

  I must’ve scared them off.

  She giggled and sighed. “My God, babe...that was amazing.”

  He kissed her chin. “You’re amazing.”

  Susan looked back down at him. For a moment, she saw great tenderness, then his eyes flared with panic. His mouth opened in a primal scream as something wrenched him from Susan’s embrace. She grabbed hold of his hands, tried to keep him afloat, and a dark shape broke the surf — a jagged dorsal fin that cut through the tide like a saw blade.

  Shark, her brain shrieked. A shark’s got him!

  The sea around her warmed with blood. David’s blood. His hands went limp, slipped from her grasp. She watched her lover disappear beneath the waves, watched the fin behind him thrash as its owner fed, then she turned and swam away, swam for her own life, her head above water, crying out again and again.

  In the shadow buildings that lined distant sands, a window ignited.

  Someone heard me!

  She slogged toward shore, toward light and its promise of security, but the water fought her, strapped heavy weights across her thighs. “Help me! Please, help me!”

  A hand.

  It grabbed her by the ankle, so forceful, so strong. David? No. It can’t be him. He’s gone.

  It pulled her under.

  Susan fell forward, did a belly flop into the surf. She clawed at the sand, but found nothing to hold on to. She kicked, writhed and twisted as she tried to squirm free, and instead came face to face with her attacker. Light swept over it — moonbeam or searchlight, she didn’t know which — and bubbles exploded from her mouth and nostrils in a muffled scream.

  Susan Rogers had been right to fear the water. There were monsters lurking just below its churning surface. Now, they pulled her down into the dark depths; things with black and orange stripes, things with claws, with fangs like sharpened steak knives, and, unfortunately for her, they were not inclined to swallow her whole.

  TWO

  From his balcony, Larry Neuhaus aimed a flashlight down into the tide. He saw a woman there, near the beach, her hands clawing at the sand, and, when he jerked the light back a bit more, saw the shadowy form of her attacker.

  A man?

  No. Not a man. A large fin broke the surface, submerging as quickly as it appeared.

  Jesus!

  Larry ran back into his room. Peggy stood beside their bed, covering her nakedness with a robe. He almost hurried past her without saying a word, but she stopped him. “Where are you going?”

  “She needs help.” Larry unlocked the door and threw it open; a DO NOT DISTURB sign swung from the knob. “Call the police.”

  Peggy reached for the phone. “What’s happening?”

  “Shark attack!” He bolted for the staircase; three flights, the lobby and main entrance all went by in a blur. He heard the sound of distant sirens as he sprinted across the still-warm pavement, but he knew they would arrive too late.

  He might already be too late.

  Larry darted into the cold surf. His flashlight speared tiny fish, reflected off shells and flecks of debris swirling in the turbulence, but he couldn’t find the girl he’d seen from his window. He moved further out, breathing hard and trying to ignore the frantic rhythm of his heart as he paced back and forth. He clutched at his own terrycloth robe, telling himself that he was insane for doing this.

  The flashlight grew dim. He shook it; its innards rattled. And then something clamped down on Larry’s shoulder.

  Behind him, a figure stood waist-deep in the tide, silhouetted by a flashing red and blue aura. “What’s the problem, sir?”

  The light re-ignited in Larry’s hand and he caught sight of a silver badge pinned to the stranger’s jacket.

  A policeman.

  Larry exhaled in relief. “There’s a girl and...and a shark!”

  “Sir, get out of the water.”

  The man’s tone was so cool, and his words so calm, that Larry’s panic increased. “Don’t you understand? I can’t find her!”

  “If you keep splashing around out here, all you’ll find is the shark. We need to get out of the water now.”

  Larry looked back over his shoulder at the sea, smooth as glass, endless, and the light died once more in his grasp.

  •••

  Peggy Hern pulled a lacy, tasseled bedspread back into place, hiding the rumpled, sweat-dampened sheets beneath, then sat on the mattress edge and covered her bony knees with her robe. Wooden posts rose from each of the bed’s four corners, suspending an ornate hardwood canopy overhead. Like everything else in the Sea Mist Inn, it reminded her of a romance novel, and, as she peered through a veil of curtains to the outside balcony, her heart ached for Larry, her Romeo.

  Yesterday, they’d left their New York loft and all their troubles behind...or so she thought. She should’ve known better. You can’t run away from your problems. Wherever you go, you bring them with you.

  Larry stood flanked by two officers, explaining what he’d seen and heard. One — the young, skinny policeman who’d escorted Larry back upstairs — listened and took careful notes while his companion — older and grossly overweight — studied Larry’s every move. Finally, after what the clock proclaimed to be twenty minutes, and what Peggy’s mind swore was an eternity, the group came in from the terrace.

  The big man shook his head. “This kinda thing’s rare, Mr. Neuhaus, but it happens. Whole mess o’ things can go wrong in the ocean at night; ‘course, there’s the undertow, jellyfish too, but we ain’t had a shark attack in...”

  “Six years, Chief,” the thinner officer said, still writing in that notebook of his.

  “Been that long, has it? Point is, don’t go feelin’ guilty ’bout not gettin’ down there sooner. There’s not a damn thing you coulda done. In fact, if you hadn’t been up takin’ a leak —”

  “Getting a drink.” Larry looked past the policemen, through the French doors and into the night.

  Peggy wished for the ability to read minds, to hear the thoughts and fears that Larry kept locked away from her. Was he thinking of the poor girl who died tonight? Or were his thoughts of another time, of another girl he’d been unable to save? She started to ask him if he wanted one of his pills, then thought better of it.

  The chief nodded. “Right, gettin’ a drink. Point is, if you hadn’t been awake to hear that poor girl screamin’, I s’pose we’d all got up this mornin’ and been none the wiser. ’Til her family or friends reported her missin’, that is.”

  Larry rubbed his eyes and moved to Peggy’s side. “Chief Canon, this is my girlfriend, Peggy.”

  The chief took off his large Smoky the Bear hat. “Ma’am.”

  Peggy offered him a nod and tightened the belt of her robe. The hallway door opened, startling her. Their elderly innkeeper entered the room. In his hands, he held a large silver tray supporting two ceramic mugs. Peggy saw the tea within them reflected in his eyeglasses as he approached.

  “This will settle your nerves,” he told them.

  Peggy took a mug from his shaking hand. “Thank you, Mr. DeParle.”

  “Oh now, you don’t have to call me ‘Mr. DeParle.’ Sounds so damn formal. Call me Ed.” He offered the second mug to Larry, then sat down on a nearby chair.

  Peggy took a sip, filled with welcomed warmth, then looked up at Canon. “So what happens now?”

  The chief
shrugged. “Well, ma’am, the way your man tells it, we’re not gonna find this little lady alive. Just a matter now of closin’ down this section of beach for the next day or so and draggin’ the bottom. With any luck, she wasn’t carried too far out to sea and we’ll find the remains. Or, God forbid, she’ll wash in with the tide.”

  “Nasty business,” Ed declared. “I got a daughter myself. If anything happened to her...” A tear formed, and he wiped it away with a trembling finger. Canon opened his mouth to say something, but then Ed changed the subject before the chief could speak. “Anyhow, I remember some three years ago, New Year’s Eve, couple o’ kids got to celebratin’ a bit much and decided to join that...whatcha call it — Polar Bear Club?”

  Canon fired a nervous glance in Ed’s direction, but the innkeeper appeared not to notice.

  “It was the coldest winter even I could remember,” Ed continued. “Two of the kids were islanders and they got back to shore, but the other one drowned.” He looked to the Chief of Police. “Where was he from?”

  Canon put his hat back on, as if to signal that it was time to leave. “Somewhere in Vermont.”

  Ed nodded. “Vermont. Anyhow, it was nasty business, but I guess each town’s got to have its share of nastiness.”

  “You’re probably right,” Larry agreed, his voice hoarse. He took a sip of tea.

  Peggy could not help but wonder if he were wishing he’d been here to rush to the rescue of those drunken kids as well. What had his therapist called it — his “Savior Complex”? At times, Larry seemed to carry the burden of the whole world’s problems squarely on his shoulders. Then again, his willingness to be there for others, to be there for her, was what Peggy so loved about him.

  Canon moved toward the door. “I hope you folks can enjoy the rest of your stay. I know this was a helluva way to start it off, but Ed’ll take good care of you. He’s been runnin’ this inn since before I was born.” He opened the door, standing off to the side so that his deputy could exit first. “You comin’, Old Man?”