Ryan Lockwood - Below

A man with a fishing pole walked up and stopped next to Val.

“Can I help you?” She glared at the man.

“I just need to get past you, if that’s okay…?”

“Nobody’s stopping you.” She made no effort to step aside as the man squeezed around her on the dock. She continued facing Sturman, hands on her hips, waiting for a response. There was none.

“So that’s it. Okay. Well, good luck, Sturman. Maybe someday I’ll see you again.”

He said, “I’ll ship the lights to you in Monterey when I have the chance.”

“I hope one day you’re happy again.”

Sturman nodded almost imperceptibly. “Good luck. With… everything.”

She watched him start the engine, unfasten the nylon ropes from the dock cleats, and slowly make his way out of the harbor. Even though he had made sure a taxi van was coming to pick up her and her gear, she felt utterly abandoned. The powerful emotion puzzled her.

She watched as he headed around a bend into the main channel of the harbor. Bud ran to the back of the boat and looked back at her, whining and barking. Underneath the dun-colored dog, the name of the boat burned itself into Val’s memory.

Maria.

Sturman never looked back, and then he was gone.

When Bobby Flynt walked out of the yacht’s stateroom, zipping up his fly, that’s when the drugs really began to kick in.

He wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea to mix blow and Ecstasy, but at the moment he didn’t care. The electronic dance music blasting down from above-deck pulsed through him. He could actually feel the music. He smiled at the thought, utterly euphoric. He loved his life.

The twenty-two-year-old had become an overnight success in Hollywood after starring in a summer blockbuster two years ago. He had played the lead, a vampire who led a group of youthful, impossibly attractive vampires against an army of demons sent from hell to claim what remained of their souls. Teenage girls around the world loved it, and worshipped Bobby and his classic good looks and dark hair. Before that, he’d just been a nobody from Ohio who’d been fighting to land acting roles as he shared a one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles and worked regular hours cohosting a children’s television show.

But that was two years ago. He slid his fingers along the polished cherrywood paneling in the yacht’s main dining room as he strolled toward the stern, indulging in its rich feel. This boat was his. So was a sick pad back in Palos Verdes. And the girls. He didn’t technically own them, but he sure got to use them. Man, he’d only just met the blond girl he’d banged in his stateroom. She was from Germany or something. He’d been too messed up to care, but she had a sexy accent and big tits.

Flynt opened the door to the rear of the cabin and stepped up into a wave of stimuli that overwhelmed his Ecstasy-fueled senses. The pulsing bass pounded through his body, mixed with the smell of salt, the feel of cool night air on his skin, the laughter of the partiers. And a light show was erupting from glowing jewelry hanging off thirty or forty groupies, all rich SoCal kids and wannabe actors.

An hour ago, the cheap glowing necklaces and bracelets had simply been a fun gimmick to add to the yacht party, but now they were almost magical as he watched them move rhythmically back and forth on the dancers’ swinging wrists and swaying bodies, leaving behind glowing trails of green, orange, and purple that were temporarily burned into his retina. The stern was packed with people.

Flynt’s seventy-five-foot toy, named after his first big film, was drifting off the calm southern coast of Catalina Island. His captain knew better than to moor the yacht in Avalon Harbor—Flynt’s parties got very noisy, and he preferred to avoid unwanted attention from both the law and nosy rich people with yachts of their own, who always tried to drop by on their dinghies to join the party.

Flynt could easily make out the big island’s silhouette despite only a sliver of a moon in the night sky. They were adrift about a half-mile from shore. The dark bulk of Catalina’s mountainous flanks stood out against the brighter sky, which glowed artificially from the lights of shore that were muted by the humid air.

“Fernando, gin and tonic!” Flynt had to shout to be heard over the pounding music, but this was how he liked it.

After his bartender mixed the drink, he took a sip and then slowly moved through the crowd toward the upper deck, delighted by the sensations on his skin as he brushed his arms against the other bodies crowding the boat. He was especially pleased when some of the naughtier girls ran their hands through his thick hair or touched him suggestively as he passed. Already he felt himself becoming aroused again. He’d have to pick another girl soon to christen another part of the boat. So far he’d done it in all but one of the staterooms and most of the common areas.

He made his way up to the top of the yacht, where the captain stood in the darkness in front of a lit helm, sipping a cup of coffee.

“ Hola , Leonard!”

“Good evening, Mr. Flynt. Enjoying the party?”

“You know it, man. There’s just one thing missing.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“We gotta have the hull lights, Lenny!”

“Of course, sir.”

The captain reached to the dimly lit dashboard and found the proper switch. Immediately, the water around the sides of the boat lit up. Whenever Bobby could see into the clear water under the boat, he felt like he was flying instead of floating.

“ Gracias, capitán ! Now our underwater friends can join us.”

He wandered over to the top railing, looking down as the first visitors began to flash silver as they darted through the brightly lit water.

The shoal first felt distant vibrations.

As they hung silently in the blackness a hundred feet down, the deep, low sounds pulsed regularly, quickly, through the squids’ bodies in waves. Instinct told them this was not a known threat. Instead, the vibrations were somewhat familiar, similar to other sounds that they now associated with food.

One by one, members of the huge shoal gradually turned to follow the enormous assemblage of mollusks, some of which had immediately turned to seek out the source of the vibrations. Even though the shoal had diminished in size, with many of the smaller individuals having been consumed by their own, several hundred feet separated the lead individuals from those trailing at the end of the underwater armada.

Moving their torpedo-like bodies with perfect efficiency through the dark ocean depths, the squid soon began to sense yellowish lights ahead, shining deep into the water from near the source of the vibrations.

Yet as the shoal neared, the one-eyed female banked around the bright lights, which shone with a painful, unnatural intensity. Circling the underwater lights, she saw many smaller prey fishes darting within the cones of light. A large, inert object floated at the center of the white lights.

Frustrated, she remained with the rest of the shoal as it kept its distance, seeking a way to approach the prey gathered around this source of sound and light.

Captain Leonard Dawkins regarded the young owner of the yacht he skippered. Bobby Flynt sat alone on the top of his toy, legs dangling through the railing. His employer was clearly high, as usual, watching the multitude of small creatures that had gathered in the lights embedded in the hull. Often when Dawkins turned on the lights, the actor would take a break from his party to simply get lost in all the aquatic life that was attracted to the vessel. At these times the captain could see how sad and lonely the kid really was. Dawkins knew Bobby had no idea that his captain was looking at him now, his pale blue eyes transfixed as they were on the water below.