Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

Floorboards creaked noisily with every step. Shining drops of rain fell through the ceiling.

He stopped, staring around the long center hall. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The imprint of dozens of footsteps coming and going could be seen in the dust and dirt, a reminder of three days earlier.

Changeable light from the broken slats in the roof wavered over the bleached squares of wooden floor. Something glittered in one of the diorama cases, catching the fitful rays, and Jason moved to check it out.

A glass eye.

A souvenir from one of the long gone taxidermy creations. The single eye seemed to glare at him.

Jason turned away, holding his flashlight aloft. Thanks to the lousy weather, there was even less visibility than the last time.

The rain dripped from the ceiling, whispered outside the entrance. Jason’s heart began to thud as the uneasy—and unmistakable—sense he was not alone stole over him.

He threw a quick look over his shoulder.

Nothing. There was no one there. Of course there’s no one there . With two FBI agents canvassing the town?

For Christ’s sake. He was not going to be able to do his job if he couldn’t stop jumping at every shadow.

He deliberately turned his back on the entrance, scanning the room, probing the shadows with the ray of bright, white light from his flashlight.

His gaze fell on what looked like…something blue. Something…human. He started forward and a floorboard groaned ominously.

Jason froze.

Not a floorboard. The floor . The whole rotten expanse of floor. In fact, it sounded like the entire building was about to go.

He held his breath, waiting. He took a cautious step backward.

A loud and unpleasant squeak, but nothing like the other sound.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He took another step back. Another startling squeak like he’d stepped on a mouse’s tail.

But still. So far so good.

He threw a worried look at the body of the girl which lay tumbled a few feet away. If the floor went, they would lose their crime scene.

Wait.

Did she—?

Had she—?

Jason stared. Her eyes were closed. Her face lifeless. No. Not possible. Was she breathing ? He couldn’t tell. For a second he’d thought… No.

Right? He could detect no rise and fall of her chest.

What if she was alive?

Shit. He couldn’t tell. Not from this distance.

He needed to get closer without killing them both.

Jason took another careful step backward.

Again.

Again.

His flashlight beam picked out something pale lying a few inches from her body. Maybe a twig. Maybe a leaf. Maybe…who knew what the hell.

The floor felt more solid—that was probably wishful thinking—or at least had stopped that alarming splintering noise. Jason tried a tentative step to the side. Nothing happened. He stepped closer to the wall. Yes, the floor felt sturdier here.

Cautious step by step he traveled the length of the room along the wall to where Candy lay. Her body did not appear to be bruised and battered like Rebecca’s. She still wore her one piece swimsuit.

Beside her outstretched hand, as though it had fallen from her lifeless fingers, was a pale, round marble.

No. Not a marble. A mermaid.

Jason picked it up—the irregular surface guaranteed no fingerprints would be possible—rolling it gently between his thumb and fingers. It was uncannily familiar to the one Honey had. It even felt familiar to his fingertips.

He glanced at the girl’s body and nearly got the shock of his life. Candy’s eyes were open. Her lips moved soundlessly.

She’s alive .

He dropped the charm in his jeans pocket, bending over her. “Candy? Can you hear me? You’re okay now. You’re safe now. You’re going to be fine.”

He swiftly checked her vitals. Not good. Not good at all. She was dehydrated and in deep shock. On the other hand, she should be dead, so compared to that…

No visible wounds. No bruising around her throat. Her swimsuit was intact. How was it even possible they had got this lucky? That she had got this lucky?

He brushed her hair back from her face. “Candy, can you hear me? Can you tell me who did this to you? Did you get a look at him?”

Her eyes closed again.

“ Damn it . Hang on, Candy. We’re going to get you out of here.” Jason jumped to his feet and raised his radio. “West to Kennedy. Come in.”

Kennedy answered at once. “Kennedy. What have you got?”

“She’s here. At the lyceum.”

“Roger. I’ll be there in f—”

“She’s alive,” Jason broke in.

There was a metallic pause. Kennedy said, “Say again, West?”

“She’s alive. I’m radioing for medical assist—”

A floorboard cracked behind him. Jason reached for his pistol. Too late he realized that the danger did not come from an intruder. The danger was the floor itself—it was giving way beneath his feet.

“…can you hear me?”

Wet.

Reeking, slimy wet.

What. The. Fuck.

“God damn this day. Jason ?”

What was he lying in? What was he lying on ?

Soft but not a good soft. A mushy, wet sponge.

Wait…

“ Jason ? West? Jason, can you hear me?”

Where was he? Jason blinked up at…a hole in the roof…and a white face hard with anxiety…and a hole in the roof over that white face…and the white face of the sun…

Even as he stared, the pallid sun slipped into shadow. Darkness fell across him.

Jason closed his eyes. He did not feel very well. He did not think moving would be a good idea.

The voice overhead was swearing quietly. “I’m coming down,” it said.

Coming down .

Jason’s eyes flew open.

No.

A still worse idea.

Enough things had already come down.

“Wait,” he got out.

“Jason?”

Kennedy.

That’s who that was.

His heart lifted. He liked Kennedy.

“Goddamn it, you scared the hell out of me,” Kennedy yelled. He did sound a little scared, but mostly he sounded angry.

“Here,” Jason croaked. “I’m right here.”

“I know where the hell you are,” Kennedy shouted. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Or not. Maybe not so much. Jason tried to sit up, and he thought maybe if he took it slowly he might not throw up or keel over or otherwise embarrass himself. He was confused about where he was and why he was wherever he was. He was pretty sure he’d hit his head—but he couldn’t tell if that stickiness was blood or something worse. He was lying—now sitting—in about an inch of worse. He’d lost his flashlight and his radio. He had his pistol. That was something. He could always kill himself if the situation went downhill from here.

“What happened?” he called.

The sun slunk out from behind the rafters and feeble rays illuminated what appeared to be patches of muddy fur floating in the muck around him. Jesus Christ. Had he landed on…what had he landed on? Were these bits of rotting upholstery or rotting taxidermy? He looked up, and his stomach gave another queasy roll at the sight of the rusty and twisted nails sticking out of the boards a few inches above his head.

Kennedy was still talking to him. “You fell through the floor. I’ve radioed for help. Are you sure you’re not injured?”

“What the hell did I land on?”

Good question. It had probably saved his life. Or at least his spine.

Jason tried to stand up—taking care not to brain himself on the nail-studded overhanging boards. He stepped down with a splash into water that reached his shins. The water was shockingly cold. Like melted ice.