Page 83 of The Rising Tide

When she can take it no more she swills out her mouth. Then she turns off the water and tries to slow her heart. Gradually, her panic ebbs. She’s allowed one moment of weakness. One moment of doubt.

Returning to the counter, she writes down Zacarías’s name. Carrying her notepad to the study, she boots up Daniel’s laptop.

Remember, years ago, that visiting production ofOedipus? So many of us crammed inside that tiny theatre? You sat there enthralled, Lucy. I sat there bemused. Afterwards, over a glass of wine, you explained it. I don’t think I ever saw your eyes shine so brightly, or you talk with such animation.

You told me what all the great tragedies have in common: a hero destroyed by a tragic flaw. Hamartia, you called it. A defect of character leading to downfall.

That was somewhat harsh on Oedipus, I argued. His only failing seemed to be an ignorance of his parentage. But Oedipus’s true flaw, you explained, was hubris: the belief he could escape a fate preordained by the gods.

I wonder, if I asked, how you’d define your own tragic flaw. Is it your faithlessness? Your infidelity? Your ability to self-deceive?

Funny, looking back, how you emerged from that theatre renewed. How your eyes shone and your cheeks glowed, despite everything you’d just witnessed. Katharsis, right there: an enema for the soul.

As we approach the third act of this tragedy written for your benefit, I can barely eat or sleep. Only a maniac would set these events in motion without once entertaining doubts. But I’ve committed us to this path. I have to see it through. Because only by taking away everything you ever valued can I hope to make you whole.

TWENTY-NINE

1

Lucy wakes, and something has changed. This morning there’s no half-minute of solace. No period of confusion before reality rushes in. She opens her eyes and is instantly lucid. Hard to believe her body could feel worse than yesterday, and yet somehow it does. When she rolls over, pain tears through her right side. Her torso feels like it’s been beaten with a baseball bat.

But it’s only pain.

Receptors firing, nerves transmitting, brain decoding.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Through the window, the pre-dawn sky is the colour of woodsmoke. She hears no wind beyond the glass, not even the crash of waves against the rocks of Mortis Point. Something has changed. But she doesn’t know what.

Shivering, Lucy climbs off the bed. In the bathroom, she showers and brushes her teeth. Back in the bedroom, she’s tying her running shoes when she hears commotion at the window. She turns in time to see a herring gull landon the ledge. It cocks its head, tapping its beak against the glass.

Lucy cringes, reminded of Friday lunchtime. The bird that appeared outside the study window heralded Bee’s visit, news of theLazy Susan’s discovery and every catastrophe since.

She yells, claps her hands. The herring gull flaps into the woodsmoke sky.

Knees cracking, Lucy stands. At the door she hesitates. Somethinghaschanged – something intangible in the feel of the world around her. When she breathes, even the air in her lungs seems different. Goosebumps flare out across her flesh.

Out in the hall she hears something shocking – a voice, unmistakeable in its cadence. Over it comes a silvery peal of laughter.

Her breath catches. She takes another step. To her left, a pair of casement windows looks down on the front drive. Directly opposite, the door to Billie’s room stands ajar. Sounds of conversation drift out.

Lucy can’t breathe at all now. She feels as if she’s slid sideways into a different reality. As she passes the hallway windows, she sees movement beyond them – a herring gull, high above the peninsula, banking towards the house.

She recalls a story Daniel once told Fin, of a man-shaped creature called the Mobiginion, entirely composed of water. On moonless nights, the Mobiginion emerged from the sea, wandering the local streets until it chose a house. No door could stop it, no window or wall. Once inside, it inspected the sleeping inhabitants for a prize. Next morning, puddles of seawater would be found throughout. Within a few days, the chosen victim would be lost to the sea. A father would fall overboard from his fishing schooner.A freak wave would drag a child from the beach. Nothing could stop a Mobiginion from visiting, nor from claiming its victim once chosen. Fin had been so scared by the tale that Lucy had banned Daniel from retelling it.

She looks down, but the floorboards of the upper hall are dry. Two days ago, standing at the front door while talking to Bee, she’d glanced behind her to see a trail of wet footprints retreating to the study. Inthatreality, no Mobiginion existed. But inthisone, which shares only the vaguest resemblance to the one she knows …

In this one, she hears a child’s laughter.

2

Another step and she’s at Billie’s door.

Lucy pushes it open, sags against the frame. Quite how this is possible she doesn’t know. There, on the bed, with a towel around her torso and wet hair snaking down her spine, lies Billie.

The girl’s feet, toenails painted bright yellow, wave like fern fronds. Propped open on her pillow is aNational Geographic. Billie rests her chin in her hands as she reads. Straddled across her backside is her brother.

Fin’s wearing hisThe Incrediblescostume: black-and-red one-piece, black eye mask, orange belt. ‘His name’sBogwort, notDogwort,’ the boy says, bouncing up and down.

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