Death Swims In The Aquarium

My gloved hand floats in front of my eyes, weightless. My heart’s still beating; my lungs continue to accept air. But the rest? Pretty much a whole lot of nothing. Whatever Jack did, it’s working. I’m paralyzed, and I’m pretty sure Jack’s responsible, somehow. This certainly seems like his handiwork. I’m guessing he put some kind of paralytic in my wet suit, and I suspect I’ll still be floating here, submerged, when my air tank runs out and I slowly suffocate.

When he hit me the third time, I moved out and sent back his ring. When he promised revenge, I believed him, and immediately got a restraining order. That pissed him off even more, and he ramped up his promise to a horrible death. Again I believed him, so I canceled my appointment with the divorce lawyer and moved again, not just out, but away. No forwarding address, a new telephone number, all capped with a newly forged identity. And in a new city—not even my family knows where I am. That’s how seriously I took his threats.

Jack’s super smart and super charming—until you cross him. Then the control freak emerges, and before long, you find yourself cornered and terrified. One little slip and the monster replaces the control freak. Apparently, he’s done this kind of thing before, but he’s so valuable to his company that they won’t fire him. Jack’s a renowned chemical engineer and holds a boatload of patents on which they rely. He makes them so much money that it’s cheaper to pay off his victims than to lose him.

#

I didn’t stick around to see what happened next…

#

I was afraid the first week I moved out, but nothing happened. When the second week rolled around, I thought he’d accepted that we were through. Later that week, I thought I glimpsed him at work, which was impossible—no way he could get through security—but a few days later, I woke up in a hospital. No one saw the blitz attack, and no one remembered seeing him in the building. He didn’t appear on any security footage or the door cameras, and there was no log-in for him, either. Although I was skeptical, I accepted everyone’s assurances it couldn’t possibly be him, but I filed for the restraining order, anyway. In my heart of hearts, I knew it was him. I didn’t say so or make wild accusations, but I was certain.

They all saw his other side at the hearing for the restraining order, though. I produced my recordings of him saying horrible stuff, and the judge could hear the smacks when he hit me. It was open and shut; those recordings caught him flat-footed for once, and the judge ruled against him. She popped his bubble good, and he went off on her, tried to climb right over the bailiff with murder in his eye, making my case all over again. She slapped his ass in jail and kept him there for over a month. Hard to get bail for contempt of court.

That judge is dead now, so I’ve heard. A horrible freak accident. No indication of foul play. Detectives reviewed her cases for enemies, but it was a formality, and Jack produced a rock-solid alibi. I was in the process of liquidating my assets long before I heard about the judge, turning everything into cash; I’d already gotten a forged identity, so that news accelerated my exit. For transportation, I paid cash for an old car in a private transaction and never changed the registration. I abandoned that junker in a different city and bought another old beater with my new identity. No GPS, no computer chips, no nothing but an untraceable sale. Paid cash for that one, too. I left a lot of stuff behind and traveled light. I didn’t make a plan to go to any particular place, just changed directions on a whim and drove around for over a month until I finally dropped from exhaustion.

I knew I was near the coast; the ocean kind of gave that away, but I didn’t realize what city I was in until I found the aquarium. It’s a big one, and famous. That’s where I made my first mistake when I didn’t immediately run away fast.

He knows how much I love diving and marine biology, so I should have stayed away from any place that could feed that hunger, but I didn’t. Before long, I was volunteering, and when they discovered I was a trained diver, they gave me the first paid position that popped up. Next thing I knew, I was training three bottle-nose dolphins again. God, how I love it! My aquatic friends are truly gifted. These last years working with TootToot, Betty Blue, and Tugger have been the best of my life. They’ve been better friends to me than any human; they are better listeners, too. I'm here late on this fateful night because of them.

Unfortunately, Jack’s awareness of my love for marine life and scuba diving probably led to him discovering my new alias. I can imagine him methodically trolling every aquarium in the country, patiently checking every new hire until—me.

After two years, I relaxed, and let down my guard. It didn’t really matter, though. Even my hyper-vigilant self wouldn’t have seen him coming. Even now, as sure as I am that he has done this, I couldn’t prove it. I suspect that if I survived and went to the police, he’d have an unshakable alibi. If it is him, he’ll show up to gloat, I’m sure. I just can’t imagine him missing this opportunity. When I see him in person that last little itch of doubt will be scratched. Not much solace in that thought, though.

The sluggish current in the aquarium brings my wrist slowly past eyes I can’t close. I can see the dial that tells me how much oxygen is left, and how much time I have until it runs out. I can’t twitch or shout or anything, but what I see on the dial feeds me a soupçon of hope. There is a tiny dot made by a marker on the dial. This is the repaired tank and dial, then, the one that reads incorrectly. The diver has more air than what the gauge shows, a solid extra ten minutes.

I know Jack. I suspect he's calculated whatever he dosed me with to begin wearing off just before the depleted tank kills me. He’ll want to watch my last desperate struggles, and that’s no fun if I’m just a motionless lump. I think about it and realize that whatever he’s given me has slowed both my heart rate and respiration. In this state, my bodily functions are running very slowly, so I should burn a lot less oxygen than normal. That might just give me additional time to recover enough motor function to escape. All I need to do is get to the surface and get the mask off.

It’s a bad idea to think this way, but hope grows inside me, anyway. I can’t forget that Jack’s around here somewhere and even recovering, I’ll still be weak and vulnerable. He could hold me underwater with just his pinky. Boy, wouldn’t that float his boat! Maybe I’ll have to play dead as long as I can.

Something brushes against me, sending me into a slow spiraling spin. TootToot! What’s she doing out? I know I put them in their pen before I became paralyzed, but then I remember the little jab of pain when I latched the pen. That’s when he got me! He hid an injector on the handle. He’s probably already removed it; there will be no evidence for an investigator to find.

TootToot is nosing me. No, that’s Betty. Tugger’s staring directly into my eyes. Looking for clues to my strange behavior, I realize. TootToot is circling, making little noises of distress. Oh, God! My death is going to traumatize these three. We’ve become like family. I try once more to move. Yes! I think maybe I moved a finger; I distinctly felt a twitch. There it is again! This time I’m looking at my hand and I see it, this tiny movement in my hand. Not enough to do anything yet, and the death clock is still ticking, waiting to chime my final knell.

TootToot and Tugger hook my armpits and raise me toward the surface. It’s a trick we’ve practiced and used in our routine for the aquarium guests. Heroic dolphins save a wounded friend! The crowd goes wild!

Except getting to the surface doesn’t help if my mask stays on. If it’s in place, I will suffocate on the surface just as easily as under it. I don’t wear a mask in the routine, so they won’t realize…

But Betty’s nudging the mask as if she knows. Oh, God! I might survive! She’s not having any luck, though, and the three of them chatter with each other. I can’t prove it, but their vocalizations have always sounded like complex speech to me.

My entire arm moves on with my next effort. Not a lot, and super clumsy, but it moved. The gauge on my wrist is reading empty now, but the air is still flowing, although the flow is weaker, and the air seems stale. I don’t have long.

The current rotates me again, and I see him at last. Jack’s standing on the deck, but he’s wearing a wet suit, and he’s got a tank strapped on. He’s watching intently to see if I exhibit any signs of life, glee reflected in his eyes. This is even better than he expected. For me to die helpless among friends while they are trying to save me is his dream scenario.

Betty tries again to knock the mask off, but this time, TootToot braces my back, so I don’t just float away from Betty’s nudging like last time. It almost works. They reset to try again.

Jack’s face darkens as he realizes they might succeed, but he doesn’t intervene. He’s holding onto hope that it’ll play out the way he envisions. He’s stubborn that way.

They try, and they fail again, but they are so close to getting it right. They set up again, positioning me at a different angle so that Betty can get more leverage.

Oh, no! That’s the last straw for Jack. He yanks his mask into place and jumps into the water. He’s a competent swimmer, and I took him diving once, ages ago, so he’s not a complete rookie with the gear. Betty tries again, and this time it works. They’ve dislodged the mask; it’s still on my face, cockeyed and awkward, but I can get air. I drag in a big gulp and realize that I am exerting more control over my body. Intentional movement is coming back fast, but maybe not fast enough. A burst of fear shoots through me, and I try harder. All I get for my effort is a weak, small flailing action, the motions spastic at best.

Jack’s close, though, and my muscles are still mostly sleeping. No way can I fight him off, but then my armpits are hooked by Betty and TootToot and I’m dragged away from him, out into the deeper part of the pool. He follows awkwardly, trying to swim head up on the surface like the lifeguards do, so he can track where I’m going. I see Tugger driving in from the side, and he slams Jack off course. That had to hurt; Tugger wasn’t gentle.

He flails, regains control, and turns on Tugger, who’s chittering at him angrily. I see the syringe in his hand just as he swipes it at Tugger. But Tugger is up on his tail, vertical, more than halfway out of the water, and he dances backward easily. Jack is hammered again, this time by TootToot. She nails him hard from behind. Tugger’s her mate, and she’s not tolerating Jack’s attack on him. Betty hits him at the perfect angle and his mask flies off. She left me to help her friends as soon as I demonstrated enough control to keep myself afloat.

The syringe is gone, probably at the bottom of the pool, but Jack pulls out his belt knife. That’s a mistake; they all know what knives can do. All he’s done is make them angrier. Before the knife, they were simply helping me. After the knife, they become fighters protecting their pod, and I think he is a dead man. These guys will take on sharks to protect their pods; he doesn’t stand a chance.

I’m not wrong. They circle and feint, forcing him to expose his blind side over and over. Over and over, he takes hit after hit. I think he’s dead when they nudge him over to me. The paralytic is almost completely gone and I’m easily treading water when they push him to me. He’s alive. His knife is gone, and he’s barely conscious, but he’s alive. They’ve knocked his tank off, so his wet suit gives him enough buoyancy to stay on the surface. His breathing is ragged and labored. I suspect he has a lot of broken ribs. His eyes open and find mine. I see the flash of anger, though, before his expression shifts to beg for compassion. It's a shift I've seen before. How does that song go? Won't get fooled again...

I pinch his nose shut, keeping it just above the surface, but I keep his mouth just below the water line. I watch the terror fly into his eyes as he recognizes what is happening. He tries to fight back, but he has nothing left.

“This is the kindest thing I can do for you, Jack,” I tell him. Before long, his mouth pops open, and the water floods in. I let a little air in, then push him just under, so close to the surface, so close to the air. A huge bubble escapes and more water pours into his lungs. His eyes glaze, the last struggle goes out of him, and he makes his ultimate surrender.

I wait a few minutes to be certain; then I find his knife and the syringe. The knife goes back into his belt sheath; the syringe will leave with me. I replace his tank and let his body drift into the darkest corner. I tearfully bid my friends goodbye and unlatch the gates that lead to the open water of the sea. They surround me, giving me dolphin kisses, and chittering their farewell song, and then they are gone. I wonder if I’ll ever see them again; I wonder if they just told me where to meet them.

I find Jack’s backpack, and smile. His final gift to me is a can of blood-red spray paint, which I use to write “Freedom for all living things!” on the arena wall, in large, bold letters. Let them think Jack was an animal rights activist who got himself killed freeing the dolphins. They are wild animals, you know. It’s an idea that Jack would hate vehemently, which just makes it sweeter. No one who knows him well will believe this scenario for a minute, but anyone falling into that group will probably rejoice at the news of his death and never hint they suspect foul play. They are, if anyone like that exists, as free as my dolphins now.

I pack up and leave, feeling lighter than I have in a very long time. My muscles ache. I can still feel the residual effects of the paralytic agent, and I’m oh-so-very-tired, but my heart is singing, soaring. At last, I’m free, and all the aches and pains are bearable. The heartbreak of the last few years is easing with every step toward home.

It’s almost a random thought when it comes. Jack took out life insurance policies on us both, enormous ones. It was the first moment that I felt a touch of uneasy suspicion. Why was he making himself the beneficiary of the policy on me? He preempted any questions I had by stating that he was guaranteeing my future by making me the beneficiary of the policy on his life, should anything happen to him. If we ever had kids, the policies would protect them, too, and what if we had kids, and both died? I let it go and forgot about it.

I’ll take my time resurfacing, and I should probably do it from a different city. No sense in offering up even the slightest pretext for suspicion. If there’s insurance money for me to restart my life, great. If not, also great. The important thing is that I’m free.