Isle of Man

The bubbling tar beneath her skin—always beneath her skin—shakes her limbs. And even if she’s there, she’s not really. She lives in the shadows. And each day that passes those shadows get darker and darker yet again. The shadows we were meant to leave behind 5 years, four months and 24 days ago. Yet still I find her lost in them— encompassed by her past— our past— a curse that melts her brain and it seems as if it’s getting hotter and hotter each passing day. I’d go even as far to say that it might be dangerously hot…life threateningly so. Perhaps it’s like an ocean of fire blazing a trail across her psyche, destroying everything in its path. Everything it touches.

“Cut that shite out” a voice snips at me.

“What,” I respond

“You think I don’t notice how they look at me—the things they say about me. It’s bad enough coming from everyone else. You’re the last person I need pitying me.”

“Deirdre...” I pause searching for the right words to talk her off the ledge. She’s raised her voice now and people are starting to stare. And she’s the last person I need causing a scene. “...I’m worried for you.”

She doesn’t respond. She’s staring out the window again. Dissolving into her shadows and lost in her darkness. A while passes.

“Why are we still here?” she asks.

“Okay. It’s time to stop now.” She is not about to do this shite right now and certainly not right here.

But it’s like my voice is a soft sea breeze to her. Easy to ignore when the darkness is so much more enthralling.

“Don’t you ever just find yourself staring at it” there’s the faint cacophony of patrons slamming down drinks and laughing at their sorrows. I wish my sister fucking drank. I wonder if that’d make things easier or more difficult. But even fainter than that sprinkling of raucous laughter and slurred speech is that distinct hint of sea salt permeating the air. Something you’d have to be looking for to notice. But once you’ve found it, you can’t let it go.

“No” I keep my answer abrupt and short. This is a very dangerous game she’s playing and I’m not willing to indulge.

“I do. I stare at it everyday.” An obvious lie. She doesn’t even leave the house most days. I’m the one who has to fucking work for a living around here. “In my mind. She’s always there. Even with my eyes open. I can’t—“

I grab her by the arm and pull hard. If she won’t hear me, she’ll have to feel me. “We’re leaving” I say as I drag her out the door .

A man in a grey suit follows closely behind us into the parking lot. I reach into my right pocket with my free hand. I wouldn’t dare let go of Deidre now. Not like this.

“I believe you forgot something...” we’ve turned around to face him now. He’s about 190 centimetres if I had to guess. A good deal larger than me and not to mention he’s definitely got more mass than I have but I’ve got strong legs and a switch blade. So my money is on me any day. He looks me up and down suspiciously. My hand tenses on the blade. “...You forgot to pay the tab.”

I laugh but I’m making sure not to sound too relieved. I let go of my sister’s arm and reach into my pocket for some cash and hand it to him. “Yeah. She’s just had a bit too much to drink. I’m gonna take her home” He stares at me for a bit. Then at the money.

“Deidre hasn’t had a drop since she entered the pub” he points behind him. He gives a nonchalant chuckle “I’ve been sat in the back with some buddies from out of town since noon. I saw you guys enter” His tone seems casual enough. I’m wondering if this guy is going to be a problem. I put the money back in my pocket and push my sister behind me. My hand tenses on the blade.

“I’m sorry. Do we know each other?” I ask.

He laughs that nonchalant laugh again. “No, I’m sorry, buddy. I’m Riley” he holds out his right hand to shake. The same hand the knife is in. I don’t know who this man is but he sure as shite is not my buddy. “Killian” I say mimicking the same faux casual display we’re all seeming to put on now.

“I’m sorry” he looks down embarrassed. “It’s not everyday you see a lassie as beautiful as she walk into a shitty pub like this so it was hard not to eavesdrop.” How much did he hear? He came right after we left. Deidre is going to be the death of us all. “I’m sorry. I’m drunk. This is your wife—“

“I’m not his wife” Deidre interjects.

“And I’m standing right here. Anything you have to say about me can be said to me.” Is she flirting back as if she didn’t just put both of our lives in jeopardy with that display?

“She’s my sister. Here’s the money. Sorry for the trouble” I put my arm around Deidre’s shoulder and we start to walk away.

“My condolences” he yells out after us. We both stop dead in our tracks. I can hear her heart racing or is that mine? Fuck. I’ve put too much distance in between us. What the fucking fuck, Deidre! No one moves for a moment. I turn around slowly.

“Sorry?” I say.

“Apologies. It’s not my place. It just sounded like you guys lost someone. Ah! I’m sorry I’ve been drinking since 11 and based on how you left, it’s obviously a sensitive topic. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just…” he turns to Deidre who hasn’t moved a muscle. “…can I give you my number?” Thank God for small miracles. He’s just a drunk asshole.

“We really should get going” I answer.

She shakes me off her shoulder, walks up to him, and starts tapping on his screen. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph this lass has a death wish. His face is beaming and he whispers something I can’t quite make out. Then turns to me with a wry wave and mumbles an apology. He’s slurring now. Can’t Deidre see it’s time to put this drunken nightmare to rest and get our collective shite together? Does she want to get caught?

She finally turns around and walks towards me. I quickly rush her into the car but before she gets in, her phone chimes. The idiot in the grey suit is holding his phone in the air and pointing at it as if we didn’t know it was him. He’s just smiling the biggest stupidest grin at my dumbass sister. A match made in Heaven if there ever was one. Too bad the Isle of Man is a living hell.

“Killian, we need to talk about this” The car had been pleasantly and uncharacteristically silent the last ten minutes. I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

“We said everything we needed to say five years ago” I respond.

“No, Killian. We need to talk about this now.” Her voice is serious-- urgent even.

“What would you like me to do, Deidre? Pull over on the side of the road so we can talk about how we murdered your best friend?” Her silence is deafening now. The things left unsaid may very well eat us alive but I will not crumble by the weight of what-ifs.

“Take me to the beach. We’ll talk there.” Her voice is cold now, devoid of emotion. I can’t keep up with her rapid cycling between feeling too much or else nothing at all and she’s impossible to read like this. A ticking time bomb. It’s better to just do as I’m asked at this point.

And thus, here we are at Traie Vane. Surrounded by the all too familiar white quartz pebbles. “She called these the currency of the mermaids.” Why did I just say that?

“I didn’t kill her” Deidire replies.

“I know” I respond.

“You did. You killed her and I stole a Seamark 26 because you couldn’t drive--"

“Deidre we don’t have to do this”

“--I stole a fishing boat and helped drag my best friend’s dead body onto it in the middle of the night in the dead of winter--"

“Deidre” I call her name again.

“Then, I drove out into the middle of the ocean while you had a panic attack---"

“Deidre please”

“And tied two cinderblocks to her feet. After that I lifted her lifeless body by myself and dumped her into the ocean--this ocean--and then I scrubbed the entire boat, dock and car with bleach--” She won't stop.

“Deidre, I’m begging you”

“--and then went over it all with salt water to mask the smell of the bleach because she told you she was cheating on you and you killed her.”

“I told you it was an accident. I didn’t mean to”

She finally looks at me. “I’ve lived with that guilt for five years, Killian. I’ve covered for you for five years. I’ve done all anyone could ever ask of me and more” Her eyes are welling up with tears now.

“What are you saying, Deidre”

“I can’t anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live another day with this guilt eating up at me. This is wrong, Killian. We fucked up, okay?”

“Deidre, you need to be very careful now” I'm warning her.

“Tonight, I’m gonna fuck that guy in the grey suit and tomorrow I’m going to the police.”

“The fuck you are” I stand up towering over her now. She flinches. There’s a moment of indecision that lingers in the air. The tension of a line that cannot be uncrossed. But then her phone rings.

“Speak of the devil” She gets up and answers. I grab her phone and toss it in the water. Something isn’t clicking in her head because no one is going to the police for anything. “You’re scaring me, Killian.”

“Really? Am I scaring you? Because I’m not the one involving the police in our bullshite. I seem to remember being the one to pick up the pieces after that. I seem to recall eating shite for five years taking care of you.”

Deidre’s laughing now. “Blaming me for your guilty conscience won’t absolve you from your sins.” Why can’t Deidre just shut the fuck up for once in her goddamn life. She always had that fucking smart mouth on her and she never knows when to stop. When enough is enough. My blood is boiling with fury. I am not going to jail. We are not going to jail.

I shove her into the water. She falls to her knees and gasps as if all the air has been sucked out of her body at once. Very dramatic for a push. But then she starts screaming as if I’ve just killed her first born in front of her. “Deidre, I pushed you for Christ’s sake. Quit the dramatics. No one can hear you out here.” She won’t stop screaming. She falls on her side as a wave crashes over here. The water splashes on me and my skin is on fire. It’s fucking burning like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I run to where we were sitting praying I didn’t finish that water bottle. Thank God for small miracles. No time to think. Unscrew it. Pour it all on you. Fuck it. Take hers too. Much better. What the fuck was that? Wait what about--

There’s silence. I don’t hear her anymore. I want to run back but I got sprayed with what? Three drops of that shite. No. There’s no way she’s alive. I shouldn’t look. I don’t know what that was but I know I shouldn’t look. So I turn around and whoever was there before isn’t my sister. In the moonlight, I can see the water is red and the body---can you call that a body anymore? What happened to my sister?

This isn’t happening. This is a dream. I’m gonna wake up soon. Didn’t you learn from last time that’s not how this works? Wait. What the fuck is that? Her phone didn’t make it to the water. In fact, the wind must’ve carried it back because it didn’t make it very far past us. I pick it up. There’s a green bubble with a phone icon on the top left portion of the screen.

Oh no. Oh God no. Let it be voicemail. We can delete and re record. iT’S AT LEAST SALVAGEABLE.. I press the icon. 3 minutes and 36 seconds. 3 minutes and 37 seconds 3 minutes and 38 seconds with the grey suit moron. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Uhhhh what the fuck am I supposed to do now? Wait. My sister’s body is dissolving in the ocean. Surely no one is going to think that’s my fault. Wait. When did she pick up? How much did he hear? Fuck. We just basically confessed to a whole murder and cover up. Just hang up. Check her messages.

Shite, she’s been texting him. “I have to tell my brother some hard news and I’m not sure how he’ll take it. Want to pick me up at the beach in a few”

“Sure I’m on my way” That was 23 mins ago. Which beach though? Oh, you bitch you shared your location with a guy you just met at the fucking bar? Fuck. He could be here by now or worse. He could have called the police. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Relax. Where’s Deidre?

I don’t know what’s in that water but it’s not any type of acid I’ve ever seen her clothes and body are almost completely dissolved. Normally, I’d say no body no crime. But normally you don’t sign a confession and wrap it up all neat on a phone call with a guy who saw you manhandling his sister at the bar.

Okay. Calm down, Killian. You’ve got this. My head whips to the right as I fall to my knees. I’m feeling dizzy. What's going on? A kick to the gut. Oh, perfect. He found me.

“You sick fuck” Another kick to the ribs. A crunch. That can’t be good. I cough one of those deep raspy coughs. There’s blood in my hands. He kicks me in the chin. I need to get it together before this man beats me to death. I reach into my pocket and get out my knife. I can barely see but he doesn’t seem to realise that just yet.

“Where’s Deidre?” he asks. “I’m not leaving until I find out where she is” So he hasn’t called the police. Man, this guy really is an idiot.

“What did you hear” I ask.

“ I heard you and your sister fighting and then her screaming as if she were being killed”

“So help me God if I find out you’ve killed her… Where THE FUCK IS SHE!”

“Stay right there” I’m panting trying to catch my breath and regain my vision. Bingo. “I’ll take you to her” I charge him pushing him into the water but making sure not to get any of it on me. He looks at me quizzically for a second, ankle deep in the ocean and starts pulling out a gun. Never bring a knife to a gun fight. I charge him again and a bullet clips my shoulder. I’m on top of him now drowning him. I remember her face as I drowned her. I hesitate. He pushes me off. I stumble onto shore. He gets the gun out again and aims it at my head. Then he drops the gun and starts howling. And if we weren’t in the middle of nowhere I’d think he’s wake up the entire country with that scream. He’s melting too. What the fuck is in this water?

He looks me in the eye “Save me.” Rebecca says.

I stumble away from the shoreline holding my chest. Shite. He didn’t clip my shoulder. I look at my hand it’s soaked in blood. Fuck. I’m getting dizzy again. I need to lie down. I see Rebecca. She’s in the water. She’s playing in the water again and I’m smiling and Deidre’s in her snorkel and flippers. “The water feels amazing” Rebecca says”

“Fuck you. It’s cold as shite in there” Deidre laughs and agrees with me. But I want to go in. I stumble forward and they call me closer and closer to the water until I’m knee deep. Then, waist deep. Chest deep. Until I disappear underneath the water.

An ocean of invisible ink sitting beneath a Seamark 26 in Isle of Man. With toes at the edge, the breath growing shallow, rising and falling with each new wave of anxiety. And that longing, that desire could push you over. But could it be stronger than that fear—that fear of impossible concepts; the memories of those attachments so heavy on your body? Inhumanly heavy. Oh, but that longing—that longing could push you over.