Hey, I wanted to make this post somewhere because I wanted to get this out there so others could read this. I believe this research is useless just sitting around on my hard drive.
First off, here's the result of my 7+ years of working with Brighid https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nBNPFHPanL8feZTCiYgUC57qMCmlU1OP/edit#heading=h.grerh4meas08
There should be a table of contents with "personal experiences" and a journal
Second, I believe Brighid and Brigantia are the same, but also Sulis, etc. That document should provide the evidence of my claim, as does this article https://clannbhride.org/2015/06/07/the-exalted-ones/
Brigid came to Leinster due to migration by the Brigantes, as detailed in this article
https://steemit.com/ireland/@harlotscurse/brigantes
I believe this is all but confirmation that St. Brigid's Cross has pre-Christian roots, as it is found in Brigantia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swastika_Stone
The Lady of the Lake may have been a reference to the goddess of the Afon Braint, and I shouldn't have to tell you why that is significant
http://mistshadows.blogspot.com/2017/08/revisiting-fathers-of-three-guineveres.html
I came here in a rush to share this because this week I came by this book on Amazon 'Brigantia' by Guy Ragland Phillips, and it was heavily discounted due to "excessive writing in the margins" and notes throughout. On its own, it isn't worth that much with what we know now about the goddess and archaeology. Miranda Green tends to treat with the subject a good deal better.
Well, there are the notes of 2+ people before me (think more like four tbh) and almost 50 years of scholarship, updates, and notes on the subject of the goddess Brigantia and the significant geography of the region of Brigantia contained within it, and literally confirms something I only started to touch on in my document.
Brigantia-worshippers possibly originated in Austria (Bregenz) and Portugal (Braganca) and possibly earlier in northern Italy regions due to the presence of the Camunion Rose. They migrated to Brigantium (tower of Hercules was once called Tower of Brigantia), then Yorkshire area (hence its title Brigantia) and then Leinster where she became Brigid. Afon Braint on the druidic isle of Anglesley is likely where the "lady of the lake" idea originated. Brigantia is theorized as above to be the Lady of the Lake in Arthurian lore, where Camelot would be the Roman fort of Camulodunum. Arthur could've been Artorius, a Roman general who settled in the region after Rome pulled out and helped try to repel the Saxon invasion.
Of course, this could also be due to the Indo-European root for high or exalted, but the evidence as presented above makes a damn good case for these all being interlinked.

Session 0: https://www.reddit.com/DeltaGreenRPG/comments/1d0l92x/impossible_landscapes_session_0/
(Okay, these will be long. Five players, lmao. Hadn't quite accounted for that)
Operation ALICE, New York, 1995
The Roster (Player/Character)
Lea (she/her): Jules Gradkowska - Agent MIRANDA. Journalist - research and human intelligence.
Iain (he/him): Ralph Bevis - Agent MILHOUSE. Academic - history and occult specialist.
Quinn (he/him): Richard Delapore - Agent MAVERICK. FBI Special Agent - criminal and forensic expert and the official 'face' of the investigation.
Phil (he/him): Jean Duvall - Agent MAIN. US Navy Master Chief Petty Officer - operational security specialist.
Duncan (he/him): Jake Little - Agent MALATESTA. Civilian contractor - computer and electronic specialist with a side line in hacking.
Rob_sothoth (he/him) - Handler. The arbiter of the world: the good, the bad and that which cannot and should not be named.
Background: The Agents of M-Cell are tasked with investigating the apartment of Abigail Wright. Missing since June, Delta Green has reason to suspect para-natural involvement. Their orders are simple: catalogue the apartment and remove anything deemed suspect for destruction.
Despite heavy changes made, full spoiler warning for Impossible Landscapes.

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Session 1 "The Apartment" (May 24th, 2024)
New York: Tuesday, August 8th, 1995
1:45pm - 3:32pm, EST
Entering the lobby of the Macallistar building in Kips Bay, NYC, the Agents first make a sweep of Abigail's mailbox. Agent MARCUS (M-Cell Case Officer) provided them with a complete set of keys, not to be copied. The mailbox is stuffed full with bills, junk mail, catalogues and offers; mail still being delivered by people who have no idea Abigail is missing. MAVERICK gathers it in a bag and they make their way to Abigail's apartment (Ground floor).
The Macallistar echoes an earlier age. Faded purple carpeting and design from the turn of the century. Opposite Abigail's front door is an old-fashioned telephone nook, complete with bench and curtain for comfort and privacy when phone-lines in individual apartment was an expense few could afford.
M-Cell enters the apartment, finding it somewhere between a hoarder's dream and crime-scene technician's nightmare. The small hallway leads to a living-room (the apartment's largest space), an adjoining bedroom and a kitchen and bathroom opposite each other. Aside from the hallway, on first inspection the only other uncluttered space is the kitchen, which doesn't really look as if it's been used much. MAVERICK ear-marks that as something he wants to check himself as the team begin taking stock.
The NYPD has left a box with copies of their files, including a list of tenants they interviewed, many, many evidence collection bags and a box of latex gloves.
The apartment is filled with various items, with almost no floor visible beneath the collection. CDs and CD cases are stuck or glued to the wall, along with mannequin parts, sketches and assorted pieces that might be ceramic or plastic arranged in odd patterns without reason or rhyme. Stacks of phone books, stretches of dyed fabrics stitched together, an antique claw-footed lamp. Bags, bundles of pictures (drawings and photographs) of seeming nonsense. No furniture is immediately visible in the chaotic mess.
MAIN finds the same result in the bedroom as the first Search rolls are called for. Something catches his eye in the anarchy of the bedroom.
MALATESTA begins sorting through the pile of mail. MILHOUSE at first begins helping, but seeing the scale of the cataloguing, volunteers to make a coffee and food run. MIRANDA begins photographing, while MAVERICK gloves up and asks for things to be passed to him such as brushes, anything with a handle really or something more likely to have fingerprints on it. He wants to see if he can grab a set of Abigail's prints, if that's possible.
It doesn't take MALATESTA long to work out Abigail stopped paying her rent and bills in or around March before disappearing in June. Money was coming in up to a certain point, apparently from a showing Abigail had at the Mercury Gallery in Greenwich Village in November the previous year. There's even a letter from the gallery owner asking about another possible showing; from the way it's written, it might not have been the first time he spoke to Abigail before she vanished. Then, the only money coming in appears to be from her father, though she doesn't appear to have used it to cover the rent. He also gets the building management company, Art Life and their address.
As the Agents work, with MAIN carefully picking his way through the bedroom towards whatever caught his eye and MAVERICK uncovers a battery-powered hi-fi under all the trash, MILHOUSE returns from his coffee run and bumps into someone else entering the Macallistar at the same time he is. After an awkward hesitation on the threshold, MILHOUSE spends a little chatting to Lewis Post, one of Abigail's neighbours. MILHOUSE passes a HUMINT roll and I ruled that having spent most of his time in academics and his fellow PhDs, he can spot signs of some kind of social anxiety. I felt that was a fair get for a good success.
Lewis is hesitant but forthcoming as MILHOUSE works that high charisma score, knowing what to say to diffuse any potential tension. As far as Lewis knows, he is FBI of some kind after all.
MILHOUSE: "Did she ever mention a boyfriend? Girlfriend?"
Lewis: "Our relationship wasn't really like that. We had coffee sometimes. Talked about art. The process." He thinks. "She might have mentioned someone, but not a name, only what they did. A salesman, but I couldn't tell you what they sold."
MILHOUSE: "Talk about anything else?"
Lewis begins heading upstairs "She mentioned moving, but not before she was ready."
Back in the apartment, MAIN voices what others were thinking. "Where was she staying?" No bed, no signs of habitation except for the assorted hoard of crap. MAIN finds a hand grenade nestled in some papers and art supplies near the bedroom's walk-in closet.
In the living room, MAVERICK finds a single cassette tape in the uncovered hi-fi and flips it on, finding the batteries still live. Everyone hears MAVERICK's conversation with his significant other, Natalie from the previous evening. MAVERICK realises it's cut up and out of order, rewinds it and then flips it over. He thinks the entire conversation has been split between A & B sides of the tape.
MALATESTA and MAVERICK both consider phone-tapping, but MAIN, grenade temporarily forgotten, asks how it ended up here?
SAN check for MAVERICK. Pocketing the cassette tape, MAVERICK closes down a bit and prepares to go over the kitchen with a fine tooth comb; perhaps this is how he copes?
Before MAIN can mention the grenade he's worried about, MIRANDA, MALATESTA, MILHOUSE & MAVERICK notice something on the wall behind where the hi-fi was previously buried under junk. Fixed to the wall, maybe with some kind of glue is a piece of brown packing-paper with some kind of symbol drawn on it. Everyone focuses on it.

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3:41pm to 5:22pm, EST
MALATESTA: "That certainly looks like what we're supposed to be worried about."
MIRANDA snaps a polaroid. MILHOUSE tries to examine it, but his Occult check can only give him the vague thought it's connected to demonology, but little else beyond that. MAVERICK is cautious, but more concerned about getting to work on the unusually spotless kitchen.
Carefully, MIRANDA removes it and a blaring sounds like something between a horn blast and explosion almost deafens the Agents. It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, from right next to them and outside at the same time.
Everyone passes a CONx5 check and the subsequent SAN check. Through the living room's window, MIRANDA, MILHOUSE and MAIN see a yellow-cab in the street outside. The cabbie appears to have leaned on the horn as someone crosses the street. They appear heavily dressed for summer, possibly homeless.
Is that a snake draped across their shoulders?
MIRANDA takes a polaroid while MILHOUSE and MAIN head outside to investigate. The picture reveals in sharp clarity, the cabbie staring down the barrel as she snapped the shot directly at her. MAVERICK gets to work in the kitchen and MALATESTA picks over things in the living room and bedroom respectively.
Search rolls for those in the apartment.
Outside, the cab has turned the corner and the pedestrian has carried on, though MAIN and MILHOUSE are able to work out where they went. MILHOUSE heads to cut off the other side of the alley, while MAIN approaches from behind, getting the pedestrian's attention. It's the height of summer in NYC, the air reeks of gasoline, rotting garbage and baking, soiled concrete and asphalt.
MAIN finds a nondescript, seemingly homeless man by the state of his clothes, but with a python draped over his shoulders. MAIN strikes up conversation, lighting a Gitane cigarette and pointing to the snake. From the other end of the alley, MILHOUSE makes his way towards the pair.
MAIN fails an alertness check.
Is this guy sweating? It's hot and he's bundled up like it's winter. Is he sweating? Why isn't he sweating?
Back in the apartment, MAVERICK tests the kitchen for blood and body fluids, breaking out the spray bottle and UV light. There's no cutlery, glassware or dishware anywhere in the room, but as he's lifting what could be a print, finds a mechanical diagram drawn on a napkin taped above the inside of an otherwise empty drawer. MALATESTA & MIRANDA continue their search of the living and bedroom, with MALATESTA finding a card printed with the following:
"For a good time Call D - 999-202-9989"
On the reverse are a series of what appear to be street corner addresses in Brooklyn. Could be a sex-line, could be a way to see Red Band underground film screenings, could be something online related. MALATESTA drifts between a few circles and he pockets it out of curiosity. When MIRANDA locates the grenade in the bedroom, she is careful to give it a wide berth and locates what MAIN missed: a backpack radio in the bedroom's walk-in closet. She calls MALATESTA over.
Back in the alleyway, MILHOUSE rolls under 10% and passes his disguise check. Dressed casually and a college athlete to boot, he fits the general chad look in his New York Knicks shirt despite his academic leanings. Being loud and obnoxious like he's drunk, he barrels into the homeless guy with the snake who stonewalled MAIN.
Instead he hits MAIN as the man with the snake is there and gone in the space between blinks. One moment MAIN is looking at him and then MILHOUSE knocks him flat on his ass. Like a film edit. Just gone. MAIN crit fails his SAN check and takes 4 SAN loss without projecting. Instead, as he scrambles up begins kicking over trash cans and searching the alley while MILHOUSE tries to calm him down and get a handle on things.
As MILHOUSE is talking MAIN out of tearing the alley apart, MIRANDA and MALATESTA check out the radio. As it comes to life, they listen and hear the following:
"Exeter. India. One. Thirteen. Sierra. Twenty. Twenty. Forty-nine."
MAVERICK meanwhile, finding the kitchen bare oddly finds the refrigerator stocked. There isn't much inside, some milk unopened and a pack of cheese and deli meat. Expiration is months ago, but through the plastic and glass of the bottle it looks fresh. Curious, he opens the milk and finds it smells as fresh as the day it was bought. Months ago.
Passes his SAN check. Given what he heard on the tape, it's not the strangest thing today.
MAIN and MILHOUSE detour to grab some more coffees, more to calm MAIN down and give him a (successful CHAx5 check) to flirt with the coffeeshop waitress. On their return, MAIN heads into the bedroom, pulls the pin on the grenade and activates the firing lever.
Nothing happens. His "hunch" was correct. Despite failing to properly identify it, something about the shape of it didn't match modern ordnance. Like the radio, it's vintage and either deactivated or else rendered inert by time and age.
I gave MAIN a SAN point back, because why not?
As things begin winding down, MILHOUSE and MAVERICK puzzle over the weird fridge, with MILHOUSE sacrificing his green tea and MAVERICK a donut to see how "fresh" they are come morning between the fridge and not.

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After 6pm, EST
Between them, M-Cell take the rest of the evening to take care of home-scenes or any unfinished business they can get done with their resources at hand. They also divide the Operational evidence from the Case evidence, with MIRANDA taking the symbol, MALATESTA the backpack radio & phone number, MAVERICK the cassette tape (for obvious reasons) and MAIN the mechanical sketch on the napkin.
MIRANDA and MILHOUSE, using the former's academic credentials both stay on the case, with MIRANDA leaving her photos from the park to develop in her bathroom. While she fails her roll, she does help MILHOUSE identify the demon the symbol refers to and book-related lead. She hits up a criminal contact named Hugo to put out feelers for weird items she may be interested in. He agrees for a fee, which she negotiates in her favour.
Returning to her apartment, MIRANDA finds her photos of the dancing clown and watching crowd have developed. In every photograph, the clown is turned away from her, but the faces in the crowd are looking at her. That's not how she remembers it. Fails a SAN check. Projects on to her editor, knowing she's going to be taking a "personal day" tomorrow, and this after she agreed to go to the grill.
This will have consequences.
MAIN, unnerved by the day's events, not the least of which was being knocked on his ass by a fitter, younger man, heads out. He returns to the coffeeshop he and MILHOUSE visited and takes the waitress he hit on out on a date. After a romantic interlude, MAIN has a new bond. Her name's Marsha, she's 27 and very nice.
Breaking Operational Security, MAVERICK asks MALATESTA to come back to his apartment and check for possible surveillance. Despite suffering comparatively little SAN loss overall, MAVERICK is letting the day's events impact his behaviour.
It's trivially easy for MALATESTA to confirm there are no bugs in place, which really does narrow the options for how the conversation could have been recorded. Thankful, he asks MALATESTA to keep this to himself for now, to which the grunge-kid agrees. MAVERICK drops MALATESTA near his home and leaves, putting the tape in the player of his car as he pulls away.
MALATESTA lives near the Village and diverts to check out the Mercury Gallery. Though closed, it seems legit and he makes a note of it for later. Back at home, he breaks open the backpack radio and examines it. The battery is not connected to the radio itself, the wires having been stripped out, yet he and MIRANDA both heard a voice on the end of its phone-mic. He passes his SAN check and finds in place of one of the transistors a small, black stone which does not feel like stone at all and feels like it's body temperature. MALATESTA leaves it on his desk, covered in a cloth.
Alone in his apartment, MAVERICK watches his phone. The time comes and he does not call Natalie. A moment later, his phone rings.
Alone in the apartment, MAVERICK does not answer.

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Post-Mortem
We ended up playing for a touch longer than I intended, but I knew that would happen by the time the cab sounded its horn. Despite some tiredness and some drinking, we ended up with a really strong session in retrospect, which has set the overall tone of the campaign for me as GM going forward. Between the five players, two have been through one Delta Green campaign, one has experience with Pulp Cthulhu and two have varying levels of exposure. They all roleplayed the f##k out of their characters and while I was worried about just how weird I wanted things to get out the gate, it feels like the balance is correct and I've given enough avenues for further investigation they may want to pursue.
I got a far better sense, as did the players, as to what drives and motivates their characters and how they cope or don't cope with Delta Green work.
MILHOUSE is definitely setting himself up as the curious academic, Iain playing his interest as forever drawn towards what's there "to discover," he said in character. Perhaps a fool and his sanity are easily parted?
MAVERICK is the "all-American", Agent Cooper adjacent FBI Agent who butts up against the para-natural and is seemingly rocked by it, revealing a complicated and perhaps conflicted depth. In his previous operation with MIRANDA, MAVERICK killed one person, but something about this has gotten under his skin. I wonder what Natalie thinks about their missed call?
A hacker by trade, MALATESTA likes a puzzle as much as he does not like the "weird shit." He talks a good talk when it's about something he knows, but is much too shy to chat up his co-worker. He and MAVERICK had some friction in Session 0 when MAVERICK wanted to call him Mal, to which the younger man pushed back against. Yet, he now knows where MAVERICK lives. Maybe he can learn more? What will he do with that? Does he even want to?
As much as MILHOUSE, MIRANDA is likewise driven by curiosity and a need to know, but first and foremost to keep herself safe. She and him are not the same. There's a scar above her hip from a knife, and it still twinges from time to time. She's also the first to directly or indirectly involve a Bond in the investigation. I wonder what Hugo will or won't find? I wonder what those photos mean. MIRANDA wondered aloud whether the crowd or the clown was the "entity." What does that mean?
Despite being built like Jack Reacher (albeit in a sailor suit), MAIN projects a tough air but is clearly a man at the crossroads. He turns 40 before 1995 ends; middle age. When hit with a problem or something he can't otherwise work out, his behaviour swings from one extreme to the other. To date, he's coped with the case by: lashing out at trash cans in an alley. Chatting up a waitress and forming a romantic bond with her. Pulling the pin on a grenade he "thought" could be fake. It's day one. I'm here for it.
Our next session is scheduled for June 7th, 2024.
Until then, be seeing you.

Just wondering how people run the chime ringers in book 2?

Law enforcement is generally handled by the community, but Nantambu maintains a dedicated group of community protectors known as Chime-Ringers. Formally under the command of the city’s treasurer, as peace was deemed a city resource early in Nantambu’s history, the Chime-Ringers are few in number.

They are described as "stretched thin" and are clearly corrupted by the fake Asanda into being less effectual than usual.
We play in a society's remix took things a step further - assuming that the Chime Ringers are double corrupted, from both standard criminal corruption with Froglegs, and Salathiss trying to get the "good cops" to take down the criminals.
One thing I have come into an issue with is determining the Magaambya's level of autonomy from the city at large - my party has a lot of strong reasons to believe that Asanda is a serpentfolk, and the Chime Ringers are corrupt (or at least failing at their jobs) but to keep the AP moving along, Janatimo has been blocked by red tape, which puts more of the onus on the players to take matters into their own hands (admittedly, something the AP seems to discourage at several points)
The fact that the AP paints everyone as fairly incompetent and unable to achieve much on their own I'm sure is an issue with most APs, but it seems very clear with this one.
But back on the topic at hand - has anyone played up their intended role as only an aid to community support in a city which currently has a crime outbreak - is it weird to anyone that there are implied socioeconomic challenges for Grippli and Iruxi that theoretically drive them to crime that don't seem to appear in any references to Nantambu? The city seems pretty utopian as written to be honest, which is just not true according to book 2.

Life is lived fast in these parts. Just another rushed day with a fast pace and a negative tone. Yet another motive in someone's propagandistic mind. Haunted by routine and prediction through the repetition of actions. Jealous of the bohemian, devoted to work. A sheep in a crowd of suits fake smiles and contracts Afraid to take chances and is led through life by telephone calls.A mind littered with useless information, imperfections and unsocial obligation. Trapped in this glass cell of business, then nothing but on-line shopping. Graced by praise and inflicted through change. A time keeping, never dating constant burden on the nation. I put it to you his life is wasted.
my blog

DOWN BY THE WATER BY AL BRUNO III
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
*
It had taken four hours of driving to reach Cape Cod. It was me, my mother and father, and my brother Leon, who was a year and a half older than me, the darling daughter. Ordinarily, my father celebrated his son's victories with men-only trips to New York City or Lake George. But since his beloved all-star was heading off to college in the fall, he decided it would be a family affair.
No matter how much I'd tried to weasel out of it, father still made me go. It wasn't because they were worried about me getting into some kind of trouble; it was simply an unspoken rule in the Sweet family that I never got what I wanted.
An hour into the trip, Leon started ragging on me, making snide remarks about my grades, my waistline, and my therapist, then waving his scholarship under my nose. I ignored it for as long as I could, but my Walkman's batteries died as we passed through Sturbridge, Massachusetts, so I decided that would be the perfect time to bring up his DUI. All Hell broke loose in the car; it got so bad that we had to pull over so my father could tell me in no uncertain terms that I was seventeen and I needed to grow up and get my head on straight.
As always, mother tried to be the peacemaker and failed miserably.
The rest of the car ride was icily quiet, except for the music on the radio, but father started to perk up as he got closer to the cabin. He was so proud of the deal he'd gotten.
We turned left on a street called Patti Page Way onto a long dirt driveway. Once we reached the cabin, we understood it hadn't been a deal at all; it had been a robbery. The outside of the cabin was a wreck, with peeling paint, a sagging porch, and a crooked hanging bench. Tiles were missing from the red roof, and the windows were cracked and covered in grime.
It looked like it should have been condemned, not rented out. My mother and I said we should double back and find a hotel, but my father, of course, would have none of it. "It's already paid for! Non-refundable! You're not even giving it a chance. Let's look inside."
The inside of the cabin wasn't nearly as bad, but it was obvious it hadn't been cleaned in a while. There was a layer of dust on the worn-out furniture, and cobwebs adorned the corners of the room. My mother went to the bedrooms to check for bedbugs or worse and returned with a nod of reluctant approval.
"See?" my father said, "It's not so bad, and besides, after you girls clean it up a little..."
"Us girls?" I dropped my bags on the floor. "I thought this was a family vacation."
Leon rolled his eyes, and my father looked ready to turn purple. mother tried to get in the middle, "What she meant was that we didn't come all this way just-"
"Oh, I know what she meant all right." My father looked right over mother and glared at me. I could feel the 'I work all day speech' coming.
He said, ”I work all day so you and your Goddamn mother can have nice things, and all you give me is grief."
"It's not fair," I said.
"Honey, maybe if we worked together..." mother began, but she stopped talking when my father's glare turned her way.
With that, Leon and my father announced they were going to the store to get pizza and beer. But of course, my father couldn't leave without one last barb at me, "Besides, a little work might help you slim down a little."
Leon laughed. ”You hear that Chubbs?”
Face contorted with rage, I stormed out of that rat-hole cabin, shouting, "That's not my name!" If anyone called out after me, I didn't hear. I ran to the beach, determined not to let them see me cry.
I'd never seen the ocean, except for movies and TV. It was huge, stretching across the horizon. Looking at it made me feel small, but I didn't mind. My science teacher had told me that the oceans were the first things the Earth created. They would probably be the last things to go.There were big ugly seagulls everywhere and tiny, nervous-looking birds that divided most of their time between sifting in the mud and running in terror at the slightest motion. Small shells cracked under my feet. Slipping off my shoes, I waded into the surf, feeling the waves brushing against and around my legs.
As I waded through the water, I saw my reflection. For as long as I can remember, I've despised what I saw staring back at me. My weight, the constant burden I carried, distorted my image, making me appear older than my years. I had battled with it for as long as I could remember, dieting on and off since I was eight years old, yet nothing seemed to make a difference. Two years ago, someone mistook me for Leon's mother, and that was the moment I mostly gave up trying to change. Still, despite my aversion, I could not look away as I watched how the ripples in the water pulled me apart and pieced me back together again.
It was like I was hypnotized. I walked along the water's edge, not glancing up until distant voices startled me. That's when I realized it was twilight, and the ocean had turned a bruised purple color.
When I got back to the cabin, I found my mother nearly in tears, "Where were you? We were worried sick! We almost called the police."
"I'm sorry," I said.
Leon and my father were sitting at the rickety table, a plate of chicken bones in front of each of them. My father stood up and approached me. His breath was sour, and there were shreds of chicken in his teeth. "Are you trying to ruin this vacation?"
"Look, I just-"
"You're miserable and ungrateful, and I won't stand for it," He poked me in the chest, just hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to leave a mark, "You are gonna shape up and fly right? Do you hear me?"
Leon rolled his eyes, "Oh, like she'll ever get in shape."
mother hushed him but let my father continue his performance. He said, "I didn't bring you up here so you could screw around and do whatever you want to do! We are here to vacation as a family!"
"I'm..." the words stung my mouth, "I'm sorry."
He smiled with satisfaction and gestured to the table, "I didn't like the looks of the pizza place, so we got some Kentucky Fried Chicken. I got you a large meal."
He turned to go outside and have a smoke, Leon tagged along after him. mother busied herself cleaning up while I ate all the food my father had brought, hating myself with every bite.
*
Despite being warned we were going on a deep-sea fishing trip, no one was ready for my father shouting and bullying us all awake more than an hour before sunrise. My mother was barely awake, but he was already ordering her and me to make breakfast. I didn't mind helping, but I did mind that Leon didn't have to lift a finger.
One sloppily made breakfast later, we were in the car making our way to the marina. Leon was in the front seat listening to my father's stories about the deep sea fishing expeditions he had gone on as a single man in the Navy. My mother’s gaze shifted down to her lap when he said those had been the best days of his life.
Leon asked about the ship, and my father began to explain the difference between a regular yacht and a sport fishing yacht but suddenly I realized something.
"Dad, we have to go back," I said, "I forgot my jacket."
"So?" He said.
"You said it would be freezing."
"And I said not to forget anything." he shrugged. He actually picked up speed as he maneuvered the car onto the interstate. Ten years ago, he'd told me I was his princess and he would do anything for me.
My mother piped up, "It's not such a bother, is it? We don't want her to catch cold."
"No."
"That's all right," she patted my arm, "We'll just buy you a jacket when we get to the marina. They must have a gift shop around there."
"We are not buying her a goddamn thing," my father said.
"Good thing she's got all that blubber to protect her," Leon said in a stage whisper.
"Ginny, Let me handle this," my father said. "Maybe she wouldn't be such a brat if she had to deal with some consequences once in a while."
"Oh," I said, "like your son had to deal with his consequences? How much did you spend to keep him out of jail?"
The answer was a lot. My father had moved Heaven and Earth to protect Leon and his 'promising future.' It had hurt our family financially and socially, and he had forbidden any of us to talk about it. But at moments like this, I was glad to bring it up; it felt good to remind them that the Boy Wonder had feet of clay.
"God damn it!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, "Can you not be a bitch for five minutes?"
"I don't know," My reply was lightning fast, so fast that I didn't realize the words had come from my mouth, "Can you not be a bastard?"
The brakes squealed as my father swerved us onto the shoulder. My mother gasped, and my brother snickered; a line had been crossed, but so many lines had been crossed over the last few years. I barely cared anymore. All I could think to myself was how we used to be a family. What happened to us?
He unbuckled himself and turned around in his seat, "You think you can talk to me like that? All this over a damn coat."
"Yes." I said, "Over a coat!"
"That's it." He said, and I flinched instinctively, "You're grounded."
"Grounded?"
We sped back to the cabin, and with every twist and turn of the wheel, my mother and brother grew more and more worried that my father was going to send us plowing into a tree or a ditch.
Finally, we arrived back at the cabin, and my father slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Without a word, he shifted into park and turned off the engine. We all sat there in silence, waiting for his next move.
My father turned to face me, "Get out.” He pointed towards the cabin's front door. "Go to your room and stay there until we get back."
I started to speak, but my mother shushed me, "Just do what he says. Please don't make any more trouble."
"We're gonna be late," Leon said.
I sighed and stepped out of the car onto the dusty gravel driveway. My family drove away. They left me behind. The sound of their departure echoed in my ears. I trudged up to the front door, wondering if any of them had spared me a backward glance.
When I was alone in the cabin, I did not go straight to my room; I plopped down on the couch. I had been looking forward to today; I had been so excited at the thought of being out on the ocean so far out on the ocean, that the shore would be just a memory. I had been so excited that I had forgotten my jacket. Now I could see it across the room, slung over the arm of the recliner. The sight of it made me bury my face in my hands. I stayed that way for a long time. Then I went to my temporary bedroom like a good girl and hated myself for it.
With nothing else to do, I napped and listened to my Walkman going through every one of the Police's albums, from Outlandos d'Amour to Synchronicity.
It was just a little while after lunch when the calls began. I answered immediately, thinking it was my parents checking up on me somehow. "Hello?"
I heard a man’s voice ask, "Is she there?” He was weeping. "Who is this?" I asked.
"Who is this?"
"I think you have the wrong number," I said.
“Ophelia is it you?"
I hung up the phone with a grimace, imagining some idiot with a fake number from a bimbo who'd flashed them a polite smile at first or some fake affection at best. Better them than me. I started to go back to my room when the phone rang again. I waited for whoever was on the other line to give up. Ten rings later, I answered. "Hello?"
"Ophelia?" They blubbered.
"That's not my name," I said, "Please stop calling."
"You sound like her."
“I’m not her. I’m nobody.”
The voice became even more desperate and pleading, "I've waited for so long."
I put the receiver back down again.
They called back almost instantly; this time I let the phone ring, put on my Walkman, and cranked the volume all the way up. I tried to let the music transport me to a place far away from the cabin, from that phone call, from my family. ‘Message In A Bottle’ filled my ears and I imagined myself somewhere far far away.
But the ringing persisted. I heard it going on and on in the silence between one song and another. It made me feel uneasy with questions. Finally, inevitably, I ripped off the earphones and picked up the phone again. "Look, I told you already, you have the wrong number," I said.
“I did everything you asked.” The voice on the other end of the line trembled, “I’ve been waiting for so long."
"Please." I pleaded, “stop bothering me."
"I need to see you." He said, "I'm coming to see you now."
"You don't even know-"
"328 Patti Page Way." The stranger started weeping again, "Don't you remember? We walked from the cabin to the beach and held hands at the promontory."
My stomach dropped. I quickly ended the call and retreated back to my room. After a few panicked moments, I put the chair in front of the door. How did they know where I was? I envisioned a local Romeo bewitched by a visiting Juliet. Now Juliet was long gone and Romeo was heartbroken. And where did that leave me?
Alone and defenseless with my family miles away. I hated myself for arguing over a stupid jacket. Was it really worth it? Arguing with people who would never let me win? Why couldn't I just grin and bear it?
The hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. I was terrified and bored; I didn't dare put my headphones back on, so I listened. Every creak and groan of the cabin seemed to taunt me. My nerves were shot as I waited for something, anything, to happen. Was the caller all talk and no action, or would some maniac break down the front door in search of his lost Ophelia?
A dozen forevers later, I heard the family car pulling up outside. Relief made me feel weak, but I still managed to un-baracade myself from my room and meet them at the door. My family looked sunburnt and exhausted; when I hugged my father, he reeked of salt and sweat, but I didn't care one damn bit. "Looks like someone learned their lesson."
There was a long pause before he reluctantly hugged me back. My mother entered the cabin holding up the bag of fast food she had gotten for me. When my brother passed my field of vision, he gave me a smirk . I didn’t care. I didn't argue; I just didn't want to be alone and afraid anymore.
*
That night, as I scarfed down my burger, I told them about the creep on the phone. My mother was horrified and said I should have called the police; my brother rolled his eyes and said I should have just left the phone off the receiver, and my father told me next time, I should grab a steak knife before I went into hiding. That night, I couldn't sleep well. The sound of the ocean was louder than usual, making me feel restless.
The next morning my mother said she wanted us all to go to the beach as a family. My father agreed with a grunt. Leon asked if he could call his friends from a few days ago and have them meet us there. My parents were fine with that.As soon as my brother was off the phone, we grabbed our cooler, beach chairs, and towels. We walked the short distance to the shore. The ocean was just as beautiful before. Sunlight danced upon the waves, creating a breathtaking display of shimmering light. I wanted to stare but instead helped my family find a spot and set up our little beach camp. My brother Leon, ignoring our mother's protests that we had just arrived, went off in search of his friends. I told my parents I wanted to go for a swim, and my father told me to be careful. My mother looked me over and asked why I wasn't wearing the nice new bathing suit she had gotten for me. I didn't really want to go into the water in shorts and a T-shirt, did I?
I explained that I was wearing the pale pink one-piece bathing suit she had bought me- under my t-shirt and shorts. That led to an argument that was as gentle as it was relentless; my mother won out, and I stripped out of my shorts and t-shirt. My father scowled at me and looked away. The salty breeze whipped at my hair, and as I waded into the cold water. Slowly, I let myself sink into the sea, allowing my body to float on its surface. The vastness of the ocean made my insecurity and anger seem insignificatant.
Looking back to the beach, I saw Leon returning with a small group of new friends: two girls and two guys. They introduced themselves to my parents. Then they stripped out of their street clothes, revealing bathing suits beneath. One of the girls wore a swimsuit exactly like the one from the Christie Brinkley poster. My father did not look away from her. An incoming wave lifted me up and dropped me back down again. When I looked back, they were running into the surf, laughing and splashing each other."
There was no way I wanted to share my part of the ocean with them. So I picked a direction and started to swim, my limbs moving with practiced ease. I had always been a good swimmer, but everything changed when I turned twelve and started to gain weight. Despite being an athletic kid, I began overeating in seventh grade. Our house had always been full of snacks, but suddenly, I couldn’t keep my hands off them. I don’t know what changed, but everyone else seemed to have an opinion about it and each one was worse than the last.
Mindful of the riptides, I kept the beach to my left as I swam. I saw volleyball players, solitary people reading, women sunbathing, children playing, strangers all of them but I knew if they saw me they would snicker and make snide remarks.
After a while, longer than I expected, my muscles began to ache, and fatigue set in. It was time to return to land and rest. Maybe I would walk back or maybe just sit on the sand for a while. In the distance, I noticed a formation of rocks jutting out from the water's surface. It was wide enough for three people to walk along and stretched all the way back to the beach. As I swam closer, I saw it rose about five feet above the waves. The closer I got, the rougher the ocean became, pushing me towards the rocks. I struggled to maintain control, but the relentless waves made keeping my head above water difficult. Salt water filled my mouth, and I collided with the ugly crag with bruising force.
I floated there for a few minutes, clinging to the rock formation. Finding a sturdy handhold, I began to climb, my tired muscles groaning with effort. Finally, I pushed myself up and lay flat on my back, staring at the sky and the gulls. I concentrated on nothing more than catching my breath.
What would have happened if I had drowned? If the angry tide had smashed me against the rocks with fatal force? Would my family even care? Or would they be relieved? Would they make jokes as they searched for a Plus-Size coffin?
I shut my eyes tightly and kept them closed until I heard a splashing noise nearby. Then, I sat upright and let my feet dangle over the edge of the rocky outcrop. The water was further below now, and I couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed while I lay there, blind to the world.
There was another splashing sound, and then her body broke the surface of the water below me; I hadn't seen anyone swimming there. Her hair was dark, and her face belonged on the cover of a beauty magazine. She was wearing nothing but a white blouse that was two sizes too large for her. The wet fabric revealed a body like something out of Leon's wet dreams. I wanted to grab one of the loose rocks nearby and drop it on her.
She scaled the jagged rocks with the fluid grace of a seal emerging from the water. Our eyes met, and she flashed a smile. "I didn't see you up there.” Dark hair clung to her skin, droplets of water trailing down her face. “I hope I'm not bothering you.”
I shrugged. "It's a free country." Then, with a hint of sarcasm, I added, "Couldn't afford a swimsuit?”
Her smile turned playful. "I have everything I need."
"I bet you do." The bitterness in my voice surprised me, and a twinge of guilt followed. What had she ever done to deserve that? Attempting to recover, I asked, "Uhm, do you like the beach?”
"I love the ocean," she fiddled with the wet fabric covering her torso, pulling it away from her skin only to have it settle back into place just as translucent as before. I got a strange feeling she was doing it for my benefit. "Unknowable, Uncontrollable. And deeper than any of us could imagine."
"That's pretty poetic."
"You have such serious eyes," She said. "Tell me your name."
I did. Then she moved closer, her face even with mine. Her smile became strange. She leaned in close, I thought she was going to say something, perhaps share a secret, but instead, she kissed me. Electric shocks ran through me. I felt numb. I felt sick. I felt warm all over.
The kiss broke. "Who are you?" I breathed.
Before she dove off the rock pier, she uttered just one word: "Ophelia." The name caught me off guard. I was still in shock from our kiss and didn't even hear the splash when she hit the water.
Scrambling drunkenly to my feet I raced back to my parents, the hot sand of the beach burning my feet, the taste of seawater heavy in my mouth, the cool breeze wafting off the ocean making me shiver. Or maybe it was something else making me shiver. I found my family packing up; my mother asked where I had been, and my father demanded to know what I had been up to. I made an excuse about riptides and losing track of where I was, and they believed it. All the while, Leon and his friends watched me and shared conspiratorial grins. On the walk back to the cabin, the girl in the Christie Brinkley swimsuit said, "Your brother told us all about you."
I was about to say something sarcastic when one of the guys said, “Why are you wearing lipstick?"
That stopped me dead in my tracks. I realized the taste in my mouth that I had taken to be seawater was something else. When I touched my lips with my fingers they came back stained red. When had I bitten my lip?
*
A noise outside the cabin startled me awake. I went to my cracked bedroom window and peered out into the darkness. I didn’t know how late at night it was but sunrise must have been hours away. The noise was like whispering; it wasn’t just one voice but several. Yet, even as that thought occurred, uncertainty crept in—were they really voices? Somehow, I just wasn’t sure. What I was sure of was that, somehow, the sounds were familiar to me, like something out of a dream.
I needed to know what it was. So I quickly threw on the clothes I had worn the day before and quietly made my way to the front door, careful not to wake anyone else in the cabin. There were no stars or moon, just the shadowy outline of low-hanging clouds. As I stepped onto the porch I nearly stumbled over the empty cooler that had been left behind by my parents. There was a sickening moment when I thought I was going to fall flat on my face, but I caught myself on the railing.
The air was warm and thick. Without thinking, I stepped off the porch and began to follow the sound of the whispers that were not whispers. My steps were cautious and shuffling as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually, I realized I was making my way along the familiar path to the beach.
The ocean was a mirror of the starless sky; I knew it was there only by the salty breeze and the rumbling crash of the waves. The sound of waves was so loud that it drowned out the whispers, but they were still there. I closed my eyes, trading one darkness for another, and tried to orient myself to the sound. I was sure it was somewhere to the east, but before I could follow it, I heard a familiar voice. It was the stranger from the phone, "Ophelia!"
My heart began to pound in my chest; sick with fear, I spun in place, looking for him, but I might as well have had my eyes closed.
"Ophelia!"
A figure emerged from the blackness, the outline of a man shuffling along the shore. His shoulders were hunched. I could imagine the tears running down his face, the gaunt face looking far older than the body that carried it. “You said you’d be here,” he said, his voice fading into the sound of the ocean, “You promised.”
Certain he believed he was alone, I began to back away slowly. I didn't dare run. With every step, I feared he would notice me and, despite my very different shape, mistake me for Ophelia. What was it I'd heard my father say to Leon? Something about every woman being the same in the dark.
The not-quite whispers were closer now. I followed the sound until I found myself where the rocky outcropping that had nearly killed me met the beach.
Fear and curiosity drove me to make my way along the ugly crag; water lapped at my feet, numbing them almost immediately. More, by instinct than anything else, I stopped at the edge of the outcrop. The waves were knee-level now, splashing against me relentlessly, trying to push me back. There was inky blackness all around me.
The whispering chorus stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Impossibily the sound of the waves also vanished and I stood there unmoving, unseeing and unhearing. It made me remember that when I was a little girl, this is what I had imagined being dead felt like.
"I found you!" The sound of the stranger's voice jolted me. He was close behind me, a fast-approaching shadow. Panicked, I ran blindly and blundered over the side of the rock formation into the dark water.
Cold oblivion consumed me.*
I regained consciousness in a cave lit by unseen candles. Strange symbols adorned the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of saltwater and decay. As my vision adjusted, I saw slender, ethereal shapes moving in the shadows, tending to something—an ugly silhouette that thrashed and gurgled.
A familiar figure loomed over me. Wet, dark hair and sea-blue eyes filled my vision. Her hand stroked my face, gentle yet firm. "Ophelia," I said.
"You've been asleep for so long." She propped my head up, bringing a clamshell to my lips. The water was salty and stung, but before I could protest, I realized I was naked. My clothes lay spread across the rock floor, slowly drying.
Humiliated, I curled into a ball, trying to cover myself. "Don't look at me!" I whispered.
Ophelia grabbed my wrists and pulled me into a sitting position. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." She was naked, too, her skin gleaming as though she had just left the water. "None of us do."
My heart raced, on the verge of tears. "Where am I?"
"Among friends." She drew me close.
I glanced at the feminine shapes lingering in the shadows; they had drawn closer to the figure at their feet. A sound reminiscent of a fish being scaled echoed in the cave, followed by a familiar sob. It was the man from the phone.
"Who are they?" my voice was barely above a whisper.
"Ophelia"
"I thought you were-” I began.
"We are all Ophelias," she said, her expression darkening, "Born to be martyrs in men's eyes."
I said, "I don't understand."
Ophelia’s mouth became an angry frown, ”We can be daughters, lovers, even angels, but we can never be free from that hateful thing they pretend is love.”
I asked, “Why did you bring me here?”
“Why don’t you stay?”
"You don't even know my name." I breathed, “You don’t know who I am?”
"Do you?" She said with a kiss. She pushed me down onto my back. As her lips moved across my skin, each kiss felt like a cold drop of winter rain. Dizziness washed over me. It was like I was on an elevator that wouldn't stop going up. “Who do you want to be? Are you who others say you are?"
Ophelia started running her nails hard across my chest and belly. I wanted to escape. I never wanted to leave. It was like she was taking me, making me hers. Blood welled up from the cuts and scrapes. She kissed the wounds she had made, one by one, her lips smearing red. The cave was filled with whispered songs that had no words. Her murmuring joined them.
When it was over she held me close.
“I love you,” the voice of the man from the phone said. He sounded like he was drowning, “Isn’t that enough?” He coughed twice and then fell silent.
The candles began to go out one by one, and shadows began to swallow her, trying to snatch her away from me. I kissed her hard on the mouth, losing myself in her. In a matter of seconds, I was lost in darkness.
* It was late in the morning when I awoke. I was lying flat on my back on the crag. The clouds above were a stormy purple, and the rain was coming down hard. I was soaking wet, and my clothes were plastered to my skin. I heard a familiar voice calling my name, but it wasn't one I wanted to hear. I moaned, half with exhaustion, half with anguish. My skin still ached and tingled in the places Ophelia had clawed at me.
With trembling hands, I crawled to the ledge and looked down. The tide had gone out. Fifteen feet below me, Leon was trudging along the surf, wet and miserable, and shouting my name.
"Leon?" I called out. For a hilarious moment, he was utterly bewildered, his square head swiveling back and forth. I called again, "Up here!”
When he finally saw me, he started screaming, "You are in big trouble! Dad is seriously pissed!”
"I just went for a walk.”
"A walk? You've been gone for over a day!" Leon blundered closer until he was directly below me. I could have spit on him if I wanted to.
I scowled down at him, remembering all the times he had disappeared for an entire weekend without a single phone call, only to return to a gentle reprimand from our father instead of a harsh scolding and a slap to the back of the head. I used one of his excuses, "I was with friends."
The expression on his face twisted as if he were looking at something disgusting. "Delores told me she saw you here last night!"
Bile rose up in my throat. "So what?”
"She saw what you were doing! Are you crazy? Why can't you just be normal? What is wrong with—"
A stone the size of a bowling ball crashed down on Leon, crushing his skull. He collapsed face down into the surf, blood clouding the seawater.
I scrambled to my feet to find Ophelia standing near me. "You killed him," I said.
The waves greedily pulled at Leon's body, twisting and bending it like a rag doll only to push it back up the sand again.
I know I should have felt something, but I didn’t. “What am I going to do?’"I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of the rain and the racing of my own thoughts.
“What do you want to do?”
"I want to be with you." The rain pelted us. It was getting cold and dark, but it didn't matter. I felt safe in her arms., "I want to be with you forever."
"Then be with us," she said.
"What about Leon?"
Ophelia chuckled coldly. ”What about him?"
"But the police will find out," I said.
She released me and stepped to the edge of the crag, "In the deep dark," She said, "We are free from judgment."
The downpour had become torrential. Ophelia's words caused me to gaze longingly at the ocean. Each wave crashed against the shore with a powerful roar, sending spray and mist into the air.
She kissed my forehead.
There were no second thoughts, no worries. I turned and started walking back to the cabin. After a few minutes, I turned back to look for Ophelia. Through the storm, I saw four hazy but unmistakably masculine figures standing by Leon's body. Moving clumsily, they lifted his limp form and carried it into the sea.
*
From the moment I stepped into the cabin my father started screaming at me, my mother was silent and glared reporachfully. The stinging sensation of my scratches was intensifying to the point of almost being pleasurable.
Turning away from them, I walked calmly to the kitchenette. Their voices seemed distant as if echoing from the base of a rocky cliff during low tide. Steady-handed, I reached into the kitchen drawer and retrieved a steak knife. My father's insult rang out. "Oh, Jesus Christ! She's going to make a sandwich!"
Ignoring him was easy. Everything he said was familiar. I waited until his temper broke, and he all but ran at me. He violently grabbed my shoulder, yanking me around to face him.
The knife was dull, but my strength proved more than sufficient to slice open his throat. Blood splattered across both our faces. His scream was gurgling and wet, his mouth gaping like a fish. He stumbled backward, clutching at his neck, tripped over his own feet, and collapsed. I stood there, watching as my father spent the final moments of his life weeping.
When it was over, I looked to my mother. She had been standing by watching, just like always. "Angela, please," she cowered at my approach.
I raised the bloody knife above my head, "That's not my name."
*
There was enough kerosene left in the cabin's rusty heater, to start a good fire. I watched the structure burn for a little while. I felt nothing; I hadn't felt anything at all since I left Ophelia's arms. When I was finished I headed for the shore.
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
The tingling under my skin was painful. I ripped at my clothes and tore madly at the scabs. They broke open easily. The flesh beneath them was unblemished and gleaming.
I waded out into the cold, crashing water, leaving my shirt, shorts, and long red strips of my flesh behind. In the unknowable depths, I would never be a daughter, a punchline, or a scapegoat. I would be free.
With each footstep, the roar of the waves changed, becoming softer and prayer-like. It sounded like a chorus of voices calling out the name "Ophelia."
Voices so very much like mine.

DOWN BY THE WATER BY AL BRUNO III
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
*
It had taken four hours of driving to reach Cape Cod. It was me, my mother and father, and my brother Leon, who was a year and a half older than me, the darling daughter. Ordinarily, my father celebrated his son's victories with men-only trips to New York City or Lake George. But since his beloved all-star was heading off to college in the fall, he decided it would be a family affair.
No matter how much I'd tried to weasel out of it, father still made me go. It wasn't because they were worried about me getting into some kind of trouble; it was simply an unspoken rule in the Sweet family that I never got what I wanted.
An hour into the trip, Leon started ragging on me, making snide remarks about my grades, my waistline, and my therapist, then waving his scholarship under my nose. I ignored it for as long as I could, but my Walkman's batteries died as we passed through Sturbridge, Massachusetts, so I decided that would be the perfect time to bring up his DUI. All Hell broke loose in the car; it got so bad that we had to pull over so my father could tell me in no uncertain terms that I was seventeen and I needed to grow up and get my head on straight.
As always, mother tried to be the peacemaker and failed miserably.
The rest of the car ride was icily quiet, except for the music on the radio, but father started to perk up as he got closer to the cabin. He was so proud of the deal he'd gotten.
We turned left on a street called Patti Page Way onto a long dirt driveway. Once we reached the cabin, we understood it hadn't been a deal at all; it had been a robbery. The outside of the cabin was a wreck, with peeling paint, a sagging porch, and a crooked hanging bench. Tiles were missing from the red roof, and the windows were cracked and covered in grime.
It looked like it should have been condemned, not rented out. My mother and I said we should double back and find a hotel, but my father, of course, would have none of it. "It's already paid for! Non-refundable! You're not even giving it a chance. Let's look inside."
The inside of the cabin wasn't nearly as bad, but it was obvious it hadn't been cleaned in a while. There was a layer of dust on the worn-out furniture, and cobwebs adorned the corners of the room. My mother went to the bedrooms to check for bedbugs or worse and returned with a nod of reluctant approval.
"See?" my father said, "It's not so bad, and besides, after you girls clean it up a little..."
"Us girls?" I dropped my bags on the floor. "I thought this was a family vacation."
Leon rolled his eyes, and my father looked ready to turn purple. mother tried to get in the middle, "What she meant was that we didn't come all this way just-"
"Oh, I know what she meant all right." My father looked right over mother and glared at me. I could feel the 'I work all day speech' coming.
He said, ”I work all day so you and your Goddamn mother can have nice things, and all you give me is grief."
"It's not fair," I said.
"Honey, maybe if we worked together..." mother began, but she stopped talking when my father's glare turned her way.
With that, Leon and my father announced they were going to the store to get pizza and beer. But of course, my father couldn't leave without one last barb at me, "Besides, a little work might help you slim down a little."
Leon laughed. ”You hear that Chubbs?”
Face contorted with rage, I stormed out of that rat-hole cabin, shouting, "That's not my name!" If anyone called out after me, I didn't hear. I ran to the beach, determined not to let them see me cry.
I'd never seen the ocean, except for movies and TV. It was huge, stretching across the horizon. Looking at it made me feel small, but I didn't mind. My science teacher had told me that the oceans were the first things the Earth created. They would probably be the last things to go.There were big ugly seagulls everywhere and tiny, nervous-looking birds that divided most of their time between sifting in the mud and running in terror at the slightest motion. Small shells cracked under my feet. Slipping off my shoes, I waded into the surf, feeling the waves brushing against and around my legs.
As I waded through the water, I saw my reflection. For as long as I can remember, I've despised what I saw staring back at me. My weight, the constant burden I carried, distorted my image, making me appear older than my years. I had battled with it for as long as I could remember, dieting on and off since I was eight years old, yet nothing seemed to make a difference. Two years ago, someone mistook me for Leon's mother, and that was the moment I mostly gave up trying to change. Still, despite my aversion, I could not look away as I watched how the ripples in the water pulled me apart and pieced me back together again.
It was like I was hypnotized. I walked along the water's edge, not glancing up until distant voices startled me. That's when I realized it was twilight, and the ocean had turned a bruised purple color.
When I got back to the cabin, I found my mother nearly in tears, "Where were you? We were worried sick! We almost called the police."
"I'm sorry," I said.
Leon and my father were sitting at the rickety table, a plate of chicken bones in front of each of them. My father stood up and approached me. His breath was sour, and there were shreds of chicken in his teeth. "Are you trying to ruin this vacation?"
"Look, I just-"
"You're miserable and ungrateful, and I won't stand for it," He poked me in the chest, just hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to leave a mark, "You are gonna shape up and fly right? Do you hear me?"
Leon rolled his eyes, "Oh, like she'll ever get in shape."
mother hushed him but let my father continue his performance. He said, "I didn't bring you up here so you could screw around and do whatever you want to do! We are here to vacation as a family!"
"I'm..." the words stung my mouth, "I'm sorry."
He smiled with satisfaction and gestured to the table, "I didn't like the looks of the pizza place, so we got some Kentucky Fried Chicken. I got you a large meal."
He turned to go outside and have a smoke, Leon tagged along after him. mother busied herself cleaning up while I ate all the food my father had brought, hating myself with every bite.
*
Despite being warned we were going on a deep-sea fishing trip, no one was ready for my father shouting and bullying us all awake more than an hour before sunrise. My mother was barely awake, but he was already ordering her and me to make breakfast. I didn't mind helping, but I did mind that Leon didn't have to lift a finger.
One sloppily made breakfast later, we were in the car making our way to the marina. Leon was in the front seat listening to my father's stories about the deep sea fishing expeditions he had gone on as a single man in the Navy. My mother’s gaze shifted down to her lap when he said those had been the best days of his life.
Leon asked about the ship, and my father began to explain the difference between a regular yacht and a sport fishing yacht but suddenly I realized something.
"Dad, we have to go back," I said, "I forgot my jacket."
"So?" He said.
"You said it would be freezing."
"And I said not to forget anything." he shrugged. He actually picked up speed as he maneuvered the car onto the interstate. Ten years ago, he'd told me I was his princess and he would do anything for me.
My mother piped up, "It's not such a bother, is it? We don't want her to catch cold."
"No."
"That's all right," she patted my arm, "We'll just buy you a jacket when we get to the marina. They must have a gift shop around there."
"We are not buying her a goddamn thing," my father said.
"Good thing she's got all that blubber to protect her," Leon said in a stage whisper.
"Ginny, Let me handle this," my father said. "Maybe she wouldn't be such a brat if she had to deal with some consequences once in a while."
"Oh," I said, "like your son had to deal with his consequences? How much did you spend to keep him out of jail?"
The answer was a lot. My father had moved Heaven and Earth to protect Leon and his 'promising future.' It had hurt our family financially and socially, and he had forbidden any of us to talk about it. But at moments like this, I was glad to bring it up; it felt good to remind them that the Boy Wonder had feet of clay.
"God damn it!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, "Can you not be a bitch for five minutes?"
"I don't know," My reply was lightning fast, so fast that I didn't realize the words had come from my mouth, "Can you not be a bastard?"
The brakes squealed as my father swerved us onto the shoulder. My mother gasped, and my brother snickered; a line had been crossed, but so many lines had been crossed over the last few years. I barely cared anymore. All I could think to myself was how we used to be a family. What happened to us?
He unbuckled himself and turned around in his seat, "You think you can talk to me like that? All this over a damn coat."
"Yes." I said, "Over a coat!"
"That's it." He said, and I flinched instinctively, "You're grounded."
"Grounded?"
We sped back to the cabin, and with every twist and turn of the wheel, my mother and brother grew more and more worried that my father was going to send us plowing into a tree or a ditch.
Finally, we arrived back at the cabin, and my father slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Without a word, he shifted into park and turned off the engine. We all sat there in silence, waiting for his next move.
My father turned to face me, "Get out.” He pointed towards the cabin's front door. "Go to your room and stay there until we get back."
I started to speak, but my mother shushed me, "Just do what he says. Please don't make any more trouble."
"We're gonna be late," Leon said.
I sighed and stepped out of the car onto the dusty gravel driveway. My family drove away. They left me behind. The sound of their departure echoed in my ears. I trudged up to the front door, wondering if any of them had spared me a backward glance.
When I was alone in the cabin, I did not go straight to my room; I plopped down on the couch. I had been looking forward to today; I had been so excited at the thought of being out on the ocean so far out on the ocean, that the shore would be just a memory. I had been so excited that I had forgotten my jacket. Now I could see it across the room, slung over the arm of the recliner. The sight of it made me bury my face in my hands. I stayed that way for a long time. Then I went to my temporary bedroom like a good girl and hated myself for it.
With nothing else to do, I napped and listened to my Walkman going through every one of the Police's albums, from Outlandos d'Amour to Synchronicity.
It was just a little while after lunch when the calls began. I answered immediately, thinking it was my parents checking up on me somehow. "Hello?"
I heard a man’s voice ask, "Is she there?” He was weeping. "Who is this?" I asked.
"Who is this?"
"I think you have the wrong number," I said.
“Ophelia is it you?"
I hung up the phone with a grimace, imagining some idiot with a fake number from a bimbo who'd flashed them a polite smile at first or some fake affection at best. Better them than me. I started to go back to my room when the phone rang again. I waited for whoever was on the other line to give up. Ten rings later, I answered. "Hello?"
"Ophelia?" They blubbered.
"That's not my name," I said, "Please stop calling."
"You sound like her."
“I’m not her. I’m nobody.”
The voice became even more desperate and pleading, "I've waited for so long."
I put the receiver back down again.
They called back almost instantly; this time I let the phone ring, put on my Walkman, and cranked the volume all the way up. I tried to let the music transport me to a place far away from the cabin, from that phone call, from my family. ‘Message In A Bottle’ filled my ears and I imagined myself somewhere far far away.
But the ringing persisted. I heard it going on and on in the silence between one song and another. It made me feel uneasy with questions. Finally, inevitably, I ripped off the earphones and picked up the phone again. "Look, I told you already, you have the wrong number," I said.
“I did everything you asked.” The voice on the other end of the line trembled, “I’ve been waiting for so long."
"Please." I pleaded, “stop bothering me."
"I need to see you." He said, "I'm coming to see you now."
"You don't even know-"
"328 Patti Page Way." The stranger started weeping again, "Don't you remember? We walked from the cabin to the beach and held hands at the promontory."
My stomach dropped. I quickly ended the call and retreated back to my room. After a few panicked moments, I put the chair in front of the door. How did they know where I was? I envisioned a local Romeo bewitched by a visiting Juliet. Now Juliet was long gone and Romeo was heartbroken. And where did that leave me?
Alone and defenseless with my family miles away. I hated myself for arguing over a stupid jacket. Was it really worth it? Arguing with people who would never let me win? Why couldn't I just grin and bear it?
The hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. I was terrified and bored; I didn't dare put my headphones back on, so I listened. Every creak and groan of the cabin seemed to taunt me. My nerves were shot as I waited for something, anything, to happen. Was the caller all talk and no action, or would some maniac break down the front door in search of his lost Ophelia?
A dozen forevers later, I heard the family car pulling up outside. Relief made me feel weak, but I still managed to un-baracade myself from my room and meet them at the door. My family looked sunburnt and exhausted; when I hugged my father, he reeked of salt and sweat, but I didn't care one damn bit. "Looks like someone learned their lesson."
There was a long pause before he reluctantly hugged me back. My mother entered the cabin holding up the bag of fast food she had gotten for me. When my brother passed my field of vision, he gave me a smirk . I didn’t care. I didn't argue; I just didn't want to be alone and afraid anymore.
*
That night, as I scarfed down my burger, I told them about the creep on the phone. My mother was horrified and said I should have called the police; my brother rolled his eyes and said I should have just left the phone off the receiver, and my father told me next time, I should grab a steak knife before I went into hiding. That night, I couldn't sleep well. The sound of the ocean was louder than usual, making me feel restless.
The next morning my mother said she wanted us all to go to the beach as a family. My father agreed with a grunt. Leon asked if he could call his friends from a few days ago and have them meet us there. My parents were fine with that.As soon as my brother was off the phone, we grabbed our cooler, beach chairs, and towels. We walked the short distance to the shore. The ocean was just as beautiful before. Sunlight danced upon the waves, creating a breathtaking display of shimmering light. I wanted to stare but instead helped my family find a spot and set up our little beach camp. My brother Leon, ignoring our mother's protests that we had just arrived, went off in search of his friends. I told my parents I wanted to go for a swim, and my father told me to be careful. My mother looked me over and asked why I wasn't wearing the nice new bathing suit she had gotten for me. I didn't really want to go into the water in shorts and a T-shirt, did I?
I explained that I was wearing the pale pink one-piece bathing suit she had bought me- under my t-shirt and shorts. That led to an argument that was as gentle as it was relentless; my mother won out, and I stripped out of my shorts and t-shirt. My father scowled at me and looked away. The salty breeze whipped at my hair, and as I waded into the cold water. Slowly, I let myself sink into the sea, allowing my body to float on its surface. The vastness of the ocean made my insecurity and anger seem insignificatant.
Looking back to the beach, I saw Leon returning with a small group of new friends: two girls and two guys. They introduced themselves to my parents. Then they stripped out of their street clothes, revealing bathing suits beneath. One of the girls wore a swimsuit exactly like the one from the Christie Brinkley poster. My father did not look away from her. An incoming wave lifted me up and dropped me back down again. When I looked back, they were running into the surf, laughing and splashing each other."
There was no way I wanted to share my part of the ocean with them. So I picked a direction and started to swim, my limbs moving with practiced ease. I had always been a good swimmer, but everything changed when I turned twelve and started to gain weight. Despite being an athletic kid, I began overeating in seventh grade. Our house had always been full of snacks, but suddenly, I couldn’t keep my hands off them. I don’t know what changed, but everyone else seemed to have an opinion about it and each one was worse than the last.
Mindful of the riptides, I kept the beach to my left as I swam. I saw volleyball players, solitary people reading, women sunbathing, children playing, strangers all of them but I knew if they saw me they would snicker and make snide remarks.
After a while, longer than I expected, my muscles began to ache, and fatigue set in. It was time to return to land and rest. Maybe I would walk back or maybe just sit on the sand for a while. In the distance, I noticed a formation of rocks jutting out from the water's surface. It was wide enough for three people to walk along and stretched all the way back to the beach. As I swam closer, I saw it rose about five feet above the waves. The closer I got, the rougher the ocean became, pushing me towards the rocks. I struggled to maintain control, but the relentless waves made keeping my head above water difficult. Salt water filled my mouth, and I collided with the ugly crag with bruising force.
I floated there for a few minutes, clinging to the rock formation. Finding a sturdy handhold, I began to climb, my tired muscles groaning with effort. Finally, I pushed myself up and lay flat on my back, staring at the sky and the gulls. I concentrated on nothing more than catching my breath.
What would have happened if I had drowned? If the angry tide had smashed me against the rocks with fatal force? Would my family even care? Or would they be relieved? Would they make jokes as they searched for a Plus-Size coffin?
I shut my eyes tightly and kept them closed until I heard a splashing noise nearby. Then, I sat upright and let my feet dangle over the edge of the rocky outcrop. The water was further below now, and I couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed while I lay there, blind to the world.
There was another splashing sound, and then her body broke the surface of the water below me; I hadn't seen anyone swimming there. Her hair was dark, and her face belonged on the cover of a beauty magazine. She was wearing nothing but a white blouse that was two sizes too large for her. The wet fabric revealed a body like something out of Leon's wet dreams. I wanted to grab one of the loose rocks nearby and drop it on her.
She scaled the jagged rocks with the fluid grace of a seal emerging from the water. Our eyes met, and she flashed a smile. "I didn't see you up there.” Dark hair clung to her skin, droplets of water trailing down her face. “I hope I'm not bothering you.”
I shrugged. "It's a free country." Then, with a hint of sarcasm, I added, "Couldn't afford a swimsuit?”
Her smile turned playful. "I have everything I need."
"I bet you do." The bitterness in my voice surprised me, and a twinge of guilt followed. What had she ever done to deserve that? Attempting to recover, I asked, "Uhm, do you like the beach?”
"I love the ocean," she fiddled with the wet fabric covering her torso, pulling it away from her skin only to have it settle back into place just as translucent as before. I got a strange feeling she was doing it for my benefit. "Unknowable, Uncontrollable. And deeper than any of us could imagine."
"That's pretty poetic."
"You have such serious eyes," She said. "Tell me your name."
I did. Then she moved closer, her face even with mine. Her smile became strange. She leaned in close, I thought she was going to say something, perhaps share a secret, but instead, she kissed me. Electric shocks ran through me. I felt numb. I felt sick. I felt warm all over.
The kiss broke. "Who are you?" I breathed.
Before she dove off the rock pier, she uttered just one word: "Ophelia." The name caught me off guard. I was still in shock from our kiss and didn't even hear the splash when she hit the water.
Scrambling drunkenly to my feet I raced back to my parents, the hot sand of the beach burning my feet, the taste of seawater heavy in my mouth, the cool breeze wafting off the ocean making me shiver. Or maybe it was something else making me shiver. I found my family packing up; my mother asked where I had been, and my father demanded to know what I had been up to. I made an excuse about riptides and losing track of where I was, and they believed it. All the while, Leon and his friends watched me and shared conspiratorial grins. On the walk back to the cabin, the girl in the Christie Brinkley swimsuit said, "Your brother told us all about you."
I was about to say something sarcastic when one of the guys said, “Why are you wearing lipstick?"
That stopped me dead in my tracks. I realized the taste in my mouth that I had taken to be seawater was something else. When I touched my lips with my fingers they came back stained red. When had I bitten my lip?
*
A noise outside the cabin startled me awake. I went to my cracked bedroom window and peered out into the darkness. I didn’t know how late at night it was but sunrise must have been hours away. The noise was like whispering; it wasn’t just one voice but several. Yet, even as that thought occurred, uncertainty crept in—were they really voices? Somehow, I just wasn’t sure. What I was sure of was that, somehow, the sounds were familiar to me, like something out of a dream.
I needed to know what it was. So I quickly threw on the clothes I had worn the day before and quietly made my way to the front door, careful not to wake anyone else in the cabin. There were no stars or moon, just the shadowy outline of low-hanging clouds. As I stepped onto the porch I nearly stumbled over the empty cooler that had been left behind by my parents. There was a sickening moment when I thought I was going to fall flat on my face, but I caught myself on the railing.
The air was warm and thick. Without thinking, I stepped off the porch and began to follow the sound of the whispers that were not whispers. My steps were cautious and shuffling as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually, I realized I was making my way along the familiar path to the beach.
The ocean was a mirror of the starless sky; I knew it was there only by the salty breeze and the rumbling crash of the waves. The sound of waves was so loud that it drowned out the whispers, but they were still there. I closed my eyes, trading one darkness for another, and tried to orient myself to the sound. I was sure it was somewhere to the east, but before I could follow it, I heard a familiar voice. It was the stranger from the phone, "Ophelia!"
My heart began to pound in my chest; sick with fear, I spun in place, looking for him, but I might as well have had my eyes closed.
"Ophelia!"
A figure emerged from the blackness, the outline of a man shuffling along the shore. His shoulders were hunched. I could imagine the tears running down his face, the gaunt face looking far older than the body that carried it. “You said you’d be here,” he said, his voice fading into the sound of the ocean, “You promised.”
Certain he believed he was alone, I began to back away slowly. I didn't dare run. With every step, I feared he would notice me and, despite my very different shape, mistake me for Ophelia. What was it I'd heard my father say to Leon? Something about every woman being the same in the dark.
The not-quite whispers were closer now. I followed the sound until I found myself where the rocky outcropping that had nearly killed me met the beach.
Fear and curiosity drove me to make my way along the ugly crag; water lapped at my feet, numbing them almost immediately. More, by instinct than anything else, I stopped at the edge of the outcrop. The waves were knee-level now, splashing against me relentlessly, trying to push me back. There was inky blackness all around me.
The whispering chorus stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Impossibily the sound of the waves also vanished and I stood there unmoving, unseeing and unhearing. It made me remember that when I was a little girl, this is what I had imagined being dead felt like.
"I found you!" The sound of the stranger's voice jolted me. He was close behind me, a fast-approaching shadow. Panicked, I ran blindly and blundered over the side of the rock formation into the dark water.
Cold oblivion consumed me.*
I regained consciousness in a cave lit by unseen candles. Strange symbols adorned the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of saltwater and decay. As my vision adjusted, I saw slender, ethereal shapes moving in the shadows, tending to something—an ugly silhouette that thrashed and gurgled.
A familiar figure loomed over me. Wet, dark hair and sea-blue eyes filled my vision. Her hand stroked my face, gentle yet firm. "Ophelia," I said.
"You've been asleep for so long." She propped my head up, bringing a clamshell to my lips. The water was salty and stung, but before I could protest, I realized I was naked. My clothes lay spread across the rock floor, slowly drying.
Humiliated, I curled into a ball, trying to cover myself. "Don't look at me!" I whispered.
Ophelia grabbed my wrists and pulled me into a sitting position. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." She was naked, too, her skin gleaming as though she had just left the water. "None of us do."
My heart raced, on the verge of tears. "Where am I?"
"Among friends." She drew me close.
I glanced at the feminine shapes lingering in the shadows; they had drawn closer to the figure at their feet. A sound reminiscent of a fish being scaled echoed in the cave, followed by a familiar sob. It was the man from the phone.
"Who are they?" my voice was barely above a whisper.
"Ophelia"
"I thought you were-” I began.
"We are all Ophelias," she said, her expression darkening, "Born to be martyrs in men's eyes."
I said, "I don't understand."
Ophelia’s mouth became an angry frown, ”We can be daughters, lovers, even angels, but we can never be free from that hateful thing they pretend is love.”
I asked, “Why did you bring me here?”
“Why don’t you stay?”
"You don't even know my name." I breathed, “You don’t know who I am?”
"Do you?" She said with a kiss. She pushed me down onto my back. As her lips moved across my skin, each kiss felt like a cold drop of winter rain. Dizziness washed over me. It was like I was on an elevator that wouldn't stop going up. “Who do you want to be? Are you who others say you are?"
Ophelia started running her nails hard across my chest and belly. I wanted to escape. I never wanted to leave. It was like she was taking me, making me hers. Blood welled up from the cuts and scrapes. She kissed the wounds she had made, one by one, her lips smearing red. The cave was filled with whispered songs that had no words. Her murmuring joined them.
When it was over she held me close.
“I love you,” the voice of the man from the phone said. He sounded like he was drowning, “Isn’t that enough?” He coughed twice and then fell silent.
The candles began to go out one by one, and shadows began to swallow her, trying to snatch her away from me. I kissed her hard on the mouth, losing myself in her. In a matter of seconds, I was lost in darkness.
* It was late in the morning when I awoke. I was lying flat on my back on the crag. The clouds above were a stormy purple, and the rain was coming down hard. I was soaking wet, and my clothes were plastered to my skin. I heard a familiar voice calling my name, but it wasn't one I wanted to hear. I moaned, half with exhaustion, half with anguish. My skin still ached and tingled in the places Ophelia had clawed at me.
With trembling hands, I crawled to the ledge and looked down. The tide had gone out. Fifteen feet below me, Leon was trudging along the surf, wet and miserable, and shouting my name.
"Leon?" I called out. For a hilarious moment, he was utterly bewildered, his square head swiveling back and forth. I called again, "Up here!”
When he finally saw me, he started screaming, "You are in big trouble! Dad is seriously pissed!”
"I just went for a walk.”
"A walk? You've been gone for over a day!" Leon blundered closer until he was directly below me. I could have spit on him if I wanted to.
I scowled down at him, remembering all the times he had disappeared for an entire weekend without a single phone call, only to return to a gentle reprimand from our father instead of a harsh scolding and a slap to the back of the head. I used one of his excuses, "I was with friends."
The expression on his face twisted as if he were looking at something disgusting. "Delores told me she saw you here last night!"
Bile rose up in my throat. "So what?”
"She saw what you were doing! Are you crazy? Why can't you just be normal? What is wrong with—"
A stone the size of a bowling ball crashed down on Leon, crushing his skull. He collapsed face down into the surf, blood clouding the seawater.
I scrambled to my feet to find Ophelia standing near me. "You killed him," I said.
The waves greedily pulled at Leon's body, twisting and bending it like a rag doll only to push it back up the sand again.
I know I should have felt something, but I didn’t. “What am I going to do?’"I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of the rain and the racing of my own thoughts.
“What do you want to do?”
"I want to be with you." The rain pelted us. It was getting cold and dark, but it didn't matter. I felt safe in her arms., "I want to be with you forever."
"Then be with us," she said.
"What about Leon?"
Ophelia chuckled coldly. ”What about him?"
"But the police will find out," I said.
She released me and stepped to the edge of the crag, "In the deep dark," She said, "We are free from judgment."
The downpour had become torrential. Ophelia's words caused me to gaze longingly at the ocean. Each wave crashed against the shore with a powerful roar, sending spray and mist into the air.
She kissed my forehead.
There were no second thoughts, no worries. I turned and started walking back to the cabin. After a few minutes, I turned back to look for Ophelia. Through the storm, I saw four hazy but unmistakably masculine figures standing by Leon's body. Moving clumsily, they lifted his limp form and carried it into the sea.
*
From the moment I stepped into the cabin my father started screaming at me, my mother was silent and glared reporachfully. The stinging sensation of my scratches was intensifying to the point of almost being pleasurable.
Turning away from them, I walked calmly to the kitchenette. Their voices seemed distant as if echoing from the base of a rocky cliff during low tide. Steady-handed, I reached into the kitchen drawer and retrieved a steak knife. My father's insult rang out. "Oh, Jesus Christ! She's going to make a sandwich!"
Ignoring him was easy. Everything he said was familiar. I waited until his temper broke, and he all but ran at me. He violently grabbed my shoulder, yanking me around to face him.
The knife was dull, but my strength proved more than sufficient to slice open his throat. Blood splattered across both our faces. His scream was gurgling and wet, his mouth gaping like a fish. He stumbled backward, clutching at his neck, tripped over his own feet, and collapsed. I stood there, watching as my father spent the final moments of his life weeping.
When it was over, I looked to my mother. She had been standing by watching, just like always. "Angela, please," she cowered at my approach.
I raised the bloody knife above my head, "That's not my name."
*
There was enough kerosene left in the cabin's rusty heater, to start a good fire. I watched the structure burn for a little while. I felt nothing; I hadn't felt anything at all since I left Ophelia's arms. When I was finished I headed for the shore.
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
The tingling under my skin was painful. I ripped at my clothes and tore madly at the scabs. They broke open easily. The flesh beneath them was unblemished and gleaming.
I waded out into the cold, crashing water, leaving my shirt, shorts, and long red strips of my flesh behind. In the unknowable depths, I would never be a daughter, a punchline, or a scapegoat. I would be free.
With each footstep, the roar of the waves changed, becoming softer and prayer-like. It sounded like a chorus of voices calling out the name "Ophelia."
Voices so very much like mine.

DOWN BY THE WATER BY AL BRUNO III
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
*
It had taken four hours of driving to reach Cape Cod. It was me, my mother and father, and my brother Leon, who was a year and a half older than me, the darling daughter. Ordinarily, my father celebrated his son's victories with men-only trips to New York City or Lake George. But since his beloved all-star was heading off to college in the fall, he decided it would be a family affair.
No matter how much I'd tried to weasel out of it, father still made me go. It wasn't because they were worried about me getting into some kind of trouble; it was simply an unspoken rule in the Sweet family that I never got what I wanted.
An hour into the trip, Leon started ragging on me, making snide remarks about my grades, my waistline, and my therapist, then waving his scholarship under my nose. I ignored it for as long as I could, but my Walkman's batteries died as we passed through Sturbridge, Massachusetts, so I decided that would be the perfect time to bring up his DUI. All Hell broke loose in the car; it got so bad that we had to pull over so my father could tell me in no uncertain terms that I was seventeen and I needed to grow up and get my head on straight.
As always, mother tried to be the peacemaker and failed miserably.
The rest of the car ride was icily quiet, except for the music on the radio, but father started to perk up as he got closer to the cabin. He was so proud of the deal he'd gotten.
We turned left on a street called Patti Page Way onto a long dirt driveway. Once we reached the cabin, we understood it hadn't been a deal at all; it had been a robbery. The outside of the cabin was a wreck, with peeling paint, a sagging porch, and a crooked hanging bench. Tiles were missing from the red roof, and the windows were cracked and covered in grime.
It looked like it should have been condemned, not rented out. My mother and I said we should double back and find a hotel, but my father, of course, would have none of it. "It's already paid for! Non-refundable! You're not even giving it a chance. Let's look inside."
The inside of the cabin wasn't nearly as bad, but it was obvious it hadn't been cleaned in a while. There was a layer of dust on the worn-out furniture, and cobwebs adorned the corners of the room. My mother went to the bedrooms to check for bedbugs or worse and returned with a nod of reluctant approval.
"See?" my father said, "It's not so bad, and besides, after you girls clean it up a little..."
"Us girls?" I dropped my bags on the floor. "I thought this was a family vacation."
Leon rolled his eyes, and my father looked ready to turn purple. mother tried to get in the middle, "What she meant was that we didn't come all this way just-"
"Oh, I know what she meant all right." My father looked right over mother and glared at me. I could feel the 'I work all day speech' coming.
He said, ”I work all day so you and your Goddamn mother can have nice things, and all you give me is grief."
"It's not fair," I said.
"Honey, maybe if we worked together..." mother began, but she stopped talking when my father's glare turned her way.
With that, Leon and my father announced they were going to the store to get pizza and beer. But of course, my father couldn't leave without one last barb at me, "Besides, a little work might help you slim down a little."
Leon laughed. ”You hear that Chubbs?”
Face contorted with rage, I stormed out of that rat-hole cabin, shouting, "That's not my name!" If anyone called out after me, I didn't hear. I ran to the beach, determined not to let them see me cry.
I'd never seen the ocean, except for movies and TV. It was huge, stretching across the horizon. Looking at it made me feel small, but I didn't mind. My science teacher had told me that the oceans were the first things the Earth created. They would probably be the last things to go.There were big ugly seagulls everywhere and tiny, nervous-looking birds that divided most of their time between sifting in the mud and running in terror at the slightest motion. Small shells cracked under my feet. Slipping off my shoes, I waded into the surf, feeling the waves brushing against and around my legs.
As I waded through the water, I saw my reflection. For as long as I can remember, I've despised what I saw staring back at me. My weight, the constant burden I carried, distorted my image, making me appear older than my years. I had battled with it for as long as I could remember, dieting on and off since I was eight years old, yet nothing seemed to make a difference. Two years ago, someone mistook me for Leon's mother, and that was the moment I mostly gave up trying to change. Still, despite my aversion, I could not look away as I watched how the ripples in the water pulled me apart and pieced me back together again.
It was like I was hypnotized. I walked along the water's edge, not glancing up until distant voices startled me. That's when I realized it was twilight, and the ocean had turned a bruised purple color.
When I got back to the cabin, I found my mother nearly in tears, "Where were you? We were worried sick! We almost called the police."
"I'm sorry," I said.
Leon and my father were sitting at the rickety table, a plate of chicken bones in front of each of them. My father stood up and approached me. His breath was sour, and there were shreds of chicken in his teeth. "Are you trying to ruin this vacation?"
"Look, I just-"
"You're miserable and ungrateful, and I won't stand for it," He poked me in the chest, just hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to leave a mark, "You are gonna shape up and fly right? Do you hear me?"
Leon rolled his eyes, "Oh, like she'll ever get in shape."
mother hushed him but let my father continue his performance. He said, "I didn't bring you up here so you could screw around and do whatever you want to do! We are here to vacation as a family!"
"I'm..." the words stung my mouth, "I'm sorry."
He smiled with satisfaction and gestured to the table, "I didn't like the looks of the pizza place, so we got some Kentucky Fried Chicken. I got you a large meal."
He turned to go outside and have a smoke, Leon tagged along after him. mother busied herself cleaning up while I ate all the food my father had brought, hating myself with every bite.
*
Despite being warned we were going on a deep-sea fishing trip, no one was ready for my father shouting and bullying us all awake more than an hour before sunrise. My mother was barely awake, but he was already ordering her and me to make breakfast. I didn't mind helping, but I did mind that Leon didn't have to lift a finger.
One sloppily made breakfast later, we were in the car making our way to the marina. Leon was in the front seat listening to my father's stories about the deep sea fishing expeditions he had gone on as a single man in the Navy. My mother’s gaze shifted down to her lap when he said those had been the best days of his life.
Leon asked about the ship, and my father began to explain the difference between a regular yacht and a sport fishing yacht but suddenly I realized something.
"Dad, we have to go back," I said, "I forgot my jacket."
"So?" He said.
"You said it would be freezing."
"And I said not to forget anything." he shrugged. He actually picked up speed as he maneuvered the car onto the interstate. Ten years ago, he'd told me I was his princess and he would do anything for me.
My mother piped up, "It's not such a bother, is it? We don't want her to catch cold."
"No."
"That's all right," she patted my arm, "We'll just buy you a jacket when we get to the marina. They must have a gift shop around there."
"We are not buying her a goddamn thing," my father said.
"Good thing she's got all that blubber to protect her," Leon said in a stage whisper.
"Ginny, Let me handle this," my father said. "Maybe she wouldn't be such a brat if she had to deal with some consequences once in a while."
"Oh," I said, "like your son had to deal with his consequences? How much did you spend to keep him out of jail?"
The answer was a lot. My father had moved Heaven and Earth to protect Leon and his 'promising future.' It had hurt our family financially and socially, and he had forbidden any of us to talk about it. But at moments like this, I was glad to bring it up; it felt good to remind them that the Boy Wonder had feet of clay.
"God damn it!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, "Can you not be a bitch for five minutes?"
"I don't know," My reply was lightning fast, so fast that I didn't realize the words had come from my mouth, "Can you not be a bastard?"
The brakes squealed as my father swerved us onto the shoulder. My mother gasped, and my brother snickered; a line had been crossed, but so many lines had been crossed over the last few years. I barely cared anymore. All I could think to myself was how we used to be a family. What happened to us?
He unbuckled himself and turned around in his seat, "You think you can talk to me like that? All this over a damn coat."
"Yes." I said, "Over a coat!"
"That's it." He said, and I flinched instinctively, "You're grounded."
"Grounded?"
We sped back to the cabin, and with every twist and turn of the wheel, my mother and brother grew more and more worried that my father was going to send us plowing into a tree or a ditch.
Finally, we arrived back at the cabin, and my father slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Without a word, he shifted into park and turned off the engine. We all sat there in silence, waiting for his next move.
My father turned to face me, "Get out.” He pointed towards the cabin's front door. "Go to your room and stay there until we get back."
I started to speak, but my mother shushed me, "Just do what he says. Please don't make any more trouble."
"We're gonna be late," Leon said.
I sighed and stepped out of the car onto the dusty gravel driveway. My family drove away. They left me behind. The sound of their departure echoed in my ears. I trudged up to the front door, wondering if any of them had spared me a backward glance.
When I was alone in the cabin, I did not go straight to my room; I plopped down on the couch. I had been looking forward to today; I had been so excited at the thought of being out on the ocean so far out on the ocean, that the shore would be just a memory. I had been so excited that I had forgotten my jacket. Now I could see it across the room, slung over the arm of the recliner. The sight of it made me bury my face in my hands. I stayed that way for a long time. Then I went to my temporary bedroom like a good girl and hated myself for it.
With nothing else to do, I napped and listened to my Walkman going through every one of the Police's albums, from Outlandos d'Amour to Synchronicity.
It was just a little while after lunch when the calls began. I answered immediately, thinking it was my parents checking up on me somehow. "Hello?"
I heard a man’s voice ask, "Is she there?” He was weeping. "Who is this?" I asked.
"Who is this?"
"I think you have the wrong number," I said.
“Ophelia is it you?"
I hung up the phone with a grimace, imagining some idiot with a fake number from a bimbo who'd flashed them a polite smile at first or some fake affection at best. Better them than me. I started to go back to my room when the phone rang again. I waited for whoever was on the other line to give up. Ten rings later, I answered. "Hello?"
"Ophelia?" They blubbered.
"That's not my name," I said, "Please stop calling."
"You sound like her."
“I’m not her. I’m nobody.”
The voice became even more desperate and pleading, "I've waited for so long."
I put the receiver back down again.
They called back almost instantly; this time I let the phone ring, put on my Walkman, and cranked the volume all the way up. I tried to let the music transport me to a place far away from the cabin, from that phone call, from my family. ‘Message In A Bottle’ filled my ears and I imagined myself somewhere far far away.
But the ringing persisted. I heard it going on and on in the silence between one song and another. It made me feel uneasy with questions. Finally, inevitably, I ripped off the earphones and picked up the phone again. "Look, I told you already, you have the wrong number," I said.
“I did everything you asked.” The voice on the other end of the line trembled, “I’ve been waiting for so long."
"Please." I pleaded, “stop bothering me."
"I need to see you." He said, "I'm coming to see you now."
"You don't even know-"
"328 Patti Page Way." The stranger started weeping again, "Don't you remember? We walked from the cabin to the beach and held hands at the promontory."
My stomach dropped. I quickly ended the call and retreated back to my room. After a few panicked moments, I put the chair in front of the door. How did they know where I was? I envisioned a local Romeo bewitched by a visiting Juliet. Now Juliet was long gone and Romeo was heartbroken. And where did that leave me?
Alone and defenseless with my family miles away. I hated myself for arguing over a stupid jacket. Was it really worth it? Arguing with people who would never let me win? Why couldn't I just grin and bear it?
The hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. I was terrified and bored; I didn't dare put my headphones back on, so I listened. Every creak and groan of the cabin seemed to taunt me. My nerves were shot as I waited for something, anything, to happen. Was the caller all talk and no action, or would some maniac break down the front door in search of his lost Ophelia?
A dozen forevers later, I heard the family car pulling up outside. Relief made me feel weak, but I still managed to un-baracade myself from my room and meet them at the door. My family looked sunburnt and exhausted; when I hugged my father, he reeked of salt and sweat, but I didn't care one damn bit. "Looks like someone learned their lesson."
There was a long pause before he reluctantly hugged me back. My mother entered the cabin holding up the bag of fast food she had gotten for me. When my brother passed my field of vision, he gave me a smirk . I didn’t care. I didn't argue; I just didn't want to be alone and afraid anymore.
*
That night, as I scarfed down my burger, I told them about the creep on the phone. My mother was horrified and said I should have called the police; my brother rolled his eyes and said I should have just left the phone off the receiver, and my father told me next time, I should grab a steak knife before I went into hiding. That night, I couldn't sleep well. The sound of the ocean was louder than usual, making me feel restless.
The next morning my mother said she wanted us all to go to the beach as a family. My father agreed with a grunt. Leon asked if he could call his friends from a few days ago and have them meet us there. My parents were fine with that.As soon as my brother was off the phone, we grabbed our cooler, beach chairs, and towels. We walked the short distance to the shore. The ocean was just as beautiful before. Sunlight danced upon the waves, creating a breathtaking display of shimmering light. I wanted to stare but instead helped my family find a spot and set up our little beach camp. My brother Leon, ignoring our mother's protests that we had just arrived, went off in search of his friends. I told my parents I wanted to go for a swim, and my father told me to be careful. My mother looked me over and asked why I wasn't wearing the nice new bathing suit she had gotten for me. I didn't really want to go into the water in shorts and a T-shirt, did I?
I explained that I was wearing the pale pink one-piece bathing suit she had bought me- under my t-shirt and shorts. That led to an argument that was as gentle as it was relentless; my mother won out, and I stripped out of my shorts and t-shirt. My father scowled at me and looked away. The salty breeze whipped at my hair, and as I waded into the cold water. Slowly, I let myself sink into the sea, allowing my body to float on its surface. The vastness of the ocean made my insecurity and anger seem insignificatant.
Looking back to the beach, I saw Leon returning with a small group of new friends: two girls and two guys. They introduced themselves to my parents. Then they stripped out of their street clothes, revealing bathing suits beneath. One of the girls wore a swimsuit exactly like the one from the Christie Brinkley poster. My father did not look away from her. An incoming wave lifted me up and dropped me back down again. When I looked back, they were running into the surf, laughing and splashing each other."
There was no way I wanted to share my part of the ocean with them. So I picked a direction and started to swim, my limbs moving with practiced ease. I had always been a good swimmer, but everything changed when I turned twelve and started to gain weight. Despite being an athletic kid, I began overeating in seventh grade. Our house had always been full of snacks, but suddenly, I couldn’t keep my hands off them. I don’t know what changed, but everyone else seemed to have an opinion about it and each one was worse than the last.
Mindful of the riptides, I kept the beach to my left as I swam. I saw volleyball players, solitary people reading, women sunbathing, children playing, strangers all of them but I knew if they saw me they would snicker and make snide remarks.
After a while, longer than I expected, my muscles began to ache, and fatigue set in. It was time to return to land and rest. Maybe I would walk back or maybe just sit on the sand for a while. In the distance, I noticed a formation of rocks jutting out from the water's surface. It was wide enough for three people to walk along and stretched all the way back to the beach. As I swam closer, I saw it rose about five feet above the waves. The closer I got, the rougher the ocean became, pushing me towards the rocks. I struggled to maintain control, but the relentless waves made keeping my head above water difficult. Salt water filled my mouth, and I collided with the ugly crag with bruising force.
I floated there for a few minutes, clinging to the rock formation. Finding a sturdy handhold, I began to climb, my tired muscles groaning with effort. Finally, I pushed myself up and lay flat on my back, staring at the sky and the gulls. I concentrated on nothing more than catching my breath.
What would have happened if I had drowned? If the angry tide had smashed me against the rocks with fatal force? Would my family even care? Or would they be relieved? Would they make jokes as they searched for a Plus-Size coffin?
I shut my eyes tightly and kept them closed until I heard a splashing noise nearby. Then, I sat upright and let my feet dangle over the edge of the rocky outcrop. The water was further below now, and I couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed while I lay there, blind to the world.
There was another splashing sound, and then her body broke the surface of the water below me; I hadn't seen anyone swimming there. Her hair was dark, and her face belonged on the cover of a beauty magazine. She was wearing nothing but a white blouse that was two sizes too large for her. The wet fabric revealed a body like something out of Leon's wet dreams. I wanted to grab one of the loose rocks nearby and drop it on her.
She scaled the jagged rocks with the fluid grace of a seal emerging from the water. Our eyes met, and she flashed a smile. "I didn't see you up there.” Dark hair clung to her skin, droplets of water trailing down her face. “I hope I'm not bothering you.”
I shrugged. "It's a free country." Then, with a hint of sarcasm, I added, "Couldn't afford a swimsuit?”
Her smile turned playful. "I have everything I need."
"I bet you do." The bitterness in my voice surprised me, and a twinge of guilt followed. What had she ever done to deserve that? Attempting to recover, I asked, "Uhm, do you like the beach?”
"I love the ocean," she fiddled with the wet fabric covering her torso, pulling it away from her skin only to have it settle back into place just as translucent as before. I got a strange feeling she was doing it for my benefit. "Unknowable, Uncontrollable. And deeper than any of us could imagine."
"That's pretty poetic."
"You have such serious eyes," She said. "Tell me your name."
I did. Then she moved closer, her face even with mine. Her smile became strange. She leaned in close, I thought she was going to say something, perhaps share a secret, but instead, she kissed me. Electric shocks ran through me. I felt numb. I felt sick. I felt warm all over.
The kiss broke. "Who are you?" I breathed.
Before she dove off the rock pier, she uttered just one word: "Ophelia." The name caught me off guard. I was still in shock from our kiss and didn't even hear the splash when she hit the water.
Scrambling drunkenly to my feet I raced back to my parents, the hot sand of the beach burning my feet, the taste of seawater heavy in my mouth, the cool breeze wafting off the ocean making me shiver. Or maybe it was something else making me shiver. I found my family packing up; my mother asked where I had been, and my father demanded to know what I had been up to. I made an excuse about riptides and losing track of where I was, and they believed it. All the while, Leon and his friends watched me and shared conspiratorial grins. On the walk back to the cabin, the girl in the Christie Brinkley swimsuit said, "Your brother told us all about you."
I was about to say something sarcastic when one of the guys said, “Why are you wearing lipstick?"
That stopped me dead in my tracks. I realized the taste in my mouth that I had taken to be seawater was something else. When I touched my lips with my fingers they came back stained red. When had I bitten my lip?
*
A noise outside the cabin startled me awake. I went to my cracked bedroom window and peered out into the darkness. I didn’t know how late at night it was but sunrise must have been hours away. The noise was like whispering; it wasn’t just one voice but several. Yet, even as that thought occurred, uncertainty crept in—were they really voices? Somehow, I just wasn’t sure. What I was sure of was that, somehow, the sounds were familiar to me, like something out of a dream.
I needed to know what it was. So I quickly threw on the clothes I had worn the day before and quietly made my way to the front door, careful not to wake anyone else in the cabin. There were no stars or moon, just the shadowy outline of low-hanging clouds. As I stepped onto the porch I nearly stumbled over the empty cooler that had been left behind by my parents. There was a sickening moment when I thought I was going to fall flat on my face, but I caught myself on the railing.
The air was warm and thick. Without thinking, I stepped off the porch and began to follow the sound of the whispers that were not whispers. My steps were cautious and shuffling as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually, I realized I was making my way along the familiar path to the beach.
The ocean was a mirror of the starless sky; I knew it was there only by the salty breeze and the rumbling crash of the waves. The sound of waves was so loud that it drowned out the whispers, but they were still there. I closed my eyes, trading one darkness for another, and tried to orient myself to the sound. I was sure it was somewhere to the east, but before I could follow it, I heard a familiar voice. It was the stranger from the phone, "Ophelia!"
My heart began to pound in my chest; sick with fear, I spun in place, looking for him, but I might as well have had my eyes closed.
"Ophelia!"
A figure emerged from the blackness, the outline of a man shuffling along the shore. His shoulders were hunched. I could imagine the tears running down his face, the gaunt face looking far older than the body that carried it. “You said you’d be here,” he said, his voice fading into the sound of the ocean, “You promised.”
Certain he believed he was alone, I began to back away slowly. I didn't dare run. With every step, I feared he would notice me and, despite my very different shape, mistake me for Ophelia. What was it I'd heard my father say to Leon? Something about every woman being the same in the dark.
The not-quite whispers were closer now. I followed the sound until I found myself where the rocky outcropping that had nearly killed me met the beach.
Fear and curiosity drove me to make my way along the ugly crag; water lapped at my feet, numbing them almost immediately. More, by instinct than anything else, I stopped at the edge of the outcrop. The waves were knee-level now, splashing against me relentlessly, trying to push me back. There was inky blackness all around me.
The whispering chorus stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Impossibily the sound of the waves also vanished and I stood there unmoving, unseeing and unhearing. It made me remember that when I was a little girl, this is what I had imagined being dead felt like.
"I found you!" The sound of the stranger's voice jolted me. He was close behind me, a fast-approaching shadow. Panicked, I ran blindly and blundered over the side of the rock formation into the dark water.
Cold oblivion consumed me.*
I regained consciousness in a cave lit by unseen candles. Strange symbols adorned the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of saltwater and decay. As my vision adjusted, I saw slender, ethereal shapes moving in the shadows, tending to something—an ugly silhouette that thrashed and gurgled.
A familiar figure loomed over me. Wet, dark hair and sea-blue eyes filled my vision. Her hand stroked my face, gentle yet firm. "Ophelia," I said.
"You've been asleep for so long." She propped my head up, bringing a clamshell to my lips. The water was salty and stung, but before I could protest, I realized I was naked. My clothes lay spread across the rock floor, slowly drying.
Humiliated, I curled into a ball, trying to cover myself. "Don't look at me!" I whispered.
Ophelia grabbed my wrists and pulled me into a sitting position. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." She was naked, too, her skin gleaming as though she had just left the water. "None of us do."
My heart raced, on the verge of tears. "Where am I?"
"Among friends." She drew me close.
I glanced at the feminine shapes lingering in the shadows; they had drawn closer to the figure at their feet. A sound reminiscent of a fish being scaled echoed in the cave, followed by a familiar sob. It was the man from the phone.
"Who are they?" my voice was barely above a whisper.
"Ophelia"
"I thought you were-” I began.
"We are all Ophelias," she said, her expression darkening, "Born to be martyrs in men's eyes."
I said, "I don't understand."
Ophelia’s mouth became an angry frown, ”We can be daughters, lovers, even angels, but we can never be free from that hateful thing they pretend is love.”
I asked, “Why did you bring me here?”
“Why don’t you stay?”
"You don't even know my name." I breathed, “You don’t know who I am?”
"Do you?" She said with a kiss. She pushed me down onto my back. As her lips moved across my skin, each kiss felt like a cold drop of winter rain. Dizziness washed over me. It was like I was on an elevator that wouldn't stop going up. “Who do you want to be? Are you who others say you are?"
Ophelia started running her nails hard across my chest and belly. I wanted to escape. I never wanted to leave. It was like she was taking me, making me hers. Blood welled up from the cuts and scrapes. She kissed the wounds she had made, one by one, her lips smearing red. The cave was filled with whispered songs that had no words. Her murmuring joined them.
When it was over she held me close.
“I love you,” the voice of the man from the phone said. He sounded like he was drowning, “Isn’t that enough?” He coughed twice and then fell silent.
The candles began to go out one by one, and shadows began to swallow her, trying to snatch her away from me. I kissed her hard on the mouth, losing myself in her. In a matter of seconds, I was lost in darkness.
* It was late in the morning when I awoke. I was lying flat on my back on the crag. The clouds above were a stormy purple, and the rain was coming down hard. I was soaking wet, and my clothes were plastered to my skin. I heard a familiar voice calling my name, but it wasn't one I wanted to hear. I moaned, half with exhaustion, half with anguish. My skin still ached and tingled in the places Ophelia had clawed at me.
With trembling hands, I crawled to the ledge and looked down. The tide had gone out. Fifteen feet below me, Leon was trudging along the surf, wet and miserable, and shouting my name.
"Leon?" I called out. For a hilarious moment, he was utterly bewildered, his square head swiveling back and forth. I called again, "Up here!”
When he finally saw me, he started screaming, "You are in big trouble! Dad is seriously pissed!”
"I just went for a walk.”
"A walk? You've been gone for over a day!" Leon blundered closer until he was directly below me. I could have spit on him if I wanted to.
I scowled down at him, remembering all the times he had disappeared for an entire weekend without a single phone call, only to return to a gentle reprimand from our father instead of a harsh scolding and a slap to the back of the head. I used one of his excuses, "I was with friends."
The expression on his face twisted as if he were looking at something disgusting. "Delores told me she saw you here last night!"
Bile rose up in my throat. "So what?”
"She saw what you were doing! Are you crazy? Why can't you just be normal? What is wrong with—"
A stone the size of a bowling ball crashed down on Leon, crushing his skull. He collapsed face down into the surf, blood clouding the seawater.
I scrambled to my feet to find Ophelia standing near me. "You killed him," I said.
The waves greedily pulled at Leon's body, twisting and bending it like a rag doll only to push it back up the sand again.
I know I should have felt something, but I didn’t. “What am I going to do?’"I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of the rain and the racing of my own thoughts.
“What do you want to do?”
"I want to be with you." The rain pelted us. It was getting cold and dark, but it didn't matter. I felt safe in her arms., "I want to be with you forever."
"Then be with us," she said.
"What about Leon?"
Ophelia chuckled coldly. ”What about him?"
"But the police will find out," I said.
She released me and stepped to the edge of the crag, "In the deep dark," She said, "We are free from judgment."
The downpour had become torrential. Ophelia's words caused me to gaze longingly at the ocean. Each wave crashed against the shore with a powerful roar, sending spray and mist into the air.
She kissed my forehead.
There were no second thoughts, no worries. I turned and started walking back to the cabin. After a few minutes, I turned back to look for Ophelia. Through the storm, I saw four hazy but unmistakably masculine figures standing by Leon's body. Moving clumsily, they lifted his limp form and carried it into the sea.
*
From the moment I stepped into the cabin my father started screaming at me, my mother was silent and glared reporachfully. The stinging sensation of my scratches was intensifying to the point of almost being pleasurable.
Turning away from them, I walked calmly to the kitchenette. Their voices seemed distant as if echoing from the base of a rocky cliff during low tide. Steady-handed, I reached into the kitchen drawer and retrieved a steak knife. My father's insult rang out. "Oh, Jesus Christ! She's going to make a sandwich!"
Ignoring him was easy. Everything he said was familiar. I waited until his temper broke, and he all but ran at me. He violently grabbed my shoulder, yanking me around to face him.
The knife was dull, but my strength proved more than sufficient to slice open his throat. Blood splattered across both our faces. His scream was gurgling and wet, his mouth gaping like a fish. He stumbled backward, clutching at his neck, tripped over his own feet, and collapsed. I stood there, watching as my father spent the final moments of his life weeping.
When it was over, I looked to my mother. She had been standing by watching, just like always. "Angela, please," she cowered at my approach.
I raised the bloody knife above my head, "That's not my name."
*
There was enough kerosene left in the cabin's rusty heater, to start a good fire. I watched the structure burn for a little while. I felt nothing; I hadn't felt anything at all since I left Ophelia's arms. When I was finished I headed for the shore.
And now the storm has left the beach deserted, and the ocean crashes and roars against the surf. I am alone and covered with blood. Standing on the slowly retreating waterline, I watch for the first signs of sunrise. I'm waiting. I've been waiting so long.
But Ophelia said she'd be here.
She promised.
The tingling under my skin was painful. I ripped at my clothes and tore madly at the scabs. They broke open easily. The flesh beneath them was unblemished and gleaming.
I waded out into the cold, crashing water, leaving my shirt, shorts, and long red strips of my flesh behind. In the unknowable depths, I would never be a daughter, a punchline, or a scapegoat. I would be free.
With each footstep, the roar of the waves changed, becoming softer and prayer-like. It sounded like a chorus of voices calling out the name "Ophelia."
Voices so very much like mine.