Mother Kraken

"Huh. That's weird," he said. "I don't remember doing that. Did you do that?" She shook her head. He shrugged and got down to help her clean up. She got the distinct impression that, as soon as they were done, he did not remember doing it, and she would have been more troubled except that, very soon, neither did she.

Alan's shift didn't start until two hours after hers, but they rode in on the same bus. They made themselves a little late by stopping at Mei's to check on her. She seemed a bit less agitated today, that is, until she started talking about how she'd found Boyd's gun and was sleeping with it under her pillow. It took Alan half an hour to talk her into at least giving him the bullets out of it. There were probably more, but it was all they could do except babysit her all day to make sure that she didn't up and shoot herself—or worse.

There was only one seat left on the bus, so Alan stood and let Ronnie sit. Across from them was a man frantically and fervently talking to himself, slumped over and beset by a series of facial tics. He didn't look like the average Muni homeless ranter though: He was well-dressed and he looked clean. He was even shaved. But he raved and slurred his words and injected short laughs into sentences:

"We all come up from the ocean, everything, lizards, pigs, birds, even people. If you go back far enough, it's all about those first slimy things that crawled onto the beaches. You ever wonder about that, what made them do it? Here you are, you're a fish, and you're swimming around, and you've got the whole world of oceans to swim in, so why go up on the land? Why do that? Maybe it's because you're running away. Maybe it's because you know all about that other stuff down there in the ocean and you want to come up where it can't get at you. What do you think is out there so bad that it scared them clear up onto the land? That's what it's all about, whatever it is. That's the real ocean."

He was still talking when they got off. Ronnie felt sorry for the driver having to stay on with him. She kissed Alan and went into work. Renee and Carlton both hadn't shown up that day, so they were even more shorthanded than usual. A new kid was replacing Boyd, but he didn't seem altogether there. He was moody and quiet, and he kept dropping things. When He shook hands with Ronnie his palm felt strangely smooth and slick. In fact, everything about him had an oddly polished look, and his eyes were very wide, and he didn't blink very much. Ronnie kept telling herself that he didn't really look that much like Boyd the last time she'd seen him, but the thought kept nagging her.

The lunch shift went by in a stream of plastic baskets, folded napkins, washcloths streaking dirtied tables, and the mildly befuddled but generally genial faces of tourists who looked at you as if you were some queer species of local animal that they wanted to observe in its native environment. Some of them were rude, but Ronnie didn't get mad. It's not their fault, she told herself. It's no one's fault, it's just the way things are. You can't expect every person to do things exactly right all the time. You have to cut them some slack. You have to—

"Ronnie."

The voice was soft but it was right by her ear, so she jumped. Of course, it was just Olivier. He smiled by way of apology.

"You okay?" he said. "You look a little under the weather."

"I'm fine," she said.

"Hmm," said Olivier. "We've had a lot of call-offs. Must be something going around."

"Must be," she said, turning back to her work. Olivier paused for a moment before going back to his office, but then he said, "Take a long lunch?"

Ronnie's heart sank. Damn, she thought. But then she nodded, and reminded herself not to be ungrateful when things went her way. Well, sort of her way.

She took off her apron and excused herself, ducking outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air. You couldn't ever really escape that fishy smell, but it wasn't as bad outside. It was a grey day and the bay looked choppy, but the crowds didn't seem to mind. Ronnie saw that there were even fewer sea lions now. Lauro was finishing his own break. "Did you hear about the sea monster?" he said with a grin. Ronnie started.

"The what?"

He laughed. "That's what they're calling it. One of the ferries hit something on the way over, tore up the bottom pretty good. No one knows what it was, so they're calling it the sea monster."

Ronnie frowned, putting uncharacteristic furrows in her forehead. "But what was it really?"

He shrugged as he headed inside. "Something in the water," was all he said.

Ronnie eavesdropped on a crowd below; they were all pretty upset. Apparently not only had the "sea monster" damaged the boat, but one woman was missing. No one had seen or heard her fall in, and indeed, her husband had somehow missed her absence until after they got to shore. She was just gone.

Alan was in the kitchen by now, and she gave him a little wave and blew him a kiss on the way in, then made sure he didn't see her going back toward the office. Just remember you're doing this for him, she thought. It would kill him if he ever found out, but even so, it's for him. She knocked once and Olivier told her to come in. Then he told her to lock the door behind her.

Olivier was humming a song under his breath. Ronnie blinked. Was that the same song Alan was singing last night? She asked Olivier about it and he said he couldn't remember where he'd heard it. "Must be going around," he said. Then he unzipped his pants.

He gave her an awkward half smile and she went down to her knees on the office floor, clearing his belt out of the way and opening the flap on his underwear, taking his cock out and trying not to give it an appraising glare before she started to lick the tip. She kept her eye on the clock as she started; they had at most ten minutes before someone came looking for one or the both of them. It would be enough. She swirled her tongue around Olivier's prick a few times before gulping him in, running down the length of him and getting him wet with spit before popping back out and licking up and down the underside of him again. He was at half-mast when she started but soon enough his cock was swollen and hard. She was about to break off, as she'd only wanted to get him going, but he grabbed the back of her head and pushed it down again.

Almost involuntarily she opened her mouth and swallowed again, and as he held her in place she began to really suck, pursuing her lips around his invading shaft and slurping. He moaned with satisfaction and leaned further back in his chair so that he could get more leverage as he started fucking her mouth. Ronnie gagged but didn't lose it, instead relaxing her throat muscles, indeed, trying to relax her entire body. Just let him do what he wants, she told herself. Whatever gets us through this faster. So she let him slide in and out of her mouth, his cock growing wetter and wetter and dribbling across her tongue. He wasn't looking at her face, indeed, he never looked at her face, just closed his eyes the whole time and seemingly fixated on the sensation. Ronnie felt the thick intrusion move all the way as far in as it would, until her face was nestled against his pubic hair, and then with a rumbling "Ah!" he pulled all the way out at once. Ronnie coughed and sucked in air. Her face was red and tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes from the exertion. She fell down a little, and when Olivier, finally taking notice of her, tried to help pushed him back.

She looked at the floor, fixating on her breathing to avoid hyperventilating. She felt sick; the taste of him was all over her mouth and she felt like it would never come out. Okay, she thought, concentrate. You can do this. Remember, it's all for the better. It's all for Alan. Olivier's not even a bad guy; sure, he's taken advantage of you, but you let him. You asked him to. This was your plan all along. She coached herself silently, psyching herself up for the hardest part, the part that came next. Finally she stood up, smiled at Olivier, then turned and put her hands on the wall, pushing her ass out and wiggling it a little. "Want some pussy?" she said in what she hoped was a cheerful, playful tone. Olivier unzipped her shorts and pulled down her panties in one motion (he was good with his hands, she had to give him at least that much). She felt his cock slide between her ass cheeks as it crept lower, exploring. The office was cramped and it took a little jostling for position before he was able to slide in and still have enough room to maneuver. Ronnie's heart jumped in her chest. Down girl, she thought, we're almost done.

Olivier jammed his cock up inside of her, hard. She squealed, both because she knew he liked it and because it distracted her. Her round little ass bounced with the motion of what he was doing as she thrust up, and up, and up into her again and again. She was pushed up against the wall hard, the cheap drywall rubbing against her face as her tits compressed against the barrier. Olivier was pounding hard against her, and out the corner of her eye she saw his face redden and his hair mat with sweat. The small office filled with the smell of sweat and sex. Ronnie gave him one of the throaty moans she'd been practicing. "Ohhh, yeah, give it to me boss!"

Olivier grabbed the back of her head and pulled her hair, although not very hard. "Who's the boss?" he said.

"Oh, fuck baby, you're the boss!" He started to fuck harder. "You're the boss," she said, whispering her full lips over his. "You're the boss, you're the boss, you're the boss, ohhhhh, fuck yeah baby, you're the boss!" She kept her voice as low as possible, since the walls in this place were paper-thin, so everything came out as a smoky whisper. Olivier went wild. That was one more good thing about him; he was easy to please. His cock expanded to stretch out her lips a bit and she knew that he was dribbling away inside of her. She pushed on the wall as hard as she could, pushing back against him, inciting him to push forward, the weight of his body compressing her ass, making her labia ache with the force of what he was doing, and then she felt the warm gush of him inside of her. She couldn't suppress a feeling of gratification as he came, spurting up into her over and over again until he was empty, collapsing back in his chair, panting, spent.

It felt good; she felt awful for thinking it, awful in so many ways now that she doubted there were any degrees of shame still left unexplored, but still, after all the problems with Alan, after how hard she had to work to get him turned on and keep him turned on these days, it was gratifying knowing that she could still work her old magic on a man. Even if it wasn't the man she really wanted.

Olivier looked a little sheepish. He always did when they'd finished. Wordlessly, they both cleaned up and dressed as fast as they could. Ronnie took her post back at the register and stayed late to make up for Renee, sending Alan home ahead of her. She was afraid if she'd loser her poker face. She left the back way and stood out on the railing, looking at the black water lapping the docks. The salt breeze stung.

She really was doing it all for Alan. Alan wanted to be a father more than anything in the world. Even more than he wanted to be an artist. But she was starting to think that Alan might not be able to be a father. They hadn't exactly been trying for a baby, but they hadn't been taking any precautions either. She went off the pill a year ago and so far, nothing. She knew it wasn't her because she had been pregnant once before, in high school. If there was a problem, it was probably with Alan, and she could tell it bothered him. He didn't talk about it, but she saw his heart break a little more every time he watched Boyd with Sandra.

Sooner or later she'd lost him over it. They couldn't afford any kind of special treatments, fertility doctors, or in vitro. If they were having a baby, it had to be the old-fashioned way. So one day she started to think, maybe it didn't matter where the baby came from just so long as there was one? Alan would never need to know. He certainly wouldn't think to ask. And if it made him happy, well, what was more important than that?

So she'd started "long lunches" and "late closes" with Olivier. She picked him mostly out of convenience. She knew he was attracted to her and that he could keep his mouth shut, and while she didn't exactly like him he didn't make her want to throw up or anything either. And he was a white guy who looked enough like Alan that she wouldn't have to worry about how the baby would look.

It was a terrible thing she was doing, but she was sure that it was for the best. Somehow.

"Children can come from strange places."

She murmured her agreement. Then she stood up straight, startled. She looked left and right but couldn't see who had said it. Was she hearing things?

"We're all the children of the ocean."

This time she saw: Someone was down on the floating docks, where the sea lions usually lounge, three black shapes. Their outlines were strangely stooped and round-headed, with stiff arms straight at their sides. How had they even gotten out there? They had to have swum, but the water was freezing this time of night. And what the hell were they saying?

"It all started with the sea," said the voice again. "Everything on the land came up out of the sea first. The ocean is the mother that we ran away from."

The crazy guy from the bus? It couldn't be. I'm dreaming, she thought. Or I'm seeing things. When she looked again, sure enough, the figures were gone, though the water was disturbed and the dock was rocking back and forth, as if perhaps they'd just jumped in. I imagined it, she told herself as she started the walk to the bus stop. I must have imagined it.

She was still telling herself that as she lay awake in the dark, next to Alan, and tried not think about what the voice had said. Once, she got up to look out the window for some unknowable reason and was surprised to find the street full of people, though it was long after midnight. Her neighbors were leaving their homes and, as one it seemed, walking toward the beach. And what was that noise? She listened more closely. Were they singing? Not only were they singing, it was that same song, the one she'd heard so many times the last few days, the one she apparently knew herself without really knowing it.

A few more minutes of listening convinced her the sound was not coming from the people, however. It seemed to be coming from the beach, and it must be incredibly loud for her to be able to hear it so clearly. It was like the song of a whale but with a real, recognizable tune. It made her think of some great shape rising up in the water, some huge, basking thing, too big for the mind to truly conceive.

She shut the window. She locked it. The song got in through the walls anyway. It lulled her to sleep.

***

Three days passed. More people stopped showing up for work. They were down to a skeleton staff. Ronnie and Alan both gave up their days off because otherwise the restaurant wouldn't have had enough workers to stay open. Even Olivier disappeared. Ronnie heard that SFPD was swamped with missing person's reports, more in a week than they usually received all year. They were having trouble keeping up because many of their own staff were missing too.

Business was down at the restaurant, but the wharf itself still drew big crowds. The people were not interested in eating or shopping, but rather just staring into the water, as if looking for something, or waiting for something. Ronnie did not tell Alan what she saw and heard at the window that night. Partly this was because she did not know exactly what to tell him, but the other part was her profound certainty that Alan must already know about it, that everyone knew about it deep down inside, even if no one could say so. They all waited, in silence, for the tide to come in.

Mei got worse. She insisted that Boyd visited her at nights, but only when she pretended to be asleep. She left her window open, claiming that he came in to visit her before departing in the mornings. It made no sense to Ronnie or Alan. Strangely, Mei did not appear comforted by these supposed nocturnal visits. If anything, the idea of Boyd coming back seemed to scare her. But still she left the window ajar.

A series of omens began:

On Tuesday one of the ferries went out and didn't come back. Somewhere on the return trip it simply vanished, and not a person on shore could say what happened to it.

On Wednesday the son of a tourist couple jumped the railing on the docks. He never resurfaced, but no one, not even his parents, were surprised or upset. Somehow it seemed a perfectly natural thing to everybody.

On Thursday the beaches hosted an eerie spectacle: Thousands upon thousands of crabs came ashore, a ghastly, crawling mass swamping the beaches. They neither returned to the water nor spread out any further but simply stayed, languishing, so that no person dared come close. Even the predatory seagulls kept their distance.

Those few people who still showed up for work increasingly looked sick, and Ronnie was starting to feel under the weather herself. Alan was even worse. They did not openly discuss it. Ronnie thought she saw many sick people on the streets lately, people who were pale and glassy-eyed, people whose skin looked like polished wax, people whose faces were distorted by fluid buildup, their eyes bulging like giant fish. Sometimes they almost looked like monsters. Worse, she thought she heard the song all the time now. It was always there, just below the surface, an undercurrent to daily life.

By Friday no one bothered to go into work at all; no one in the entire city. The song had gotten louder and now everyone could hear it. People either sat, stupefied, in their homes listening, or else they followed it out to the beach, wading halfway into the surf or even, in some cases, diving in and swimming toward the unknown source, seemingly never to return. Something was out there. Something big.

Alan and Ronnie were among those who went to the beach that day, but they did not go all the way in. They stayed on the shore, rocking back and forth to the siren song of the hidden shape far off in the water. In truth, it was if they had never woken but were simply sleepwalking through life to the tune of that wordless song. And Ronnie might have gone on sleeping in such a way forever if not for a surprise on her doorstep that shook her out of her stupor.

Boyd came back.

She was standing in the entryway doing nothing in particular after their pilgrimage to the beach when movement on the front steps caught her attention. They'd left the door open and someone was out there, peering in. She started, and then her heart jumped up when she recognized who it was, and she ran to the door (feet splashing through puddled seawater) and almost went to hug him but stopped in her tracks. He shied away, trying to cover his face, but of course, it did no good. She'd already seen him. Seen what had happened to him. Her scream paralyzed her throat, and all that came out was a sob.

Boyd turned and ran, hopping the side fence and vanishing. Ronnie sank to her knees, crying, telling herself that it wasn't real, hadn't been real, couldn't be real. But she knew it was.

Then, bit by bit, piece by piece, her memories surfaced. With the spell of that strange day broken she was finally consciously aware of the scene on the beach, the masses of people and the strange faces in the crowd. And the song. That awful, beautiful song. She finally thought, for the first time really thought, about the missing people, and the strange omens, and the feeling of dread she'd carried for weeks without acknowledging. She remembered the cold wind blowing off the ocean and the sinister look of the waves...