My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I grab it, squinting against the light. It’s an email from Jen, and all it says is “sorry” with a huge attachment—must be the video. She left early this morning to record it before anyone arrived at work.
I hold the phone above my head and open the file. When I see the realization on Erie’s face that I knew about the ocean, my heart drops into my stomach. I can’t blame her for being pissed, and I know she’s talking to me when she storms off to hide. No one else will know that was meant for me, though, making it the perfect video to shame people into helping. I call Jen.
She picks up after two rings. “Hey.”
“Put the phone against the glass and put me on speaker.”
“Hold on.” A couple seconds later, I hear the phone clink against the glass, and Jen says, “Go.”
“Erie?” I wait a moment, hoping to hear her voice. “Erie, it’s Finn. Answer me, sweetness.”
Nothing. I can see her in my mind’s eye, curled up in a ball, hugging herself tighter against my voice. “Erie, love . . .”
Jen interrupts as she takes me off speaker and brings the phone back to her ear. “She’s ignoring you.”
“Last chance, Jen. I won’t post the video if you want to stay out of this.”
“If I wanted to stay out of this, I wouldn’t have made the video. I hate this job. And I don’t think Serge will hurt her.”
That makes me nervous. I don’t want to leave Erie with only Serge, or Serge plus whoever they put with him. But Erie staring into the camera with a big “Fuck you, humans”? That’s perfect.
“Cool. I’ll talk to you later,” I say. “Come over tonight?”
“Sooner, if I’m fired.”
I upload the video to YouTube and the Facebook page. I throw it up on the ‘Save the Mer’ communities, as well—it makes me look like an ass, but they’ll be all over it.
Two hours later, I get a call from an unknown number. “Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Finnegan Jarvis?”
What kind of trouble did I get myself in this time? “It is,” I manage to say, in my best professional voice.
“This is Juliana Kaes from News 6 Miami. Are you the same Mr. Jarvis who jumped into the tank at Oceanica yesterday?”
Holy shit. I squeeze the phone so hard, the plastic protests in my grip. “I am.”
“Glad to hear it. I’d like to interview you about the Mer this afternoon. Do you have time?”
“Can I ask what you’d like to know? I’ll need to dig out my notes.”
“We don’t require notes.”
Yeah, no. I’m not jumping into this booby trap. What if they’re doing a piece from Oceanica’s perspective? “I’ll need to reference my notes for specific questions about Mer physiology and behavior.”
“That’s not what we’re looking for. We want a human interest story about a trainer and his Mer.”
“I’m not a trainer anymore.” Every time I say those words, it rips out a piece of my soul.
“But you’re the only one who’s ever willingly jumped into a tank with a Mer. I’d like to know why.”
“Type ‘Save Erie’ into Google and scroll to the page that isn’t about one of the Great Lakes. You’ll find a video that says why.”
“I saw it. That’s why I want to talk to you. I can give you a Miami audience—maybe national, if they like what they see.”
Challenge accepted. “You saw today’s video? I put it up two hours ago.”
“I’ve kept a close eye on the Mer since the first trainer died a few years back. They sent me to cover the story, and I’ve been watching the Mer communities online ever since. Your video popped up this morning.”
I remember this chick—I’m pretty sure she interviewed me when Hannah died, but didn’t use any of the footage in her report. “What do you want to know?”
“Why didn’t she kill you?”
Hell, I haven’t even been able to figure that one out yet. If I was her, I would have let Niku drown me the first time I jumped in. “Maybe you should interview Erie, instead of me.”
“Ms. de la Cruz won’t return my phone calls.”
“I see. I’m your second choice.”
“Right now, you’re my only choice, assuming you’re willing to talk.”
Why not? I can’t really fuck things up more than I already have. “Sure, I’ll talk.”
“Great. Is three o’clock good? I’d like to get Oceanica in the shot.”
“I’m no longer allowed on the grounds. Not even the parking lot.”
“That’s fine—we’ll stay off the property.”
“Sounds good to me.” We make plans to meet at three, just off the property. During the call, several more people “liked” Erie’s Facebook page and shared the video. Good. Maybe after the interview, Erie will go viral.
I bike to the interview site, and when I arrive, the van’s already there. Juliana Kaes looks exactly the way I remember her—long brown hair, chunky black glasses, shorter than me by a foot, even in heels. I lean my bike against the van and shake her hand.
“Mr. Jarvis, thank you for meeting me.”
“Thank you for helping me get the word out about Erie.”
She introduces me to the crew, who mic me and set up the shot. When they’re ready, the little red light pops on, and she begins with the fake “Thank you” to the anchor. “I’m here with Finnegan Jarvis, the young man who jumped into the tank at Oceanica yesterday when a Mer started bleeding.”
I smile a little at the camera, because I’m not sure what else to do. Ms. Kaes turns to face me. “Tell me, Mr. Jarvis, why would you risk your life like that?”
I can’t help it—I chuckle. “That wasn’t life-threatening. Erie would never hurt me.”
“When you say Erie, you mean the mermaid known as Iodine?”
“Her real name is Erie. The dolphin is Niku—he’s her guard.”
“Guard?”
I wrote all this on the website, but I guess I’ll have to rehash it now. I explain what I know about Erie’s life before she was captured. Ms. Kaes asks how I met Erie, so I give her the short version of our time together.
“So this wasn’t your first time in the tank with her?”
“Not at all—I’ve swam with her a few dozen times by now.”
Juliana Kaes frowns. “And can you tell us why you’re the only trainer who has gotten in the water and not been killed by the Mer?”
I shrug. “I have no idea why Erie hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”
“What sort of relationship would you say you share with the Mer?”
“All of them, or just Erie?”
“Both. How is your relationship with Erie different?”
She doesn’t try to kill me—that’s the biggest difference, but I don’t want to sound like an idiot, so I think about it for a moment. “Well, I’ve been working with the Mer for as long as Ms. de la Cruz has, and I’ve always believed the Corporate line of ‘Mer are fish.’” I pause as I think back on those early days with Erie, when she was still just a fish to me. “Erie was different, right from the beginning.”
“How so?”
“Most Mer come in fighting—they want nothing more than to attack us for capturing them. Erie was terrified, though. She hid behind Niku, she hid in her tail, she curled up in the center of the tank, as far away from us as she could get. Niku was the one I was scared of, actually—I never knew dolphins could scowl before now.”
A chuckle escapes me as I remember Niku’s anger. “She also learned English. ‘Air words,’ she calls them. She did that on her own and told me her name without me asking. I think she was mad that I kept calling her by the wrong name.”
A small smile graces Juliana Kaes’s face. “Is that when everything changed?”
“Yes, and no. At that point, she was still just a fish to me—a talking fish, sure, but . . .” I stop and swallow. At that point, Erie was still a means to an end: proving myself to Delmara. “Everything changed the first time we swam together.”
“When was that?”
It feels like months, but it hasn’t been that long. “A month and a half ago. She freaked out, and I didn’t know what to do. I had already promised not to shock her, so I jumped in the tank.”
“What happened?”
“Niku tried to drown me, and Erie stopped him with a word.” I glance at the bright blue side of Oceanica behind me and swallow again. “She saved my life.”
“Is that why you jumped in the tank when she hit her head?”
Hit her head—Ms. Kaes says it like it was a little bump, not a massive gash across Erie’s forehead that almost killed her. “A bad injury like that will cause the tissue to foam—if you don’t stop it and it gets to the gills, the Mer drown.”
“So you repaid a debt.”
Not by a long shot—I still owe Erie so much.
Juliana Kaes keeps talking. “And, in the video, right before you leave the water, you appear to kiss her?”
Heat creeps up my neck, because I certainly didn’t kiss her out of desire, but I can’t tell everyone watching the news that. “She likes the feeling of my breath in her gills.” Ms. Kaes makes a face, so I try to salvage what I just said. “I know, it sounds gross, but we keep the water much colder than what the Mer are used to in the wild, and she likes the warmth. And you saw what she said in the video—if I can give her even a little happiness in there, I’ll do it.”
I’m talking like I’m heading back to work tomorrow. Like I’m still a part of Oceanica, but Juliana Kaes doesn’t seem to notice. She goes right for the most awkward question. “Do you love her?”
“Of course I love her. It’s impossible to meet Erie and not love her. She’s intelligent and compassionate and strong . . .” I falter, because my heart clenches at how true it is. So far, Erie’s the only Mer who hasn’t been broken. Maybe it’s Niku, or the fact that we didn’t shock her, but I think it’s her spirit. She simply won’t allow anyone to break her.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer. “I love her, and I’ll do anything I can to get her out of there.”