The Loch

Chapter 3

Pain and confusion greeted me that first morning after escaping my second drowning. It was bright wherever I was, and I forced open my eyes, then thrashed wildly, panicking, when I discovered I couldn't move.

Several frightening moments passed before I realized I was in a hospital room. Tubes were embedded in my veins, my wrists and ankles strapped to the sides of the bed.

The change in vital signs must have alerted the nurses' station. A Jamaican woman entered, her dialect like a child's nursery rhyme. "So, you've decided to wake. I was sure we'd lost you, heaven's sake."

I tried to speak, but something was obstructing my parched throat.

"Try not to move, Mr. Wallace. You've a badly bruised sternum and two cracked ribs, all from the CPR. You saved that other man you know."

Hank? Did she mean Hank?

"Don't know his name, but he's two doors down. So I guess that makes you a hero."

"Harghra longre hag eye—" Frustrated, I gestured at the tube as best I could with my still strapped hands.

The nurse unbuckled the leather harness. "Now don't move about, the doctor's on his way, he'll remove the tube in a few minutes. Your fiancée's outside. Pretty little thing. Shall I send her in?"

Lisa, my angel of mercy. I nodded an emphatic "yes," my heart pounding with joy.

I had met Lisa Belaski during my first year at FAU, she, an undergrad struggling to make it as a biology major; me, the school's youngest associate professor. By day, we pretended not to know each other as I dazzled her and seventy-five other underclassmen at the lectern; by night, we were in bed together, her slender, tan legs wrapped around my waist, her hazel-green eyes glassy with infatuation and lust.

It wasn't long before Lisa was talking about marriage, her sorority wanting to throw her a candle-lighting ceremony or some other nonsense upon our engagement, how she wanted to start a family as soon as she graduated, and live in a gated community with good schools. I told her a family would be fine, as long as she was prepared to do most of the parenting while I worked.

Feeling pressured, I finally proposed on Thanksgiving Day, but refused to set a date until after returning from my voyage.

Now I was back, and my latest near-death experience had given me a whole new perspective on what was really important. I couldn't wait to hug Lisa, to tell her how much I needed her. I'd set aside my career, help her with the wedding plans. I'd accept the tenured position the university was offering me, just so we could stay in south Florida. Hell, I'd even start picking out baby names. Let's see… how about Drew Wallace? Or Michael? Mike Wallace… nah, sounded too 60 Minutes-ish.

"Gosh, Zack, you look awful."

Not quite the tearful greeting I had anticipated.

"They said you saved that cameraman. They also said you drowned. Did you know you were actually dead? That's got to be a bit freaky, huh? But hey, you're doing better now, right?"

Better than dead? Okay, so she wasn't the swiftest fish in the sea, but she was my fish.

I reached out for her, squeezing her hand. "Risa, rye rove roo."

She squeezed me back, then pulled away. "Maybe you shouldn't talk with that thing in your mouth. In fact, it might be better you just listen. See, while you were away, I was doing some serious thinking, and—"

Uh-oh …

"I realize this probably isn't a good time for you, but I'm going away tomorrow on winter break, and before I leave, I wanted to tell you that… well, I think we should postpone the wedding. Indefinitely."

"Rhat?"

She was breaking up now? Now! Wasn't there some kind of mandatory non-breaking-up grace period after one's fiancé came back from the dead?

"Risa, rye?"

"Face it, Zack, you don't really need me, in fact, you don't need anybody, and me… I'm someone who needs to feel needed."

"Risa, rye reed roo!" Sounding ridiculous, I struggled to rip out the cursed tube.

"Be honest, you were never crazy about the whole commitment thing. You have your career, and God knows nothing can stand in its way."

"Risa, rye'll range."

"… plus you hate going out with my friends. Honestly, other than sex, I wonder if you even enjoyed spending time with me."

"Risa—"

She broke eye contact then, and even an emotional dunce like me knew what was coming next.

"The truth is, I met someone while you were gone."

While I was gone? I was gone four days! You'd think I was Ernest Shackleton, lost in Antarctica.

"… and he's fun and he makes me laugh. You even know him, he's in our biology class."

Tell me his name! Tell me and I'll flunk the bastard.

"Anyway, I'm sorry, but the way I see it, if I'm having doubts now, it's best we just break away clean. Here's the key to your apartment. Oh, I, uh, I sort of sold the engagement ring. I know that was rotten, but Drew and I needed the money to go to Cancun on winter break."

Drew? But we were going to name our firstborn Drew!

"I'll send you a check or something next semester, promise."

She left the key on my nightstand, leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, told me to "feel better," then helped herself to the orange juice from my breakfast tray and left.

David Caldwell visited me later that day, his turn at "cheering me up." He told me Hank was doing better, that our pilot never made it, and that the submersible had been recovered but no body was ever found.

The thought of those creatures devouring Donald Lacombe's remains made me queasy.

David wasted little time in dropping his next "cluster bomb."

"Despite your heroics, Zack, everything's canceled. The pilot's death, combined with the loss of a $12 million submersible… Jesus, it's a fucking disaster. While you've been lying here sleeping, I've had to deal with one helluva mess. Plus we lost all that great squid footage Hank took—"

"Forget about giant squids, David, there's something even more fascinating down there — Bloop!"

"Bloop?"

"Don't you ever pick up a science journal? Back in '97, the navy discovered these mysterious deep-water biologics, which they named Bloop. SOSUS picked them up."

"SOSUS?"

"Come on — the Sound Underwater Surveillance System. The microphones the navy used to detect Soviet subs during the Cold War!"

"Oh, that SOSUS… right."

"They're animals, David. Big, nasty undiscovered predators, only they swarm, like… like piranha. They attacked us in the Sargasso. They were after our giant squid!"

"Zack—"

"This is big stuff, David, an undiscovered species. You have to organize another expedition and—"

"Zack, you're not listening. It's over. No more expeditions. No more grants."

"What're you talking about?"

"The pilot's family hired some hotshot attorney, a Mike Rempe out of West Palm. Talk about a piranha. The guy's already filed a wrongful death lawsuit against you and FAU. As far as the University's concerned, you're unmarketable, pal. Poison."

"A lawsuit? But it was an accident."

"Save it for the deposition. Anyway, the dean and I think it's best we sort of sever all ties with you, at least for now."

I was incredulous. "FAU's blaming me? David, what did you tell them?"

"Look, you did open that escape hatch."

"Yes, schmuck, to escape!"

"And by doing so, you may have put too much strain on the tow cable."

"You son of a bitch… you told them I flooded the sub!"

"No… I… I mean, look, maybe you'd better get an attorney."

"No way, David, no flicking way! I won't play the fall guy for you or FAU, you can forget it. The sub's bubble cracked, that's what killed the pilot."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger, and the message is you're no longer associated with the university. It's a visibility thing, nothing personal."

"Yeah, well, fuck you, nothing personal."

It was all I could do to keep from strangling him with one of my IVs.

The hospital released me two days later, only after I signed a paper agreeing to keep an appointment with a psychiatrist. Apparently, my doctors feared depression setting in.

They were right to worry.

I took a cab to my on-campus apartment, a perk FAU had used in recruiting me. Demonstrating uncharacteristic efficiency, David had already struck, ordering the university's housing authority to pack my possessions into cardboard boxes. Under the watchful eye of a security officer (what was I going to do, steal my own belongings?) I tossed everything into the back of my Jeep. Then, with nowhere else to go, I headed for my mother's place in Bal Harbour.

Upon returning to America with her nine-year-old son, the former Mrs. Angus Wallace had struggled for several years to earn a living as a travel agent before meeting her future husband, Mr. Charlie Mason of Long Island, New York. Charlie was a writer, spending his days penning columns for soap opera magazines, his nights pounding out screenplays. His breakthrough as a scribe came six months after marrying my mother, when a friend of hers enticed a prominent Hollywood agent to read one of his scripts, a comedy about a man trying to kill his legally wed homosexual partner so he could collect on a lottery ticket. The sale netted six figures and reaped a nice payday at the box office, and suddenly Charlie and his new bride were moving up in the world.

I liked my stepfather. He was a slight man with thinning hair, fifteen years older than my mother, but he loved her dearly and treated her with respect, and that's all that mattered in my book.

The fact that he was wealthy never bothered me in the least, though I never asked Charlie for a dime. With FAU paying my room and board, along with a decent salary, I was able to sock away enough over the years for a down payment on a house.

Having lost my job, I was now going to need those funds to survive.

Bal Harbour Island is a seaside resort located in northern Miami- Dade County. A favored hideaway of the rich and famous, it is single-family homes nestled in gardened, gated communities, and high-rise condos lining private white beaches and azure coastlines. Upscale shopping malls and restaurants run north and south along its main thoroughfares, and yachts inhabit the deep water channel of its intracoastal.

Mother and Charlie were in Manhattan for the week. We had spoken briefly on the phone, with me assuring her that I was fine, and that rest and relaxation were all I was interested in. I told her not to worry, that I'd see her soon enough.

Their apartment was a four-bedroom condo on the tenth floor, facing the ocean. It was late by the time I settled in, so I took a quick shower, slipped on my favorite boxer shorts, and crawled into bed in one of the guest rooms. I left the balcony door open, the salty breeze and pounding ocean soon guiding me into a heavy sleep.

It is dark.

It is dark and I am in the water. Deep, frigid water.

I am in the Loch.

I am drowning!

Kick to the surface! Gag, spit, tread water.

My capsized rowboat sinks beneath me.

Salmon everywhere, jumping, snapping. I'm swimming in a school of fish!

Look around. Search for land, but the fog is everywhere, and the sun has set. Which direction is home?

Stay calm, Zachary, don't panic… just tread water and wait… wait until the fog fills.

Help! Can anybody hear me?

Muscles growing heavier, I'm so tired, so numb.

A powerful current swirls around me… is something down there? I'm scared.

Help! Help! Ahh…

Gulp! Underwater! I'm underwater! Something has me, has my ankle! Sharp pain… what is it? What has me? Is it my rowboat? Am I entangled in the bow line?

Panic… struggle… twist… fight to get air …

"Ahh! Ahhh!"

Catapulting out of bed, still half asleep, I bellowed a bloodcurdling howl and ran blindly from the bedroom — the wrong way! Past the billowing curtains, I sprinted straight out onto the balcony, my momentum flipping me head over heels over the aluminum rail!

Hands that once plucked footballs from the air lunged one last desperate time, my left smashing uselessly against the balcony's concrete lip, the right managing to grasp the aluminum rail's divider that separated the two plastic balcony panels.

"Owwff!"

For a surreal moment I simply held on, suspended 128 feet above the pavement. The fingers of my right hand held on for dear life while my mind, soothed by the ocean's dull roar, fought to convince my nightmare-laden brain that I was indeed awake and a butterfly's flutter from dying, only this time, there'd be nothing left of me to resuscitate.

Do something, Wallace, move!

Carefully, I raised my legs, my bare toes embracing the rough concrete along the underside of the balcony. My right ankle found a perch near the outside of the rail so that I could grab hold with my left hand, and I hauled myself up and over the cracked partition. My body trembled as my feet touched down upon the warm tile, my bruised chest heaving as I looked down ten stories, staring in disbelief at what might have been.

"Hey, son, you all right?"

"Isn't that Andrea Mason's boy?"

"The guy in the newspaper? Didn't know he was meshuga."

The neighbors were out on their balconies, dressed in shorts and robes and nightgowns, talking about me like I was some kind of suicidal freak.

Waving them off, I retreated inside the apartment and double locked the glass door.

I was wide-awake and pumped full of adrenaline, but the dark bedroom seemed filled with demons. Feeling myself beginning to freak out, I bolted from the chamber, flipping on light after light until I reached Charlie's liquor cabinet. Tearing it open, I grabbed the first unsealed bottle I could find and swallowed two long gulps, then heaved the cursed container of cooking sherry across the Saturnia marble floor and retched.