Of Different Waters

In the hotel room Rebecca and a fully clothed Tiburon were waiting for John to return so the three of them could go get Ronan from wherever in God’s name he was. “Hey! You!” Tiburon heard.

He looked around to see where the voice was coming from. “Did you hear anything?” he asked Rebecca. She just shook her head.

“You, the soggy blonde. Are you going to look for Ronan?” And there it was. A sea creature, in a little glass bowl.

“Why are you in that bowl?” Tiburon asked it confused.

“Trust me, it’s a lot better in here than out there,” the fish deadpanned, “but more importantly, I know where Ronan went.”

“You know where Ronan is?” Tiburon repeated excitedly.

“No?” Rebecca answered.

Tiburon spun to face her, “Not you, him,” he corrected gesturing to the fish.

“He knows where Ronan is? Will he tell us?” Rebecca asked looking at Tiburon.

“Duh,” the fish replied. “He’s been looking at a card for the past couple of days. Kept talking about a fisherman?”

Tiburon told Rebecca this and she swore. “I knew something happened between him and that man.”

The door opened and John came inside. He took one glance at the tanned Adonis in the room with his wife and asked, “who’s this?”

Tiburon walked over and introduced himself. “I’m Tiburon.”

“He’s a mer,” Rebecca added.

“Does Fisk know where the card is?” Rebecca asked.

Tiburon looked at the fish and was a little disappointed to see the fish shaking his head. At least he could still sense Ronan’s presence. “The fish doesn’t know where the card is. But I can lead you to Ronan. We’ll get him back,” the mer promised with confidence.

John nodded and all three of them left in a rush, piling quickly into the car to find Ronan.

~ODW~

Ronan was in absolute agony. Every cell in his body was on fire. They had released him from his tied up position on the chair and he was now withering on the floor.

“It’s working, he’s changing!” the fisherman shouted in glee.

But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t happening the way it normally happened. Ronan’s skin felt like it was boiling away. Scales appeared on his arm, slicing him like tiny razorblades and leaving him bloody.

It hurt!

He cried out when a strong wave of pain coursed through his hands. Looking at them through the tears in his eyes he saw his fingers were webbed. He took in a shuttering breath. Oh God. Now it was happening to his legs and feet.

”Calo!" he shouted in desperation.

“Get his pants off. His legs are changing!” one of them yelled.

And then the fisherman was upon him attempting to yank off his pants. Ronan kicked out blindly and managed to connect with the man, sending him flailing away with a growl. “You know what? Fuck it! Paul, get me a knife.”

Ronan tried to crawl away from them, but the fisherman was back all too soon. He sliced Ronan’s pants off and then made quick work of his shirt as well. Last, he yanked the boy’s shoes off. They watched as his legs seemed to fuse together. It was actually quite nauseating. His feet elongated and he began to look more fish-like below the waist. Scales started to appear in bloody patches.

”Calo,” the boy whimpered.

Ronan curled into a semi-fetal position, trying to keep the men from doing anything more to him.

“Mary’s tits!” the fisherman yelled.

“He really is a mer!” Paul said gleefully.

Ronan dared a glance down to his lower half. He had a tail. He let out a humorless laugh. This isn’t how he’d imagined it. Actually he hadn’t really imagined it, but being in the water felt so natural. Breathing it in had felt second nature to him. This tail felt… weird, unnatural. Even the scales on his arms felt foreign. It wasn’t like all the other times.

Something was wrong with him.

His neck burned.

And then he couldn’t breathe. He was gasping and crying silently.

Paul noticed a change in the boy. “There’s something wrong with him,” he stated. He rushed over to the boy and struggled to help him into a sitting position.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, concerned for the boy’s well being.

”Calo. Len do n’rat hasha,” the child spoke softly holding a hand to his neck like he was choking.

Paul had absolutely no clue what he had said, but once the hand moved away from his neck, he saw: gills. “Jesus! He can’t breathe,” Paul picked the kid up and staggered over to the tank.

Ronan felt a sense of helplessness wash over him as he was being carried closer to the tank. He didn’t want to go in there. If he went in, he knew he’d probably be there for a long time. ”N’ra,” he whispered struggling with all his might.

”N’ra, n’ra!” he struggled. Don’t put me in there. He cried holding onto Paul tightly. A wave of pain hit him again and he screamed.

The fisherman watched as a bright crackling light surrounded the two. It reminded the man of lightning. The light disappeared and both figures lay on the ground. He walked closer, checking on the mer first.

Unconscious.

He picked up the boy and threw him into the tank getting some satisfaction out of watching him sink to the bottom. Tendrils of blood plumed out of the boy from between his scales.

The fisherman went to check on Paul. He didn’t see the man breathing. He checked his pulse.

The fisherman chuckled. Well, at least one good thing had happened with the mer’s freak out.

Paul was dead.

Now all the riches, all the glory, all the credit for finding a mer would be his and his alone.

He sat down on his couch and turned on the television, deciding to make himself comfortable as he waited for those wonderful government scientists to show up and take their latest test subject away.