We walked down the slippery dock past leftover fish guts, missing planks, and barnacled hulls until we came to Whiz’s boat. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a shit heap like the rest of the boats seemed to be. It was just a small boat with seats and a tiny cabin at the front that had just enough room for a bed. I shuddered internally. I was glad Ada never got to see this place.
We climbed in, covered ourselves and the camera with ponchos (with Whiz driving, I now knew staying dry wasn’t going to be easy) and roared out of the harbor at such a speed that some old man on the docks was waving his fist at us and yelling at us to slow down.
Once we were out of the bay and into the open ocean, things got wild and fast. I was hanging onto my seat for dear life while Dex had to repeatedly yell at Whiz to take us down a few knots. With each wave we hit, the wetter we got. If Dex’s camera was going to get damaged from this, of all things, there would be hell to pay.
Finally, Whiz got the hint. Or rather, Matt took over the wheel and let Whiz and Tony finish the rest of the rum. The boat slowed to a comfortable enough speed that Dex was able to start shooting the shoreline.
We were quite a ways off from the lighthouse, but the pounding grey waves, bustling white surf, and stretches of pastureland and beaches were quite photogenic. And on the other side of us off on the horizon was the faded speck that was the Tillamook Lighthouse. Terrible Tilly.
I pulled the poncho tighter around me. I felt miserably damp and just a tiny bit seasick with each lurch of the boat. To turn my mind off of it, I watched Dex as he lined up the shots, adjusted his camera and panned around us.
“Are you going to need me to be in the shots?” I asked above the roar of the motor. Not that I was filming material at the moment with my damp, matted hair and garbage bag-type attire, but I could have used something to do to keep from throwing up. Funny how I’d never gotten seasick before.
“I think I’m good,” he said, keeping his eye on the viewfinder. “These will probably just have some narration over them later.”
He gave me a quick, curious look. “Are you OK?”
I was about to answer when Whiz decided to shove the bottle of rum underneath my nose.
“This will fix you up!” he yelled, slurring already.
Well, that was enough to get me to move. I got up to my feet unsteadily, as the boat rocked all over the place, and made my way to the back.
“Hey, careful,” Dex said, grabbing my arm to steady me. I motioned for him to let me go. I felt uncomfortably close to vomiting.
I walked to the opposite edge of the boat, where the Pacific stretched to meet the matching sky, and went down on my knees.
“She’s gonna hurl!” Whiz yelled from the front.
“Shut the fuck up,” I heard Dex tell him.
“You OK, Perry?” Matt asked, ignoring the two.
I motioned for them to just stop talking and leave me alone and concentrated on not losing my lunch over the side.
The bottom of the boat soaked my knees, but I didn’t care. I gripped the edge with my hands and put my head over until all I could see was the sloshing grey surf beneath me.
The guys were all yammering on about something, but somehow my brain was cooperating with me and slowly drowning them out, like my ears had a dimmer switch.
I kept my focus on the churning ocean, concentrating on the myriad of muted, cold colors and the shapes the creamy seafoam was creating with each crest and fall. The waves of nausea continued to pass through me though. The only thing that felt worse was the uneasiness and panic that also coursed through my veins. I was fearful and I didn’t know what of.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt air. The roar of the engine, the boys, and sound of the waves subsided until all I heard was the throbbing of my own heart in my head.
“Perry.”
It was a female voice.
I opened my eyes and looked. All I could see was the ocean.
“Perry,” it said again. It was eerily familiar and coming from in front of me. From the waves.
“Perry, are you OK?”
Could I be hearing things?
I slowly turned and looked at the rest of the boat. Dex’s back was to me, still filming the land and the lighthouse, which was now coming into view. Matt was focused on driving while Whiz was yapping to him about something. Tony seemed to be paying attention to him while eyeing me in his peripheral vision.
“Perry, help me,” I heard the voice say again from the direction of the water. My eyes widened and heart slowed. I had no choice but to look back over the edge of the boat.
In the water, it looked like something dark was moving beneath the waves. At first it looked like a passing shadow of a crest, or manipulation by a white cap. But the more I stared, the more I could make out something.
Was it an arm? It moved like one.
Then fingertips. I could see a hand just below the water’s surface.
I tried to scream, to say anything, to move. But I couldn’t. I could only watch a hand reach out of the water, turning from a watery shadow to a physical object. It was shades of green and white, but it was real, with blue veins running up the arm.
And then the arm was joined by another, like a headless person was treading water. I was riveted to the spot where the head should be. I could see the swirling shadows beneath it.
One of the hands started wagging a finger at me. I casually recognized the blue nailpolish on its finger. I had that same shade.
Still gripping the edge with my hands, I slowly got to my knees until I was standing right above and peering down at the body.
The head broke through the water.
It was me.
I was looking at myself floating in the water, eyeing myself down with dead, glassy eyes that streamed green fluid.
“Save me, Perry,” she said. My mouth dropped open. I felt like my body was going through a freefall. My mind reeled.
And before I could react, she lunged out of the water and grabbed hold of my poncho with both hands.
I let out a scream that shook my bones to their marrow and was pulled forward over the railing of the boat.
The water rushed up to greet me, turning black before it was about to swallow me into its depths.