Teeth

  “I’m not going to assault anyone.”

  “Well. There’s only one solution.”

  And she’s going to say that we let the fishermen keep him.

  She’s going to ask how long fishboys live, anyway, tell me that it isn’t forever.

  She’s going to say that they’ll just catch him again tomorrow, and what’s the fucking point.

  She’s going to say that nothing is ever going to change.

  “I’ll have to come with you,” she says, with a heavy sigh.

  I look at her.

  “I have an overinflated sense of justice. I’ve read Harry Potter too many times.” She shrugs. “And I’m already in prison.”

  If my friends or my girlfriend back home saw who I’ve turned into, I don’t think they’d recognize me.

  And I think that’s okay with me.

  twenty

  THE OCEAN IS QUIETER TONIGHT. THE WAVES RUSHING UP TO the shore sound like whispers. I’m standing on the dry sand, and it’s freezing cold and rough on my bare feet. I remember when I was a kid, and I learned that glass was made from sand. I thought that was crazy. Now I feel like there are millions of bits of frozen pieces of glass right underneath me.

  I’m looking up at the mansion to see if she’ll come. I have a flashlight, and Diana is bringing the gun. Except she’s never been out of the house at night before.

  Part of me is sure she’ll chicken out But this is a kid who grew up on stories of orphans slaying dragons. I don’t think anyone in the world is less aware of her limitations than Diana. Maybe going outside isn’t something she can’t do, it’s just something she hasn’t done yet. Just like saving a mermaid. This is a big experiment, testing a life she’s been considering pursuing since she opened her first book.

  And then she steps out the front door and begins her way down the stairs, like she’s done this every night for years. Her head is up, the gun dangling from her hand.

  She looks down at me and smiles. It’s a little shy, a little flirty. A bit of the ocean licks my feet.

  She takes a step off the bottom of the stairs and stops. “What?” I say.

  “The tide’s up.”

  I want to tell her about sand and glass, but I’m sure she already knows. She knows everything.

  She looks at the ocean. Then she squeezes her eyes shut, like she’s trying to remember. But she isn’t.

  I say, “We have to go,” as gently as I can. I want to say, “It won’t hurt you,” but God, I don’t know. I’ve seen the ocean be quite the asshole since I moved, and the fact that I’m not afraid of it anymore doesn’t really mean it’s safe.

  “Right.” She smiles and kisses me. “Right, Rudy. Of course.” She doesn’t touch the water, and she stays on the side of me that’s farther from the incoming waves.

  We walk to the marina together, and she puts her hand that isn’t holding the gun into mine. It doesn’t really feel right, but it does feel very good. Her hand is so warm.

  I almost laugh, thinking about what my parents think Diana and I do together. The kiss was so chaste. Something’s over.

  “Remember,” she says, “I’m not killing anyone.” She made the executive decision that she’s going to be the one to wield the gun. I don’t know.

  “Of course. No killing anyone.”

  “I’m only threatening.”

  “Don’t shoot any fish, either. Teeth’ll freak out, and it’s really no good to have him freaking out right now.”

  “Why would I shoot a fish?” She thinks about this for a minute. “Can I shoot one if it tries to rape me?”

  I swallow. “Yeah. Yeah, shoot anything that tries to rape you, definitely.”

  “But not the fishermen.”

  “I mean, if they try to . . . ” I shake my head. “Don’t shoot the fishermen. We need the fish.”

  “I know, Rudy.”

  But her answer doesn’t stop the soreness in my stomach. Lightning strikes way off in the distance, over the sea. It’s so far away that we don’t hear the thunder, but I can taste the electricity, or I feel like I can. It tastes like the sour candy Mom used to hand out on Halloween. It tastes like cigarettes.

  Diana says, “Are we going?” and points the way with her gun.

  I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. “Right.” We walk, together, the rest of the way to the marina.

  We crouch behind the rocks and peer around the corner.

  No sign of the fishermen. Now I remember that I have no idea where they sleep. Fuck. I should have looked for pillows and blankets or hammocks or something last time I was here. And it’s too dark now to see much of anything, and it’s not like I’m about to go waving my flashlight around. I’m not turning it on until I’m in the cabin.

  “I don’t know where the fishermen are,” I say.

  Diana whispers, “Maybe they have houses.”

  I shake my head. “We’re the only house this far over.” And I think I know who lives in every other house on the island. I wish Teeth were with us. He knows for sure where everyone lives.

  “Where is he?” she asks.

  I point toward the boat.

  “Well,” she says. “Come on then.”

  I feel like this is too easy. I guess the hard part will be keeping him safe after we get him free. No, I can’t think that far ahead right now. I need to focus. And then I’ll hide him under my bed or something, I don’t fucking care. I’ll worry about that later.

  I lead the way while she walks behind me, turning in half circles with the gun outstretched. She must have read a heist book, because she’s really good at this. I bet she could shoot to kill.

  I climb into the boat and into the cabin. “Hey, champ, I’m back.” I switch on the flashlight and blink a few times, and then everything comes into focus.

  His arms are tied up and behind his head, and a long spike holds the base of his tail to the floor. Most of the scales on the front of his tail are missing. There are just a few left, clinging to the bloody ulcers right above the tip of his tail. The hole at the top, the one that used to be so small that you could almost believe it was innocent, now goes almost all the way through him, and it’s weeping a million different shades of fluid. His whole body is bloated from swelling.

  And I think, I’m too late.

  I left him for too long.

  His face is mostly bruises. I take out the gag.

  I whisper, “Teeth?”

  And he opens his eyes, squinting in the light, and gives me the world’s faintest smile. “Not anymore,” he says, with a small laugh. He opens his mouth wide.

  All his teeth are filed down to almost nothing.

  I start with the spike on his tail.

  Diana is standing guard at the door, but I still get freaked out every time Teeth moans. “You’ve got to be quiet, kiddo,” I say. “You’ve got to be quiet. Do you know where they sleep?”

  “No.” He breathes hard, the remains of his teeth mashing together. I hear the dangling flakes that cling to the stubs, thin like shale, clicking and breaking off, and it makes me feel sick.

  He cries out as I edge the spike farther out. I consider putting the gag back in his mouth, but, just, no, so instead I keep one gentle hand on him while the other is pulling out the spike and pray it’s enough to keep him calm. He whimpers.

  “Shhhh. I know.”

  “It’s not fair, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve saved me way more times than I’ve saved you.”

  Oh. “You tend to get yourself in more shit than I do.”

  “Not a good friendship.”

  “Well. We’re not exactly friends.” I give him a smile so he’ll know I’m kidding. This smile feels like the worst thing I’ve ever done.

  But he grins. “Look at that big smile. Knew you were an asshole.”

  I twist the spike out a little farther, and he groans. “I know,” I say.

  He’s not grinning anymore. Every time I move the spike, he sobs again. He looks so dri
ed up, but a few tears find their way out.

  “They changed the game,” he says.

  “I know. But we’re changing it too.”

  “Can’t do this again, Rudy.”

  “I promise.” But I have to stop there because my heart is beating so hard it’s shaking my whole chest, and it’s hard to talk, especially when I don’t know how to finish my sentences.

  A few seconds later the spike is out. The wound doesn’t look as bad as the one farther up on his tail. Probably because this one hasn’t been agitated as much. I have to keep swallowing so I don’t throw up, or say something I shouldn’t, but the words “I’m really sorry” come out before I can stop myself.

  I can tell he wishes I had. “Man, shut up and fucking untie me.” He sounds so different without the teeth.

  I dig through the fishermen’s stuff until I find a knife, and I start working on his wrists. “Diana, anything?”

  “No,” she whispers.

  “Who’s Diana?” Teeth mumbles. He sounds like he’s falling asleep.

  “Your sister.” I smack his cheek. “Stay with me now. We’ll sleep later. I’ll bring you home and you can sleep on my couch.”

  He snickers for a minute, then stops and creaks open one eye. “My sister?”

  “Yeah. Don’t get excited. I mean your human sister.”

  “I know . . . ” But he must not be processing it, because he still looks like he gives a shit.

  “She’s our girl with a gun tonight,” I say, and he seems to wake up even more.

  “Diana sounds like Daniel,” he says, and then he shakes his head a little and goes, “Gun?”

  Diana says, “Rudy, I heard something.”

  Fuck. “We’re almost done.”

  I finish slicing through the ropes around Teeth’s wrists, and before I can even announce to him that he’s free, he crashes into me, his head against my chest, his arms curled up around himself and pressing into me. I can feel his heart beating, so much lighter than mine, so fast that it reminds me of a hummingbird from back home. He shoves his face into my chest, which must hurt his bruises, but he keeps pushing all of himself harder and harder against me, like every time he comes a little closer, he thinks it will be close enough, but it isn’t.

  Shit.

  I don’t know what to do besides whisper, “It’s okay,” because the fishermen are coming and it’s the middle of the night and he’s bleeding all over me and he’s a fish and I’m a boy and Diana and . . . shit.

  “Rudy!” Diana hisses.

  I put Teeth on the floor. “Stay here.”

  “No no fuck no you can’t leave me here.”

  “And you can’t swim on your own, so you have to wait for us. It’s going to be fine. I’m gonna be right back.” There isn’t any other choice.

  I scramble out the door. “We have to carry him out of here.”

  “I want to see him . . . . ”

  “Yeah, come on.”

  Above us there’s a heavy clomp of two pairs of boots, and the fishermen come down the stairs to the boat’s main deck.

  They were asleep right above us, and we didn’t even notice.

  Shit.

  “Well.” The one-eyed one sneers at us. “What do we have here?”

  Diana raises the gun and holds it out with both hands. “We have this.”

  For a second I’m afraid they’re not going to care. That they’re going to laugh and bend up the barrel of our gun, twist it into a knot, tell us that we are children and fish and they are humans and this is a world so much bigger than we will ever understand. They will pull the earth out from under us and show us exactly, stroke for stroke, what they did to the fishboy, and we will not be able to breathe.

  Instead they freeze, their eyes huge. The fat one eventually croaks, “Look, lady. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “No, you look,” she says. “We’re taking the fishboy. And you’re going to stand here and let me do it. Or you’re both going to taste your own brains.” She aims at the one-eyed one’s mouth.

  I guess that’s from a book.

  The fishermen grunt stuff about how that’s fine, they don’t care, there’s no need for any of this, they found him in the water a few days ago and they were just trying to keep him from stealing their fish, they don’t need him, they don’t want him. They don’t need him.

  Diana doesn’t take her eyes off the fishermen when she says, “Can you get him on your own?” It takes me a minute to realize she’s talking to me.

  “I think so.” I crawl back into the cabin. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey.” He’s shaking. I should have stayed in here with him and let Diana handle them. She’s on top of this.

  “Ready to go?” I say.

  “They don’t need me?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Come on. We’re going.”

  “Never coming back.” He raises his arms and helps me pick him up. When I get him outside, the fishermen leer and the fat one smacks his lips, but they don’t make any moves toward him. Teeth shivers nonetheless and puts his face into my shoulder.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say. I touch Diana’s arm. Teeth looks up to watch my hands. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but his grip on me suddenly tightens, and he’s tugging that arm back over to wrap around himself.

  Oh.

  He brings his eyes up for just a second to look at Diana. He yanks my sleeve. “I want her to look at me.”

  “Later, okay?”

  “Now.”

  I guess this isn’t the time to argue with him. Diana hands me the gun. I’m a lot more awkward with it than she was, but I keep it stretched out in front of me and I keep my face fierce. I’ll let them have their moment.

  “Hey,” I hear Diana say.

  And he says, “How’s Mom?” They both laugh weakly. I guess that was a joke.

  Diana says, “Rudy, let’s go. He probably needs medical attention.” She’s talking like a textbook like she sometimes does. I kind of love that.

  I let my hand brush against hers when I give the gun back. Teeth stares. I say, “Yeah, the mermaid hospital. We’ll clean him up as best we—”

  Then Teeth grabs the gun.

  He studies it for a minute, with his finger on the trigger, and mumbles, “Just like in Bambi.”

  He straightens his arm toward the fishermen and methodically shoots each of them in the head.

  I hear running footsteps as they hit the ground. I’m confused, and I think one of them has somehow survived and fled, or that Teeth has grown the legs he needs and started to run, thank God, far, far, so far away, but then I realize the fishboy is still in my arms and it’s Diana running as hard and as fast as she can toward her house, not looking back, and the blood is pooling at my naked toes.

  I guess this was too real for her.

  Because God fucking knows it’s too real for me.

  twenty-one

  I MANAGE TO LOWER TEETH TO THE DOCK BEFORE I START throwing up.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?” Fishboy leans forward and watches me. “That’s so cool. Do it again!”

  I do.

  “Man, that’s awesome. I wish I could do that. Can I do that?”

  I grab him by his shoulders. “You fucking killed them!”

  He’s grinning like I just told him I’m buying him ice cream. “They went down so fast. They didn’t even get to say anything. I wonder what they would have said. Killed by a fish!”

  I let go of him. “Christ, Fishboy!”

  The smile’s gone. He stares at me. He’s the world’s most battered child. “My name is Teeth.”

  I think I’m going to puke again, but I don’t.

  “You’re mad at me?” he says.

  I back away from the dock and pace on the sand. My chest feels like it’s breaking into pieces.

  And the fucking ocean, the ocean is so quiet, because I guess the fucking ocean just doesn’t know how to act appropriately for anything, goddamn it, the fucking ocean, I am so sick of th
e fucking ocean and I don’t know what to do and I want to dive in and get clean and never have to come back out. I want to stay underwater forever and plug my ears and . . .

  And I guess I just wish the storm way out at sea would come closer, just so I would have something to think about besides the two fucking fishermen wrecked into pieces in the marina.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” I say. “That you even could do that.”

  “They hurt me.”

  I can’t look at him.

  “They hurt me!” Fishboy says again, louder, and fine, fine, I look up, and he’s raised himself off the dock as much as he can, resting on the bottom of his tail. “Look at me!”

  I look.

  Christ, half of his scales are gone. I don’t know how he’s balanced as well as he is when the bottom of his tail is that ripped. I don’t know if he’s ever going to swim well again. One of his eyes is swollen all the way shut. Half of his hair is matted down with blood. I need to wash him clean.

  The fact that my brain is saying, right now, that I need to wash him clean, tells me that those men got exactly what they deserved.

  I breathe out.

  “I know.” I get back on the dock. “I know.” I want to touch him, but it’s like I can’t figure out how. My fingers keep twitching away. I eventually touch the swollen eye, really carefully, and he leans a little in to my hand. And it’s okay.

  I take a handful of seawater and carefully rinse out the cuts on his face. He winces and looks down. “You got a scrape,” he says. “On your knee.”

  “Yeah? I don’t know how.” Probably getting down on the ground too quickly when I first saw him. Or crashing onto the dock to let him go.

  He leans down and cups his hands for water and rinses my scrape. It hurts more than it helps, but I let him do it anyway. Then I figure I should probably leave his cuts alone until I have something besides saltwater.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He says, “You didn’t do anything,” in this voice that knows that I did. He exhales and looks out to sea for a minute.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” I say, but really I’m just not sure if I can stand to listen.