Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

  The Ocean Goddess and The Home Run Queen

  DANGER, MY goddess would whisper softly to me whenever The Wolfman would approach. Danger.

  His thick and brown-black facial hair, his wet-dog musk and throaty New York accent, his ivory-white fake fangs sticking out against his yellowed smokers' teeth.

  He was my kind of danger.

  My goddess would always tell me that The Wolfman was legit, that there was something supernatural about him. My goddess told me he was just like us.

  But the rest of me knew it was an act, plastic wolf teeth and all. I'd met many fakers like him on both sides of Freak Alley, people so bored with being ordinary that they run straight to being monsters. I knew that The Wolfman had been a nobody before he'd gotten dressed up. But that didn't bother me. Real or not, The Wolfman was exactly the kind of guy I'd like to bring home and check for ticks.

  Not that he was the type to "go home" with anyone; he'd always been an open air kind of guy, preying on the fudgies mostly, sniffing out the prettiest tourists and taking them out to the woods like any authentic wolfman should. On occasion he'd go for one of the girls who worked at the carnival, but he hadn't gone for me just yet.

  I guess you have to work your way up to the Home Run Queen of The UP.

  I saw him with Anastasia once, right before she left town without a word; I was pretty sure no one missed her. He'd swooped in and picked her up in his arms, carrying her like a golden-haired sack of potatoes dressed in a polyester-blend fish tail and plastic coconut bikini cups.

  I'm not going to admit to watching them together, making love or whatever you'd call it, but I will say that they did it outside like the others, somewhere out in the forest that stretches from The Bridge to Cheboygan, and that when I'd closed my eyes it was me who was pretending to be a mermaid getting pounded by that broad-shouldered half-wolf, twenty feet away from the spot where they dump all the grease from the deep-fryers.

  They'd still been going at it, when after twenty minutes I'd decided to go back to my camper and do something just for me. I no longer had hot water for my massaging showerhead but I found a way. And that was what got me started on thinking about the day when it'd finally be my turn with The Wolfman.

  I'd seen how he looked at me.

  I was sure if it wasn't for my uncle I'd've already had a poison ivy rash between my thighs.

  Wednesday started off badly when I realized I forgot my iPhone in the shower room at the bunkhouse. It got even worse after my first show, when Sandra the slime-mold talent agent stopped by my tank again, clapping like a blonde harp seal at the end of my act. She acted like she hadn't already watched the same pearl-diving stunt of mine on both Monday and Tuesday.

  "You were great, Vanessa," she said once she had me trapped by the ladder, stuck between the tank wall and a crowd of sticky kids looking for autographs. "Sexy as always."

  "I'm not comfortable being hit on in front of children," I said.

  "I have another opportunity. Atlantic City. Brand new attraction. AC is on the upswing."

  "Have a good flight."

  "Hear me out. I can get you a real audience for once. Must get tough playing for a few bargain-bin tourists and a buttload of moose."

  "Look... I'm not interested." I tried to sound a little more gruff than the last time, without letting on to the waiting ten-year-olds and a handful of lust-addled teenage boys that I was losing my cool. I didn't want the attention you'd get from being that short-tempered diving chick. I didn't want all eyes on me and the hard-to-see slits at the back of my neck.

  "You weren't interested in Sandusky. I get that. Barf. But this is Atlantic City. The Jersey Shore."

  "I'll never be able to orange my skin enough for that," I said.

  "They'd love you just as you are. Girl next door with a touch of the exotic." She took a deep breath. It might have been a dramatic pause. "Say goodbye to Mackinaw, hun. First you play AC for a few months. Then it's the big time. Television. Maybe even basic cable."

  I tried to slip around her. "I really need to go."

  "Think about it, Nessie."

  "Nessie?"

  "Nessa?"

  "People are waiting to talk to me."

  She gave me a wide smile. "You're busy," she said. "I know that. We'll talk again tomorrow."

  She'd said the same thing on Monday. And Tuesday. I knew she'd say the same thing every day from then until I either said yes or drowned her in my tank.

  There'd always be too many witnesses around for that.

  "You need to leave me alone," I said. "My uncle wouldn't be too happy to find out you're sniffing around his place for clients."

  "I'm not sniffing. I know exactly what I want. And I've talked to your uncle. He thinks you should take a chance. You know, live a little."

  "You've gotta be kidding me... you didn't seriously talk to him about this. Do you get that I hate your guts?"

  I could hear a couple of the kids snickering, along with a few parents gasping. One of the teenage boys gave out a little hoot, grinning wildly underneath his training stache. I'd seen that kid around before, more than a few times. I'd started to think of him as my first overly-attached fan, short and skinny, and obviously a local with his NMU wildcats shirt and matching camo baseball cap.

  "Don't make this mistake," Sandra said. "You're young and beautiful. Everyone loves you. We need to cash in on that. I'm going to keep on you until you see what you're throwing away."

  "Just leave me alone," I said. "Please..."

  "We'll talk again."

  "No --"

  "Tomorrow."

  She smiled one last time before turning and walking away.

  I needed to find a way to keep her from coming back.

  The Wolfman waved me down at lunchtime. That was a first.

  "Eat with me," he said, his mouth half-stuffed with beef kabob.

  I sat down at his picnic table, narrowly avoiding a white smear of bird poo.

  "You look like you need a vacation," he said. "Rough morning?"

  "I'm being stalked by a cougar from Grand Rapids."

  "The dye-job blonde that's been hanging around your tank?"

  "That's her. She wants me to run off to Atlantic City."

  "Maybe you should go. You'd be great at it." He didn't sound like someone who was overly concerned with me sticking around.

  "It's the same stuff I do here," I said. "Only it's away from my family and for not much more money."

  He grinned. "Away from your uncle? That's living the dream. But you know that I'll miss you, Vanessa."

  That was unexpected. "Uh, me too... Wolfman."

  "That's The Wolfman. It's all about branding."

  I laughed. "Do you ever tell anyone your real name?"

  "It's Quinn," he said, not that I believed him. "And now that we've been officially introduced... I really think you should keep an open mind about that offer."

  I smirked. "Open mind, huh? I'll bet that's just what you told Anastasia before you filleted her in the forest."

  He grinned. "You know what I mean." I felt his hand on my knee. It was close to touching my thigh... but not quite. "I wouldn't want you staying here just because of me."

  I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. "Okay, then," I said. "I've got to go. I forgot my stupid phone in the bunkhouse."

  "What were you doing there? You have a trailer."

  "Taking my morning cold shower. There's no hot water but it beats a sponge bath in the water fountain."

  "You're still using the bunkhouse to shower? But those people are animals."

  "We can't all afford a fancy supertrailer with indoor plumbing. Not on a pearl diver's salary."

  He smiled. "You can use my tub," he said. "It has jets and hot water and everything."

  I froze for a moment. Not because Quinn The Wolfman wanted me to get naked in his trailer, but because he was letting another person into his trailer at all. He'd almost to
rn the Peschel twins another conjoined rectum when they'd tried to barge in on the Fourth. All they'd wanted to do was take a much-needed piss... or a pair of them, depending on how their system works.

  I decided to smirk. "A hot bath in your trailer, huh? I don't know if I'm willing to pay the price of admission."

  "Don't worry," he said. "I've got a date tonight. You'll have the whole place to yourself."

  His little announcement sounded like a rejection, like he was doing his best to subtly tell me "thanks, but no thanks, I get plenty of grade A tail in my line of work".

  "Uh... okay," I said. "I guess that works." I mostly just wanted the conversation to be over.

  He lifted his knee-scouring hand and gave my lower thigh a nice, friendly slap. "Great," he said. "You'll love my collection of fine French soaps."

  I got up to leave.

  "It's a joke," he said. "I only use good, upstanding American soap."

  I nodded and eventually I remembered to smile.

  I was already missing the time in my life when The Wolfman had kept his distance.

  Quinn was as good as his word, leaving his trailer unlocked and the bathroom light on, and being nowhere in sight. I'd thought of the possibility that he'd set up some kind of pinhole camera to peep on me, but I soon decided that a guy like The Wolfman didn't need to bother with deception if he wanted to film some lady parts here and there; northern Michigan has more than enough party stores per capita to make college girls do almost anything. I'm sometimes curious why the Girls Gone Wild van never came up here that often. Then I think of blackfly season and our proximity to Wisconsin and the wonder passes.

  I filled up the tub as far as it would go, and then I slipped off my ill-gained Holiday Inn bathrobe and climbed in. The feeling was almost as good as the last time I'd broken a hot water fast, a few years back when I'd gone for four days without a real wash. But it didn't match that feeling, since this time it was just me and myself; there was neither a bottle of scotch nor a fellow dirty traveler to warm me up.

  My current fellow traveler was out on a date, most likely with some ditzy blonde. They say a man wants to mess around with blondes and fall in love with a brunette, but I've seen no first-hand evidence of the tail end of that plan. All I'd seen lately is Northern Michigan's most eligible bachelors all shoulder-deep in fair-haired tramps.

  I sighed, and then I lay back in the water and felt the heat lap over my ears. It felt good.

  I dipped even lower, until I was completely submerged, other than my pointy knees popping out. My face was under the water, and I held my breath for a few seconds before I felt the gills kick in, filling my lungs with oxygen from the rusty bath water.

  The goddess inside me is always waiting for that moment when the water washes over me. My goddess and I could stay there forever if we wanted to... or at least until I needed to pee.

  With my eyes closed and my body cocooned in the warmth, I finally felt relaxed, and I tried to let my mind empty as I listened to the breathing from the back of my neck.

  My grandmother was like me. I saw her gills and goddess once, out at Sand Point Beach by the lighthouse, back when I lived up at home. We'd been dipping our toes into Lake Superior, enjoying the painfully short summer. She'd noticed my gills first, and I guess she hadn't wanted me to feel like there was something wrong with me.

  "We're blessed by the spirits of the ocean," she'd said to me. "They live on earth through us, just as we can live in the waters through them."

  "But the ocean's a thousand miles away," I'd replied. I still feel like an idiot for saying that.

  My grandmother had never dived for pearls, but she was the one who'd told me the story of Shinju, the Japanese diver who'd come to Hawaii and fallen in love with a big-hearted man from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and about how she'd decided to leave everything behind and follow him home, and make him her husband.

  And she'd told me how Shinju and her goddess had battled with the dark spirits who'd hunted in the north woods. It was hard and bloody, she said. The creatures would stalk her in animal form, the spirit bear or the spirit wolf, and even a cougar or two, thinking she was easy prey. And then they'd attack. But the moment the monster would pierce Shinju's skin, the goddess would take over, scratching and tearing and killing. And by the time Shinju would awaken, the creature would be nothing more than scattered bone and blood. It was a war that had always been.

  My grandmother told me of the nights when she'd walk through the forest, waiting for the spirit monsters to come and her goddess to breathe. She'd seemed disappointed when she explained that it had never happened to her, that the only creatures she'd discovered were your run-of-the-mill black bears and coyotes.

  That was more than me; the closest I've ever come is getting chased by a leg-humping shih tzu at summer softball camp. Maybe Ted Nugent's right. Maybe there's a bright side to hunting prey animals almost to extinction.

  My grandmother was named for her grandmother; her parents had chosen to name her in English, so Shinju became Pearl. I think my name means "butterfly".

  My grandmother told me that every woman born to our family is given the gift. That gift makes what I do for a living a little too easy. Sometimes when I dive I feel a bit like a fraud.

  But I guess it's not really a problem if no one finds out.

  I heard a thud against the tub, and I shot up with my eyes open.

  And then I heard someone swear. I looked over and saw the skinny boy with the puny little moustache, the one with the cute and creepy crush on me.

  That crush became even more obvious when I realized what he'd just been doing with his right hand.

  "Sorry," the boy said. He sat down on the toilet seat and cradled his hurt toe. He didn't look any older than sixteen to me; I think somehow that helped me classify him in my mind as a confused teenager with boundary issues, rather than some dangerous perv who required a serious pounding with a baseball bat. A good thing, since I'd left my bat at home.

  "You're sorry?" I asked. "Sorry about swearing? Or about spying on me with your pants down?"

  His face turned red. I guess he'd forgotten what part of him he was still gripping.

  "How can you breathe underwater?" he asked.

  "What the hell are you doing in here?"

  "I saw you... you were under there for like... ten minutes at least."

  "I doubt it took you ten minutes to choke your little chicken yolk."

  He smiled nervously. "I kinda had a second run at it."

  And then he finally pulled up his pants.

  "It's an ancient technique," I said. "From Japan. Now will you kindly get out of here before I kick your pervy ass?"

  He didn't budge.

  "Get out!"

  "You were breathing."

  "I was holding my breath."

  "I saw you. You were breathing. I saw your chest moving."

  He'd seen my chest. Obviously. And a lot more than that. "I'm going to call the cops," I said.

  He grinned.

  I wasn't expecting that.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll leave you alone."

  He climbed off the toilet and started to back away, his gaze glued to my breasts, almost tripping over the garbage can on his way out of the tiny bathroom.

  I waited until I heard the door to the trailer slam before I climbed out of the tub. Not that it mattered; I doubt I had much left to hide from that kid.

  Slimy Sandra didn't show up after any of my shows the next day. A part of me was almost disappointed; it's nice to be sought after, even if you question the sanity and natural hair color of the seeker.

  But the pervy kid was in the crowd again, and after I'd climbed down the ladder he was huddled in at the back of the mass of eager kids and single dads.

  He waited patiently while I dealt with the autographs and the banter, and the two less-than-subtle propositions, one involving adult diapers. Once he was the only person left he gave me the same
creepy grin I'd seen from the night before. But this time I noticed something I hadn't noticed last night, two shiny white fangs on the sides of his mouth.

  You wouldn't believe the crap they sell at the gift stand.

  "No one knows about you, do they?" he asked.

  "I told you. It's a breathing technique."

  "Is it... surgically altered?"

  "Can you just drop this? I don't see why you've latched on to me."

  "Tell me about it."

  I was starting to miss my bottle-blonde clapping seal and her fake eyelashes.

  "Tell me about it," he said again. "Or else I'll tell everyone."

  "Tell them what? You don't even know what you're talking about."

  "I wonder what The Wolfman would think of your secret. Would he call you a freak, maybe?"

  "Who cares? He thinks he's a character in Twilight."

  "You care."

  I knew he was right. Even if the kid never figured out what it is about me that's different, he could hassle everyone I work with until someone with half a brain finally realized that my shoddily-built dive tank was at least twenty feet too deep, or that I was always down for thirty seconds longer than the girls at Sea World. I didn't want people thinking about that.

  Even my uncle didn't know about my goddess. Only the women in my family had known, the ones who'd been touched by it.

  I was the only one left.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll show you my secret. But not here."

  "Later tonight?" He sounded way too hopeful.

  "Meet me at my camper at midnight. It's down by the bunkhouse..."

  "I know where it is."

  "You're creepy, kid... you know that?"

  "I'm happy in my own skin," he said.

  I shuddered.

  I'd gone from one bad stalker to someone even worse.

  The Wolfman (or Quinn) stopped by my camper not long after I got there. He brought a bag of pasties and a six pack of Stroh's, and while I didn't check his pockets I was pretty sure from the smile on his face that he had a condom or two on him, too. And he was still wearing his stupid fangs.

  I wondered if he ever took them out.

  I wondered if that really worked on the other girls.

  I wondered if I was on my way to joining their ranks.

  "You like pasties, right?" he asked.

  "You betcha," I said. "I'm a good little Yooper."

  "I hope you don't mind me stopping in, Vanessa. A couple of the local girls convinced Horny Rich to let them throw a party in his trailer and the sounds travels pretty good."

  It wasn't a terrible excuse.

  We sat down at my little square dinette and began to eat.

  "Got this from that place by the boat," he said.

  "That could literally be anywhere in town."

  "The little boat. Place was like a hundred and fifty degrees. I guess they cook up so many pasties they decided to make the whole restaurant into an oven."

  "I bet it made you want to buy extra pasties."

  "I get ya... marketing tactic. Sneaky bastards."

  "I have to ask," I said, "what's the deal with those fake fangs?"

  "They're not fake," he said.

  I expected a longer answer. I just stared at him for a while.

  "They're implants," he said.

  "You're kidding."

  "I've committed to the role. And the ladies love 'em."

  "Some ladies, perhaps." I gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

  He seemed to like it.

  As we kept talking I decided that Quinn was actually pretty funny. He had a knack both for making me laugh and always keeping me a little on edge about whether or not he actually thought I was worth his time, even taking care to make light fun of women's softball. His dating technique was dead on.

  "Tell me something truly titillating about The Wolfman," I said as I started my second bottle of beer. He hadn't brought enough of it; if that Brooklyn boy was trying to get me drunk he didn't know a lot about Michiganders. It would take at least my own six pack to make this girl honk like a goose.

  "Not much to tell," he said. "Got married too soon, divorced too late. I've been twenty years without a chocolate egg cream."

  "I don't know what that is."

  "Indescribable. One day you'll have to find out for yourself."

  "Okay. What else?"

  "Well... let's see... I live in the moment, but I think you know that."

  "Half the women in town know that."

  He laughed. "I doubt it's half. But I'm not ashamed of what I am."

  I gave him a smirk. "I'd be a little ashamed of girls like Anastasia Braun if I were you."

  "You didn't like her," he said. "But she had her charms. Believe me."

  He was starting to lose his touch.

  "I'll bet all it takes to get you going is for a girl to be blonde and pretty," I said. "I don't think I'd call either of those things charms."

  "I like more than just blondes."

  "Sure. I'll bet you were with a blonde last night. Probably tall, skinny, and young. God... don't tell me you went out with that skanky new girl at the lemonade stand. She looks downright diseased."

  I told myself to dial it back, but I knew by then I'd already spewed enough crazy that it shouldn't matter anymore.

  "I was with an older woman, actually," Quinn said. "Interesting, but a little odd..."

  "And how did it end?" I don't know why I even asked. With my luck he was talking about Sandra.

  "It fizzled out."

  "So you won't be sampling her again?"

  "I think last night was it for her, actually. I doubt I'll ever see her again."

  I sighed. "I don't know how you can want that. One night stands... women you don't even care about."

  "I know," he said, sounding all sensitive. "I guess there's just something inside of me... some hunger for the chase. I know I shouldn't like it so much."

  I was trying to keep the new approach from working, but somehow that bullshit was wearing me down.

  Fucking shit. He was winning.

  "So you think it's wrong?" I asked. "Treating women like that?"

  "I don't know what I think. Honestly, Vanessa... I just don't know."

  He leaned in and put his hand on my thigh.

  Definitely my thigh.

  "I guess we're getting close to the kiss," I said. It was all so contrived, but I didn't really want to stop him.

  He nodded and went for it. It was good. Probably too good. I like a little inexperience.

  "My bed sucks," I said. "It feels like laying on cardboard. You don't want to try anything here."

  "That's not what this is," he said. "It's not about your bed."

  He gave me another kiss, quick and soft.

  "You're the most beautiful creature in the world," he said. "My soul aches for yours."

  I let out a giggle. "That's some bad poetry right there."

  "Yeah... but I mean it."

  "Okay," I said. "Um... thanks?"

  He frowned. "I should go," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  And that was that. He left without giving me a chance to come up with a coherent response.

  It worked. I could feel my knees buckling even as I sat.

  The Wolfman knew his audience.

  I'd almost fallen asleep when I heard the knock on my door. It was midnight and I'd completely forgotten about the pervy kid from Marquette or wherever and our little game of show-and-tell.

  I let him in but I didn't invite him to sit down. I just wanted to get it over with.

  From his stupid grin he looked like he'd also brought along some condoms. And I could see that he still had those lame-ass fangs jammed into his mouth.

  "C'meerrr," he said. "Show me the goods."

  "You're kidding."

  He laughed. "Yup. But seriously... I do want to see them."

  "See what?"

/>   "The gills. I know about them."

  "Gills?"

  "You're really bad at this game," he said. "I know about the gills, and I know what you are."

  "Wow... meth is a helluva drug."

  "Your ocean spirit... inside of you."

  I was sure the shock on my face was pretty clear. Somehow he just knew, like he'd found a photo of me on Wikipedia, some badly-written and poorly-sourced article telling him just who I was.

  "What do you want from me?" I asked. "I don't have any money, and I'm sure as hell not giving you the other thing."

  "I take what I want," he said.

  He didn't lunge or anything. He just glared at me.

  I wasn't sure if he expected some kind of capitulation on my part, like I was just going to sigh and lie on my back and think of England's soccer stars.

  I punched him square in the eye.

  He fell back and smacked the back of his head against the wall.

  "Get out of my camper," I said. "I don't want to see you around here again."

  "I know what you are," he said.

  "You mentioned that, yeah."

  "But yuh don't know what I am."

  "A pervy virgin with terrible facial hair. Got it."

  "I am the wolf," he said. "Just like my father and his father."

  "Ah... the fangs. I get it."

  "I want to keep you safe, Shinju... I want you to be happy, my pearl."

  It was like a whole new level of creepy... scary creepy.

  "You need to leave," I said. I sounded good and tough. But then I faltered. "Please..."

  He could sense the weakness there, and he went for it. He tried to grab me but I pulled away. He gripped at my hair but I gave him a swift knee to the stomach... he was shorter than most men I'd had to kick, so I missed my intended target by a good three inches.

  I followed up the knee with another eye-punch, and soon the boy was on the floor.

  That's what he looked like now... a boy. A stupid, pervy little boy.

  What was I supposed to do with that?

  "You need to go," I said.

  He slowly stood.

  "Did you hear me?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "This can be it," I said. "Just leave me alone from now on and I won't mention this to anybody."

  He nodded again and started towards the door.

  I took a deep breath.

  He came at me, trying to wrap his arms around my neck.

  I realized that the little idiot was hoping to choke me out. That shit never ends well.

  I sent out my knee again. I didn't misjudge the height.

  And then I pushed him out of the camper myself.

  I locked the door and dug out my baseball bat to keep by my bed.

  I opened my third Stroh's and sucked it down like a frat boy. It didn't help. It just gave me gas and made it that much harder to sleep.

  But I did fall asleep eventually.

  When I heard another knock I sleepily grabbed the wood bat and stumbled towards the door. It was still dark and I was still supposed to be sleeping.

  "Go fuck yourself," I said to whoever it was.

  "Jeez-o-pete, Ness," I heard my uncle say.

  I opened the door and let him in. He looked a little ragged and very stressed out. More so than usual.

  "You're drunk," he said. He invited himself to sit at the dinette, frowning at the six crumpled cans of beer. And then he started to eat the leftover pasty.

  "I'm not drunk," I said. "I'm just waking up, asshole."

  "I needed to make sure you're okay."

  "I'm not okay. My creepy old uncle decided to wake me up in the middle of the night."

  "Did you go to that party last night?"

  "What party?"

  "At Horny Rich's trailer. A couple girls went missing."

  "Went missing? If only the police had trained a pair of vomit-sniffing dogs."

  "I'm serious," he said. "They found one of the girls' handbags."

  "Okay..."

  "There was blood on it."

  I was starting to understand why he was there. It was kind of sweet.

  "I'm okay," I said. "Now you know."

  "You should come stay with us."

  "I'm okay. Whatever happened to those girls didn't happen to me."

  "Please, Ness."

  "Don't worry so much. I wasn't drunk. And I won't be drunk anytime soon. And I'll stay out of the woods... and I'll stay away from strange men who reek of drunk girls."

  He shook his head at me. He knew me well enough to know that I wasn't about to change my mind.

  Once he was gone I got dressed and went out for a walk in the woods. That was the quickest way to get to Quinn's trailer.

  I found Quinn halfway along the trip, walking through the trees in the opposite direction. He was dressed like it was a lot colder out, with a heavy coat and long and shiny-black gloves.

  "Where ya going?" I asked as we came up to each other.

  "To find you," he said. "I was worried."

  "What is it about me that every man in my life assumes I'll be the next murder victim?"

  "What murder?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

  "Didn't you run into any police?"

  "I thought there was another break-in. Or maybe that Horny Rich finally tried to make his move on one of the new girls and got himself stabbed or something."

  "Two missing girls," I said. "And blood."

  His face changed. He had started to look worried, for real.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "We should get back to your trailer."

  I wasn't sure what he really wanted to do in my trailer.

  Danger.

  I wasn't scared.

  "I'm out of beer," I said.

  "We need to hurry."

  He grabbed my hand with his glove and started moving again, picking up the pace by quite a bit.

  We reached my camper and I unlocked the door.

  "I'll go in first," he said. "Wait here."

  I didn't argue, although I wondered why whatever monster he was now chasing would be hiding in my camper when I'd been alone in the woods a few minutes before.

  "Come in," he said. "It's safe."

  I walked in.

  Quinn locked the door to the camper.

  I felt my stomach growl. I started wishing my uncle hadn't stolen my last pasty.

  We sat down at my table again, but the romance was dead. Especially since he was still wearing his jacket and goddamn butcher gloves.

  "I need to do something," Quinn said. "Something you won't like."

  "Not the best come-on I've heard."

  "There is a young man who's been following me. He's been... I guess 'obsessed' is the best way to put it."

  "Teenage boy with fake fangs?"

  "So he's been talking to you."

  "Not just talking. He came after me a few hours ago."

  Quinn sighed. "I'm sorry, Vanessa. I should have done something about this before. I should have realized that the boy is unbalanced."

  "I'm okay."

  "He's dangerous. I know that now. I think he attacked those girls tonight."

  "I doubt it." It wasn't that I didn't think the boy had a mean streak; I hadn't forgotten the part where he tried to squeeze my windpipe until I passed out. It was more that I doubted he'd be able to take those girls on with his piss-poor hunting skills. They would've had to be really, really... really drunk.

  "You are very special to me, Vanessa. I don't want him to hurt you."

  "I'm fine. If you really believe that kid is dangerous, you should be talking to the police. I don't do a lot of crime-solving these days, you know. I mostly dive for pearls for slightly more than minimum wage."

  I felt his hand on my thigh again, or his glove, at least. It gave me a cold chill. Something felt wrong.

  "I've been watching over you for a long time," he said.
"Ever since you arrived here."

  It sounded like he'd been taking lessons on being creepy from the pervy kid.

  "Are you high or something?" I asked.

  "I took care of Anastasia for you. You hated her, so I sent her away. And I did the same to Sandra... just so you'd be happy... so you wouldn't leave us."

  "You're telling me that fucking Anastasia in the woods was doing me some kind of solid?"

  And Sandra? Eew.

  "I'll get rid of this kid, too."

  That was a good way to clue me in that we hadn't been talking about the same thing.

  I felt his grip hardening on my leg.

  "Did you kill those girls tonight?" I asked.

  "That boy killed those girls. I'll protect you from him."

  "You're really freaking me out. I don't get the joke here. I really don't."

  "I'm going to find that boy and I'm going to slit his throat. Is that clear enough?"

  "No... please don't. If you love me, you'll leave him alone."

  Quinn started to laugh. "Love you? Really? That's what you think this is?"

  That hurt.

  "You really don't know what I am," he said.

  But I did know. I'd known all along, or at least part of me did. And I'd taken those quivers and whispers for some kind of kinky attraction when I should have taken them for fear. "You're a spirit wolf," I said. "And that poor kid thinks he's a wolf, too."

  "That poor kid, huh? He killed those girls because he wants to be like me."

  "So you're going to kill him. And then what are you going to do with me?"

  "I've waited for two years, Vanessa. I've waited long enough. I'm going to take you tonight. I'm going to take you and then I'll bury you under the trailer. Right between Anastasia and Sandra."

  "That won't work," I said, having trouble even moving my lips. "You won't get away with it."

  "I know. That's why I've waited so long. The time has never been right. No one cared about Anastasia; she was just a stupid little whore who wandered into camp for a few weeks. And no one even knew Sandra was here aside from the two of us."

  "And my uncle."

  "I doubt it."

  "But my uncle knows about me. He knows I wouldn't just disappear. And now with those two girls missing..."

  He shook his head. "I know, Vanessa. Even after I kill you and your family, I'll still have ruined my life here. I won't be able to stay. And I won't be able to start over as a carnival freak somewhere else. I'll have to get a job at a fucking call center." He smiled. "But you're worth it. And I get to kill a nice handful of other people while I'm at it."

  I couldn't hear my goddess. I was too frightened. Was she still with me? Would she take over the moment my blood was spilled?

  "I am more powerful than you," I said. "I will kill you."

  "Bullshit. You've heard too many fairy tales. Do you think you're the first goddess I've killed?"

  I wanted to scream. "You don't know me."

  Where was my goddess?

  "You're easy prey," he said as he stood up from the table. "A delicious snack before bed."

  He had to spill my blood. My grandmother had known the secret; she'd learned it from Shinju herself. That had to be the truth.

  The sooner Quinn cut me, the sooner I'd find out.

  "Show me how tough you are," I said. I climbed out of the dinette and walked over to him.

  He backed away a little. I wasn't sure what he was planning.

  "You're wasting your time," he said. "And mine."

  "Whatever."

  I stepped forward and punched him in the mouth. I could tell that it came as a surprise.

  He pushed me on my shoulders, shoving me backwards.

  "You want this to hurt, don't you?" he said.

  "I do. So hurt me, jackass."

  He slapped me hard with his gloved hand, from cheek to cheek. I fell backwards, banging against the tabletop.

  I knew there'd be blood.

  I felt it running from my nose, and from a cut below my left eye.

  But my goddess didn't come.

  "Sit down," he said.

  I sat. I was running out of options. Actually, I was completely tapped out. He'd kill me. There was no avenging ocean spirit inside of me. Just some gills.

  And once I was dead, he'd kill the crazy little perv. And maybe my uncle, and the rest of my family.

  "What if I help you?" I asked.

  "I don't need your help. I'm not going to have any trouble ripping your heart from your beautiful chest."

  I swallowed hard. It felt like I was about to watch some other idiot girl give everything up. "I'll pack my bags and I'll leave a note for my uncle," I said. "I fell in love with a young boy and I had to leave before I did something I'd regret. Would that work? Would you leave everyone else alone? My family... the little pervy kid?"

  "That kid killed those girls."

  "Even if you're right... why would you give a shit? You're going to kill me, remember?"

  He gave me another smile. "Yeah... I am going to kill you."

  "You'll be able to stay here. Keep your job. Find another exotic-looking carnival girl to go all Tom Cruise over."

  "Write the letter," he said.

  "Let me send my family away first. Once they're gone you can have me."

  "That's a stupid plan, Vanessa. There's no way you can tell your family without giving me up. You're going to say some person is about to kill them but you don't know who?"

  I had to come up with a plan.

  "I can get them to leave. Just let me try."

  "It won't work. You'll just bring your uncle here looking for you." He leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to kill you either way. So you can write the letter and trust me, or you can not write the letter and know that the boy and your uncle will both die a horrible death. Oh, and then I'll kill your auntie, too. And yes... your cousins... and that stray dog that you always give your scraps to. I'll kill that little dog just for you, Vanessa." He chuckled a little. "Or, you know... you could write the goddamn letter."

  I started to cry.

  And then I wrote the letter.

  I packed a couple suitcases while Quinn watched; I came so close to convincing myself that I really was going on a trip, to somewhere that didn't involve a shallow grave under The Wolfman's trailer.

  Once everything was ready I tried to feel relieved. I had to believe that I was keeping my family alive.

  I heard a knock on the door. I wondered if it was even possible that someone had come to save me.

  "Ask who it is," Quinn said in a whisper.

  "Who's there?"

  "It's Conan," someone answered.

  I didn't know any Conans.

  Quinn smiled and walked over to the door. And then he unlocked it.

  The pervy kid stepped inside the camper.

  "You need to go," I said. "Please... get out of here."

  "I'm good," the kid said. "I want to see this."

  "She's all packed," Quinn said.

  The kid grinned, his fangs and his pair of long black gloves shining in the orange light of the camper. "Sounds good, Dad. I brought the tape."

  They'd wrapped my wrists behind my back and taped my ankles together, lying me down on the floor. They'd stuffed a hand towel in my mouth and wrapped three or four layers of duct tape right around my head.

  They worked together like a team, and once they were done they took off their gloves and looked me over like I was a prize chicken.

  It still seemed odd that they'd be related. I'd never thought of The Wolfman having a son, and even if I'd pictured his kid I would have imagined a tough kid from Brooklyn who was at least three inches taller and could grow a decent moustache.

  "This is how it's done," Quinn said to his boy. "If you take your time and do it right, everything will work out."

  "I know," the kid said. "You've told me
this like a million times before."

  "But you don't listen, Conan. You just run around scratching at girls in the woods. You don't even finish the job."

  "I didn't want those girls to die. I didn't even mean to hurt them."

  "Well you did kill them. I couldn't let them run off to the police and tell them about you. Some weird kid grasping at titties in the woods... this isn't the life I wanted for you."

  "I know... I'm sorry, Dad."

  "It's a start. Now let's get it done."

  The kid nodded as he pulled off another long strip of tape. He wrapped it around my head again, but instead of covering my mouth one more time, he brought it right over my nose. And then he stuck his fingers in my nostrils, sealing them up completely.

  "Do another one," Quinn said.

  So the kid did.

  I waited for a moment, wondering what would happen. I couldn't draw any air in through my nose or my mouth. And I wasn't in the water. My ocean goddess and my gills couldn't breathe on land.

  I started to struggle, rubbing my face against the linoleum, trying to catch the tape somehow.

  "She's suffocating," the kid said.

  "I know," Quinn said. "Looks good."

  "No... she can't die like this."

  "I know."

  That was the moment I passed out.

  I woke up in the water, upside down. I could feel the tug of weights on my wrists, along something pulling me from above. It took me a few seconds to realize that they were suspending me by a line in my own dive tank. Like a stuffed-mouthed bass they'd reeled in and wanted to keep fresh.

  With the weights against my wrists, I knew that once they cut the line I'd be on my way to the bottom.

  But I still had my goddess within me; I was breathing through her. The blood hadn't made her fight, but she hadn't left me, either.

  Quinn and his son knew what I was. They were toying with me. They'd wanted to see it first-hand.

  So they left me there, for at least ten minutes, before they pulled me back up.

  "You're amazing," the kid said. With his heavy black gloves on again, he unwrapped the duct tape that covered my mouth.

  "You won't scream," Quinn said. "You know better."

  I nodded.

  The kid carefully pulled the towel from my mouth. I wondered why he was so worried about being gentle all of a sudden.

  "What if I told you that we'd be willing to let you go?" Quinn asked.

  I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to say the wrong thing.

  "Do you want to live, Vanessa?" Quinn asked.

  "I do," I said. "Please."

  "Don't do this," the kid said. "Don't toy with her."

  "Toy with me?" I asked.

  "He's not going to let you go. Obviously."

  "Shut your yap, Conan."

  "No, Dad. Let's just kill her and get it over with."

  "I'm willing to be toyed with a little longer," I said. "I've got time."

  The kid pulled out the duct tape and ripped off another strip.

  "Please don't," I said. "I won't scream."

  He taped over the back of my neck. He did it again with a second piece.

  My gills were covered.

  "Now you'll get the chance to drown," Quinn said.

  Suddenly the thought of drowning terrified me, more than anything else. It wasn't something I'd even thought about before. "Wolves don't drown their prey," I said. "Can't you just do that heart-ripping thing?"

  "There's only one way to kill an ocean goddess. She must die in the water. Otherwise she might find another body to use."

  "Why does it matter if she does? You can just kill that one."

  "Don't be stupid. It's the goddess who must die before she starts to kill."

  "Come on," I said. "It's not like I'm going to kill anyone." I was lying, of course. If my wrists and ankles hadn't been taped I certainly would have given it my best try. "Please... I'm not going to kill anyone."

  "We'd like to keep it that way," Quinn said. He turned to his son. "Stuff her mouth and push her in."

  "I want to test something out," the kid said.

  He didn't bother with the hand towel. He simply gave me a shove.

  The weights pulled me down as I hit the water. There was slack in the line tied to my ankles and I kept sinking. I sank right to the bottom.

  I opened my eyes and looked out through the plexiglass of the tank. There was nothing to see, no one around, no light in the dark night.

  Unless Quinn and Conan changed their mind, I was going to drown and my goddess with me.

  Breathe.

  I didn't understand.

  Just breathe.

  I opened my mouth and sucked in the water. As clean as I thought my tank was, the water still tasted like feet.

  As the water rushed down my throat I felt my lungs take a breath.

  I exhaled through my mouth. And then I took another breath.

  After a few minutes I felt my legs being pulled up towards the surface.

  They were going to want me to be dead.

  I felt the pulling stop, and I started to drift back down to the bottom. I twisted my head and looked up, and I saw someone else in the tank with me.

  I was pretty sure it was Quinn. And the red mist spilling out from his head was something I was pretty sure about, too.

  Quinn wasn't moving.

  The pulling started again, and I tried not to move as I was slowly lifted towards the surface. If Quinn was dead, that didn't tell me anything about his son, whether or not he was the one pulling me out.

  Maybe it was the police, or my uncle, or Horny Rich hoping that someone had finally adapted lobster traps for human women. But it was probably Conan, and I wasn't sure how I was going to keep him from killing me in some other way.

  I was pulled out on the wooden platform, legs first. I felt the weights being removed from my wrists.

  "Are you alright?" It was the kid.

  I nodded. "Did you just kill your father?"

  "I didn't want him to kill you. I don't want you to get hurt."

  "You just tried to drown me. That would've hurt."

  "No... I didn't." He sounded genuinely upset. "I kept count. Six minutes. You were underwater in the bathtub for at least ten."

  "You taped over my gills, you idiot."

  "I took a chance. Looks like I made a good bet."

  I saw my baseball bat, lying on the ground near the ladder. There was blood, of course; I'd expected there to be blood. What surprised me was that the bat was there at all.

  "How did you manage to sneak that bat up here?"

  "No sneaking required. That was Dad's Plan B for you."

  "No heart getting ripped out of my chest?"

  "He was probably being dramatic. He usually uses a rock or a heavy branch."

  "Not very wolf-like," I said.

  "Don't worry... he was still going to bite you and all that."

  "Why the hell would he want to do that?"

  "That's what the spirit wants. That's what my spirit wants me to do to you right now. He wants to taste your flesh."

  I knew it was just a matter of time before his spirit won out and made me his next nibble; this was the same kid who couldn't peep on a bathing lady without pulling down his pants.

  I wanted to pull back from him, towards the ladder, but my wrists and ankles were still bound. I waited for his next poor attempt at a choke-out.

  "Don't worry," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you, Vanessa."

  "Then untie me."

  "I can't. I... I can't take that chance. Not yet."

  "Not yet?"

  He nodded. "Not until I know I can trust you."

  "Why the hell would I ever trust you?" I asked. I wondered if I should have thought things out a little before saying that.

  "I love you, Vanessa."

  "That's good to know."

  He knelt down and picked up the to
wel and the roll of duct tape.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Until I can trust you."

  I heard my goddess whispering to me.

  Taste his flesh.

  I could feel the urge within me.

  "Wait," I said. "What do we want to do about your father? We can't just leave him here."

  "I'll put him under the trailer. In the same spot he meant for you."

  "He's pretty waterlogged. You may need some help."

  "Not yet," he said. "Not until I can trust you."

  He stepped closer with the towel and the tape.

  I threw myself towards him with my mouth open to his neck. I crunched down as hard as I could into his skin, tasting the metal in his blood.

  And then I felt her rise to the surface.

  I opened my eyes to find the bones and blood of the younger spirit wolf lying on the platform of my dive tank. I kicked them into the water as though that would make them disappear.

  I knew I'd have to fish them out.

  I started the fire in the woods, only a few dozen yards from The Wolfman's trailer. It had been a dry summer, so it was no surprise to anyone that a careless cigarette could cause such damage.

  Once the flames had reached the trailer's propane tank it was all over for The Wolfman; apparently he'd been in the trailer with his son when the explosion happened.

  No one else was hurt, thank god.

  My uncle took the insurance and shut down the park; he knew that there wasn't any money left in the place. We all crossed The Bridge and went home.

  I don't dive for pearls anymore. There are some in the lake, from the freshwater mussels that you'll find almost everywhere in L'Anse Bay, but that's not what I'm meant to do.

  Most nights you'll find me walking the woods that stretch from the tip of Keweenaw Peninsula to somewhere in Wisconsin. I carry my bat and I listen to the whispers, and I wait for the dark spirits.

  One day I'll find another one, and I'll know to swing the bat and take my bite.

  It's a part of me now.