The Merworld Water Wars - Finned Part 7

"Meeks! That's ridiculously rude. Even I'm not that insensitive. Surprisingly. We stopped by a few days ago. After five knocks, he finally answered the door. He smelled like a Sewer Drip Demon, and he had a shotgun hanging on his arm like a scary mercenary...an old, stinky, crazy mercenary," said Polly.

"Y'all, he does have PTSD. Remember? Trey was really worried about him while we were in the inst.i.tution. Apparently, it's pretty bad," I said.

"Pitsid?" asked Polly with a completely clueless look on her face.

I stared at her blankly before doing a little forehead dive into the table. "I can't believe you said that," I said, banging my head against the table.

"Not Pitsid! PTSD," said Meikle, aghast. "Posttraumatic stress disorder. Trey's grandfather was in the military. Ring a bell?"

"Not really, no," said Polly airily.

"Just wow. Anyway, yeah, I think his PTSD is getting worse or something. His eyes kept darting back and forth, and he kept muttering, 'They're coming, get away,'" said Meikle dramatically.

"Who's coming?" I asked.

"Dunno. He slammed the door on us and wouldn't come back out," said Polly, shrugging her shoulders.

"I think a visit with Trey's grandfather is in order-today, after cla.s.ses," I said.

"Don't forget to put a clothespin on your nose," said Polly.

Preventing a worrywart-Mom-meltdown was critical, so I stopped by admissions after lunch to tell her about visiting Trey's grandfather.

It took every ounce of patience I had to sit through the rest of my cla.s.ses. The second I heard the foghorn bell after English, I bolted past Troy-who has been attempting to talk to me every afternoon since Halloween (attempts I happily ignore)-grabbed junk from my locker, and headed for Trey's house.

Downtown Saxet Sh.o.r.es was aflutter with villagers roaming from doorways to ladders, hanging all sorts of merry decorations for the upcoming holiday season. Trey was right-everything looked so breathtakingly jolly.

Working to keep my emotions in check, I finally made it to 41 Valleta Lane. The old house looked weathered and abandoned. Large plywood sheets covered the front windows. Climbing the porch steps, I could hear movement coming from behind the front door.

"Mr. Campbell? I'm a friend of Trey's from The Helena Hambourg House for Maladies. I was hoping we could talk," I said after ringing the doorbell and receiving no answer. "Please, Mr. Campbell! He disappeared during Katrina Zale's Halloween party, and I'm just trying to find out where he went. I'm worried about him."

No answer.

"All right, I'll go. Sorry to have bothered you," I said, turning to leave, but before taking a step, a hand grabbed my backpack and yanked me into the house. "Cras.h.i.+ng to the dirty floor wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked to talk."

"Sorry. Had to be sure," muttered Trey's grandfather. Polly and Meikle were right-he looked completely mad.

"Be sure of what exactly?" I asked, getting up off the gritty floor.

"That you were a friend. Marina Valentine. Am I right?" he asked, swiftly turning to peek through cracks in the plywood.

"Yes. Do you know what happened to Trey? He's not fis.h.i.+ng, is he?"

"No, he's not fis.h.i.+ng, but I don't know where he is," he said, once again whipping around to look outside.

"What's going on? Why are you so frightened?" I gently asked.

His face perked up, as though he heard something in the distance. Sniffing the air, he said, "They're coming, get away."

"Who's coming?"

"They are." He shuffled forward, grabbed my wrist, and shoved something into my hand.

I looked at the object he gave me and immediately recognized the silver owl. "This is Trey's luck charm. He always wore it."

His grandfather nodded. "He'd want you to have it. Oh, they're coming, get away," he said, shoving me backward.

"Please, who's coming, and where's Trey?"

"They are. Trey's hiding. He knows things. He has discovered the secret." Mr. Campbell flipped around, grabbed his gun, and ran to the window, but he didn't have to check-this time I heard something outside. "They're here."

"Mr. Campbell? Open the door. We just want to talk with you!" shouted Vice Princ.i.p.al Anderson.

"What's Mr. Anderson doing here?" I asked.

"Shhhh. They know you're here! Come, come," he whispered, urging me to follow him into a back bedroom.

Hesitantly, I followed him into a room covered in newspaper clippings, calendars, and books open to pages on the Loch Ness Monster, the Kraken, and various sea beasts. This was Trey's room.

"Listen! Listen! Something's happening in this town-something horrible. Trey knows. You are in danger." A loud boom distracted him.

"MR. CAMPBELL!" yelled Mr. Smarmy.

"Are they inside?" I asked, alarmed.

"Out the window! Stay along the houses. Take a right at the first street. Keep between houses until you get home."

"What about you? What will they do to you?"

"I'm an old man. I need to help my grandson any way I can. Please, find a way out of this town," he said, shoving me out of the window.

I crashed to the ground, landing flat on my back.

"Run!" he yelled.

As soon as I turned down the first street, I heard Mr. Campbell scream. I sprinted all the way home and climbed through my bedroom window just in time to hear my mom knock on the door.

Throwing off my coat and bag, I shouted, "Come in!"

"What are you doing in here, pumpkin?"

"Just working out," I said, wiping sweat from my face.

"How did your visit go with Mr. Campbell?"

"Um, fine. No news of Trey, though. Mom, did you tell anyone I was going to see him?"

"Don't think so...wait, yes, I did tell someone. He wondered why you left school so quickly."

"Who wondered?"

"Mr. Anderson." Suddenly, Mr. Campbell doesn't sound so crazy. "Anyway, whatever you and Mr. Campbell talked about must have done the trick."

"Why do you say that?"

"I got a call from Mr. Anderson just now. Apparently, Mr. Campbell found Trey! He said Grandpa Campbell has decided to join Trey on his fis.h.i.+ng trip!"

"What about school? Wouldn't Mr. Smar-Anderson-require Trey to come back for school?" I asked, my stomach churning.

"Actually, he's going to make up his exams over Christmas break. Why don't you look happier?"

For a moment, I considered telling my mom everything, but if I did, she would surely panic. And, if she panicked, she would get all mother-bear on me and confront Mr. Smarmy. If she did that...it might be her screams I would hear next.

"I am happy. Just a little tired from working out."

"Well, you relax until dinner. One of your favorites tonight-spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s."

Was this really happening? Could Mr. Smarmy have harmed Mr. Campbell? And what the h.e.l.l did Trey discover that has him hiding? h.e.l.lo, total mind meltdown.

Thanksgiving Day. Mom cooked a magnificent Thanksgiving dinner: turkey, dressing, cornbread, sweet potatoes, and Swiss green beans. After watching the parade for the first time in years, I cheered my football team to a win and ate...and ate...and ate.

While Mom curled up for a nap, I dozed off and on in my room, listening to some big band tunes. After listening to one of my favorite songs of all time about a dozen times-Daran Farewell's Behind the Waves-I climbed out of my window to sit on the beach.

There was nothing quite like staring out over the sea and listening to the rhythmic sounds of waves gently caressing the sh.o.r.eline. Sitting there, completely lost in thought, I felt something fuzzy against my hand.

"Oh! Hey, little fella." A baby seal pup with the most adorable face I have ever seen hesitantly inched closer to me. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." The pup immediately crawled onto my lap. "Well, you are a brave little guy...or gal. Can I pet?" The little seal pup stuck his b.u.t.t in the air and positioned it under my hand. "Definitely a guy. I'm petting a baby seal in Texas. Random."

"Is this sand taken?" Troy Tombolo stood over me, his hands in his pockets.

"It's your beach, too," I said, not looking at him.

"But it's your s.p.a.ce."

Well, that was very thoughtful. "The sand is available."

He sat down right next to me; I could feel his leg against mine.

"What have you got there?" he asked.

"Baby seal," I replied.

"Well, hi little one," said Troy, reaching to pet him. The baby seal started snapping his tiny, toothless mouth at Troy's hand. "Whoa! Okay, okay, no need to bite!"

Smiling, I said, "It appears he doesn't care for you. You know, animals can sense the true nature of a person."

"Yeah, well, seal pups are notoriously moody." To this, I swear the little seal lifted his tail as if to flip him off. "The Boys won the game today."

"Yeah, I was actually able to digest my dinner. Wish our QB would stop throwing behind our receivers. Has he always been that spazzy? I mean, the interceptions are just killing us, and the false start penalties are ridiculous! It's called discipline. What?" I asked, noticing the shocked look on Troy's face.

"Not many girls speak football," he said.

"I'm not most girls. I'll have you know I'm fluent in stock car racing, baseball, bull riding, basketball, hockey, and horse racing," I said cheekily.

"Impressive. Very impressive. Guess you're not most girls."

"So, did you enjoy the parade?" I asked.

"How do you know about that?" He sounded alarmed, almost angry.

"Um, iconic department store, giant balloons, bad lip-synching to good music, all ending with the one and only Santa...kind of a Thanksgiving tradition," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, right. It was...fine. So, have you heard anything from Trey?"

"No, nothing."

"Have you been to see his grandfather?"

Something inside me wanted to trust him. I cleared my throat. "Well, I-" Before I could say anything, the little seal started pouncing up and down in my lap. Giggling, I tried to calm him down. "He's a s.p.u.n.ky little guy."

"As you were saying," said Troy.

"Oh, well, he's on a fis.h.i.+ng trip...Mr. Campbell, that is. Apparently, he joined Trey on some big fis.h.i.+ng excursion." I figured the seal's interruption was a sign not to trust him.

"That's cool. I'm glad he's gone for a while, but he shouldn't have left you alone." The little seal pup let rip a giant fart directly on Troy's hand.

I began laughing so hard, I could barely sit upright. Then, the most hypnotic sound escaped Troy's sculpted lips: laughter. I've never seen him smile so big before, much less laugh. To hear something so happy from someone so standoffish was truly mind-blowing.

"By the way, how'd you like all the candy corn?" he asked, grinning widely.

"You? You were the one leaving candy corn in my locker every dang day?" He nodded. "Wow, shocked here...um...I loved it, yeah. Of course, I now have you to blame for my b.u.t.t's expansion."

"I'll gladly take the blame," he said. "So, why do you listen to so much old music?"

"Seriously? Did you just knock my music?"

"Not at all. It's just...lately I've heard a lot of old music coming from your room." His cheeks turned noticeably pink.

"First of all, it's not old music. It's ageless music. My great-grandfather played the trombone during the big band era, so I grew up on the Great American Songbook. The songs are peaceful to me, like having him still with me."

"Did he have a song? One you identify with him?"

"Deep Purple Dreamers. It's a song about losing the one you love, but seeing them in your dreams every night."

"Sounds...familiar," he said, placing his hand on the sand next to mine.

His skin felt so warm.

"Anyway," I said, quickly moving my hand, "I was listening to one of my favorites tonight. I always listen to it when I feel overwhelmed."