Down by the Jetty

David just want­ed to get away for an hour. Mia’s fam­i­ly was get­ting so loud, so obnox­ious. He tried to sit out this weekend’s get-togeth­er at her par­ents’ shore house, offer­ing weak protests about catch­ing up on work, but Mia insisted.

“We’re going to be fam­i­ly, you know!”

The wed­ding date was July 26. Less than two weeks away. How did this sneak up on him so fast?

At least the vaca­tion prop­er­ty wasn’t nes­tled in a wild par­ty zone. Yes, get­ting to Seren­i­ty Sands was a has­sle, and the local police depart­ment was a bit aggres­sive about enforc­ing the 25-mph speed lim­it, but it did pos­sess small-town charm, most­ly uncrowd­ed beach­es, and an old-fash­ioned board­walk. With a nod and bor­der­line ric­tus grin, he had to agree with Mia’s mom that it was a “lit­tle slice of heaven.” 

Every­thing was a “lit­tle slice of heav­en” to that woman. David’s shoul­ders rose to his ears every time she uttered those words.

Din­ner at Roberts Bar and Steak­house? A lit­tle slice of heaven.

The ski resort we vaca­tioned at last year? A lit­tle slice of heaven.

Regal­ing peo­ple with ridicu­lous, end­less prat­tle? You guessed it—a lit­tle slice of heav­en.  

This was David’s fifth vis­it to the house, and his favorite moments—by far—came in the ear­ly morn­ings before any­one was awake. While sip­ping cof­fee on the bal­cony with an ocean view, he would watch as the sun blos­somed over the hori­zon. Some­times, he’d catch glimpses of dol­phins jump­ing in the dis­tance. Far­ther west, the rem­nants of a WWI steamship that ran aground in the 1920s would mate­ri­al­ize above the water line, a curi­ous but pop­u­lar tourist attrac­tion. The wreck pro­trud­ed through the clear blue waves like a ghost­ly appari­tion, its rust­ed, algae-encrust­ed remains a tes­ta­ment to a somber chap­ter in mar­itime history. 

David nev­er took the boat tour that offered a close-up view of the nau­ti­cal dis­as­ter (he found those expe­di­tions mor­bid and in bad taste), but the scene had man­aged to worm itself into his sub­con­scious, man­i­fest­ing in bizarre dreams. Dreams that only occurred when he vis­it­ed the house. Recur­ring dreams of swim­ming around that sunken ship at night, the moon pro­vid­ing the only means of illu­mi­na­tion, nav­i­gat­ing mis­shaped open­ings and yawn­ing clefts, his mind filled with won­der and an odd exhilaration.

But that joy would be fleeting.

Soon the unset­tling feel­ing of being watched would sur­face, fol­lowed close­ly by an icy terror. 

What are you doing out here?

He would awak­en gasp­ing for air, strug­gling to calm his pound­ing heart. Mia would remain lost in obliv­ion, unable to assist. And he wasn’t sure if he was grate­ful or resentful. 

Dur­ing those moments, David wished he was back at his util­i­tar­i­an one-bed­room apart­ment, eat­ing a pep­per­oni piz­za for din­ner and then drift­ing off to sleep on his leather sofa while watch­ing an old black-and-white movie. 

But that apart­ment was gone, as was his favorite sofa. Mia want­ed to dive into cohab­i­ta­tion before they tied the knot. The real kind, not the stay­ing-over-a-few-nights-a-week rou­tine they had adopt­ed. They closed on their new house—uncoincidentally nes­tled in the same cook­ie-cut­ter devel­op­ment as her sister’s—a few months ago. The results, so far, were mixed.

David had to get away from these peo­ple. And the only way he could escape for a bit was to sheep­ish­ly men­tion he was going out for a smoke.

“Oh, we’ll break you of that habit real soon,” his soon-to-be broth­er-in-law boomed when he found out where David was going.

“Leave him alone, Ste­vie,” Mia’s sis­ter Cindy admon­ished good-naturedly.

Steve. 

How Steve land­ed a woman like Cindy was a ques­tion for the ages. The guy couldn’t hold a job for more than six months, couldn’t han­dle mon­ey, and cheat­ed on Cindy at least twice dur­ing their six-year mar­riage. But he knew how to play the game with the in-laws. Steve had become Jack’s de fac­to golf­ing and drink­ing bud­dy, not to men­tion Jack’s new vice pres­i­dent of solu­tions (what­ev­er that meant), and Michelle loved how Steve dot­ed on his three-year-old daugh­ter Eva. 

“Don’t wor­ry, Steve,” Mia said. “David promised me he would quit once we get mar­ried. Isn’t that right, David?”

David raised his fist in agree­ment but said noth­ing as he dis­ap­peared out the front door.

Freedom—at last!

The tangy taste of salt greet­ed him like an old friend. Only then did David notice how stuffy the liv­ing room had become. His plan was sim­ple: a stroll along the beach, toward the rock jet­ty, a few cig­a­rettes, and then a reluc­tant return. Sur­pris­ing­ly, he had man­aged to resist the allure of the vap­ing craze, attribut­ing it, per­haps sen­ti­men­tal­ly, to being a hope­less roman­tic at heart. The sun had relin­quished its reign of the heav­ens about an hour ago, prompt­ing beach­go­ers to shift to their noc­tur­nal activities. 

David turned off the board­walk that ran along the beach and stepped onto the sand. He had nev­er been a sun wor­ship­per but enjoyed the beach at night. It was more tran­quil. Peace­ful. Some­thing in short sup­ply in his life lately.

A sil­hou­et­ted cou­ple hold­ing hands was walk­ing a good 200 feet in front of him, but oth­er­wise, David was alone. He breathed a sigh of relief and lit his first cigarette.

Steve’s snarky com­ment still burned in his ears. He had half a mind to return from his walk and put out a cig­a­rette right in good ol’ Stevie’s eye. What the hell did Cindy see in him? She was a beau­ti­ful woman. And smart. She was a phar­ma exec­u­tive, had her master’s, and spoke three languages. 

Cindy could have any man she wanted.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Mia sighed when she dis­closed Steve’s sec­ond act of infi­deli­ty to David, think­ing she was mak­ing some pro­found state­ment instead of regur­gi­tat­ing a tired platitude. 

David took a deep drag and blew the smoke out through his nose. He watched as that lov­ing hand-hold­ing cou­ple ahead of him exit­ed the beach and dis­solved into the shadows.

“Now they have the baby, so she’ll nev­er leave him,” Mia said a few years ago. David could nev­er tell if Mia was gloat­ing or sim­ply prag­mat­ic when dis­cussing her sister’s mar­riage. Cindy was about five years old­er than Mia, and Mia always felt like Cindy was her par­ents’ favorite. Either way, David found Mia’s tone irritating.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

It was a dumb cliché, but it was that for a rea­son. How else could David ratio­nal­ize why he fan­ta­sized about Cindy when­ev­er he and Mia had sex?

The sounds of a get-togeth­er at one of the hous­es along the board­walk drift­ed out to the beach, one of those soirées that afflu­ent peo­ple in their 30s throw when try­ing to con­vince them­selves that they’re still young. Inaudi­ble con­ver­sa­tions and an awful mix of coun­try pop and yacht rock min­gled with the ocean waves break­ing against the rocks. David squeezed the cher­ry from his cig­a­rette onto the sand and put the butt in his pock­et. He may be a jerk for falling for Mia’s sis­ter (OK, he was a jerk for falling for Cindy), but he wasn’t so far gone that he’d lit­ter their beau­ti­ful, pris­tine beach with his extin­guished can­cer sticks. Maybe this whole infat­u­a­tion with Cindy was a phase. Some­thing that would fade after the wed­ding, just like his need to smoke.

“Oh, we’ll break you of that habit real soon.”

He lit anoth­er cigarette.

David’s stom­ach sank as he approached the jet­ty. He knew it was time to get back. Hope­ful­ly, Steve and Jack would be engrossed in some stu­pid ball­game on TV, and the ladies would be jab­ber­ing about last-minute wed­ding prepa­ra­tions. If David were lucky, he might be able to sneak in and slink into bed with­out alert­ing anyone.

David took a deep breath of salt air and sur­ren­dered to his fate when he heard some­thing unusu­al near the shore­line. A pierc­ing laugh erupt­ed at that far-away par­ty, mak­ing it dif­fi­cult to dis­tin­guish any­thing but the hiss­ing ocean, but David could’ve sworn he heard some­thing like a baby whin­ing. Was that pos­si­ble? The evening was over­cast, the moon noth­ing more than a smudge in the sky, mak­ing it tough to see, but as he walked clos­er to the edge of the water, it looked like the out­line of a per­son sit­ting on the sand near the jetty. 

And that sound again. Yes. Def­i­nite­ly the sound of an infant cry­ing. Her back was to him, but David could make out the con­tours of a woman with long, dark hair hold­ing a bun­dle in her arms. What was she doing so close to the water? The waves inten­si­fied near the rocks, crash­ing around the woman like a charg­ing army, spray­ing foam and mist, the ocean a ter­ri­ble black car­pet stretch­ing toward infinity.

Then David stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman had placed the baby in the sand. Was she crazy? The tide would take the kid right out to sea! 

David looked around help­less­ly. There was no one else on the beach. Only the clat­ter of that awful assem­bly of tedious peo­ple echoed in the dis­tance, a com­bi­na­tion of mind­less prat­tle and man­u­fac­tured jubi­la­tion. David near­ly lost sight of the kid amid the black waves—it was so small! 

“Hey!” David yelled.

No response.

“Hey!” he yelled again, more forcefully.

Still no response.

He looked around. Noth­ing but black sand and sea oblit­er­at­ing the horizon. 

“What are you doing? Your kid’s going to get hurt!”

The woman didn’t move. The waves con­tin­ued to crash along the jet­ty. And that child’s wail­ing grew louder. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

David couldn’t fath­om this woman’s actions. Even more per­plex­ing were the thoughts that rushed to him. Thoughts so out of place giv­en this sit­u­a­tion but always near­by, no mat­ter the cir­cum­stances. For as long as he could remem­ber, David had allowed the tides to dic­tate his life: school, friends, job, mar­riage. Choic­es made by peo­ple who knew his best inter­ests. And he went along with them. Float­ing about his life like flot­sam and jet­sam, lost and use­less. In his most hon­est moments with him­self, David knew he allowed it because he lacked the self-con­fi­dence and will to make any deci­sions on his own. David knew he was weak, but he wasn’t help­less. Not the way this child was help­less. And he couldn’t just stand by and watch. David quick­ened his pace. God, it was so close to get­ting swept away! 

But when David tried to pick it up, the shock and dis­be­lief smacked him in the face like a cold, wet rag. He want­ed to run, run back to his soon-to-be in-laws’ house, back to the inane chit-chat and mis­er­able des­tiny that await­ed him, but the thing he thought was a child had grown heavy, pin­ning his hands under­neath it, root­ing him in place. David sagged to his knees. He twist­ed mad­ly, kick­ing up sea­weed, peb­bles, bro­ken seashells—even an aban­doned toy bucket.

But free­dom elud­ed him. 

Waves con­tin­ued their unend­ing assault on the rocks, the awful din drown­ing out his pan­icked screams. 

Fear squeezed him like a vice. The child-that-wasn’t‑a-child had flat­tened into some strange, hulk­ing disk. And David was bent over it. 

Exposed.

Vul­ner­a­ble. 

Help­less.

The ocean was rag­ing around him. He didn’t know if it was high tide and didn’t want to find out. 

Oh, God, please don’t let me drown! Please don’t let me drown!

The voic­es of those dis­tant rev­el­ers became muf­fled, grow­ing dis­tort­ed and gar­bled, almost as if that entire gath­er­ing had been sub­merged underwater. 

With grim deter­mi­na­tion, David pulled with every­thing he had, the strain caus­ing the veins in his neck to bulge like mon­strous worms. 

I can’t go out like this! Not like this!

But then some­thing gave way in his shoul­ders, and bolts of pain shot through his body. He slumped for­ward in defeat, a stran­gled cry slip­ping from his lips.

Con­sumed by the des­per­ate strug­gle to evade the immi­nent threat of drown­ing, David had for­got­ten all about the mys­te­ri­ous woman. She slith­ered toward him, bleat­ing like a goat, mock­ing him. Then it dawned on him—it was her voice he had mis­tak­en for a child’s. David was prone on the sand, his body soaked and shiv­er­ing, his throat an amal­ga­ma­tion of sand­pa­per and salt. 

The woman loomed over him. The spume of the waves made it hard to focus, but it was impos­si­ble to unsee her slit-shaped pupils, the snake-like tongue danc­ing in the air. Then some­thing cold and scaly slid around David’s legs, loop­ing around him—once, twice, three times—applying sub­tle pres­sure, com­press­ing his ribs, restrict­ing his breathing.

What­ev­er fas­tened onto David’s hands must’ve relent­ed because he felt him­self slide into the water. Only the moon, obscured and piti­less, held wit­ness to this inex­plic­a­ble tableau. David sum­moned one final last-ditch attempt to free him­self, but that fevered strug­gle for sur­vival soon yield­ed to res­ig­na­tion. Despite this life-or-death bat­tle, David still pos­sessed enough self-aware­ness to rec­og­nize it didn’t take much to crush his spir­it, to break his resolve. The thing he had mis­tak­en for a woman shud­dered, seem­ing­ly excit­ed by his predica­ment and immi­nent destruction. 

So much for a pleas­ant stroll on the beach.

An eerie calm set­tled over David as the snake woman pulled him into the briny deep. He con­ced­ed to the chop­py, heav­ing waters, the infi­nite black depths. Some­how, con­scious­ness remained. 

Images of Mia bloomed in his mind’s eye. She was in her wed­ding dress, arm in arm with Jack, hold­ing a bou­quet of white flow­ers. Pecu­liar eyes peer­ing from unfa­mil­iar faces watched as they walked down the aisle, the pro­ces­sion­al song swelling from some­where. But the notes were off-key, dis­so­nant. Final­ly, they reached the emp­ty altar and turned to face the guests. Their smiles were wide—too wide, impos­si­bly wide. And instead of arms, ten­ta­cle-like pro­tru­sions spilled out of the sleeves where their hands should’ve been.