Undertow by Callie Kingston Page A

dolphins, rather than from great apes. Marissa suspected sightings had been dismissed as folklore to prevent their discovery. People were so arrogant they’d refuse to believe anyone like them could exist elsewhere, especially on their very own planet.
    Yesterday, she’d prepped the car, stashing her notebook in the glove box and her boots in the trunk. She added a water bottle and candy bars for food—the nuts in the chocolate had protein, and anyway, the trip wouldn’t take long. If she drove straight through, she’d make Ecola and hike down to Crescent Beach before dusk.
    Jim wouldn’t expect her back from the library before dinner, and he’d give her a couple more hours before calling around to ask if anyone knew where she was. Not that she had many friends left to call. Erin refused to speak to her since the eviction and Kelly didn’t call much since Christmas. She knew they all thought she was crazy. It was just as well; nobody would miss her.
    The clock on her dashboard showed eleven fifteen. Just enough time. She turned the key in the ignition, and the old Honda sputtered to life. Marissa smiled, and backed the car out of the carport.
     
      
    Handing a five dollar bill to the attendant without making eye contact, she pulled to the end of the parking lot perched above Tillamook Head; far below, the waves lapped at the rock. He was swimming beneath those waves, she knew, waiting for her. Killing the engine, she grabbed her boots and socks from behind the passenger seat.
    Marissa strode to the marker past the restrooms to the trailhead at the far end of the lot, where the sign warned the trail to Crescent Beach was for experienced hikers only. A wide set of timbered steps led upwards through a grove of old Sitka. Underneath her feet, the ground was muddy from the mists formed as the moisture was pulled up from the cold sea each morning and settled into the dense canopy of needles and vine.
    She had to focus on each step on the narrow trail with mere inches of tufted vegetation the only barrier between the cliff and the beach below. Marissa imagined for a moment how easy it would be to take one quick step over the edge into oblivion. Months ago, she’d considered it. Not anymore. Now, she had something to live for, someone. Her thighs ached and ahead a section of trail soared into an invisible sky.
    Huffing, she paused at the crest. The descent was in sight now, narrow and steep.
     
      
    The sand was cold and damp. High tide was long past, but the wind splattered the beach with spray from the ocean. She shivered and burrowed into her jacket, wishing she’d added a sweater to the layers underneath. The coast was always freezing in the winter. Her eyes fixed on the water and the rhythm it beat against the sand. For a moment, fear flashed up and she paused.
    Then she heard it: music, like a violin. Or a harp. And singing, a lovely sound of ethereal voices, heavenly. The melody grew louder until it blotted out all the other sounds, and her anxiety fell away like some garment she didn’t need.
    “Come to me, my love,” He sang. “I’ve waited for you so long. Come.”
    Marissa cast a long look at the gray horizon looming above the ocean. Thick clouds gathered and warned of a storm bearing down upon the coastline. Below, the water churned forward in an icy charcoal mass.
    “I’m coming,” she whispered, and stepped into the sea.

 
     
     
    Eighteen
     
    S he floated in the murky water, surfacing in brief spurts of consciousness. In those moments, voices penetrated the barrier between her and the world. Some were familiar; her mother’s voice, wispy and full of fear: “Will she come back?” Others were alien; a sonorous male voice: “She’s stable for now.” The officious tone of a woman’s voice, checking to see if Marissa was awake: “Anybody home today?” Once, she heard Kelly’s voice, followed by weeping. She clawed and kicked her way up to reassure her friend but remained anchored in the