Author's Note: This was requested by one of my Tumblr followers. It's likely going to be three chapters. Enjoy!
The beauty of this place never ceases to amaze him. Lemon Creek isn't a creek at all; it's an ancient beach littered with the glacial erratics of the last Ice Age. It's a picturesque fishing spot around this time of the year, but only a few, select locals know of its existence—locals and researchers, that is.
If Arthur were a geologist, he'd be having a ball. The copper colored sand and the drooping terminal moraine taking the shape of a sandy cliff up the shoreline is a phenomenon in and of itself. The rocks and sediment here have been polished by hundreds of thousands of years of high tides and melting ice. Admiring these formations, however, is not why he's here. His interest isn't in the land, it's in the water.
The abandoned, desolate shells of the sea snails being carried in and out of the Atlantic by the lapping tide are what piques his curiosity. The organisms in this shallow water have been dying at an alarming rate, and it's his mission to find out why.
First things first, he's going to need some samples. He collects a bit of the water into clear vials so he can measure the salinity and acidity of it back at the lab. Then, he carefully gathers the snail shells that are still intact and haven't been trampled by the fishermen.
It should be an easy task, but the summer heat is starting to get to him. The atrocious hundred degree temperature is seeping into his skull, and his neck is already coated in a slimy helping of sweat. For a moment, he regrets not listening to his co-worker, Francis, who insisted it was too hot for such research endeavors earlier this morning.
Well, he absolutely couldn't let the old frog take pleasure in being right for once, and thus, he had stomped out of the laboratory with a huff, slinging his bag of equipment over his shoulder without sparing the man a second glance.
And damn Arthur's pride to hell because the sun is nearly blistering him, and the air is humid to the point where it's making it a challenge just to breathe.
Somehow through the haze of dense heat, his nerves tingle with the feeling he's being watched. He raises a hand over his forehead and gazes out into the ocean, but sure enough, he is the only one crazy enough to be frying on this narrow, rock-laden beach. He crouches down to pick up another shell, and that's when he hears a small splash of water a few meters away that sounds nothing like the rolling waves.
He drops the shell he's holding when he sees a honey-blond head of hair break through the surface of the water. Big, round blue eyes blink back at him—blue like the sky—and Arthur all but jumps out of his skin, startled after falsely assuming he was the only one here.
"Hey, there!" the head of blond calls to him. It belongs to a young man no older than seventeen, and he's floating lazily about in the churning ocean, looking quite merry and pleased.
When Arthur's heart rate has returned to a healthy range, and he's aligned his thoughts, he turns to the boy and growls, "You're not allowed to swim here."
"Huh?"
"You can't swim here," Arthur repeats, pointing to a sign farther inland. "There isn't a lifeguard on duty, and the rocks are jagged and hazardous."
The boy stares at him like he's speaking a foreign language before he finally replies, "Oh."
Arthur scoffs and returns to his work, ignoring the boy's gaping and gawking. There always has to be someone who doesn't follow the regulations and has to be a nuisance to the rest of the public, doesn't there?
"What are you doing here?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What do you need the shells for?"
"I don't think that's any of your business," Arthur says flatly. As soon as this is over, he's going to head back to the car and get a nice, freezing bottle of water from the cooler he has with him.
"Gee, I was just trying to be friendly, you know."
"I don't have time for friends."
The boy swims a little closer to the shore, but seems to hesitate. "My name's Alfred."
"Lovely. Stop irritating me. I'm quite busy," Arthur snaps. He doesn't mean to sound harsh and rude, but there's something about this boy that's making him uneasy and short-tempered. Part of it, he's sure, is probably due to the fact that he's starting to get sunstroke out here. After a minute, he realizes that he may have been a little unreasonable, and so, he gives a sigh and turns to look at the boy once more. "I'm a marine biologist—that's why I need the shells. Something in the water is killing the snails, slugs, and fish."
Alfred cocks his head at him as a worried look crosses his face. "Is the water unsafe or something?"
"Well, if people have been dumping their trash near here, it's likely that the water has become more acidic, so much so that the organisms can't live in such conditions, but that's yet to be determined," Arthur explains. All of this is second nature to him. This isn't the first time he's dealt with an incident like this. The entire eastern coastline is teeming with similar problems.
"So it's not safe to swim in then?"
"It's fine for humans at the moment. The fish, on the other hand, are more at risk."
Arthur's neck is now a stream of sweat, and he reaches back a hand to wearily wipe at it, not that it makes any difference. He's severely parched now, and even though his body is begging him to retreat to the splendid air-conditioning of his car, his stubborn mind still isn't ready to give up.
"That doesn't sound too good," Alfred remarks, nibbling on his lower lip. "Whoa, you look a little red. Are you okay?"
It's funny—Arthur hears the words but they register as echoes in his mind. Everything becomes a tad fuzzy around the edges. He leans forward precariously, one hand clasped against his head, and just as he's falling, he sees a scaly fishtail bob in and out of the water as Alfred draws nearer to him in concern.
And then, everything is black and silent.
"Hey, wake up! C'mon!"
A cold blast of water hits him on his nose and cheeks, and Arthur gasps, vision clearing. The thick fog clouding his sight fades, and he suddenly realizes that he's lying supine on the sand, looking up at the flawless sky. His backpack filled with his samples and equipment is beside him, and someone has drenched the upper half of his body in saltwater.
"Finally. How are you feeling, dude? Rise and shine. Can you sit up? Here, lemme try to—"
Arthur rolls his head to the side to look at his savior, and sure enough, the annoying boy named Alfred is kneeling over him and dropping handfuls of cold ocean water onto his face. Except—it dawns upon him that Alfred isn't kneeling after all. He can't kneel. Where the boy should have knees, he has a long, glistening, scaly tail. So he hadn't imagined it earlier when he'd collapsed…
With admirable speed, Arthur hops to his feet and backs away from the boy, bangs plastered to his forehead and cheeks still flushed from the heat. He must be having some kind of sick dream. He's probably hallucinating, and the best thing to do would be to try and get back to the car until he cools down properly to start thinking reasonably again. Francis would be laughing at him right now if he were here.
"Slow down! You just fainted!" Alfred protests, using his arms to crawl further up the beach, tail dragging behind him.
"Don't come any closer!" Arthur demands, heart pounding again. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.
Alfred takes the opportunity to be offended and crosses his arms haughtily. "That's not the way to treat someone who just saved you from dying out here, Mr. Marine Biologist."
"You're a—a mermaid," Arthur mumbles, feeling silly.
"Umm, excuse me, but I prefer to be called a merman, thank you very much."
"All right, you've had your fun. Take the costume off already."
"Sorry to disappoint, but there's no costume that you speak of," Alfred insists, wiggling his ridiculous tail for good measure.
This has gone on long enough. Arthur picks up his bag and starts trudging up the beach and toward the road, shaking. He's gone mad. It's happened. His mind has officially turned into goo. He's no longer of any use to science. He'll have to give up his job and admit himself into a treatment facility at once before his sanity becomes unsalvageable.
"Where are you going? Don't leave!" Alfred cries out as Arthur doubles his pace. "I-I need someone to—hang on, please! I don't want to be stranded here!"
He makes the final dash for the car and jumps into the driver's seat, turning the air on as high as it will go before leaning back and resting for a moment. His head feels as though someone has been hitting it with a hammer, and a dizzy sensation akin to being out on a rocking boat out at sea overcomes him.
It takes about twenty minutes for him to recover, and when he does, he decides his condition is stable enough to drive. He turns the key in the ignition and is just getting ready to head for the main road when a thought strikes him.
What if he hadn't been hallucinating?
To put his mind at ease, he decides he'll head back to the beach one last time just to make sure there's no one there. Now that he's cooled down and being rational again, it wouldn't hurt to confirm whether or not Alfred truly was some sort of apparition.
He turns the car off and cautiously hikes his way down to the shore again, mindful of the protruding rocks and abrupt dips in the sand. From a distance, he can see that yes, there is someone still on the beach—a limp and unmoving figure. It's undoubtedly Alfred, as his turquoise "tail" is visible even from where he's standing.
Well, great… What is he supposed to do about this? Should he call Francis to drive on over and see this for himself, or should he leave and pretend to be oblivious to everything that just occurred?
This time, he is the one hovering over Alfred. He crouches directly beside the boy and reaches out reluctantly to touch the tail in question. It is remarkably thick and muscular—too realistic to be a costume.
"You're back," Alfred murmurs, lying face down in the sand as though he hadn't expected his return. The dejected expression on his face morphs into something more hopeful, and his blue eyes light up.
"Naturally, I was a bit stunned," Arthur replies, inwardly debating how to go about this. The boy certainly looks uncomfortable, and his tail seems to be flaking a little from being dried in the burning sand. "It's not every day that I encounter a… a merman," he finishes dumbly.
"Yeah, that's what I thought… I didn't mean to freak you out though. I don't bite, promise. Mind giving me a hand? I really should get back into the water."
Although he feels ridiculous doing so, Arthur loops his arms under the boy's shoulders and starts dragging him back toward the tide, letting the water carry him out into the ocean. Immediately, Alfred flashes him a relieved smile and splashes happily about again, shuddering with the refreshing feeling of water running over his skin.
"Thanks, man. That's a lot better. It would really suck if some old lady found me washed up over here and called for help or something… You know, I've never seen a human up close like this before. Isn't that crazy?" Alfred asks with a brief laugh, a playful smirk stretching over his lips. "For a second there, I thought you were going to capture me, but then I realized you don't seem like the type of guy to do that, scientist or not."
Arthur swallows around the lump in his throat and strains a smile of his own. "You should be careful not to have too much faith in me."
"You'd probably get a lot of money for discovering a merman, huh?"
"Undoubtedly."
"So, why didn't you come back with a net?"
Arthur scowls as he considers the question. Yes, why didn't he at least take some photos for proof? Why not tie up the boy and bring him back to the lab for the whole world to see? He could go down in history for something as unprecedented as this.
It's then that he sees, that merman or not, Alfred is still just a boy. A boy who has done nothing to deserve being made a spectacle in a freak show.
"You helped me," Arthur says simply. "It would be in poor taste do such a thing now."
"See? I knew you were cool. What's your name?"
"Arthur."
"That's a good human name. Tell me something, Arthur, what's the world like out there—on the land?"
Arthur smiles dryly and shrugs his shoulders. "Uninspiring at best, I'm afraid. That's why researchers like myself have taken a greater interest in the sea."
"I don't think I could ever get sick of the land. You know what I've always wanted to do? I wanna climb a mountain and stand at the very top, right where the snow is. I wanna know what it's like to be on top of the world instead of always being under it. The ocean's all the same after a while, but the land—it's always changing."
There's an eager yearning in Alfred's eyes akin to intense wanderlust, and Arthur can tell this isn't the first time the boy has considered such ideas.
"You know stuff about fish, right?" the boy asks despairingly, throwing some water into the air with his tail. "Could you maybe…? You wouldn't know how to… Forget it, it's stupid."
Arthur frowns and shakes his head. "You'd better get out of here before someone sees or before I change my mind and take you with me."
"Maybe I should go with you. You could figure out what's wrong with my DNA or whatever and then maybe find a way to give me legs and—"
"I have to go," Arthur retorts dismissively, not liking the direction of this conversation.
He turns away and pretends not to hear the disappointment in Alfred's voice when the boy says, "Goodbye, Arthur. Will you come and see me again?"
"I don't think that would be wise."
The lab is waiting.
"Have a nice time at the beach?"
"Yes, it was damn well marvelous, if you must know," Arthur tells Francis sardonically as he walks through the doors of the lab. He deposits his samples at his desk and goes into the storage room to get some pH strips.
While Francis is doing god knows what on the computer across the room, Arthur drops one of the pH strips into the water and watches it change color with a hum, thinking.
"Find out anything new?" Francis asks, genuinely curious.
"Well, according to this, all of the fish in Lemon Creek will soon be dead. So much for being a nice fishing spot."
"It's the acidic content after all?"
"Yes. I've also found out that there's a stream dumping contaminated water into the ocean not too far away. Want to guess why the stream is contaminated?"
"There's a waste disposal plant situated on the mouth of it?"
"Precisely," Arthur affirms, narrowing his eyes at the now pinkish-orange strip. "How did you know?"
Francis chuckles and pulls up an image on the computer. "I looked up a map of the area, so I'd know where to look for you if you died out in the sun and couldn't get back. Thirty people in the county have already been hospitalized today for heatstroke."
"You don't say?" Arthur murmurs with half-hearted interest. "I'm going to have to write up a report and send it to the city council, so they can do something about the water pollution. That is, if they ever get around to it."
"I wouldn't cross my fingers," Francis says with great sympathy, already packing up his things for the day. "There's nothing else we can do for now. We'll get a new project next week. If they want to kill the marine life without a qualm, we don't have the power to stop them. There will be other fishing spots we can preserve."
Even though he wishes it were otherwise, Arthur knows there's a dark truth to Francis's logic. They can't get attached or dwell on a single assignment like this. There are bigger problems to deal with, and sometimes, that means the smaller projects get put on the backburner.
Arthur goes home that afternoon with a lingering, sizeable headache. No matter what he does to distract himself—watch T.V, read the newspaper, listen to some music, feed the cat—his encounter with Alfred continues to replay in his mind over and over again. He could have had it all: fame, fortune, success. And yet, he gave it up willingly with hardly a second of thought.
He sits down in the armchair in his living room and turns on his laptop, intending to do a little investigating in terms of mermaid sightings and their frequency. Unsurprisingly, there isn't any scientific information on the subject, and all he has to rely on is folklore, which turns out to be utterly useless and downright inaccurate based on his conversation with Alfred.
But what will become of the boy now that Lemon Creek is being polluted and poisoning the fish? Will he take heed and migrate elsewhere? Is he even able to sense that something is clearly wrong? Should he be warned?
He convinces himself the annoying brat will most likely be all right and decides to go to bed, only to come to the eventual revelation that yes—Alfred might still be in danger, and it's his obligation as a researcher to ensure his safety, no matter how wild and far-fetched it may seem to have to communicate with a mermaid/merman.
He sleeps fitfully, and in the morning, when he takes a second trip to Lemon Creek, the boy is nowhere to be found. The only lifeforms in the area are a few fishermen on the pier who are just beginning to notice that there aren't any fish left to be caught.
"Something is eating you. What is it?"
Arthur twitches in his chair and forces himself not to look at Francis, not even when the man graciously suggests they head out for lunch. A sense of impending doom in his stomach is growing by the minute, and he doesn't even want to think about food.
"It's nothing."
"Your lies aren't going to work on me," Francis scoffs. "Come along, I'll get us sushi. My treat."
The mere reminder of fish makes Arthur flinch, and he buries his head into the paperwork he's filling out, tensing when Francis puts a hand on his shoulder and tries to coax him away from his desk.
"I'm not hungry."
"Nonsense. You skipped breakfast, too. You're going to make yourself sick, and then who am I going to talk about coral reefs with?" Francis jokes lightly, tugging on his arm. "Don't be stubborn. Tell me what's wrong."
Arthur makes a displeased guttural noise and says, "You'll laugh at me if I do."
"No, I won't. I promise."
"All right." He swallows thickly. "I saw a…."
"A what? A ghost? A loch ness monster?" Francis prompts with a teasing grin.
"A mermaid."
Dead silence. Francis doesn't speak for a full minute, which is a near impossible feat for him to achieve under ordinary circumstances. "I'm sorry, mon cher, I think I misunderstood you. Can you say that again?"
"I saw a mermaid, or merman, for that matter."
Bewildered, Francis presses a hand to Arthur's forehead to check for fever. "Have you been sleeping? When was the last time you ate?"
"I'm not ill, you git! I know what I saw. Why would I lie about something like this?"
"Are you sure you aren't letting your imagination run a little wild?"
"Francis, I'm being serious."
"When did this happen?"
"Monday."
"At Lemon Creek?"
"Yes."
Francis clicks his tongue and glowers. "I need to smoke a cigarette. Let's talk about this over lunch, all right? Tell me everything you know."
And so, Arthur explains his chance meeting with Alfred, the conversation they had, and his subsequent return to help the boy back into the ocean. He leaves out the part about him collapsing from the heat because he figures this information wouldn't go over well with the man, especially after Francis specifically warned him of the dangers of being outside for prolonged periods of time in such severe weather.
By the time he finishes, he's out of breath and more anxious than before, waiting to see how Francis will react. Surprisingly, the Frenchman is calm and understanding, giving Arthur the benefit of the doubt.
"We have to go back there," Francis concludes after much discussion. "If we don't get him in our care, then someone else might stumble upon him and—"
"As long as we're not taking him to the lab. I refuse. I'm not going to let the whole world know about this."
"Fine, we'll bring him somewhere else then. Somewhere isolated. Arthur, you do understand what this means for science, don't you? If what you're saying is true, this is an incredible discovery!"
"A discovery that no one can know about aside from us," Arthur emphasizes, firm. "We still have to follow an ethical code and—"
"But this is world changing."
"No."
"Arthur, you have to reconsider."
"I won't. I can't allow you to exploit him."
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Francis sighs. "It wouldn't be exploitation."
"Yes, it would be, and you know it."
"Fine. Have it your way. As much as it pains me, I will hold my silence."
And this is how the project of their lifetimes began.