Author's note: the song featured in this chapter is my creation entirely. It's actually more of a poem than a song, as I really don't have a melody in mind, but for the sake of the story, it's supposed to be a song.
"I stopped to grab a quick lunch—to go; it's one of those rare times where I've actually felt grateful towards the invention of that thing they call 'fast food.' As I had hoped, Rausch had left the lake—presumably for lunch, as well.
"Unfortunately, I found out that I wasn't alone up there at the lake, as I had hoped. Mr. Gorpley from the Chronicle was there—apparently under the direction of Wainwright. I guess his mission had been to butter me up further by buddying up on this assignment. No amount of explaining that I worked alone would do any good by this point. Somehow, I just knew his being here would end up getting in the way.
"There are times I hate it when I'm right."
"What exactly are you looking for?" Gorpley asked.
Carl had a look on his face that clearly read, "A way to get away from you."
"I'll know when I see it," he said aloud.
Carl pulled out his camera and walked to the edge of the pier, looking at the momentarily calm waters of Lake Michigan. There didn't seem to be a sign of anything in the lake, other than a few fish.
"If the police weren't able to find any traces of those missing fishermen, do you really think you could?"
"I'm not looking for them," Carl said. "I'm looking for whatever it was that witness saw."
"The sharks? Just throw some old meat in there; they'll show up soon enough. I'm surprised no one's thought of it," Gorpley said.
Carl wasn't going to bother with trying to tell him that there were no sharks in the lake, and that it was just Rausch being lazy again.
"You look down that way," Carl instructed, hoping to get some time to think alone. "I'll look up here."
Gorpley shrugged, sensing that Carl didn't want to "buddy up" for this story as Wainwright had hoped. Deciding to give him a little distance for the moment, Gorpley did as Carl requested, looking around some distance away. He still wasn't sure what they were looking for, and couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.
Carl now scanned the lake from where he was standing.
"Alright, now it's just you and me," he said, quietly addressing the creatures. "Who are you…?"
He walked to the very edge of the pier, squinting as he attempted to see through the depths. He could see a faint, green light for a moment—it was gone the instant it had arrived. The reporter looked up, wondering if it was the sunlight refracting in the water, but that didn't seem right.
Bioluminescence? he wondered. But there isn't anything like that in Lake Michigan….
It was a headscratcher, no doubt, but Carl was determined to find out what it was.
As he knelt down at the edge of the pier, hoping that the change in the angle of light would allow him to see better, he froze.
He could hear a voice—a female voice—singing.
"O, ye who dwells upon the land,
Why, for water, do you harbor fears?
Why limit thyself to the sand?
Immerse thyself in Nature's tears!
Whether the lakes' whisper or the oceans' roar,
Come to us; your heart will soar!
Away from land, away from the shore,
In our arms forevermore!"
Carl could only kneel where he was, his mouth agape. His thoughts seemed to be in a jumble as he heard the voice singing—he had reached for his tape recorder to capture the voice, but his hand had frozen halfway towards it, as though he couldn't move a muscle. His entire conscious thought was focused on that singing.
Where was it coming from? Who was singing it? And what was the deal with those lyrics? Those lyrics… so cold and haunting… and yet… so thoroughly captivating…
"Come to us, at our behest,
O son of those who dwell on land.
Lose thyself in the waves' caress—
Come now, take us by the hand!
O dweller of land, do not resist.
Rest in Water's kind cocoon.
Woes of land will cease to persist
The more you listen to our tune.
Whether the lakes' whisper or the oceans' roar,
Come to us; your heart will soar!
Away from land, away from the shore,
In our arms forevermore!"
It was then he saw it, appearing directly below where he was staring—two eyes, a nose, a mouth… a moving mouth—the voice he was hearing! And the green glow… it seemed to come from the jewelry she was wearing—earrings and a small diadem.
Their eyes locked, and Carl forgot about everything—Julius Caesar, the INS, the Chronicle, the story of the missing fishermen… His woes were indeed ceasing to persist; all that mattered now was that the face had to keep on singing.
"Careworn and weary is the heart
Of a poor land-dweller such as ye;
All worries and fears indeed depart
Whether in lake or in ocean or in sea.
Bid farewell to land and port;
Do not lose this precious chance!
Join us now in Neptune's Court,
And forever, with us, ye shall dance!
Whether the lakes' whisper or the oceans' roar,
Come to us; your heart will soar!
Away from land, away from the shore,
In our arms forevermore!"
The call of his own name was more of an annoyance now than it had ever been before in his life.
"Kolchak? Hey, Kolchak!"
"Not now!" Carl yelled back, unable to take his eyes off of the face as she sang.
But the call persisted until he received a shove on the shoulder. Furious, Carl tore his gaze away from the face and looked up to see Gorpley staring down at him with an odd expression.
"What were you looking at?"
"I was looking right at…" Carl trailed off as he looked back at the water.
There was absolutely nothing there now, and the memory of what he had seen was slowly slipping from his consciousness.
"There was… something in there…" he said, as the memory of the face blurred to an obscure silhouette in the water. The memory of the song, too, was fading; he could no longer recall the melody and the haunting lyrics. "I thought I had heard something, too… Music… I heard music…"
Carl shook his head. What had just happened to him? Why had he frozen up? And why couldn't he recall what he had just seen and heard?
…And why did he have an utterly irrational desire to just go into the water—even though he knew it would be cold?
"Look, will you forget about what you just saw or heard?" Gorpley said. "We need to get out of here!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I just saw a police car pull up—it looks like Captain Rausch is back to investigate some more."
"Terrific," Carl grumbled. "Look, you go on and get out of here; I want to take another look around."
Perhaps he wouldn't go into the water—at least not fully. Maybe just wade in up to his shins, or maybe even just stick his ear in….
He blinked. What was wrong with him? He wasn't sure, and yet he knew he had to get another—and closer—look at the water.
"You sure about this, Kolchak?" Gorpley said.
"Absolutely," Carl insisted. He couldn't remember what it was he saw or heard—but he knew he desperately wanted to see and hear it again.
And this time, he would be ready. He had his camera in one hand and his tape recorder in the other. He was hoping that since whatever it was had vanished when Gorpley arrived, it would return as soon as Gorpley left.
"Okay…" Gorpley said, shrugging. He took another look around the lake, shaking his head. "But I still think you're wasting your time—you won't find anything here. If anything, your best bet might be to requisition diving equipment, if you know how to use that kind of stuff."
Carl grunted in frustration—unfortunately, he didn't know how to use it. But he would be willing to do almost anything for a chance to look underwater—and, subsequently, have a chance to get a much closer look at whatever it was he had seen and heard. It confirmed his suspicions that it was no radio that he and the fishermen had heard.
But it still didn't explain what on Earth it was. And the witness said he had seen more of them—more of those mysterious singing things…
He let out a relieved sigh when Gorpley at last left. He now knelt again at the edge of the pier, camera and recorder in hand.
"Alright, now it's just you and me again," he said, his gaze darting back and forth all over his line of vision. "Come on back; I've got some questions for you…"
She did not return. Carl did see a face in the water, but it was the reflection of Captain Rausch standing over his shoulder.
The reporter mentally cursed as Rausch motioned for him to stand up. He obeyed, and rolled his eyes to see Gorpley in the hands of Rausch's flunkies, as well—he had been caught trying to sneak away.
"You are in a restricted area, Kolchak," Rausch said, unceremoniously pulling the recorder and camera from Carl's hands and returning them only after confiscating the tape and film. "Because of the ongoing investigation into the disappearances, this area is off-limits to civilians and the press."
"There's nothing on there," Carl informed him, indicating the film and tape. He had swapped out a fresh roll of film and new audio cassette before heading for the lake. "But I would like a reimbursement for them, anyway. You know how much good film costs these days—?"
"If there is nothing on them, may I inquire as to what you were doing on your knees at the edge of the pier if not to take photographs?"
"I thought I saw something," Carl said. He wasn't going to mention the singing, nor exactly what it was he had seen—he wasn't sure he could, even if he had wanted to. He could recall nothing except a silhouette.
"I see…" Rausch said. "Would you care to elaborate?"
"I can't!" Carl protested. "It was there, and then it was gone—all I saw was a weird shape!"
Rausch suddenly gripped his arm again.
"Do you remember me telling you that things were going to get very unpleasant should you cross me?"
"I seem to recall something along those lines, yes…"
"You are interfering with the investigation by being in a restricted area!" Rausch said, able to voice his anger without raising his voice one iota.
…How ironic, considering Tony usually raised his voice to express worry…
"Well, my apologies," Carl said. "I thought that the First Amendment's whole 'freedom of the press' bit applied to Lake Michigan… You know, even though it's not land per se, it's still part of the—"
"If I see you here again, Kolchak, I will have you arrested for obstructing the investigation. And that goes for your accomplice, as well." Rausch shot a dark glance at Gorpley, who flinched.
"He's not my accomplice," Carl insisted. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "You're free to take him in right now, if you like…"
"I have nothing more to say to either of you," Rausch insisted, shoving Kolchak to where Gorpley was standing. "Remember my warning, Gentlemen."
"It's not easy to forget," Carl retorted. He ignored the snide looks from Rausch's crew as he and Gorpley walked back to where they had left their cars.
"What do you think?" Gorpley asked.
"I think I need to have another word with Tony," Carl said, placing the call.
Tony was still grousing from their last argument; he wasted no time in picking up exactly where he had left off.
"I thought I told you to stay away from the lake!" he immediately chided when Carl told him from where he was calling from. "At least tell me you've been reading Julius Caesar!"
"You can relax, Tony; Captain Rausch chased me off, and I'm coming back to the office—where I will, for your sake, read the play in front of you if it will settle your ulcer a little bit. But there really is something in the lake, Tony—I saw it. Well, I saw one of them, at least."
"Carl, how many times do we have to go through this?" Tony asked. Carl could tell he was wincing, even though he couldn't see him.
"I heard it, too, Tony—I heard the singing."
He was met with utter silence.
"Tony? Tony, are you still there?"
"You mean to tell me that you not only saw the monster, but you heard its song-and-dance routine?"
"It's not a monster!" Carl immediately countered. He blinked. Where was that coming from?
"Well, then what was it? What did it look like?"
"I… don't know. I thought I saw it, but… I can't remember…"
"Well, what was it singing?" Tony asked, sarcastically. "The blues? Opera? What?"
"I can't remember…" Carl said again, baffled at his own lack of memory. "I… I can't seem to recall that five-minute gap when I saw and heard… whatever it was."
"Well, isn't that convenient?" Tony asked, the eyeroll obvious in his voice alone.
"Tony… Tony, I know I don't have any solid evidence, but you have to believe me!" Carl pleaded. "Whatever it was did something to my head the same way it must have done to those fishermen—that's why they couldn't do something as simple as letting go of their fishing reels! And there are more of them!" He paused. "Tony…! Tony, come on! Whatever is in there… they're beautiful but dangerous! We have to get the word out; we have to warn people them! …Tony, are you listening to me?"
"Carl…" the weary voice replied. "Just get back here. Read the play. Please."
The reporter's shoulders slumped.
"Yes, Sir…" he said, with less sarcasm and more disappointment than he had intended.
"You know, Mr. Wainwright would believe you," Gorpley said, as Carl ended the call. "Just throwing that out there."
"I'll bet he would," Carl said, quietly.
But that wasn't what was bothering him. It wasn't as though he wanted the word out about the lake for any personal gain. Why didn't Tony see that? Why didn't Tony appreciate what Carl was trying to do?
"Score one more point for Wainwright," he quietly muttered, putting the phone away.
He ignored the smug look on Gorpley's face as he headed back to his Mustang and towards downtown.
As the hours ticked by, he seemed to be getting more and more reasons why he should take the job at the Chronicle. …Why, then, did he feel as though something was stopping him?
He sighed, unable to come up with an answer. Today just didn't seem to be his day for thinking.