INTO THE DEPTHS (THE DEPTHS TRILOGY Book 2) Page 2

  Another of the creatures jumped out of the water, as a third climbed aboard. Abigale blasted the jumper, catching it in mid-air, and sending the creature back into the depths. She then bent down, grabbing her spear from the ground and smashing the third shark across the mouth, shattering teeth out of its mouth. The shark howled in pain, as she spun the spear around, driving it through the shark’s massive belly. She kicked it overboard, whirling the spear around in the air, and waiting for the fourth to leap out of the water.

  The attack came from above. The shark jumped down on her from the roof of the cabin, landing on top of her, pinning her to the floor of the deck. Abigale screamed, as the creature snapped at her with it’s massive jaws. Abby head butted the shark, seizing her spear in her hands, and forcing it through the head of the last shark-man. She then retracted the spear, shoving it through his chest. The creature spat and oozed blood over her face, and with a final heave, she shoved it’s mighty body off her, lying on the deck for a moment beside her kill as she took deep breaths.

  “Are you okay out there?” John called after her. Abigale wiped blood from her face, fishing for a pair of blue aviator sunglasses and a packet of smokes from her pocket. She put on the sunglasses, sticking a cigarette to her lips and lighting it, taking a long drag as she exhaled upward towards the clear blue sky.

  “No. But I will be," Abigale replied, sitting up, and glancing out across the water as the island became a dot on the horizon.

  “I will be," she said again.

  Chapter Three: Monsters and Madmen

  Abigale Channing opened her eyes. She was handcuffed to a bed in a small room with a locked door. There were no windows, just padded walls, the bed, a single wooden chair, and strange yet oddly familiar music playing. She had heard the music somewhere before but couldn’t place it at all.

  Her head was foggy, her thoughts confused and clouded. She struggled to wriggle free from her restraints but they were too tight. She looked left to right, taking in her surroundings – her thoughts struggling to remember how, where, or why but coming up blank.

  The room smelt like piss and disinfectant, as though whoever tried to clean the piss had cleaned everywhere but the piss. What had happened? WHERE was she? Had she been kidnapped? Was she back on the island?

  There were so many questions, but the rattling of keys were enough to silence those thoughts for now. A key moved in the lock in her door and the heavy door swung open. A fair-skinned woman in a long white coat stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The woman sat on the wooden chair, placing her pen and clipboard on her lap, looking at Abby. She was about thirty-five, fair-skinned, and pretty. She was of slender build, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She removed a pair of round glasses from her face and rubbed her eyes, speaking in an Australian accent.

  “Hello Abby. How did you sleep last night?” she asked. Abby said nothing for a moment, considering the question.

  “Who are you?” Abby asked finally. The doctor replaced her glasses on her face.

  “I’m Dr Beverly Carter, we have already been introduced. Do you remember where you are, Abigale?” she asked, and Abby shook her head. The doctor sighed, making a note on her clipboard.

  “You are at Dwyer Heights Mental Institution in Melbourne. Your ship was found drifting at sea two months ago. Aside from you there was only one survivor,” the doctor said.

  Abby struggled again to get out of the restraints. She was remembering. John... something. They had fled the island together.

  “You were transferred to several hospitals, but you kept telling people you were from Melbourne so eventually you were brought here,” the doctor said.

  “Where’s John?” Abby asked. Beverly raised her hand.

  “We’ll get to that. First we need to have a talk. You suffer from retrograde amnesia; it is a difficulty remembering events that have passed, probably caused by an injury or perhaps a disease you may have contracted. The true nature of your condition we are still trying to determine as your memories seem to come and go. Complicating these fragments of memories... are fantasies... delusions if you will, of an island of monsters. Do you remember the island, Abby?” Beverly asked. Abby felt beads of sweat forming across her face. Abby’s breathing quickened.

  “Abby? I want to talk about the island. Can you tell me about the island?” Beverly asked, then Abigale began to hyperventilate.

  “Breathe Abby! Breathe!” the doctor insisted. Abby closed her eyes and tried to focus.

  There were images – terrible things in her head she could not understand. Monstrous sharks... laughing scientists... a shark tooth on a necklace. Nothing made sense. She started weeping, so the doctor reached over, and stuck a needle into her arm. Abigale passed out cold.

  Dr Beverly left the room, locking the door behind her, as she met with another doctor in the hallway. He was an older man with a British accent, a bald head and a pleasant manner. His name was Dr Marcus Lawton.

  “Ah, Dr Carter! What’s the latest on our patient? More monsters and madmen I suppose," Dr Lawton said. Beverly only shrugged.

  “She’s not talking. She did yesterday, but today she seemed quite shocked by her surroundings. I had to administer a sedative. Some days she remembers things, other days she doesn’t... The fantasies are most bizarre though," Beverly said, Dr Lawton folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes indeed. Mutant shark-people running around on an island that doesn’t exist. Hysteria and delusions, doctor. The girl is lost and confused and I’m quite certain with the proper medication, in time we can hope to unravel the poor girl’s troubled mind, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Good day, Dr Carter,” Lawton said, walking off down the corridor.

  Beverly watched the senior doctor leave and walk off in the opposite direction. The halls were echoing with moans and cries of the mad, as Beverly left D block, moving into an area marked: ‘Administration.’ She stepped into an office, placing her clipboard on her desk and sitting in her chair.

  She reached into a nearby filing cabinet, removing a file marked CHANNING, ABIGALE. Opening the file, she went through the notes.

  Patient exhibits signs of intense distress around water. Refuses to shower and needs to be bathed quickly. Suffering possible PTSD and often forgets how she came to be in hospital. Insists she has escaped from an island of monsters. Patient insists the monsters are sharks, but are also men. Patient has no memory of how she escaped the island despite being told several times she was found on a boat at sea. Patient becomes violent, suffering from hysteria, and is known to talk in her sleep. Diet seems normal and she has no problems eating food or drinking fluids. Doesn’t like her skin being touched. Regularly suffers from nightmares. Patient missing for five years.

  Beverly closed the file, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. The hospital director had insisted that Abigale be kept in isolation, but Beverly was wondering if this was the most effective treatment. Abigale’s memories would rise and fall like the sun, but the confined environment was offering her little inspiration for reflection. Abigale needed to be around people and soak in scenery if she was to have any hope for recovery.

  Beverly sighed. She would talk to the senior doctors tomorrow. Right now she needed sleep.

  *****

  John Cushing opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep in his messy apartment, dosing off while looking through piles of documents about genetic research, Hans Strucker and the recently committed Abigale Channing, the woman who had saved his life.

  He looked over the sketch he had done of Abby, as she had turned into a kind of mermaid. He picked up his tape recorder, running his fingers through his hair.

  “The mermaid woman Abigale is being held here in Melbourne at Dwyer Heights. She suffered a head injury on the boat during the storm and as of yet, I have not been allowed to even see her. I have used this time to attempt to piece together the research of Hans Strucker and the events that took place based on the little information Abigale was able to p
rovide me with, but sadly... one crucial element is nessecary for me to continue my work. I need to find the other survivor from the island – the only man to walk away from the island without being genetically altered. I need to find Bo Landers,” he said, pressing stop on his tape recorder.

  John picked up a remote control, hitting, ‘Play,’ and a video started to play on his small television screen. Hans Strucker, the German shark and genetics researcher was being interviewed by an older man named Albert Rivers. John watched intently as the two men on the video tape spoke.

  “Doctor Strucker, your work with shark research has been most profound. You claim in your research that you do not feel that sharks are the true monsters of the ocean that the media often characterizes them to be. You say that sharks will not attack humans to eat them, is this true?” Rivers asked, and the German man laughed.

  “Well, Mr Rivers don’t misquote me. A shark is an apex predator, and the ocean is indeed its territory. Now, if a burglar bursts into your house and starts poking around – taunting you, or even attempting to hurt you, it is going to gauge a reaction, yes? A shark is no different in that regard. When a man enters the ocean, he is in the territory of its predators. A shark will defend itself if necessary. Now this being the case, do I believe a shark will actively hunt a human to eat? No - but there are exceptions. If a man is wounded, a shark will always investigate a bleeding creature. A shark can smell blood in the water from hundreds of metres away in as little as one part per million. Blood will always attract sharks. If you are bleeding, you don’t want to be in the water. Now do sharks like the taste of humans? No. They would much rather eat squid or whale. Most shark attacks on humans occur simply because the shark mistakes the human for a seal or a simular creature,” Hans said. Rivers laughed.

  “Well, I’m quite a large man, Doctor Strucker. I don’t think I’d be mistaken for a seal,” Rivers replied. Hans Strucker laughed aloud.

  John shook his head, raising a cigarette to his lips as he watched the program, lighting his smoke and taking a long drag.

  “So, you have also said you feel that sharks are important to the ecosystem of the ocean?” Rivers asked. Hans nodded.

  “Absolutely. Sharks have been on this planet since the time of the dinosaurs. They outlived the dinosaurs! They continued to swim in the depths of the sea long after the prehistoric era. They are the janitors of the ocean, great gliding garbage bins that preserve our oceans, keeping them clean. Now, shark hunters like Bo Landers hunt these sharks, slaughtering them for sport, and the salvage of their fins. What they don’t realise is that a lack of sharks contributes to a damaged ecosystem. Global warming. The future is coming, Mr Rivers. The polar ice gaps are melting. Time... is running out, and humans will not be equipped to survive the drowning of mankind. This is why we must work together. Now! Protect the creatures of our oceans because I assure you... the day is coming when we will wish that we stopped fucking around with the environment and started working together to fix it," Hans said. Rivers nodded in agreement.

  “One last question, Doctor Strucker... You recently lost your daughter to a shark attack that happened on the set of a Bo Landers television series. How does a man like you still insist that these... creatures... are not just cold-blooded killers?” Rivers asked. Hans simply glared at him stone-faced.

  “Sharks are not the killers, Mr Rivers. Man is,” Strucker replied, rising up from his seat.

  “This interview is over," Strucker said, leaving the studio. John pressed, ‘Stop,’ on the remote and the screen went blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoothly towards the ceiling.

  Abigale had been turned into a mermaid in salt water. The experiments conducted on her allowed this bizarre transformation to occur in the ocean, yet she said she did not turn into a mermaid in fresh water, meaning that she could retain her human state while she was out of the ocean, unaffected by rain water or simply showering. The other creatures on the island resembled humanoid marine life but they were permanently in that state. Why was Abigale different? Why had Strucker endeavoured to create so many of these strange marine creatures, all of which were ghastly mutated fish-men, yet Abigale was created so remarkably differently? Perhaps their were others like her?

  Regardless, Abigale was institutionalized and with little or no memory of the experiments or her transmutational state. Her mermaid form was undoubtedly unknown to the staff, but for how long?

  John knew three things: he needed to get her out of there; he needed to understand why Hans Strucker had created these monstrosities; and most of all, he needed to find Bo Landers. At all costs.

  Chapter Four: The Photograph

  Abby awoke to find Dr Carter sitting by her bedside, watching her sleep. She yawned, looking around and rubbing her eyes, her head foggy and eyes sore.

  “Good morning, Abby. How are you feeling?” Beverly asked. Abby sighed.

  “Hungry," Abigale replied. Beverly smiled.

  “That’s good. Breakfast will be here shortly. Do you have a favourite food, Abby?” the doctor asked. Abby shrugged. She considered it for a moment as if the question had triggered a dēja vu.

  “I like seafood,” Abigale answered earnestly. Beverly smiled and nodded her head.

  “I like seafood too. Maybe I could organise some tuna sandwiches. Do you like tuna?” Beverly asked, and Abby nodded. Everything was coming back.

  “When can I leave here?” Abby asked. Beverly sighed.

  “Well now, that all depends on you. I need to be sure of two things, Abby. One, that you’re not a danger to yourself and two, that you’re not a danger to anyone else. That brings me to my next question. Have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself, Abby?” Beverly asked. Abigale shook her head.

  “No. I’m not a psycho," Abby said. Beverly smiled.

  “That’s alright, Abby. No one said you were. I believe that through trauma, even injury; people can sometimes think and do things that they wouldn’t normally think or do. Sometimes, a person may even imagine they have seen something extraordinary. Do you know what I mean, Abby? Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. It’s very easy in times of heightened emotional stress to get confused. The lines between reality and fantasy can become blurred. Do you remember what you told me about the island, Abby?” Beverly asked. Abigale remembered, flashes of images of the German man that had paid her to go to the island. Strucker his name was... Hans Strucker. She remembered walking through the jaws of the megladon tunnel... the glass room surrounded by sharks. She saw mutant sharks... some of which had been friends. She saw slivers of horror... ghosts and shark-men chasing her through the jungle.

  “Abby?” Beverly asked. Abby shook the thoughts away.

  “I remember. I was confused. There... was no island," Abby said finally. Beverly adjusted her glasses, studying her.

  “So the island of mutants... you don’t believe it was a real place now?” Beverly asked. Abby shook her head.

  “I see, so do you remember what happened at sea? Why were you on the boat in the middle of the Caribbean sea?” Beverly asked. Abby sighed.

  “We were... hunting sharks," Abby said, and she sighed.

  “Where is John? The man I was with?” Abby asked. Beverly sighed.

  “He’s fine. He’s a researcher, his story checked out. He said the two of you were researching sharks together. He said you were injured on the boat during a storm. You were bleeding from the head and muttering about monsters and islands. After you were discharged from the hospital you were sent here,” Beverly said. Abby laid down on the bed.

  “Well now you know the truth you can let me go. I’m not crazy, doctor. You can’t keep me here," Abby said. Beverly sighed.

  “Normally I’d agree, however you also attacked three of my staff members and went utterly wild in the infirmary. The thing is, Abby... even if you honestly believe that there is no island or shark-people trying to kill you, it doesn’t explain where you have been for the last five years. Five years after you jetted off
to the Caribbean; you are found on a boat with a researcher that’s part of a classified project. Not even the police could hold him for twenty-four hours. Your agent said you hadn’t even called in years. So, here’s what we are wondering... How exactly does a well-known Melbourne photographer - a good, kind, and peaceful woman - vanish for five years, and suddenly reappear a savage, armed with bows and arrows? WHERE did you go, Abby?“ Beverly asked. Abby shrugged, clearly speechless.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say," Abby said finally. Beverly frowned.

  “Hence my concerns. You see, Abby... the other doctors think you’re a nutcase, but I don’t. I think you’re just telling me what I want to hear. I think, that something very bad happened to you - and I don’t know if there was an island of shark-men, or you were raped by pirates and lost at sea... but you aren’t leaving this place until you tell me where you went?” Beverly got up from the seat. Abby called after her.

  “Please... You would never understand,” Abby said. Beverly sighed, her back to Abby. The doctor walked over to Abby’s bedside and knelt beside her.

  “I’ll never understand if you can’t make me. Five years is a long time to be missing, Abby. Whatever happened to you... You can tell me,” Beverly insisted. Abby shook her head.

  “If I told you what I’d seen... what happened to me... you wouldn’t believe me. It has to be seen to be believed. You’ll only think like they do. You’ll only think - I’m crazy," Abby said. Beverly nodded and stood up.

  “If you won’t tell me, you could be here a very long time, Abby. I guess it’s your choice. I’ll bring you that sandwich. Think it over," Beverly said, turning and walking towards the door again.