Chapter 15: The Plan

Father Michael knew something was wrong with Marrine before she ever said a word.

He had known her too long not to.

He knew the difference between her quietness when she was tired, and the quietness that came with fear.

He knew her little habits, the things she carried with her since childhood; how she hummed while she swept the chapel steps, tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear when she was thinking, and always smiled when one of the older nuns grumbled about the weather.

Lately, those things had been done away with.

Marrine hardly smiled.

She ate little.

She slept less.

And anytime she thought no one was looking, she stood at the windows that looked out over the sea.

Always the sea.

Morning.

Afternoon.

Night.

It was as though some invisible thread had been tied around her heart and stretched out to the horizon.

Father Michael had seen grief before.

He had seen young people lose parents.

He had buried spouses and children, grandparents and friends.

He had sat beside hospital beds and listened to final confessions.

But whatever was happening to Marrine felt different.

It wasn't grief.

It was longing.

And that frightened him.

Because Father Michael knew exactly what was calling her.

And he had known for years.

He had simply prayed that she would never have to know.

The little church grew quiet that evening.

Most of the sisters had already retired to their rooms.

The last of the candles had been extinguished in the sanctuary, leaving only the glowing of the lamp beside Father Michael's desk.

Rain tapped at the windows.

The sea beyond the church was restless.

Father Michael sat alone in his study with an old Bible open before him.

He wasn't reading.

He had been staring at the same passage for nearly ten minutes.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

On Marrine.

On the night she had arrived.

On the storm.

On the woman who had carried her to the church steps.

On the letter that had been left with the child.

And on the promise he had made all those years ago.

Protect her.

A soft knock came at the door.

Father Michael looked up.

"Come in."

The door opened.

Marrine stood there.

She looked tired.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders.

Her hands were clasped together in front of her.

"Father?"

He closed the Bible immediately.

"What's wrong child?"

Marrine hesitated.

That alone told him enough.

She never hesitated with him.

Not when she was frightened.

Not when she was angry.

Not even when she was embarrassed.

She had always trusted him.

Tonight, she looked as though she didn't know whether she could anymore.

"I need to tell you something."

Father Michael's heart sank.

He gestured towards the chair across from him.

"Come sit."

She walked inside and closed the door.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Marrine sat.

Father Michael watched her.

"You've been troubled."

She gave him a small smile.

"I guess I'm not very good at hiding it."

"No."

He smiled gently.

"You never were."

Marrine looked down at her hands.

"They're getting worse."

"What is?"

"The dreams."

Father Michael's expression changed.

"What kind of dreams?"

"The same ones."

She swallowed.

"The water."

He said nothing.

Marrine continued.

"I keep dreaming that I'm standing in the ocean."

Her voice was thin.

"Sometimes it's calm. Sometimes there's a storm. Sometimes it's so dark that I can't see anything."

Father Michael listened.

"And there's always someone there."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

She closed her eyes.

"I can't see his face."

A chill moved through the priest.

"But I know him."

Father Michael's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

"What does he say?"

Marrine opened her eyes.

"He calls me."

"How?"

"By my name."

Father Michael felt his stomach tighten.

"What does he say?"

Marrine looked towards the window.

Her eyes filled with something inbetween fear and sadness.

"He says I belong in the sea."

Father Michael closed his eyes briefly.

She continued.

"He says I've been away too long."

The old priest slowly breathed in.

"And he calls me his daughter."

Silence.

The rain continued tapping at the glass.

Marrine waited.

Father Michael didn't answer.

She looked at him.

"Father?"

He opened his eyes.

"Yes."

"You knew."

It wasn't a question.

Father Michael looked down.

For years, he had imagined this moment.

He had imagined himself explaining everything carefully.

He had imagined having the right words.

He had imagined Marrine being older.

Stronger.

Ready.

He had imagined that there would be time.

There was always supposed to be time.

But now, sitting across from him, she was no longer the little girl he had found sleeping beneath blankets in the church nursery.

She was a woman.

And the truth had already found her.

"I knew there was a possibility," he said carefully.

Marrine shook her head.

"No."

Her voice was gentle.

"You knew."

Father Michael said nothing.

"I've always known I was different."

She held out her hands.

There, between her fingers, the faint webbing was visible.

Father Michael looked away.

"I tried to hide them when I was younger."

"I know."

"I thought everyone was born that way."

"You were a child."

"I know."

Her voice trembled.

"But then I started noticing things."

"What things?"

"The sea."

She looked towards the window.

"I could hear it."

Father Michael stared at her.

"Even when nobody else could."

"When did that begin?"

"When I was little."

Marrine swallowed.

"I remember being five years old and waking up because I could hear waves."

Father Michael remembered.

He remembered those nights.

Marrine standing barefoot in the hallway.

Her tiny hand pressed against the window.

Staring towards the sea.

He had told himself that it was a child's imagination.

He had prayed that it was.

"When I was eight," she continued, "I knew when storms were coming."

Father Michael remembered that too.

She would wake hours before the clouds appeared.

At ten, she had begun spending long periods underwater.

At eleven, fish had started gathering near the pier whenever she visited.

At twelve--

Father Michael's face turned pale.

Marrine saw it.

"That was when I found the letters."

His breath caught.

She smiled sadly.

"Your notes."

"Marine..."

"I wasn't supposed to see them."

"No."

"But I did."

He looked down.

She continued.

"I found the box beneath the floorboards."

Father Michael's eyes closed.

The box.

He had forgotten the exact place he had hidden it.

Or perhaps he had simply hoped no one would ever look.

"I read everything."

"How much?"

"Enough."

Her voice softened.

"I read about my mother."

Father Michael's throat tightened.

"I read about the storm."

He couldn't speak.

"I read about the woman who brought me here."

Marrine's eyes glistened.

"She was my mother, wasn't she?"

Father Michael nodded.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because she begged me not to."

Marrine looked down.

"She knew he would come for me."

Father Michael stared at her.

"Yes."

"The King of the Deep."

The words felt heavy in the small room.

Father Michael finally whispered,

"Yes."

Marrine breathed out slowly.

"I knew."

"I know."

"You knew I knew?"

"I suspected."

She gave him a faint smile.

"You've always been terrible at lying to me."

A weak laugh escaped Father Michael.

It disappeared almost immediately.

Marrine looked at him.

"I need the truth now."

Father Michael nodded.

"You deserve it."

He leaned back in his chair.

For a moment, he seemed older.

Not just the age that came with body.

But the age that came with spirit.

As though the years of keeping this secret had finally settled onto his shoulders.

"Your mother came here during a terrible storm."

"I know."

"She was terrified."

"Of him?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

Father Michael hesitated.

"I don't know everything."

"But you know something."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

He looked at the rain covered window.

"Your mother was not like us."

Marrine said nothing.

"She belonged to the Deep."

"To his kingdom?"

"Yes."

"Was she a mermaid?"

Father Michael almost smiled.

"Not exactly."

"Then what was she?"

"Something between worlds."

Marrine looked at her hands.

"Like me."

"Yes."

Father Michael's voice was barely audible.

"Like you."

She absorbed that.

"My father."

Father Michael looked at her.

"Your father is the King of the Deep."

The words finally left him.

Once they did, there was no taking them back.

Marrine stared at him.

She had known.

She had suspected.

She had dreamed it.

But hearing it written out was different.

Her entire life seemed to shift beneath her feet.

"The King of the Deep," she whispered.

Father Michael nodded.

"He rules the marine kingdoms beneath the ocean. Ancient clans answer to him. Creatures that have never touched the surface recognize his authority."

" Why does he want me?"

"Because you're his daughter."

"That's not enough."

"No."

Father Michael sighed.

"There is more."

Marrine waited.

"You were not simply born into his bloodline."

"What do you mean?"

"Your mother believed you were different."

"Different how?"

"She told me you carried something in you that even your father feared."

Marrine's eyes went wide.

"What?"

"I don't know."

"You never asked?"

"I did."

"And?"

"She wouldn't tell me."

"Why?"

"She said if the King of the Deep ever discovered exactly what you were capable of, he would never stop hunting you."

Marrine's breath caught in her throat.

"So my mother ran."

"Yes."

"She left me here."

"To save you."

Marrine looks down at her hands.

A single tear falls.

“She didn't even stay.”

Father Michael's face soften.

"She wanted to"

"Then why didn't she?"

"Because she believed he was already looking for her."

Marrine wipes her cheek.

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know."

"You said she never came back."

"She didn't."

"Did she die?"

Father Michael looks away.

"I don't know."

"Did he take her?"

"I don't know."

Marrine's voice wavers.

"You always say that."

"I know."

"I hate that answer."

"So do I."

The room is silent.

Father Michael reaches over the desk and takes Marrine's hand in his. She looks at his hand then up at his face. He looks back at her, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Slowly, she places her other hand in his and he tightens his grip.

"I kept everything secret because I thought it best that way."

Marrine looks at him, wiping her cheeks.

"Was it?"

"For a while."

He swallows hard.

"But secrets have a way of turning into chains."

She tightens her grip on his hand.

"You don't have to apologize."

"You should."

"No, I should have told you."

"Maybe."

Father Michael looks at her, eyes filling with tears.

"But you loved me."

His tears spill over as he looks at her.

"Yes."

"You raised me."

"Yes."

"You kept me safe."

"I tried."

Marrine smiles at him through her tears.

"You were my father when I needed one."

The old priest looks down at her, saying nothing. She moves around the desk and hugs him. Father Michael tightens his grip around her, holding her the same way he did when she was a little girl. Only now she is older and the world has aged around her. She is no longer the child he tucked into bed every night, but an adult who has survived a terrible storm. He tightens his grip around her, holding her as though she were still his little girl. Marrine looks up at him, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

When she finally pulls away, she sits back down on the desk.

"There is something else."

Father Michael nods.

"What?"

"I've been hearing him more often."

"Your father?"

"Yes."

"What does he say?"

"He tells me to come home."

Father Michael's brows furrow together.

"Does he appear to you in your dreams?"

"Yes."

"Has he appeared to you when you are awake?"

Marrine's eyes widen, her heart pounding.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I feel like someone is watching me."

Father Michael goes stiff.

"From the sea?"

His voice is hushed. "Have you seen anything?"

"Not really."

"Tell me."

"Sometimes I see shadows."

"How big?"

"I don't know."

"Marrine."

She looks at him.

"One night I saw eyes."

Father Michael's heart stops.

"What color?"

"Blue."

The priest closes his eyes, memories flashing before his eyes. The storm. The woman standing on the church steps. Her eyes. Her words. He will come. He assumed she meant someday. He suddenly realizes she might have meant right then. He looks back at Marrine.

"Marrine."

"Yes?"

"If you see anything strange. At all. You come to me."

She looks at him oddly.

"Why?"

"Because I don't know how close he is."

"He?"

"Your father."

Marrine looks at him in disbelief.

"Do you think he is coming?"

Father Michael looks out the window. The rain has stopped, but the sea is louder now, as though it has been waiting for something. It is loud enough now that he can hear it through the stone walls.

"I think," he says slowly. "that you have been hearing him because he is getting closer."

Marrine's face pales.

"What do I do?"

Father Michael looks at her.

That was the question he dreaded most.

If she ran the Deep would follow.

If she stayed the town would suffer.

If she embraced the blood in her veins she would be consumed.

And if she denied it she would be forever searching for something she could never find.

He had prayed for a miracle and was suddenly drowning in one.

Marrine stands.

"Can I ever be free of this?"

Father Michael's heart breaks at the sound of her voice. She looks so young, so very small.

"Can I ever just belong somewhere?"

Father Michael stands and takes her hands in his.

"You already do."

She looks at him.

"Where?"

"Here."

Marrine shakes her head.

"I mean somewhere inside myself."

Father Michael's eyes well up. He understands what she is saying. She is not asking about Port Haven. She is not asking about the church. She is not even asking about the sea. She is asking if she will always feel this way. Always be this. Half woman, half something else. Daughter of a king she has never met. Child of a mother who vanished. Orphan of the church. Believer in something that has never been there.

Father Michael squeezes her hands.

"I don't know what the future holds for you."

Marrine looks away.

"But I know this."

He lifts her chin.

"God loves you."

She looks at him.

"Even if I'm not fully human?"

"Especially then."

A smile tugs at his lips.

__

“Your blood does not frighten God.”

Marrine's eyes glistened.

"The sea doesn't own you."

She swallows hard.

"Your father doesn't own you."

A tear slips down her cheek

"And neither does the past."

Father Michael places his hand over hers.

"You are Marrine."

She closes her eyes.

"You are not a monster."

He pauses

"You are not a mistake."

Another tear falls.

"And you are not alone."

For a long moment Marrine stands there, silent. Then she leans forward and rests her head on his shoulder. Father Michael holds her as the sound of the sea swells outside the church. Far below the surface, something ancient and powerful opens its eyes. Marrine suddenly straightens.

Father Michael feels her stiffen.

"What is it?"

She turns sharply toward the window.

"Do you hear that?"

He listens. He hears the wind. He hears the sea. Then he hears something else. Something like music. It is not coming from the church. It is not coming from the village. It is coming from the sea. Marrine presses her hand against the glass.

"It's coming from the ocean."

"No," he murmurs. Her music swells. She turns toward the window.

"What are you hearing?"

Her lips part.

"My name."

His blood runs cold.

"What else?"

Marrine looks toward the black horizon.

"He says he is coming."

Father Michael moves toward the window.

The sea looks impossibly still. It is eerily quiet, as though it is holding its breath. He watches the horizon, waiting for something. Anything. Then the sky flashes and he sees it. A great shape. Something huge and terrible. It vanishes with the next blink of lightning. Father Michael turns back to Marrine.

"Listen to me."

She looks at him.

"Whatever happens, you stay here."

"But-"

"You stay with the church."

"What about Zeke?"

Father Michael hesitates. She looks at him, and he knows the answer.

__

“He's in danger too.”Yes."

Marrine moves away from him.

"I can't let him get hurt because of me."

"This isn't your fault."

"But it is my blood."

"No."

Father Michael's voice is firm.

"Your blood may explain where you came from, but it does not dictate who you are."

Marrine looks at him.

For the first time that night, something else besides fear flickers in her eyes. Resolve. Father Michael knows the look. He has seen it before, many times. The first time when she was seven and told to go to bed while the other orphans were screaming. The day he found her standing between Zeke and a group of rowdy teenagers. When she was older and defended one of the nuns from an abusive fisherman. The sea might have made her what she was, but it had not made her strong. That was her own doing. He looks at her, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. She looks just like she did when she was ten, right before she ran away from the orphanage. Only this time she has people who care about her.

Marrine turns toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Zeke."

Father Michael sighs.

"I knew you were going to say that."

She turns back to him.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me the truth."

He nods.

She smiles at him.

Not the sad little smile she has been wearing most of the night. The real one. The one he saw when she was a little girl.

"Whatever happens," she says, “I'm glad I found you.”

Father Michael's eyes fill with tears. "So am I." Marrine turns back to the door.

As she steps outside, a cold wind rushes in, sending a shiver up his spine. He follows her out onto the church steps and watches as she looks toward the sea. Her breath is heavy. Her hands are clenched at her sides. The storm continues to gather but the sky is clearing just enough to see the stars peeking through the clouds.

Marrine takes a breath. She feels so much better than she has in a long time. No, actually she doesn't. She is scared. She is confused. She is angry. She misses her mother and wishes her father would come take her away. But most of all she isn't upset about the sea or the church taking something from her. She is angry about losing her freedom and having to grow up in a place where most people don't think she belongs. But she is no longer afraid of what she doesn't understand. She has always wondered who she was, and now she knows. Now she has to decide who she wants to be. Behind her, Father Michael watches silently. He has spent twenty years trying to protect Marrine from the sea, and he suddenly realizes the worst thing that could happen to her wasn't the sea taking her. It was the world not letting her choose for herself. And somewhere beyond the horizon, the King of the Deep was approaching, but he would not find the defenseless child who had been left on the church steps all those years ago. He would find his daughter. A woman who had just learned the truth. A woman who had people willing to fight for her. A woman who was beginning to understand that belonging was not something the sea, the church, or even her blood could give her. It was something she would have to claim for herself. And when Marrine finally looks toward the ocean, she whispers a single phrase into the wind. "I am not yours."

Far beneath the waves something answers and the sea begins to move.