The Souls of Drowned People

Chapter Ten

Upon opening my eyes to find myself lying on the beach, gasping greedily for air like a beached fish, my first thought wasn’t about what happened.

            Cillian was leaning over me, his hands on the sides of my head, and he kept mumbling, “breathe.” He pressed lightly on my stomach, and when water came rushing up my throat, stinging in my nose, my first thought was please don’t let me throw up all over him.

            He put his arms around me, hugging me tight against my chest, my second though was: thank god my dress wasn’t white or else this would be terrible.

            “You’re okay,” Cillian whispered, sounding like he was reassuring himself more than me. He squeezed my fingers, and it all came rushing back.

            Ronan.

            Ronan was a selkie.

            And he had hands. Long pale hands that wrapped around my waist.

            And he would have drowned me. And I thought we were friends. I thought he was my sweet little seal. But his hands had been so cold and firm around me, and when I screamed and struggled, they only tightened around me.

            He was a selkie.

            They were real.

            Another mouthful of salty water came up. “Cillian!” I gasped. “They’re real. The selkies. Ronan . . . he’s not really a seal. And the story about Iona and the seals and . . . it’s not a myth! It’s true!”

            He smiled sadly. “I know.”

            “He tried to drown me. Ronan. Why would he do that?”

             Cillian wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He was as soaked as I was. Water was dripping from the ends of his hair onto my cheek, tiny droplets clinging to his eyelashes. “Why couldn’t you just listen to me, Moira?”

            I realized that it was raining. The water wasn’t just dripping from Cillian’s hair, but falling in hard drops from the sky above us, that had turned dark and cloudy within the last few minutes.

            “I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand back, until the comforting warmth of his fingers started to turn cold. “Where’s Tara?” Something in the whiteness of his face, the hollowness of his eyes, made me panic. “Oh no. No, Cillian . . . she’s not . . . is she?”

            “She’s fine. Though I don’t think she’s very happy with me.”

            “Why? None of this is your fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

            “I shouldn’t have brought you here.” But he didn’t show any regret in bringing me; he kissed my head and stood up, gently prying my fingers from his. “You stay here. I’m going to talk to Tara.”

            “Don’t leave me.”

            “I’m just going over –”

            I must have started screaming hysterically again, because Cillian knelt back into the sand beside me. “Ssh. Okay, okay. Can you walk?”

            He held me underneath my arms, helping me to my feet. When I wobbled, he put his arm around my waist, and I instinctively slapped him away. I could still feel Ronan’s hands.