Mermaid's Key

Mermaid’s Key

Amanda Mahan

© Copyright Amanda Mahan 2019

Black Rose Writing | Texas

© 2019 by Amanda Mahan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First digital version

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-389-9

PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

www.blackrosewriting.com

Print edition produced in the United States of America

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Acknowledgements

I extend my deepest thanks to my dear friends and family who have given me great support, confidence, cheering, and love over the many years needed to complete this project. To my first readers - my sister Anna and my dad Gary, thank you slogging through a rough idea and still believing in me enough to encourage me to continue. To both my parents, thank you for everything, including your unconditional love and dedication. To Michael, your words of encouragement have always been delivered at just the right moments. It’s because of Susan that I wrote this book to the end and then kept on pushing to publication - you never let me quit. Thanks to Haidyn and Mika for being my first young adult readers and giving it a thumbs up. Al, thanks for telling me early on that my story was worth writing. Thanks Fletcher, for showing me it can be done and spurring me to do so. Ms. Cosby, thank you for teaching me to love books in 11th grade. Sarah, thank you for loving with the biggest heart and setting the highest bar for mothering, goodness, and friendship - I based the mom on you. Rebeccah, thanks for dreaming far and wide with me all the time. Nancy, you pushed me to manifest this book into being - thank you. Laura, thanks for always listening and holding me up with your wise insights. Leah, thanks for making me want to read because you always were and for being my lifelong friend. Stacy, I’m so thankful for your faithful friendship and support. To Holland, I love that you write mermaid stories too and can’t wait to explore the worlds you create. Marla, thanks for placing every comma and moving every adverb, in the briefest of time, during the busiest of days - you make me look good. James, you gave me the story, the space to write, and the support to keep trying - thank you, thank you, thank you. Eli and Deo, thanks for making me a mom, teaching me the most profound understanding of love, and telling me again and again that I’m good - I wrote this book for you. I hope you both travel the world and beyond like Evan and Ross.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Recommended Reading

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Note From The Author

About the Author

BRW Info

Prologue

The thick, hot air pressed in against her, making it hard to breathe. She took short, sharp breaths, but the weight of the air made it feel as though she was drowning on dry land. Her skin crisped in the oven around her. She felt as if she might ignite if it weren’t for the heavy humidity squeezing upon her and the sweat seeping from every pore. She was blinded not from total darkness, but from complete brightness instead. Turning her face away from the flaming sun towards the dry, hot sand at her feet, she squinted, rapidly blinking away tears. Streams streaked down her cheeks. The warm liquid felt cool in comparison to the burn blistering underneath. She closed her eyes and held them tightly sealed. The fluorescent orange light seared through her lids, the hot light still blinding. Opening her eyes into slight slits, she struggled to look around. All she could make out were dark shapes sharply contrasted with the flooding light. She held her hand to her hairline trying to shield, but it was no use. The bright white light still blazed her eyes and scorched her pale face. She attempted to take a long calming breath, but the air felt too hot as it filled her lungs, boiling her from within.

So this was the surface. She was wrong to have come.

Chapter 1

The crumbs of dead coral coarsely ground into a fine gravel crunched and shifted under Evan’s feet. Some beach, he scoffed, insulted by the lack of sand. He had anticipated the smooth white beaches pictured in magazines, but instead, he was presented with a beach littered with rotting seaweed the color of mustard and smelling much worse. The sand was rough and uneven, the hue of dead skin, and that’s practically what he was walking on now - the crushed skeletons of former sea life, once colorfully swaying below the surface. The thought caused a wave of chill to wash over him despite the intense heat of the afternoon sun. The oppressive humidity dampened every inch of his clothing. The water had not even provided relief from the heat since it was as hot as a bath. He hated it here.

As he stomped down the beach, a sharp edge unexpectedly jabbed his sole, which only inflamed him more. Evan kicked at the shoreline, wishing he could inflict pain or damage that would compare to the volume of frustration he felt. Here he was again, alone in some corner of the world, wanting someone, anyone, to be his friend.

Come on Evan, this is paradise, his mom tried to convince him. Other kids would kill to spend their afternoon on the beach instead of in school. She would say the same about a mountain peak or canyon or tropical rainforest or desert valley or wherever his parents’ latest assignment had taken them. He was expected to be happy about his freedom to explore and his privilege of exposure. What kid wouldn’t want to travel the world rather than live in some boring town and attend some normal school? his parents would ask. However, he resented his parents’ work and came to dread the constant travel. He didn’t want to visit another quaint foreign village, hike another exotic jungle trail or spend hours in museums viewing masterpieces. No one had asked him if this was the life he wanted. The way he saw it, he was far from Shangri-la. He often thought of sitting at a classroom desk in some suburban public high school, listening to a mediocre teacher lecture on a topic he had studied several years earlier. That might be his utopia instead. At least then, he might be able to pass a note, send a text, or meet friends at the park for a game of pickup basketball. Maybe he could make plans for later in the afternoon to ride bikes down some street lined with cookie-cutter houses or hang out at some stale mall. He would choose that over this paradise any day.

In that ordinary teenage world, Evan might have a friend. The closest thing to a friend he had now was Ross. On paper, he was the perfect brother. He wasn’t the usual pesky kid inserting himself where he didn’t belong; instead, he always respected Evan’s space. Ross was understanding and continually calm, even when Evan would lose his temper and lash out at him. He had everything that Evan wished he had more of - patience, thoughtfulness and an undampened sense of humor. Ross was adventurous and up for anything, always seeking out new experiences for them to share. He was even a challenging classmate, pushing Evan to question a little deeper rather than accepting the easiest explanation. He was also close enough in age to be placed in the friend category - just 11 months younger. However, Ross was not what Evan needed in a friend. It was pretty hard to be friends with someone who refused to talk.

While their parents were on a recent assignment photographing the cliffs at Halong Bay in the South China Sea off the coast of Vietnam, Evan and Ross were studying Buddhist monks as part of their independent coursework. After visiting a temple where a group of monks had not spoken for 20 years, Ross had become so enthralled by the practice of silence that he too decided to make his own vow and give up speaking. Evan thought that after a few days, at most a month, his brother wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer and would speak again, but it had been four and half months, 139 days to be exact, and Ross still hadn’t said a word, not even when provoked. Evan had tried everything from bad jokes, taunts, threats, bribes, even jabs, and a few shoves, but Ross still wouldn’t speak. Not a peep. His discipline was resolute. Evan felt alone, without anyone to talk to, except to their exhausted parents over dinners late at night. It was not really what he was looking for in the way of friendship.

Ross had always been that way. Even as a young boy, when he put his mind to something, he would not relinquish his commitment until he reached his goal. He was the most determined person Evan knew, never losing focus. At ten years old, Ross decided that he would eat raw food exclusively for a full year. Their parents had been working a story on the seals in the San Francisco Bay and as usual, Evan and Ross were left alone for the day to explore. The brothers wandered the city, having breakfast of sourdough bread and chocolates at the wharf, followed by a walk up the hills to some of the trendier neighborhoods. After several hours of aimless hiking up and down the undulating sidewalks, Ross chose a small outdoor café in the shadow of Coit Tower, with a view of Alcatraz, to have their lunch. Evan had selected their breakfast location, so he didn’t get to object to Ross’ obscure choice now, even though it didn’t appeal to him at all. It was an all-raw restaurant serving up fermented salads and unbaked muffins. After reading on the menu that cooking food reduced the vitamin content, that was enough to convince Ross. He didn’t eat anything cooked for the rest of the year. He read countless books and articles, espousing the virtues of a raw diet. He sprouted seeds and beans and dehydrated pureed vegetables and fruits to make what the recipe books claimed to be alternatives to crackers. While Evan tried to taunt him by waving a crisp, warm fry in front of his brother’s face and taking a huge bite out of a juicy cheeseburger, dripping with savory cooked goodness, Ross would resolutely and contentedly sip on his own tepid soup, which Evan had rudely called baby food. But nothing phased Ross. At ten, he had as much self-restraint and willpower as an athlete preparing for the Olympics. He was focused on his goal and never cheated once.

Because of this, Evan now had little hope of his brother returning to the land of the speaking any time soon. Ross had committed himself to silence, and no one was sure how long it might last. He had not mouthed a single word to Evan, to their parents, to anyone, and Evan missed their brotherly banter that they would volley while walking or riding bikes. He longed for one of Ross’ quick-witted comments about a stranger passing by as they sat on the curb of a busy street. At this point, he would even settle for a conversation about their schoolwork - anything that would get his brother talking again. At night, in the dark quiet just before sleep, he wished he and his brother would still make plans for the following day in a hushed whisper or recount silly lines from their favorite movies. Some days the silence would drive Evan mad, and he would carry on a conversation for Ross. He would ask his brother a question and then respond in a mocking voice meant to imitate Ross, often carrying on in this manner for several minutes. Ross would only silently roll his eyes at Evan’s absurdity.

Alone without even his brother for a friend, in this so-called paradise, this poor excuse for a beach half-way down the chain of islands that comprised the Florida Keys, Evan half-stomped, half-stumbled along the shoreline, cursing his current situation. He wished he had grabbed his flip-flops before storming out from their hotel room. When he had asked Ross if he wanted to take out one of the kayaks at the hotel to explore the cove, Ross had only shrugged in the negative and went back to reading. Evan had pleaded, Come on man, just for an hour. I’m sick of working on this unit. Let’s go see what’s around the other side of the island. But again, Ross merely shook his head and gave Evan a blank-looking face in response. He could understand that Ross wasn’t speaking, but he couldn’t stand what seemed to be a complete emotional void in his brother. As Evan’s furry boiled hotter, Ross seemed to turn his emotions even cooler.

God, you act like a lifeless robot! Evan had screamed on the way out the door. He had stomped off, without grabbing shoes and headed down the breezeway lined with hotel doors and humming air conditioning units. He had cursed under his breath when he passed the colorful kayaks lined up on the shore. The reds, blues and greens of the faded plastic hulls looked like a postcard he had seen in the spinning rack at the tacky hotel tourist giftshop. He picked up a chunk of gravel from the hotel parking lot and threw it at the offending red hull but missed. His anger flamed like wildfire and was matched by the searing temperature of the tarmac that charred his feet while crossing US Highway 1. His soles felt tender and raw now as they rubbed against the grainy sand of the beach.

The blue-green water of the Atlantic Ocean gently lapped along the shore where the large clumps of rotting seaweed, baked in the sun. As Evan trudged across the damp, spongy clutter that littered the coarse, gravelly sand, its sour smell was released like a scratch-and-sniff sticker. This beach sucks, he mumbled. At that moment, something more jagged than sand stabbed the arch of his foot, causing him to stumble to the ground. He cursed again before checking to see that his foot wasn’t bleeding. He then looked behind him to find what had made him fall.

Two dark teeth protruded from the light sand. On his hands and knees, he brushed the sand and seaweed away from the object, revealing an ancient key. It looked like something from a mythical shipwreck. Measuring almost the full length of his hand, the key felt heavy for its size. The metal was old but free from rust, corrosion or barnacles. It obviously had not been lying on the bottom of the ocean for centuries. Instead, it was like this key had been kept in a glass case inside a museum. It was polished and shining. The shaft end was simple with two thick tines, like those on an old skeleton key. Evan was unsure of the metal and marveled at how brightly it shined. Could it be solid gold, he wondered? The bow end was ornately decorated, studded with glowing, opalescent pearls and thin wisps of looping metal. It vaguely reminded Evan of Celtic knots, but its motif was certainly distinct from that. He couldn’t place its design in the timeline of art history, unsure of how old it could be. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Captivated by its beauty, he stroked the cool metal and stared at the treasure in his hand, imagining what door this key might unlock.

Chapter 2

At dinner that night, Evan mindlessly stirred his ketchup with a fry, lost in thought. Picturing a large wooden treasure chest with an ornate lock that his newly discovered key might fit, he imagined his hand trembling as it held the heavy key ready to insert it. As he turned the shaft, the key easily rotated in the slot. The curved lid moaned as he lifted it, releasing the musty smell of clay and rotting earth, revealing the glimmering contents from within.

Earth to Evan. Come in Evan. Over, his dad teased. What are you thinking about, buddy? he asked, looking at him from across the table. Evan gazed down at his ketchup-covered fry and shook his head, blinking back to the present.

Oh, nothing, Dad.

Come on, Evan. You were a hundred miles away. It had to have been something good. His dad stretched his arms behind his head and arched his back over the top edge of his chair, releasing a loud pop from his chest, followed by a relieved sigh. I’ve been working all day. Your mom had me crawling at the oddest angles to get the most perfect shot for her piece. He winked lovingly at his wife sitting next to him and squeezed her knee under the table as she rolled her eyes in mocking exaggeration. Looking back to Evan, he continued, I’m beat and could use a good story. Plus, this guy isn’t going to crack, his dad said as he winked and gestured with his thumb towards Ross, who gave a half-smile in response. Tell us what has you floating away, lost so deeply in thought.

Evan felt possessive, wanting his discovery to be his own. He knew that if he showed the key to his parents, they would instantly want to take it to some professor-friend at some museum or university so that it could be analyzed and archived. This is an important find, Evan, his mom would say as she peered over the edge of her reading glasses. It needs to be studied. Documented. His dad, of course, would first want to photograph it before sending it off and his mom might pitch it as a story for the magazine, but the key surely wouldn’t be left to him to keep.

Evan selfishly wanted more time with it. He enjoyed the mystery surrounding it and liked imagining what it may unlock. Since stumbling upon it, the weight of the key in his hand had lightened his mood. He had spent the afternoon, walking around the island, rubbing his fingers over the elegant curves and looped metal, stroking the silky cool pearls. He imagined the key fitting into all manner of locks - a pirate’s treasure, a