#shipofmoons

           “What’re you doing?” said Kerry from the backseat.

           “Sorry.” Casper had turned onto Stawbird Lane out of instinct. “Your mom’s, right?”

           “Yeah, take Straley all the way down.”

           Suddenly, he was a chauffeur, a bad Uber driver. Why had she sat in the back anyway? he thought. He looked back at her again; brake lights filled her eyes at the stop sign. It made her look foreign, but still logically familiar, the way one might anomalously forget their own face in the mirror—but logically, obviously, it’s still their face.

           She forced a smile. Casper turned up the radio, and country-folk led them across town to Kerry’s mother’s apartment. He parked right by the steps, his favorite spot when they’d been dating, and helped Kerry out of the car and upstairs to 2515.

           Her mother opened the door, spilling cigarette smoke into the hall. Squinty-eyed at first, and then grinny she recognized Casper. It was clearly one of her more coherent days.

           “Hey Nix,” said Casper. He’d mostly appreciated being on a first-name basis with her (the times she was grounded enough to be a decent friend).

           Nix’s eyebrows shot up. “You guys…back together?” She whispered the last bit toward Casper instead of Kerry. Kerry fidgeted nervously, and Casper knew she just wanted to get inside.

           “Just delivery duties,” Casper said for the both of them. “Designated driver.”

           “Well get the fuck in here then,” said Nix. “I just put the water on…I think.”

           Nix mumbled something about girl-scout cookies, probably offering them up, as she waddled into the kitchen, adjusting her drinking kimono.

           Casper collapsed into his favorite rocking chair by the old dial television, but Kerry kept to standing, edging her way out of niceties with her mother.

           “Oh, nope. Burner went out again.” Nix leaned over the island before continuing: “I’ve been drinking Saké. Some of that instead?”

           “That’s my bottle of Saké, mom.” Kerry folded her arms.

           “No. I’m pretty sure I bought this.” Casper could see half of Nix in the kitchen, lifting up the mostly-empty bottle to examine it. He watched the doubt fill her face. “Or your brother bought it, I think.” She winced and slammed the bottle down. “That damned machine—at it again. It’s so god-awful-fucking loud. Keerrr? Did you call the landlord like I asked?”

           “There’s no machine, ma, remember?” Kerry finally looked at Casper. She shook her head heatedly. “None of us can hear it. Right, Cas?”

           Kerry seemed a little less patient with her mother’s delusions than usual, but Casper supposed she was tired; it had been a long day for the both of them. He mustered up a confirmation, that in fact the god-awful-fucking-machine wasn’t real.

           And neither was that body in the morgue. It was a hoax of some kind, Casper was sure of it. As soon as Kerry was settled, he’d tell her about it. She’d either be quite interested or laugh it off (for months now, he couldn’t confidently expect anything from her).

           Nix came into the living room and placed an embroidered blue Saké set on the coffee table. “Whatever it is,” she said, “it’s loud and needs to get the hell outta here!” She slung her hands and eyes toward the ceiling, as if that’s where it’d been coming from. “I keep telling Thad to take that ratty satellite down. We don’t use it anyhow.”

           Kerry came over at long last, sat on the couch and started to pick up the Sake bottle. She hesitated and gawked at Casper: “Pour me a glass.”

           “…Do you really need anymore?” said Casper, rocking smugly now in his chair. He started noticing the staticky weather reports coming through on the old television. The rain was coming.

           “Mom?” Kerry said.

            Casper watched as Nix sat next to her daughter on the couch and autonomously poured her a cup of Saké. Nix the Great Enabler, he thought. She wasn’t always so bad, especially when Thad was home. Casper saw the numerous paystubs from Merrick Enterprises that decorated the coffee table: all of them were addressed to Thad Blackwell, and each one touting more money than Casper would ever see.

            Kerry downed her cup quickly. “Another.”

           “Save some for your brother.”

           “This is my bottle, ma.”

            Casper sat scratching his chin, gawking at Kerry. The real Kerry, who he’d never seen act this way in front of her mother, who always offered to share her drinks. Had she really fallen off the wagon this hard? As Nix poured another for Kerry, the craziest thought sprung up in Casper’s mind. Tony had brought it up: the notion of Kerry’s twin. If memory served, Nix birthed Kerry and her younger brother Thad. Their father, Eric, lived in Orlando now with his new family. As long as Casper had known the Blackwells, it was always just the three of them. But what if it wasn’t? He watched Kerry settle into her seat, the same way she always had, damaged shoulder first. He saw her try to shake off a yawn. The real Kerry always hated the sensation of yawning. Casper was just being paranoid.

            The body in the morgue is a Jane Doe. He had to remind himself. Perhaps the real Kerry had lost her wallet one drunken night. And perhaps this Jane Doe, the face of which he only saw for moments before pulling away, was much older with a different nose. Tony had only ever seen Kerry a handful of times, always while on duty; he wouldn’t know the difference. Not like Casper. Perhaps he’d go back to the morgue in the morning. Only, if the Chief caught wind of it…he had to stop thinking about work.

            “When does Thad get home?” Kerry asked her mother.

            “Soon…nowish.” Nix glanced at the cuckoo clock.

            “Okay,” Kerry stood up, having finished the bottle. “I’ll take my leave then. I’ll be in my room. Asleep. Until he’s gone.”

            Casper stood up with her.

            “Sweetie, you have to see your brother eventually.”

            “When he quits Merrick, we’ll talk.” Kerry looked at Casper for reassurance. Casper nodded visibly in approval, so Nix could see. She knew neither of them approved of the company he worked for, especially after the boat party.

            “I know, I know,” said Nix, coughing into a new cigarette. “But what can you do? They’ve got great health insurance, and I need my meds.” She shook one of several pill bottles on the lampstand next to her.

            “Well, this has been fun,” said Kerry. “I’m going to bed. Thank you, Cas. I’m very much sober now.”

            “Okay, yeah,” Casper tapped the ground with the faded rim of his boot. “Ker-ber, can I just talk to you a second before I leave?”

            Kerry nodded and said, “Step into my office.”

            Casper followed her to the back bedroom, flashing Nix a half-smile on the way.

            Kerry unlocked her bedroom door (it was dead-bolted and Casper found that very strange) and stepped inside, turning on a desk lamp.

            She shut the door behind him. “What is it?”

            Casper didn’t really know how to begin. I saw a body in the morgue that looked like you – she had your wallet. It all just sounded so absurd and Kerry would surely muscle out a tired laugh at this point.

            But before he could try to reword it in his head, he noticed the pictures at Kerry’s desk: on a corkboard along the wall above there were several underwater photographs; Polaroids of sea kelp, sunken pieces of a ship, and dry reefs; next to the photos were copy paper print outs of several types of octopi, an old comic depicting the legendary Kraken monster attacking a ship; nestled against it was an artist rendering of what could’ve only been H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulu. Below them were personal drawings, sketches of her own, of a mermaid woman close to Kerry’s build with a similar nose and face; a second drawing of her had her turned away to reveal what looked like tattooed black wings down her back. On the table below the corkboard were endless scribbled notes, barely legible from the doorway. But one phrase in particular stood out in all caps:

            SIRENS SPARE US FROM THE FLOOD

            “What is all this, Ker?”

            “That’s not what you were going to ask me.” Kerry sat in her desk chair and started shuffling the papers.

            “What is it?”

            “Research.”

            Casper scratched his face some more, fixated on Cthulu. “Okay, Ker. Is this related to the boat party? The…siren you saw?”

            “Yeah, so? You don’t believe me anyway.”

            Casper’s voice fell to a gravelly whisper: “You know, I don’t have to tell you that schizophrenia runs in your family.”

            “No. You don’t have to tell me that.” Kerry picked up a pen and started to scribble on the corner of a closed composition book.

            “Okay, sorry. I’m just saying…I hope this isn’t an obsession, like one of your mom’s things. You sure you’re okay?”

            “I’m okay.”

            “You promise?”

            “I do. I promise.”

            Casper had half a mind to pull her in for a hug, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Thad was home.

            “Alright. I gotta go to sleep now, Ghostie. Thank you for today. For…helping me out or whatever.”

            “You’re welcome. Always. You know that, right? Anytime.”

            Kerry nodded, fought off another yawn, and made it to her bed, collapsing into a burrito, where Casper could only see her nose. It was a very distinct nose.

            “Stay if you want, ” she mumbled under the covers. “With Ma and Thad. But I need to go to sleep now. Goodnight.”

            “Night.” Casper took one last look at Kerry’s corkboard before shutting the light out for her. Perhaps now wasn’t a good time to tell her about the body.

                                                    KERRY’S SIREN

       Tony drove them back to the station, somehow still able to take small bites of his sandwich between speeches.

        “She had her I.D., man! Driver’s license, bank cards, a freaking picture of you guys at Disney. I’m sorry, but this is her, my friend.”

       Casper’s whole body became flushed, tingled, and there was an intermittent ringing in his ears. He was panicked, or in denial of his panic; it was the way his anxiety attacks greeted him way back in high school. But he was furious with Tony: How could he be eating?

       “Did she have a sister? A twin? Maybe she’s been runnin’ cons with her and it finally caught up to her.”

       Casper shook his head no. And then a second time, he merely shook his head. He’d been living with Kerry. She may have been different, distant, since the boat party. But that was natural; he’d be doing a lot of research and it was purely clinical, textbook psych. All of the drinking was Kerry, all of the fights and her questionable decisions were real; her trauma was real and he’d finally accepted that.

       “Not her,” Casper finally spoke in a whisper. “Maybe Roland, senior.”

       Tony laughed with a mouth full: “You think it’s Merrick? You think this is some kind of prank…or revenge for putting Roland Junior away? It’s a stunt to get you off the force, off his trail or some bunk? Conspiracies like that don’t exist, Maddox. They just don’t. I’ve been in the game ten plus years, you think I wouldn’t know?”

       “I wasn’t saying that,” Casper mumbled, though he knew he’d been considering it. “You’re the one suggesting she has a twin. I should know, okay? I know Kerry: only-child syndrome, substance abuse, daddy issues, laughs at her self-deprecation. And that person in the cell, drunk off her ass and sad as hell, that’s her, by the book. That’s still her. I know you wanted me to confirm her body there in the morgue—but I can’t and I won’t. That is still a Jane Doe. So open another case file, due diligence. I’m taking Kerry home.”

       Tony was quiet for a moment, which was unlike him. He faked a cough before speaking again. “…I don’t think you can, man. She might be part of an ongoing investigation now.”

       “Oh, fuck off, Tony. You can’t interrogate someone in her condition. I’m taking her home, getting her clean. I’ll go to the Chief with this if I have to.”

       The drive was forever long, and they were finally approaching the station, but Tony stopped the car just short of the toll.

       “Why are you stopping?”

       “I never thought you’d be so quick to throw me under the bus, man. Go to the Chief…who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think I am, man?”

       Casper was deadly quiet, his instincts telling him to unbuckle now and make for the station, grab Kerry, the real Kerry, before anyone could tell him otherwise. He settled though and watched Tony’s eye-line shift from the glove box and the window to Casper—an angry nystagmus.

       “You’re gonna go in there, Maddox, and you’re gonna grab your girlfriend and go home. Stay home, take your sick days (you must have weeks racked up by now). I’mma tell Chief I advise it. Let me do the legwork. You go play caretaker, and I’ll play detective. It’s how it’s always been anyway…best not to forget that.”

       Casper resisted the urge to nod. “You let me take her, get her out of your hair. That’s all I’m asking.”

       “And that’s all I wanted…‘fore this development.” Tony resumed driving, flashed the toll attendant his badge, and found his marked parking spot by the dying garden; the daisies were slumped, defeated by last week’s harsh rain.

       “I can’t promise I’ll take time off,” said Casper.

       “I can’t promise Chief will give you that choice.”

       Casper stood up and said, “What’s going on, Tony?” Tony took a moment to swallow his mouthful and said, “Act normal, okay?” His voice was barely a whisper.

       “Tony, what the fuck are you talking about?”

       Tony closed his eyes and collected himself. “Look, I just need you to come with me, okay Casper?”

       “I’m not on the clock, man. Can you not handle this on your own?”

       “This isn’t necessarily work related, Cas. It’s more of a personal nature.”

       At that point, Casper noticed that Tony had been shifting around uncomfortably; he kept peeking over Casper’s shoulder to look at Kerry. His hand was what did it, though—it was resting on the grip of his pistol. Although Tony was clearly nervous, his hand was calm. Casper thought, something’s wrong. 

       “Alright,” Casper said, before turning his attention to Kerry. “Ker-bear, I gotta go handle something, alright?”

       She was sliding from drunk to asleep. “What’s wrong, Ghostie?” Her question was aimed more at the cell than at anyone in particular. 

       “Don’t worry about it. Drink your water and try to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.” He watched her nod, burp, and slump down into a mostly lying position; Casper then turned his attention back to Tony and said, “Alright, lead the way,”

                                                          ***

       Casper and Tony had been in the cruiser for some time without speaking so much as a word. Tony was visibly shaken, and though he had cleared his throat a few times, it was just an attempt to break the silence. Casper kept himself busy with thoughts of Kerry and the rift their relationship had become. 

       The cruiser went over a speed bump and knocked Casper back into the present. Tony, still looking tense, was pulling into a parking space in front of the hospital. 

       Casper’s mouth was dry when he started to speak, making his voice crack a little. “Are you sure this isn’t something you can handle, Tony?”

       Tony simply nodded, turned the car off, and got out. 

       The hospital looked the same as any other day, a series of coral colored towers with a quaint box of an entrance. The parking lot was mostly empty, which was strange for a Sunday, but not strange enough to explain the feeling in Casper’s chest. He felt like his ribcage was sinking inward—a vacuum in his lungs, pulling his bones and heart, making his organs fight to work correctly. As they reached the door, Tony noticed that Casper had stopped to lean against a column about ten feet back. 

       “Hey, you alright, Maddox?” Tony’s voice sounded pretty chipper, but he was still shifting around nervously, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with Casper. 

       “I’m good.” Casper said, touching his badge through his shirt pocket, “Just suddenly had a head rush. Maybe I should’ve eaten earlier.” 

       Tony gave Casper a fragile grin and said, “C’mon, this’ll all be over before you know it. Then you can get back home and get some food in ya.”

       The next few moments were kind of a blur; they spoke with a receptionist, they took an elevator down a few floors, they spoke to another receptionist, they stood outside of a door marked “morgue” as a doctor swiped his key card. Just like the ride to the hospital, Casper’s mind was on Kerry. He hadn’t thought of her this much in days, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

       The door beeped and they made their way in. The room was of course, very cold; Casper could see his breath in front of him and thought about cigarettes. His mind was still buzzing; his chest still felt like it was collapsing. A cigarette would be really great right about now.

       They stopped in front of a wall of drawers and while the doctor (mortician?) was speaking, Casper found himself unsure if he knew the man’s name. He just nodded along, having no clue what the man said. 

       The drawer slid out silently, and Casper knew that although he was off duty, he needed to really pay attention now. Whatever this was, it was important enough for Tony to drag him out here. 

       “Are you sure about this?” The doctor said.

       Casper’s throat was a gravel driveway, his voice, a slow moving car. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

       Casper walked up the wheelchair access ramp and tapped on the glass (the new receptionist had forgotten to unlock it again). Casper was accustomed to the wheelchair ramps, ever since Kerry’s surgery. He wondered whether she was still using the chair (she didn’t need it, just when her knees acted up).

       The receptionist (Millie, was it?) nodded at Casper and frowned her way over.

       “Detective Maddox.” she said.

       “Yes ma’am,” said Casper. “You oughta remember this door.”

       “I know,” is all she said before waddling back to the desk to answer one of the many phones beep-ringing away.  She didn’t ask why he was there on his day off; she was too busy trying to be busy. Casper nodded and gave her a flat stranger’s smile before making his way to down to the cells, to knock on yet another door.

       “Hold up,” Tony called from the other side.

       Casper could already hear Kerry murmuring.

       “Yeah, yeah. You’re good, you’re fine girl,” Tony said to her. “Just sit down, finish that water, alright?”

       Tony raised his brow and wiped his chin before unlocking the door electronically.

       “Maddox, you clocked in? Please handle your girlfriend.”

       “She’s not my—”

       “She’s spittin’ all over herself, real mess. I don’t know what she got into, man. She ever do recreations, have any habits?”

       Casper wanted to answer, to talk about the pain pills after surgery, or the binging before the boat party. “Yeah, maybe,” is all he said.

       “I’m taking lunch, man. You got this? You got this, aight. You want anything?”

       “Not hungry,” said Casper. “I’m off today, Tony, just here for her. So be quick.”

       “I eat slow, man. Doc’s orders, but I’ll be back.”

       Tony patted Casper’s back hard enough to make him burp, then left, the door paging shut and locking.

       Kerry was in the floor of the cell, her back turned, her hair resting on her shoulders. She wore a floral sundress and sandals; she must’ve been dressed for lunch when she had a few too many at La Pentola again. Casper was familiarly disappointed in her, but glad enough that she’d made her way out of bed today.

       “Ker-bear.”

       She shuddered perceptibly then spun around.

       “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry.” Casper tried to smile.

       “Ghostie…” she choked out. Her hair was wet with vomit, probably wine.

       “Cute,” said Casper.

       “Ghostie, I figured it out.”

       “That’s good, Ker. Seeing a new therapist?”

       “Ugh, no. Hate them. Hate ‘em all. I’m just trauma…all they say.” Kerry hiccupped, then lost her footing and fell to her butt. “I know what it means, where she’ll be when it rains,” she continued. “Anastasia Park, under the pier.”

       “The girl you saw?”

       “The siren.”

       Casper was sure it’d only ever been her reflection in the water the night of the boat party. He understood how the mind could work around trauma, how it could create distractions—illusions, figments like Kerry’s siren.

       “Well, that’s good. Why don’t I go to the pier, say hello, ask her to drinks.”

       “Don’t patronize me, okay?” Kerry looked like she was trying to stand up, but she only slid forward to the bars. “I know what happened, and I know what you think. It’s my fault that barbarian touched me, I get it. You can go on thinking that: I’m a woman, I’m so helpless. Whatever, dude. Just whatever.”

       Casper had learned to let her speak. It didn’t matter now; they weren’t trying to resolve anything. He wasn’t trying to fix her anymore. He was only there so she wouldn’t hurt herself. And so she wouldn’t be anyone else’s problem down at the station (Tony had enough to deal with).

       She burped and continued, slurring: “But what’s important: I drowned, okay? I drowned, and came back. I was down there, I saw her like I’m seein’ you. I know where she is, what she’s doing—I know now it’s a warning, Ghostie.”

       Casper bubbled over and reluctantly his mouth opened.

       “Kerry, he’s in jail now, okay? I put that man away, and he can’t ever hurt you or anyone again. Do you know how hard it was to put Junior behind bars? Family like that, and the money…just remember that, all right? I don’t care if you thank me, but you gotta get your shit together, Ker-bear, or you’re gonna end up in a cell right next to him.”

       “No I won’t. They just think I’m crazy. No one believes me…you said you would, you always would.”

       “You broke that trust.”

       “He did. Not me.”

       “Okay, so you want outta here or what? Or does Sutter sound good to you?”

       “Loony bin has gotta be safer…” she groused, turning her back again. “Probably be safer there…when the floods come.”

       Kerry gulped, hiccupped some more, and started breathing fast and thick.

       “What did you take?”

       “Nothing.”

       “What did you take?”

       “Nothing. Just some drinks, okay. A bottle.”

       “What did you not take?”

       Kerry started laughing maniacally, and it made her respire even thicker. “You still know me, Ghostie.”

       “And you know me. Let’s get outta here, yeah? You’re gonna have to walk a little. Drink your water.”

       Kerry harrumphed. “My boyfriend won’t even carry me?”

       “I’m not your—”

                                         NOT MY GIRLFRIEND

           Casper Maddox had a habit of romanticizing his coffee. No matter the brand, blend or bean it never tasted the way he thought it should taste, the way he hoped it would. One particular morning, a Floridian Wednesday in October, his hazelnut creamer wasn’t doing him any favors. But his view from the big bay window of his oceanfront property gave him encouraging chills.

           The floods had come and gone, the sand below still wet from last night’s steady rain. The weather reports afforded the town of St. Augustine a month of weak sunshine before more flash floods; another hurricane with an equally snappy name as Toto.

           Casper one-handedly tugged his hair into a bun, not without struggle. Kerry had always liked his hair that way. He peered into the living room behind him, where Kerry’s favorite chair almost glowed in the growing sunlight. He could just see her there, curled up and sitting on her thick white legs. It was his favorite part of her, and he could admit that sounded pretty awful. He would’ve liked to say her smile, but Kerry didn’t smile much. He would’ve liked to say her eyes, but he honestly couldn’t remember their damned color. He swore they changed from blue to green (that was his excuse anyway).

           But her empty chair and her fading face shook him from his bay window view. He sat where she would’ve sat, sipped his coffee idealistically, and breathed her in. She’d only truly been gone a week, but the distance and arguments were untraceable; Kerry and conflict were synonymous. It was due in part to her mother, he was sure. At least she had one, he thought. And the thought alone unburied an argument in his memory and he began to cry (finally allowing a tear or two, and laughing as the lipids dripped into his sad sad coffee).  

           Perhaps the encroaching heat from the returning sun could heal him. Perhaps he’d take a trip out to the parks, get his money’s worth on those annual passes. A Mickey Mouse Ice Cream Bar seemed like just the thing.

           Just then, Casper’s phone rang. It took him a moment to collect himself, to stop floating in his theme park daydream. He realized it was his phone, and that his X-Files theme ringtone barreled effervescently from the kitchen. He stood up and spilt coffee on his knuckles.

           “Goddammit!”

           Casper was suddenly aware, with pain echoing through his hand, that today was a day just like any other. He would not be allowed to relax. Duty called.

           “Hello?” he answered, his voice dry and not loud enough.

           “Maddox?” It was Tony. “We’ve got her down at the station.”

           “Who?”

           “Your girlfriend.”

           “She’s not my—”

           “She’s in rough shape. Got into pills or ‘shrooms or some such. Saying, uh…the friendly ghost knows…(I figure she means you)…uh…he knows where the siren sleeps, but um…not when she wakes. And now she’s just repeating ‘I know, I know when she wakes’ and ripping out her hair. She puked a bit ago. Anyway, I think you should get down here before they take her to the bughouse.”  

           Casper burnt his tongue on his underwhelming coffee as he listened. He nodded, but quickly realized Tony couldn’t see him nodding.

           “So, you coming, or you care or what?” said Tony.

           “Yeah, okay. Don’t let them move her.”

           Casper hesitated so hard he forgot to breathe. “I’ll be there in thirty,” he finally said.