Now she knew better. Now she knew that death lay in wait everywhere, not just in the ocean that had stolen away her love.
Amelia was thinking only of escaping Barnum, so it took some time before she was aware of the trail of murmurs she left behind her. She gradually became aware of people staring as she passed, many of them not bothering to disguise their interest.
“That’s her, isn’t it?”
“The mermaid.”
“I’m sure it’s her.”
“Where is she going?”
“Where’s Dr. Griffin?”
“That’s the mermaid.”
“The mermaid.”
“The mermaid.”
Amelia trained her eyes forward, pretending she didn’t hear. She thought that if she didn’t acknowledge the words, then they wouldn’t be true and the people would leave her alone, let her pass.
It was a foolish thought, one born of hope rather than reason. Only a few hours before, they had stormed the stage to get closer to her. Out here, in the street, she didn’t even have the protection of glass around her.
A man suddenly yelled out, “Yes, that’s her! That’s the mermaid!” and then they surged toward her, pressing against her, stroking her hair, reaching for her arm, her hand, a bit of her skirt.
All of them shouted—shouted questions, offered her money and jewels, tried to grab her and drag her to the nearest newspaper office to sell her story.
She tried to speak, to push through, but they choked her with their questions and their breath and their insistence on knowing, knowing, knowing everything about her. She threw out her hands, wished for the claws of her water form. If she had them she would slash her way free, never mind the blood, why were they stopping her, why were they standing in her way?
She had no strength as a human, at least none to compare to that which she had in the water. She could not move the demanding shouting faces, and the more she tried to turn away, the more they wanted.
Even in the tank she was able to curl into her fin. If she tried to curl into herself here, she would be trampled. Trampled like that woman in the theater.
But maybe that would be better. Maybe if she simply lay down in the street, they would batter her until she was dead and then she could stop pretending she’d cared about anything since Jack died.
That thought made her stop struggling, though everyone around her continued to push, continued to scream, continued to touch and grasp and grab at her.
Was it true? Did she want to die rather than go on without Jack? She took out this idea, turned it over, examined it.
All those days and hours she stood on the cliff . . . was she waiting for a sign, something to tell her it was all right to let go? Perhaps she’d hoped for a bolt of lightning, or an arrow carelessly loosed to plunge into her heart.
She didn’t know how such things might affect her, though—her body seemed immune to the diseases that killed humans, and old age might never take her. If she’d stayed with her people, perhaps it would have been different.
Amelia recalled old ones among them, and of course there were folk who died. Was it the change that kept her young? If so, she might never die. There might be no power on the earth to end her life.
All of the days and all the years stretched out before her, every one of them cursed without Jack.
Then there was a different kind of shout, and she remembered where she was and the people all around her.
Someone called her name. “Amelia! Amelia!”
She spun on her heel, and behind her was Levi, shoving his way through the crowd.
“Dr. Griffin!” several people shouted.
Some of them moved toward Levi, loosening their grip on Amelia just enough that she was able to break through the crowd.
A man, determined to have what he wanted from her, followed her out and clutched a fistful of her hair near the scalp. She supposed she should have screamed, but she was too astonished to do so.
Amelia reached behind her and grabbed the man’s hand with both of hers, digging in with her too-short human fingernails. He yelped in pain and released her, but now the crowd, temporarily distracted by the appearance of “Dr. Griffin,” recalled that she was there and washed toward her again.
She threw a glance at Levi, saw him struggling to reach her, but she couldn’t wait for him. They were coming for her again, those hordes, those hungry faces, and she had to escape.
Amelia met Levi’s eyes, tried to tell him with just her gaze that she was sorry. Then she ran, and ran, and ran until the crowd lost the will to keep up with her (for many of them ran after her), but she kept running even after they fell away, because running felt like swimming, and the faster she ran, the freer she was, fast and free and far away from everything that hurt.
Levi found her hours later, sitting on the edge of a tiny dock with a small dinghy tethered to it. She sat like a child, knees curled into her chest and arms wrapped around her knees, her hair pulled all around her shoulders like a blanket.
He’d despaired of finding her at all, but he kept looking anyway, promising himself one more hour—just one more—and then he would give up and go home.
When he did find her, it was like a repeated memory, the same sensation of illusion he’d had when he found her huddled in the museum. She looked up when she heard his footsteps on the dock. Her shoulders hunched, her body ready to spring away from any strange intruder. She didn’t speak when she saw him, but her shoulders relaxed. He had the sense, though, that she was still reserving the right to dart away if she chose.
He lowered himself to the dock beside her (with a momentary pang for his suit trousers—Dr. Griffin dressed much more elegantly than Levi Lyman). He cross his ankles and leaned back on his hands, affecting a casualness he did not feel. Then he waited. He had found her, and it was enough. Whatever happened after that was her choice.
Below them the water lapped gently against the pilings, and in the distance was the occasional splash of a sea creature slapping against the surface. It should have smelled fresher here, away from the manure and sewage and pigs, but mostly it smelled of fish and the rotting vegetation that built up against the pilings.
Amelia, it seemed, was content to sit there indefinitely. She might be mute until she finally shed her clothes and returned to the water or until Levi gave up waiting and returned to Barnum. Levi, who was not a particularly patient human, was not willing to wait that long.
“Why didn’t you go?” he asked, when it seemed she might never speak.
“I thought I wanted to die,” she said. “Out there, with all those people surrounding me.”
“Because you felt overwhelmed?” he asked, trying to understand. He didn’t see what this had to do with her not leaving.
“No, because I didn’t want to live without Jack. I never thought about it before—just how long my life might be.” She paused. “Then I thought I should just lie down in the street and let them trample me like they did that poor woman in the theater. That would be correct, wouldn’t it? That would be the right punishment for me.”
“Punishment?” He’d never heard her speak this way before. “Why should you be punished?”
“That’s what all you Christians say, isn’t it? That when you sin, you should be punished?”
“But what have you done that’s a sin?” Levi asked. “I can’t see how this is your fault.”
“I was the cause of her death,” Amelia said, her voice breaking. “They were all running to see me and she got in the way.”