“It was no prank,” I tell Chris. Kat breathes in, giving me a hopeful look that says,You believe me, don’t you?
I do.
“Something came for Chris, too,” I tell Kat. “A shark tooth, tucked under his car windshield wiper.”
Chris goes still, eyes locking on mine.You shouldn’t have told her that,his eyes say.
I draw the jaws closer until my nose bumps a bottom tooth. The smell is terrible. The tissues and cartilage have broken down, releasing putrescine and cadaverine, by-products of decay. And something else, sharp and acrid. Ammonia.
I press the pad of my index finger down harder, then draw my throbbing finger away, inspecting the blood trickling down the tip.
Everything goes silent, that sharp,something’s wrongkind of silence. The air is thick with it. My skin prickles, my stomach sinks.I think of the shark tooth under Chris’s windshield wiper. And then the thought comes in, landing heavy and final.
I stare at the jaws, at the rows of teeth arched like a cruel smile. At the serrated edges shining in the dark, each one razor-sharp and monstrous.
“These aren’t pranks,” I say. “These arewarnings.”
Chapter 16
Shark attack victim identified as tourist Rachel Sutherland
The Daily
by Chris Cooper
Human remains found at a Kangaroo Bay beach earlier this month have been identified as belonging to a Bethanga resident. Rachel Sutherland, 47, suffered catastrophic injuries after being attacked by a great white shark while swimming.
I hover behind Chris, reading over his shoulder and staring at the grainy photo of Rachel Sutherland. She’s sitting alone at a picnic table, blond and bare-faced, smiling drowsily in the sun. I blink and she’s missing limbs, blink again and she’s bloodied chunks of meat bobbing in the seawater.
“They identified her this afternoon,” he says, clacking away on his keyboard, eyes on the screen. “You don’t want to see the photos.”
“Don’t need to,” I tell him. “I was there.”
He freezes, hands floating over the keyboard. “You werethere? And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“…What was it like?”
“Meaty.”
He winces, holding my gaze for a moment before looking away. He grabs at a half-empty water bottle, takes a tiny sip. I watch him screw the cap back on, watch his mouth flatten into a grim line. It’s quiet now, tense. The ceiling fan whirs, blowing stale air; otherwise the room is as still as a painting.
“Melanie…” Chris finally says, “I’m starting to wonder…”
I raise an eyebrow he doesn’t see.
He twists at the bottle cap, lets it roll between his fingers. “You always seem to be in the right place at the right time…”
“It was a fatal shark attack, Chris. I wouldn’t call witnessing it the right time.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was on theDeep Sea,” I say, “Heath’s fishing charter. Used to be my dad’s.”
“I spoke to one of the charter tourists.” Chris frowns. “Alan Wright, I think? I tried to speak with Heath but he wouldn’t comment.”
I say nothing.
