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Dad locked up the building and popped the Closed sign in place on the door, as the rest of us piled into the minivan.
This wasn’t a deep dive, so we weren’t in need of heavy-duty equipment. With only flippers in hand, we parked the work vans at the edge of the beach and traipsed across the sand to where yellow tape fluttered around a gathering of police officers and an empty body bag.
“Are you ready?” The chief’s face was the only part of her visible in her bulky black coat. “The winds are going to pick up in a few hours.”
“We won’t need that long,” I said, tying back my hair with a scrunchie. “We’re ready to go.”
I looked back at Dad, who gave me a nod. This was his business, even if he had put me temporarily in charge.
“Talismans on,” I said.
I wedged my talisman into the hexagonal plastic talisman holder in the chest of my suit. A small hole at the back allowed the talisman to touch the skin, allowing the effects to take place with no fiddling on my part.
We stepped into our flippers, and as the police officers looked on, I led the way, wading into the water, the others following a few paces behind.
Once the water came up to my arms, I plunged under the water. Despite the purpose of the dive, a sense of peace washed over me.
I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about swimming in open water that I loved so much. Perhaps it was the weightlessness or the gracefulness of movement that I just couldn’t accomplish on land, but swimming was a pleasure I could never give up.
The ocean gaped beneath us, with no fish in sight. Shark sightings were frequent around Dusk though, and I wasn’t sure how they would react to the presence of a dead body. I would keep an eye out.
We gave the rocks a wide berth as we swam around to the divot in the cliffs where the body lay.
The body was draped over a plethora of jagged rocks, its head resting at an awkward angle. Its arms and legs drifted up and down with the waves, the hands and feet dangling into the water.
I slipped off my flippers and wedged them onto a nearby rock. I had climbed enough of them in my youth to have developed a tough layer of skin to protect my feet from the sharp protrusions.
“Dad, can you get up here?” I asked as I manoeuvred across the rocks toward the body.
It was actually in a suitable position. If I could keep most of the staff in the water, they wouldn’t have to see much of the gross parts.
Dad clambered up behind me and followed me along the rocks.
Under the eyes of all the approaching staff, I kept a neutral expression as I caught my first sight of the corpse’s face.
It wasn’t the face I remembered, but there was no doubt in my mind the body was Tyler Bakewell’s.
His mouth gaped, and something had plucked out an eye, revealing a greying hollow socket. His skin had the consistency of paper and looked whiter still. The fish had already gouged chunks out of his ankle overnight, but the limb remained intact.
Dad winced and pressed a fist beneath his throat. Whatever was coming up, I hoped he kept it down.
“We should close his mouth.” Dad reached gingerly for Tyler’s face, but I grabbed his wrist before he could touch him.
“Waste of time,” I muttered.
I couldn’t explain that his jaw would sooner break off than close when rigor mortis had set in. Not in front of the staff, at least.
“If you could all get into two lines and hold a hand above your head, we’re going to feed him over to you,” I said, wincing at my choice of words.
The staff trod water into two wonky lines just long enough to accommodate Tyler’s body, and each stretched a hand gingerly above their heads. The higher we could levitate his body, the less they would see.
I clambered around the rocks to the other side of Tyler’s body. His ear was missing on the other side.
“On the count of three, Dad, we’ll lift him,” I said. “Ready?”
Dad nodded, the whites of his eyes too visible as he stared at Tyler’s face.
“Dad?” I asked.
