When little Goldie resurfaced, her legs were gone.
In their place was a small, perfectly formed tail, scales glittering blue and green, even in the grainy black and white footage.
Goldie felt the blood drain from her face as she watched her childhood self flick the tail experimentally, splashing water over the tub’s edge. Her mother looked not shocked but resigned, glancing uneasily toward the camera. Finally, shaking her head, she rose and strode forward to block the lens with one hand.
The film ended abruptly, jolting Goldie back to the tiny film booth where she presently sat. For a moment, the reel continued to spin, along with her mind. It made a nonsensical clack, clack, clacking sound as the film flapped with every revolution. Goldie quickly stood to switch off the machine. Her heart was pounding so wildly, she had to fight the instinct to fling the tray away. She almost wished she hadn’t seen it.
Guardedly, she placed the film back into its container on the table. She pushed it as far away from herself as possible, without tipping it out onto the floor.
She sat motionless, her mind struggling to process what she’d seen. None of it made sense. Had this film been doctored? Was it some kind of elaborate hoax? But the film stock was clearly authentic, the aging consistent throughout. And something deep within her recognized the truth of it. Was this the truth, then? A truth her conscious mind had either forgotten or been made to forget?
With trembling hands, she loaded the second reel. She needed to see more.
The projector whirred back to life. This time, the footage showed the familiar Catalina pier, remarkably unchanged even after all these decades. This scene was clearly from a more professional shoot. The camera’s mount was steady, the framing deliberate. Goldie recognized herself immediately. She was wearing the flowing gown she’d worn for the last scene inThe Mermaid’s Whisper.She recalled how itchy and uncomfortable it had been. But she’d put up with it. She hadn’t wanted to get a reputation for being difficult. She’d needed the money from the films to support her father.
The camera followed behind her in the moonlit scene, capturing her bare feet as she walked to the end of the pier, glancing furtively around. The footage had no sound, of course, but Goldie could read her own lips as she turned to say something.
It looked like “I can’t wait any longer.”
Then, without the slightest hesitation, the woman on screen dove into the water.
Exactly how the director had desperately wanted it to end.
Except that’snotwhat she recalled had happened, nor was it the end of the classic film that had been screened at hundreds of theaters across the country. Ondalune hadn’t jumped into the water. It was one thing to wear a costume that was uncomfortable. It was another thing entirely to put her own life in danger. No job was worth risking that! Avoiding any exposure to seawater had even been written into her contract. Goldie had refused to dive into the water for that last scene. Hadn’t she?
She sucked in a breath as she plunged into this impossible scene, utterly unable to reconcile the footage that followed.
The camera followed her beneath the waves, capturing underwater footage that should have been impossible with the technology of the time. Yet there it was, crystal clear and shining: Goldie swimming beneath the surface, her gown billowing around her legs—until they weren’t legs anymore.
The transformation was swift and fluid. Where her lower body had been was now a magnificent tail, iridescent scales catching what little light penetrated the water. The mermaid—for she was undeniably a mermaid—moved with grace and freedom, circling back to gaze at the camera with an expression of pure joy before turning and swimming away, out toward the deeper waters.
The film continued for another minute, following her retreat until she was just a distant shimmer in the vast ocean, and then it, too, ended.
Goldie switched off the projector again and sat in the forgiving darkness of the projection booth as she tried to catch her breath. The only sound was the steady tick of the cooling fan they used to keep the projector from overheating. As Goldie’s breathing steadied, she began to feel strangely calm, almost as if some part of her had always known. Everything was beginning to make sense. Here was a reason for her unnaturally long life. She’d finally found the explanation for her lifelong connection to the sea. And she understood the inexplicable pull she felt toward the water, even when it hurt her.
She was a mermaid. Or part mermaid. Something not quite human.
Could it be true? She ran her hands over her arms and legs, reveling in the feeling of strength and vitality that had surged since her meeting with Cosimo last night. Last night. Only one day since her “reaction!”
She’d seen it with her own eyes, the way her saltwater-dampened skin glowed silver in the moonlight. She should have been shocked by it, but she hadn’t been. Nor had Cosimo. Had he known what she was all along?
She thought of his words on the beach: “If I told you what I was, you could only hate me.” What did that make him then? Something like her? Or something … else?
She took the matchbook from her pocket and examined it again, looking for clues in the photo. She recognized the sequined gown. Off camera, beneath the table, she was certain that the dress she was wearing was missing the tail that she’d snipped herself out of. The program laid across the table in front of them confirmed her suspicions. She could just make out the tiny print. It readThe Mermaid’s Whisper.
The photograph, Goldie realized, was taken on the night of the premiere. Why couldn’t she remember?
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as pieces shifted into place. Her mother’s overprotectiveness around water. The strange “treatments” she’d endured as a child that she could barely remember. The odd, knowing way that her director had spoken to her on that set, and for years afterward.
But questions still outnumbered answers. Who had filmed these moments? Why couldn’t she remember transforming? And most urgently—who had kept the films all these years, only to send them to her now?
She rewound both reels carefully, closing them back inside to their containers. It was late, and the security guard would make his rounds soon. As she packed up her things, she looked down once more at the silent movie palace.
“The Mermaid’s Whisper,” she whispered to the empty theater. “If only the mermaid had known her own truth.”
Moonlight rippled across the water as Goldie stepped outside, her treasure tucked safely in her bag. She had spent a lifetime, an unnaturally long lifetime, wondering what she was. Now she knew, but the knowledge only made the mystery of her existence deeper.
She turned toward home, her step somehow lighter despite the weight of her revelation. She needed to find Cosimo. If anyone had answers about what she was and why she was this way, she suspected it would be him.
