Waves

It wasn’t a particularly pretty shell, but it was whole, with barnacles on the top and a pale sandy coloring that faded into purple in thin stripes, scalloped edges, and broken pieces with bits of grainy sand that I couldn’t wipe away in the waves. Where it used to attach to something larger, there was a flat section. Flat enough that it could sit on my desk on its own like a paper weight. But it was bumpy on the bottom too, as if it hadn’t wanted to leave whatever it was attached to, as if it were ripped away from the ocean.

“Put it back,” Paul said, “it’s gross.”

“No, it’s not.” He took it from me and threw it out into the waves. I gasped, watching it fall into the surf.

“You don’t need another one,” he said.

“I always need another one,” I mumbled, shoving my toes into the wet sand. He took my hand and dragged me along toward the car. I shuffled my feet and he kicked up sand that brushed against my shins. Paul didn’t like sand, but he put up with it because he knew this was one of the few days I would have outside. At least he knew what he was getting into when he was assigned to me for the day. I always picked the water. He opened the car door for me. We drove in silence.

“You got it back, didn’t you?” he said.

I held up the shell, perfect in its imperfection. He sighed, “What did I throw into the water?”

“Your watch,” I said. He groaned as what was once a watch on his wrist melted into a bit of seaweed. He rolled down the window and tossed it out onto the highway.

“At least it wasn’t my Rolex,” he said, “You couldn’t have had me throw a rock or something?”

“There wasn’t time. You would have noticed the illusion before long. You’re better at picking up on it than the others.”

He was quiet for a while.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. I smiled. I had enjoyed it, but I wouldn’t tell him that. It was better to let Paul dangle. He was more on edge if he couldn’t read me. Then he didn’t know what to tell his superiors.

“We’ll be back by dawn. You should get some sleep.”

“We couldn’t have stayed to watch the sunset?” I asked, “It would have been so romantic.” A tinge of red crept up high on his cheekbones. He cleared his throat and glanced at me as I smirked. I rolled over in the passenger’s seat, so my back was to him and took the shell back out of my pocket. It would go in my collection. Little bits and bobs I’d found or stolen over the years, when they finally let me out for a long enough to find something worth keeping.

“R-5, checking in,” Paul said. A static noise, then a voice called back through the car speaker.

“R-2, responding. Status?”

“R-5, with Ocean and heading back. ETA 0500.”

“R-2, understood.” The line went dead. Paul sighed again and I peeked at him over my shoulder. His dark skin pinched between his eyebrows as if he were in mild pain. He often looked like that. It just wasn’t the kind of pain I could see. Sometimes when he or one of the others was hurt, I’d be called to make them think they weren’t. I’d be called to give an illusion so they wouldn’t feel the pain of the surgery, or their life slipping away if there was nothing else to be done. Those were some of the hardest days, and also the days which kept me reluctantly alive.

But, though I hate to admit it, it got easier once Paul came. They’d decreased my guard to five when he did. It’s because he’s better at seeing the illusions than most. But I can sometimes catch him off guard with the little things. Bigger illusions have always been his specialty, though he’s so young. Younger than me even. I don’t know where they found him. Maybe he was some officer plucked from the military schools. At least babysitting me would keep him of the front lines if not out of the bullet’s path.

He couldn’t make them himself. The illusions. Still, he was a more worthy opponent than I’d had in a long time, and I relished making him squirm.

Eventually I did close my eyes. When I opened them we were pulling into the driveway and Paul’s eyes were red rimmed and baggy.