A Fine Catch

Tucker watches his clock tick over. She’s been gone too long. He needs to call it in.

He fishes out his phone and dials the local authorities.

“Detective Hook speaking.”

“Detective, Tucker here. I’d like to report a missing fish.”

“Who’s missing?”

“My wife, Detective. She’s red, like a scarlet ruby. She went grocery shopping and hasn’t returned. She left her phone here. I–I don’t know what to do.”

“Fishy,” he says. “How long has she been missing?”

“Six hours. She’s never gone this long.”

“Look, uh, Tucker, was it? She sounds like a fine catch, but you can’t file a missing fish report for another 18 hours. Call us back tomorrow if she’s still absent.”

“Wait, please — what if it’s the land people?”

Detective Hook chuckles on the other end of the line. “If the land people have her, cross your fins she grows a pair of legs.”

Beep, beep, beep… the phone disconnects.

In anger, Tucker throws an empty box of dried worms at his seashell wall. What’s he meant to do to fritter away time, count the grains of sand in his home? “I have to take matters into my own fins,” he says aloud. He leaves his house, resolute. He will catch her.

Tucker loiters outside their local grocery store, Fish Bites, its neon sign seemingly glowing brighter than ever; CLOSED. Where could she be?

“Trouble readin’ the sign, son?”

Tucker swivels to see a fish with a wooden stump for a fin and a sardine hovering dangerously close.

“No, uh, I’m looking for my wife. I think she was here.”

The fish, akin to a brutish pirate yanked out of a madcap fairy tale, swims closer, his stump trudging awkwardly behind. His scales are a discoloured bottle green, his goggle-like eyes on the cusp of popping out of place. Albeit, his most outlandish feature — a rusty, umber hook wedged into his cheek. “Ey, what does she look like?”

“Red, like a scarlet ruby. Your cheek…” Tucker realises he’s misspoken. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said–”

“Do ye believe in the land folk, my boy?” The pirate fish picks out a jagged rock to rest on, his sardine pet in tow. “They caught me twice, mind ye, a long time ago, but I got away. But not without payin’ a price.” The pirate fish sticks out his wooden fin like a prized possession, stirring up a school of bubbles. “I patrol these waters now, ye know, lurkin’ in shadows, waiting for ‘em to return so I can exact my revenge. But they’re quick and dark… ye never see ‘em comin’.”

Tucker gulps. “So, they are real…”

“As real as this stubborn hook, my boy. Now ye female… I do recall the sight of her. A fine catch, she is. I believe she swam that way,” he declares, pointing his wooden fin easterly. “No, that way!” he calls, swinging his hefty stump in the opposite direction. “Now onwards ye go! I have some lurkin’ to do.”

Tucker swims off, wearier than before. His wife has to be close…

Minutes become hours and exhaustion overwhelms Tucker. The night deepens and what appears to be a large clam suspended in the jet-black sky, blazes down. It reminds him of Scarlett’s pearl ring he bestowed upon her on their wedding day — a symbol of protection and his vow to protect her, always.

He can now picture them dancing in their kitchen as newly-weds, consuming dried worms by the packet and her wee voice humming a soft tune. He twirls her and she’s aflame — a red-hot circle swirling in the water, her pearl ring sparkling like bioluminescent plankton.

When they dance, he’s her fierce protector; to catch her if she slips up, to steady her, and never let go.

Abruptly, the sea spirals into black, breaking him from his reverie. What’s happening?

He gazes up to see an eerie shadow making headway on the surface. The sea, once a warm familiar, is suddenly frigid — the cold biting at his flesh in a frenzy. He shutters and a sense of melancholy and unease engulfs Tucker.

His heart jumps and a surge of energy courses through him — is Scarlett in danger? He frantically looks about, dodging seaweed and ghastly, grey rocks that protrude from the seabed. But… nothing.

He swims through briny waters, ducking in and out of caves, bellowing her name. He questions fish that swim by on the whereabouts of his wife, but they’re as clueless as he is.

“She sounds like a fine catch,” pipes up one of the fish. Tucker is about to query them on the shadow that lurks near but something on the ocean floor glints, drawing his attention. He excuses himself and swims down, shovelling up the mysterious object with his fin.

It’s her wedding pearl and Tucker is beside himself.

She’s here. She has to be.

He shoves down any trepidations he has with the shadow monster and swims on, vigilant. His wife is his priority.

Up ahead, a fish lingering over a bed of rainbow-like coral glistens like a scarlet ruby.

Tucker comes to a halt. “Scarlett?”

A tiny voice blurts out his name, “Tucker?”

Her beady eyes lock with his and his heart bursts — it’s her, it’s really her.

“Tucker, I’m so sorry!” she yelps, as they collide with one another. He holds on tight, feeling her warm body against his — a refuge in these ice-cold waters. But it’s a brief respite for fear creeps in. What will happen if he lets go?

Scarlett pulls away and she nervously rabbles. “Tucker, please know how sorry I am. We ran out of dried worm, and I know how much you like it, so I swam to Fish Bites but they were closed. I decided to find another grocer but I went further and further and couldn’t find my way back…” She trails off and he leans in, kissing her forehead, “I have a surprise for you.” She crosses her fins, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

He produces her pearl ring and she bursts with emotion. “My ring!” she cries. “I-I thought I lost it. My goodness, thank you!” He slips it on her fin and Scarlett’s eyes twinkle like stars cascading from the night sky. He smiles, “Till death do us part, my love,” and she beams back.

He then spots food stuck to Scarlett’s mouth. “What’s that?” he chuckles.

“Oh,” she giggles. “Believe it or not, I found a large worm back there. I should have cooked it first, but famished me nibbled on it. I’ll grab what’s left for you.” She promptly turns away, her crimson tail swishing behind her.

Tucker watches her in all her red glory. She is a fine catch.

Then, his heart plummets.

The ominous shadow prowling above is dangling a translucent line lugging bait, and Scarlett looms before it.

Land people.

Tucker surges towards her, panicking, “NO, SCARLETT, DON’T–”

But it’s too late. She’s latched onto the worm and a fishing hook sinks in, wrenching her mouth.

She’s pulled to the surface where the darkness swallows her whole, leaving Tucker reeling.

Two men sway in a yellow, battered boat, bellowing over sounds of harsh winds. “We shouldn’t even be ‘ere, fishin’ in these uncharted waters, Chip!” yells one of the men.

“Not this again,” mutters Chip.

“What?!”

Chip lets out a puff. “People have emptied supermarket shelves and this is our only tucker. Ye know I’m right! Stop complainin’ and land her!”

Scarlett lands in the boat with a thud, the hook buried deep. She gasps for water but life above the sea is no match for her gills.

“She’s red, like a scarlet ruby!” Chip lets out. “What a fine catch!”