Down the Drain
by Cate Gallivan
part 1
A rainy Monday morning, and the bus was late. When it finally splashed up, Derya pushed on, trying to keep her tray of home-baked muffins horizontal. All the seats were taken, so she balanced awkwardly, the handle of her umbrella hooked over her wrist, dripping water on her leg for the whole ride.
The Fall River Natural Wonders Museum was tucked under a trellis bridge in the old navy yard. Its large, brightly painted sign and sweeping entrance countering the industrial feel of the dock, but the narrow employee entrance pier was another story. The ocean swirled beneath its wooden planks, slapping against the underside, goading and threatening.
Derya kept her eyes straight ahead, willing the rotting underbelly to keep her from the water. Her feet slipped here and there on the slick surface, but she held her balance. She was so engrossed in the walk that she didn’t notice Eaton until he was right at her elbow.
“Wow, you’re in the zone! I was calling out to you from the bus stop.” The ends of his stringy hair were wet, dangling over his face like seaweed. Halitosis rolled down like a fog from his great height.
“Oh, sorry, distracted by the weather, I guess.”
“Are those for the staff meeting?” He pointed to the tray. “Here, let me,” he took her umbrella and held it over them, skooching in closer than Derya liked. “Always looking to help a damsel, and we need to protect the muffins.”
“I work on damselflies, but that doesn’t make me a damsel. Not enough wings.” She tried to keep her tone light, but this wasn’t the first time she had had to say that to him. He had also been there long enough to know that all the interns started with the basics, and nothing was more rudimentary than measuring damselflies. But Eaton was the only one who spoke to her. Derya sighed. “Well, I hope it’s enough for everyone. And that Jelissa likes blueberry.”
“If she doesn’t, I’ll insist we check her and make sure she’s human.” He snort-laughed at his own joke. “I brought my garlic bean salad.” Derya suppressed a grimace.
Beckett saw them and held the door open like a disapproving principal after the recess bell had rung. “Muffins go over on that table,” she said, flipping her hair. Somehow she made even that sound bossy.
Everyone was gathered into little groups in the auditorium lobby, sipping coffee and eating pastries from little paper plates. Derya looked around for Jelissa, frustrated that the commute had made her late. This would have been a great opportunity for a casual exchange, to get on Jelissa’s radar: here was a bright, young entomologist ready for more responsibility, her own research project. But there was already a pack around Jelissa, everyone vying to flatter her. Derya drifted back to stand adjacent to the biotech crew.
“I’m just saying that when it comes to alien life, science is being driven by entertainment,” a guy — Alan, she thought — was lecturing. “Say the word ‘alien’, and we all have the same pictures in our heads: ET or some humanoid creature. No one considers gaseous clouds or insects. What if aliens are already here on Earth and we’ve been swatting at them for years without realizing it?” He basked in the ‘wows’ and ‘rights’ of the others. “Derya, you work with the entomologists, what do you think of my theory?”
“Actually, I am an entomologist—”
“Or an octopus. Those might be aliens,” the man next to Alan blurted.
“Yeah, that’s my point!” Alan beamed proudly at the man. “What if aliens took up residence in the ocean and, if you think about it, that really makes sense, considering the land-to-water ratio on Earth.”
“Damselflies need water—” Derya continued.
“We might be walking over an alien on our way in every morning.”
“Everyone, everyone, gather ’round,” Beckett called out officiously. “He’s ready,” she breathed.
Adrian stepped to the front. His CEO-length hair, manscaped eyebrows and designer-stubbled face was on all the promotion literature, signs, even the pay kiosk in the parking garage, but Derya had never actually heard him speak.
“We need to get the Fall River Natural Wonders Museum on the world stage. I looked at all of our programs to see where we should put our energies, and landed on bugs. ICE, the International Conference of Entomology is a year-and-a-half out from Entomology Conference 2025.”
There were a few titters in the crowd, probably the dinosaur team or Horrors of the Deep crew.
“Now, now, this is our opportunity to get on the map. I’ve invited the director of the ICE for a visit on Friday. We have until then to transform this museum into the envy of all bug conferences: dioramas, plenary speech topics, open labs, you name it. There’ll be no way he can refuse.
“Jelissa, our rock star entomologist” — the geologists tittered — “will be the keynote speaker.
“Eaton, you’re off mammal-staging to support Jelissa; anything she needs: slides, speakers, a pointer, whatever it is, you do it.
“Beckett will take care of the dioramas; she’s going for drama, scientific precision, amazement. She needs to focus, so please, no human resource crisis until we land this.”
The group laughed. Beckett preened. “Jelissa will select whatever interns she needs for help; the rest will work with Beckett. There’s a lot to do, so finish up your coffee and let’s get to it.”
Derya went back to the lobby for a blueberry muffin, but they were gone. Beckett was there instead.
“I need you to start working on the dioramas.”
“Shouldn’t I check with Jelissa first? She might need—”
“She has plenty of experienced interns. Let’s get going, you heard Adrian: there’s a lot to finish before Friday.”
They walked to an empty exhibit hall.
“I need you to paint the skies. Don’t make them all the same. Put in clouds, but not too many, I don’t want anyone thinking of storms. It’s about the bugs.”
“What about that part?”
“Jelissa will pick someone, don’t worry. The blue is in the closet. Let Eaton know if you need different brushes.”
* * *
It was a long, boring day. The bus splashed her when it finally rolled up. By the time she got home, her shoes were wet and the damp had soaked through to her feet. A bath would warm her up. Dinner could be thrown together when she was swaddled in her robe.
A movement in the tub caught her eye. A quick wisp by the drain. She might have imagined it. She crouched down and watched. There it was again.
A thin black tendril eased out, followed by a second. They curled over the drain grid and seemed to clench it, trying to escape. Derya was used to dealing with dead things, but this was alive. Pure glee filled her: opportunity. She went in search of a flashlight while making a list of likely insects in drains: cockroaches or psocid mites, maybe.
Back in the bathroom, she waited by the tub, her thumb playing over the flashlight switch. The tendrils returned. She was expecting a carapace, a bulb of a body and some legs. Get a good enough angle to count them, see the joint articulation, and shape of a wing if it had one.
She did not expect to be looked at. Two disproportionally large eyes stared up at her. Were watching her. She was so startled she dropped the flashlight, and it clattered down, the noise echoing off the tiles as it rolled to a stop. She picked it up, laughing at herself and aimed the beam again.
The drain was empty. She decided against taking a bath.
* * *
The week was rolling by, each day indistinguishable from the last: painting skies “sky blue” with a puff of a cloud here and there.
On Wednesday, she was dabbing white for a standard cumulus when voices caught her attention.
“Don’t get me wrong, Adrian, my staff is doing top-notch work. But is it world class? I’m not sure that we’re going to sway ICE from Chicago.”
“Jelissa, we need a real attention-grabber. Snagging the conference will benefit the whole community: the mayor will give us resources; the media attention will get us donors. We need this. Have a chat with the biotech crew, maybe gene splicing; some new species to wow the committee.”
“I don’t know, Adrian, two days? That’s not a lot of time for testing and safety. We don’t want to unleash a new pandemic or something.”
“Look, it doesn’t have to be perfect. This place is — for now — off the beaten path. Have a few interns set up a mock lab display. Splice some dragonfly wings onto a cockroach, something on that order. Then I’ll talk innovation with the director. Nothing firm, nothing definite, just put the idea in his head: the future is happening in Fall River.”
“Alright, I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“I’m counting on you.” He left her in the darkened hall.
This was it. Derya’s chance. She scrambled down the ladder.
“Hi, Jelissa.” Her heart lurched when she said the name.
“Oh, hi... Hi there,” Jelissa answered uncertainly.
“Derya,” she prompted. “I’ve been working with damselflies mainly, helping with the diorama prep now. I’m just about done, though, maybe you need something on the entomology side?”
Jelissa hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve got one more piece, a new exhibit. We’ll go over final details in the morning. You can sit in and share any ideas.”
Derya’s heart soared. “I’ll be there!”
* * *
She was home that night, racking her brains for something special, something unique. Every time she went into the bathroom, her eyes went to the drain. The tendrils were back. Maybe its torso would be long enough for the biotech guy to attach some wings.
She grabbed a flat-head screwdriver and an oversized coffee mug. She’d remove the drain cover, coax the thing up and pop the mug over it. Then slide it into her mesh insect cage for the meeting. This insect was going to change her life.
As soon as the cover was lifted, the thing popped up with such force that Derya sat back on her heels. It was out. The creature perched on the rim across from her. Derya’s mouth went slack. It was much bigger than it should have been, considering the size of the drain: more like the length and width of a rat but gleamed with the iridescence of an insect. And it was looking at her. Lidded eyes, yellow rectangular pupils like a goat’s.
Derya clasped the mug, wondering how best to shoo it into the tub but away from the drain. She was reluctant to touch it. She reached over for a magazine by the toilet. It hadn’t moved. A vague peppery, acidic smell filled the air, maybe from the drain.
Several things happened next, so fast that Derya reacted from instinct, lashing out in revulsion. The thing leapt and its armlike tendrils wrapped around her forearm. It wriggled against her in disgusting movements as though it were trying to mate with her wrist.
She screamed, flailed her arm and slapped at the thing with the magazine until it let go and fell into the toilet. It struggled against the smooth bowl, broke the surface, and spluttered a human-like gasp for breath, splashing to try to keep itself above the water.
Derya was panting, her heart thundering in her ears. She used the magazine to push it back under the surface and hold it down. Now it was in her control. Its tendril limbs flailed about. Served it right for attacking like that. The water ripple and sloshed. A minute passed. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the magazine.
The thing wound down like a broken clock. The tendrils went from violence to metronomic ticking to slight undulations in the stilling water. The magazine was soaked to the tips of her fingers when she tossed it aside.
Copyright © 2024 by Cate Gallivan
