In the darkness, the dreams returned. Constance was standing in front of him, her gaze steady. She had big, sad eyes and a baby in her arms. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a terrible scream, a high-pitched, barely human shriek. It had the ocean in it somehow; it sounded exactly like the seals on the night he took her. As he watched, her eyes became entirely black, the whites disappearing. Her mouth grew bigger, her nose became elongated, her skin darkening to gray. She was half seal, now, a horrific chimera, with a human’s legs and torso but a thick neck and the head of a seal, and she was screaming that awful scream. He wanted to cover his ears, but he couldn’t seem to move his arms. She put the baby down on top of him and turned away, and he wanted to shout, Don’t leave it here. I can’t have it, it’s not mine. What have you done? Where are you going? She’s your baby—come back for her. But no sound came from his lips, and she kept moving away. Now the baby, another half seal, Leonie but not-Leonie, was looking at him with its big dark eyes, but even if he could have picked it up, he wouldn’t have done so. He was repelled by it. He shouted, Come back Constance and do your duty, and he knew that if she didn’t, then the thing was going to die. He experienced the thought in a matter-of-fact sort of way, because he couldn’t, wouldn’t—and what is more, didn’t want to—look after it, not in a million years. And even though there was no sign that she would come back, somewhere in the depths of his brain he knew that she wouldn’t just walk away from Leonie. He had started to feel angry. She was messing with him. She’d turn around in a minute. And yet she kept getting smaller and smaller as she receded into the distance, and she didn’t look around, not once. Her legs were gone then, replaced by a seal’s tail. The last he saw of her, she was diving in a perfect arc, disappearing into the black. The baby opened its mouth and started to scream, and the sound was just like the mother’s: distant, soulful, and so terribly loud.

Someone was shouting, then, and there was a loud knocking sound. The man had opened his eyes and remembered where he was.

“Are you alright in there? Do I need to get the doctor?”

“No,” he’d managed to say, trying to sound convincing. His voice cracked, and he said it again, more forcefully. “No, thank you. I just feel a bit sick. I’m not used to boats.”

“Well,” said the voice, “if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”