Death of a Mermaid
User Submitted Story Elements:
· A submarine, that's a cruise ship
· false murder accusation
Everyone knows her, nobody knows who killed her.
To say that Alezae Ruelle was rich was like saying that Bill Gates messed around with computers. Forbes Magazine once did an article on her father’s oil empire, but that’s just the money that started his fortune. Gervais Ruelle was into much, much more than oil. His portfolio of investments was just about as diversified as his taste in wives, and he handled both kinds of transactions with the shrewdness and skill that had earned him the name of Le Grand Requin Blanc, The Great White Shark.
Of course, with a name like that, it was no surprise to anyone when he started his own cruise line. But with his usual flair for business Gervais Ruelle took oceanic vacationing to a whole new level. He didn’t just offer his customers luxury and pleasure upon the waves. He offered them luxury and pleasure under the waves.
And in true Reulle style, only the best would do for his guests. The best in entertainment, the best food, the best gambling, the best service, everything they wanted, right at their fingertips. With such decadence offered in the complete privacy of his underwater kingdoms, it was rather a wonder he ever left.
Yet Gervais Ruelle was not in his stateroom aboard the luxury submarine The Mariana the day that Alezae Ruelle’s body floated past the 8 foot porthole. Thus it was not his latest wife, the Italian model Seraphina, that screamed in horror as the body, borne by deep currents, bumped its way along the side of the motionless, gargantuan submarine. Instead it was a maid, carefully cornering the sheets, who raised the alarm.
Captain Prioleau of course immediately ordered the body recovered, and soon she was borne back, dripping, mangled, and blue by the Expert Dive Instructor who had taught Alezae Ruelle to dive. Nate Jones had probably spent more time with the pampered Princess of the Sea in the last two years than her father had, and as he placed her stiff body upon the deck of the dive bay his wide powerful shoulders shook with emotion.
It was far too late to do anything, so for a few moments everyone just stood around in shocked silence, some too overcome by the loss of Alezae, and some too overcome by the fear of losing their job, or worse, once Le Grand Requin Blanc found out. Jones automatically smoothed her long blonde locks. He pulled some seaweed from her collar, as if it could make some difference in her appearance, as if he could soothe the ghost that surely stood wailing at the sight of her bruised and bloated form.
The call was not a pleasant one for Captain Prioleau to make, of course. Le Grand Requin Blanc’s famous poker face went slack and pale with horror, then wild with emotion as he demanded answers that the poor Captain simply didn’t have. Alezae was dead, probably drowned, and her body was respectfully stored in the walk-in-refrigerator off the dive dock, where they kept the odd shark or octopus speared on excursion.
By the time Le Grand Requin Blanc descended upon The Mariana with his team of forensic scientists as much information had been gathered as possible. Every tape had been scrutinized, every coming and going had been logged, and every person questioned who had been in contact with Alezae over the proceeding few days. The entire ship was eerily quiet with fear as the mini sub attached to the broad underbelly of The Mariana.