Last Message by Shane Peacock

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    We got out and stripped off our suits, young Johnny still not saying a single word. Mr. Halliday was reluctant to take the stack of Euros I offered him but, in the end, accepted them and hugged me tightly again, tears in his eyes, and kissed me four times on each cheek. I was about to say goodbye, when he mentioned something that stopped me cold.
    â€œI wish, monsieur, that you could have… plongé avec nous …uh, dived with us on that important day. I had… mes mains …my hands on the pieces of the plane itself. I was just a…assistant… mais …I touch the things St. Ex touch. I even give Johnny here a—how do I say it?—gift…from the plane.”
    â€œA gift?”
    â€œWe could not, you know, keep anything from the plane itself, mais …I found a rock in the cockpit.”
    â€œA rock?”
    â€œ Oui. I turned it over, and underneath it was, uh, remarkable. It was un couleur un peu bizarre —”
    â€œBizarre? It was…it was a strange color?” My heart began to pound.
    â€œ Oui . It must have smashed through the cockpit window of the plane when it crashed. So it was not part of the plane but it had been inside it. I thought that was special, especially le couleur bizarre , so I give it to Johnny.”
    My head snapped over to butt-crack boy. I must have given him a strange look, because he actually stepped away from me. What if this rock hadn’t smashed through the cockpit window from the outside when the plane struck the bottom of the sea? What if it was already in the cockpit, carried there by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry?
    â€œDid it say anything?” I asked.
    Halliday looked a little alarmed. “Say anything? Dit quelque chose? Monsieur, it was a rock.”
    â€œWas there anything written on it?”
    He appeared relieved. “ Mon ami ,” he chuckled, “what a strange thing to say! It came in through the window! It had many algae sur le surface , no? And barnacles? Johnny was two year old, maybe three, but I just thought he would like le couleur , et —”
    â€œI want to see it. Now!”

ELEVEN
    MESSAGE FROM THE SEA
    I had to wait for them to pack up the submersible, and it just about drove me nuts. It must have taken an hour. I wanted to scream.
    While I paced around, I wrote a long email to Vanessa. I told her all about being under the Mediterranean Sea, the beauty down there, the romance of seeking St. Ex’s crash site and the building excitement of this assignment. Then I texted Shirley, but by then the submersible was almost on the truck. Going well , was all I had time to say.
    We made our way to the Halliday’s home out on a nearby point, at the end of a dirt road far away from everyone else but with a nearly 360-degree view of the water. Just the two of them lived there. There wasn’t any sign of a female resident, believe me. It was a ramshackle wooden place that looked as if Mr. Halliday had whacked it together with a hammer and nails. It was probably worth about one-tenth of his submersible. The living quarters were tiny and cluttered with dirty clothing and dirty dishes and filled with a horrible smell I couldn’t identify. I counted five dogs and nine cats, and they seemed to have the run of the place. Attached to the house at the back was a lab of some sort, about three or four times the size of the living area. I could see microscopes and sea plants and fish skeletons on lab tables; a lovely odor was emanating from there too. I kept my distance.
    â€œJohnny!” cried Halliday. “Show Monsieur Murphy le rock.” But Johnny was slouching along with his earbuds in, listening to a thrash metal band that was growling out French lyrics like the lead singer was Satan’s PR guy. It was so loud that I could almost make out every word. ( Les Américains and diable came out clear as a bell.) Halliday had to rip the buds from his ears and repeat himself.