Siren. Part 4

Evan picked up a rock and threw it sideways to skip across the waves. It bounced once, twice, thrice...and disappeared.

The emptiness of the waves washed over him and he felt his loss more than ever...the vastness of the world was upon him in the night, and Evan cried. He looked out into the mist of the night, to the horizon, black with empty promises of something that might be tomorrow. Black with...nothing. Evan cried and he wished for more.

There was more.

There was music. He heard the sweet, gentle notes crest the waves like dust. Quietly yet still strong...the sound somehow rose above the rush of water and he listened. He felt the music move his heart and, more importantly, his soul. He tried to ignore it. The music of the naked woman could not impact his life...could not come between him and Sarah. Yet, he could not deny its beauty, its purity. The sound was everything Evan had ever wanted. He closed his eyes to shut it out, but the motion only allowed the sound to cling deeper to his soul...she was inside him, and he could not say no to force her out.

Evan felt his breathing increase, and he knew that he could not deny her call. And then...there she was. Walking out of the waves just in front of him. She strode across the sand, naked and beautiful...perfect. Her eyes were deep and dark...yet bright somehow. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked full and firm...desperately longing for him. Her legs posed long and strong, gently curved calves sculpted to muscular thighs, leading across the delta of her s.e.x to the pit of her belly. Her thighs s.h.i.+mmered with wetness, and begged for him to look between, to the place that wanted him...the place that dripped with the ocean, and would, in seconds, drip with him...if he let her.

She was in front of him, and she put cold hands on his shoulders. He could not deny her...he drew her close, and his clothes were instantly damp with the embrace. She felt small in his arms, and yet strong. Her arms fit within his as if she were just a girl, but her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed against him with an urgency and a fullness that said she was no girl. She said nothing, but her lips spoke enough. They nibbled at his ear, and then slipped to his neck.

"No," Evan said at first, but he was unconvincing...and then her lips were on his, and his tongue met hers, and "no" was not at all what it said.

Evan kissed the naked woman who pressed against him as if she were the first woman he had ever kissed. His entire body seemed to melt with her touch, and thoughts of Sarah fled like dreams of a past life. His moment was here, now...

He couldn't deny her, and her hands helped lift his s.h.i.+rt, and fumble the zipper down on his pants. And then he was naked on the beach as well, pressing against her...flesh meeting like heat and cold do-first drawing apart and then melting together. They were like opposites, sea creature and land, but he wanted her more than anything. Her tongue moved against his teeth and lips and he accepted her, drew her in. She was everything he desired; cool and hot in equal measures. She was a fever dream.

He drew her down to the sand and never broke their embrace, his hands exploring her back and ribs and yes, her b.u.t.t-which was softer than any pillow he'd ever laid his head against. Her own hands explored him too, and he felt himself grow to steel against her...so hard that he couldn't think of much more than quenching himself within her...using her secret place to soothe the heat she'd inspired.

Her lips didn't allow him time to think about it for long, as her fingers slipped up from his a.s.s to his head, and pulled him tight to her, urging him inside. And he complied, slipping into that place he'd only gone to with Sarah for years...he moved within her as if it were his second home. Her body offered an exotic attraction, yet also instant familiarity and pleasure, his c.o.c.k driving deeper and deeper into her, desperately trying to find her core. Evan took the woman as his own, and her moans of pleasure echoed above the surf like carnal music. When at last he was spent, and slipped out of her to gasp exhausted on his back in the sand, she leaned over and kissed his belly, and then his chest, licking around his nipples to arrive finally at his neck, and then his lips. He tasted the salt of his own sweat on her mouth, and then she began to sing.

Evan felt himself drifting off to sleep in the comfort of her melody, and despite his eyelids' desire to close, he smiled and whispered, "Who are you?"

She paused and with a voice that seemed to come from inside his soul, she answered, "Ligeia."

Chapter Ten.

Evan woke to the moon overhead, its light sharp and piercingly white in his eyes. A cool night breeze swept the beach, and he s.h.i.+vered. Goose b.u.mps peppered his arms, and he realized that he'd been sprawled out there, nude on the sand, visible to anyone who might be out for a late-night stroll. For how long?

"s.h.i.+t!" He rolled to a crouch and looked around, but spotted n.o.body. What time was it? He hurriedly brushed the sand off his skin and pulled on his pants. Once half dressed, he located his cell phone and checked the time. 11:34. Not too late, but late enough. Thank G.o.d it wasn't three in the morning.

Evan shook out his s.h.i.+rt and then slipped it over his head. He scanned the beach again, and n.o.body looked to be around, including the woman. Ligeia?

A sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as the memory of their coupling played out in his mind like a p.o.r.nographic movie. He had cheated on Sarah. G.o.d...why? Things had been difficult with them this year, but even when they'd grown distant he'd never really wanted another woman. He swallowed, as if the act would wash away the memory, but instead he tasted the musky, salty flavor of Ligeia. He began walking quickly toward home and felt grains of sand chafing between the cheeks of his a.s.s. He needed a shower, but he needed to get to the bar to pick up Sarah, if she hadn't come home yet. All of the euphoria of s.e.x was gone; Evan felt like a jerk. A jerk in a hurry. He began to jog along the beach and then up the street to his house.

The lights were out as he followed the walk to the front door. He unlocked it and slipped inside. "Sarah?" he called. But there was no answer.

d.a.m.n. He ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then he stripped out of his clothes for the second time that evening. Leaning over the sink, he stared hard at himself in the mirror. "Cheater," he said to his reflection. Brown eyes looked away from his accusation. His face looked thin to him, and Evan pursed his lips. Her taste still clung to him, and he quickly covered his toothbrush with paste and tried to scrub Ligeia away. Then he stepped into the steaming shower and did the same with his body. He was tempted to use Sarah's loofah, but it just seemed too much like one more betrayal to scrub the sweat of another woman from his body with his wife's bathing aids. Instead he doused himself with soap and scrubbed fast and furious, leaving his skin raw.

He toweled off and redressed, throwing his beach clothes to the bottom of the hamper. Then he ran back out into the night to find his wife.

Sarah's eyes were bloodshot when Evan found her at O'Flaherty's. She was talking to a beefy balding guy whom Evan vaguely recognized as one of the port's dock workers when he walked up.

"Hey, baby." She grinned feebly as he pulled up a stool. "Thought you weren't gonna come tonight." The dock man faded back quickly when he realized the situation. Evan laughed to himself. Sorry, pal, not gonna take advantage of my drunk wife tonight. Though, he mused, if he let it happen, it would sort of even the score between them.

No, he didn't think Sarah would go home with another man, even if blitzed. She was loyal and true; with way more character than apparently he had.

"Sorry, babe," he said. "I dozed off. Ready to go?"

She nodded and he took her elbow to help her down. Sarah leaned heavily against him, and he supported her with an arm around the waist as they walked unevenly toward the door. "I think my b.u.t.t's asleep," she mumbled. "Maybe you can rub it for me when we get home."

He saw the look of sodden l.u.s.t in her eyes, and rubbed her a.s.s for a second through her jeans. "Sure," he said. For a moment he panicked...how could he make love to Sarah tonight? After...But then he shrugged off the fear. He knew that she was not going to be in any condition once he got her home and undressed. And he was right.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Sarah was lying facedown in their bed as Evan pulled off her pants and socks.

The room was filled with the gentle noise of her snoring. Evan lay down next to her, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the face of Ligeia.

It was a long night.

Chapter Eleven.

June 4, 1887 Private "Three Hands" Nelson was not a happy seaman. His back was scabbed and sore. It hurt to move and he had to stifle a moan every time he bent over. The captain had made an example of him yesterday. Yes, sir, he certainly had. Well, Nelson didn't cotton to such things sitting down. He was going to get even. The private wasn't called "Three Hands" for nothing. On land, they said Jack Nelson could be shaking your hand while patting your shoulder...while at the same time slipping the green out of your wallet. A life on the streets of the Tenderloin District in San Francisco made a lad industrious. Or dead.

The captain had found a bottle of 's.h.i.+ne in Nelson's possession, and an open crate in the storeroom. Buckley had offered the private the chance to come clean, but Nelson had refused to explain and so the captain had taken him to the whipping post. The truth was, he had nicked the bottle from Taffy-Nelson would never have been so stupid as to pry open a crate of cargo and leave it visibly tampered with that way. And he wouldn't have taken the bottle if he'd realized how stupid Taff'd been. But he had his pride. Nelson didn't admit to stealing the bottle in the first place, but wouldn't say where he'd gotten it. And so, Captain Buckley had tied him to the deck for a daylong whippin'. Regular s.a.d.i.s.t, their captain was.

Thing was, now "Three Hands" had a score to settle. If he was gonna be punished for something he didn't do, then he was going to do something like what he was punished for. And that's what he was about now. Nelson slipped through the lower decks without a sound. That was extra difficult with his back hurting the way it was, but Nelson was strong. The crew was all topside. He knelt before the door and tried the k.n.o.b. Locked, as he knew it would be. He slipped out the pin from his back pocket and slipped it in the keyhole.

A locked door had nothing on Jack "Three Hands" Nelson. He smiled as he felt the latch click over. The door eased open and Jack took one fast look behind him. Satisfied that he remained unseen, Nelson slipped inside the captain's quarters and pulled the door shut. If the captain wanted to take something out of him, he'd take something out of the captain. He knew the ol' b.u.g.g.e.r kept the best 's.h.i.+ne locked away for himself. Could smell it on his breath at dinner every night. Well, ol' "Three Hands" would just help himself to a bit, and keep it hidden away beneath a loose board he'd found near Taffy's billet. Rough justice, indeed, if 'twere found!

The captain's cabin stank of fish and something else, something sweetly rotten. Jesus, Nelson thought. For a militant a.s.shole, the captain lived like a slob.

Captain Buckley's quarters weren't huge, but the s.p.a.ce was a d.a.m.n sight better than the cl.u.s.ter of bunks that the men shared just down the walkway. On an old boat designed to move cargo, there was no place for fancy crew quarters. The captain and first mate got doors in front of the closets their bunks were housed in, and that was it.

Nelson waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. There was a porthole on the other side of the room, but it was curtained over. Odd, to leave the room in darkness for the day. He stayed in a crouch and moved across the room. It hurt to be on all fours, but he was less likely to knock something over this way.

The smell was stronger as he approached the captain's bunk-did the old s.a.d.i.s.t sleep with the d.a.m.n fish, as well as net them? Nelson's hand brushed up against something on the floor. He squinted in the dark but couldn't make out what it was, though it felt cool and damp. He yanked his hand back. Maybe it was fish guts.

Something moved in the dark, and Nelson's heart stopped. Someone was here! He leaned toward the bunk, trying to see...anything.

The shadow moved again, and the whites of two glimmering eyes reflected back at him in the dark. Nelson could just make out the body now. The wrists were tied with a rope knotted to the fore of the bed, and as he followed the outline of the shadowy form down, he could see that the feet were tied apart-one to each corner of the bunk. Satisfied that there was no danger from this quarter, the private leaned in to stare into the woman's eyes. She made a whimper deep in her throat as he drew closer, but she didn't speak.

"What's your name, girl?" Jack whispered. Again she only grunted softly.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Jack quietly cursed the captain as he saw the reason for her silence. "Stay quiet," he warned, and reached his hand behind her head to release the gag.

He could see her a little better now as he pulled the restraint from her mouth. She stretched her jaw and ran a tongue over her lips to moisten them, and probably to take the taste of the gag away. Her eyes were wide and slanted just enough to look exotic. Mediterranean? Eastern? He wasn't sure. Her nose was thin and delicate, and her lips-now wetted-pouted thick and wide above a narrow chin. Jack ran a finger from her neck across the pit of her arm to cup one soft breast in his palm. Absently, he thumbed her nipple and it grew hard beneath his rough touch.

"So our captain has his own private plaything, does he now?" Jack murmured. He reached to the head of the bed and worked her wrists free of the rope. "And he likes to tie up more than just his crew. Hmmm. I wouldn't have given the old man credit."

The woman sighed as her arms were released and drew them to her chest in a pointless attempt to cover herself. One of her hands covered Jack's, and she stared at him with wide, questioning eyes.

"I'm not gonna hurt ya," Jack promised. His mind was racing now, trying to think of how he could work this situation to its best advantage. "I can help," he finally said. "Not much I can do while we're at sea, but once we're ash.o.r.e..."

Her hand moved up his arm. He nodded. "Mmmm hmm. You understand." He ran a calloused hand over the velvet-soft flesh of her left breast, and then traced the faint down of her flesh to the place where the hair should have mounded, a tantalizing hidden gate to her s.e.x. But when his hand met her crotch, he found it smooth. With one finger he traced the soft folds of her cleft and whistled softly. "Our captain keeps you bare in every way, eh? Does he shave you himself?" Nelson laughed softly and continued his private explorations, slipping a hand beneath her a.s.s and cupping the cheeks before pulling back to hold her womanly "virtue" like a guard.

The woman sat up and cupped his face with her hands. Jack moved to embrace her, but she gently pushed him back, and began to work the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. He grinned, and let her undress him, groaning a little when the s.h.i.+rt pulled at the scabs on his back.

He stood and undid his belt, relieving himself of the pants in a moment. Then he was sitting naked on the bed with her, and she ran her hands across his shoulders. He winced, and she looked confused. Her fingers moved lightly over his wounds and she raised a dark eyebrow, but still, said nothing.

That was all right with Jack; he had a momentary touch of panic as he realized what would happen if the captain walked into his private quarters right now.

But the woman drew him down in a kiss, and he quickly forgot his fear. He'd never been with a woman like this; so small, but so voluptuous at the same time. He sucked on her lips and then trailed his tongue down her neck and shoulders before boldly moving still lower, to chew gently on her nipples like soft fruit. Her hands were all over him, drawing him up and on top and at last in. He gasped at the warmth of her. As he bucked and moaned, the woman moved to meet him, but her eyes never left his. Wide and limpid, she stared unblinking at Jack as he moved quickly atop her to o.r.g.a.s.m, and then collapsed against her, head on her breast.

Her hands stroked his hair and in a whispery voice, she began to sing.

"Shhhh," Jack urged, reaching up to put a finger on her lips. But she held his hand at bay, and then the melody captured him. It was light as air, yet thick as honey. Amber notes so pure they pulled him in. Lured him to a place that swam with light and l.u.s.t, liquor and love. Jack Nelson had never felt so happy in his entire life. His flesh burned with pleasure while the faces in his mind s.h.i.+fted; he was suckling at his mother's breast, drinking from the delta of a snow-white wh.o.r.e; guzzling from the finest, rarest booze ever refined. It burned so sweetly as it slid down his throat, opening up his chest with heaven fire.

The song had stopped. That's probably why Nelson surfaced from the musical spell in time to understand. The fire wasn't in his mind. His throat burned. He opened his mouth but gagged on something rich and iron. Blood spilled out across the woman's chest, dripping like gory wax down her ribs.

"Wha-di-ya...?" he gurgled as he slapped a hand to his neck and felt the hot flow and ragged flesh of his neck. He blinked and saw his blood on her mouth. She was grinning, and her fingernails dug into his back, dragging him back down for the fatal bite. She'd torn out his throat with her teeth!

Jack Nelson had lived twenty-three long years surviving the subterfuge of thugs in the back alleys of San Francisco, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if a woman-a woman still half shackled to a bed, d.a.m.n it-was going to take him down with her teeth!

His body felt drugged and the pain in his neck unbearable. But Jack slammed one of his arms against hers, breaking her embrace, and then pushed away from her, catching her with a blow to the chest that propelled him away and out of her reach for a split second. He pushed off the bed with his knees, and fell to the floor. From behind him, the song began again, and Jack struggled to ignore it, to not hear. He rose to a crouch, but only moved a couple feet when the languor took him, and his muscles turned to jelly.

Jack slumped back to the wood, and felt the blood pumping away; the floor at his arm felt warm and wet. Just there, in front of his face, something else lay on the floor. Whatever he'd b.u.mped on the way in, he realized. The end looked like a ragged butcher's nightmare, b.l.o.o.d.y and raw and gouged up. He saw the meat had hair on the flesh, and he struggled to rise again to see more. Some last part of him wanted to understand what he'd stumbled upon before he died. He knew now that he would die here. Jack Nelson had been downed by a woman's mouth. He laughed, almost, but blood gushed out of his throat when he did, and it turned to a long, horrible choke. The coughing woke him slightly from the woman's spell, and he lifted his head through the song to follow the flesh of the gory lump on the deck to make out a naked knee and a hairy s.h.i.+n. The foot was missing its toes; there were b.l.o.o.d.y stumps left behind, just as the top of the leg's thigh had been chopped away from whomever's body it had once walked with.

The song continued all around him, light and sweet, and dreams of golden fields cascaded in Jack's mind, as hands grabbed him by the ankles and began to drag him back to the bed.

With some fleeting remnant of his consciousness, Jack saw one more abandoned part lying near the bed, as the woman pulled him up from the floor.

A man's head.

It lay on its side on the wood planks, but Jack's last conscious thought recalled the ragged torso they'd raised with the nets yesterday. He knew that face.

"So that's what happened to Rogers," he mumbled.

And then the song ended, and her teeth were on him, and Nelson knew no more.

Chapter Twelve.

"Here it is in black and white," Bill said.

Evan looked at the newspaper on his desk and raised an eyebrow. The first article to catch his eye at the top of the page read DELILAH TURNS ON THE RED LIGHT.

"Here what is, Bill? The city council wants to change the zoning on West Avenue to allow a ma.s.sage parlor? I didn't realize you'd been waiting for this. Tired of driving to San Francisco for your five-fingered oil treatments?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Puh-leese. All you've gotta do is go up to O'Flaherty's after midnight if you want a good feel. Guys'd be stupid to go pay for it when all they gotta do is pop for a drink." He pointed to a smaller piece on the right corner of the page. This one read KYLIE REYNOLDS, 22, MISSING. The article was short, with a mug shot of the local girl, who hadn't come home from a night out at The Sand Trap with her boyfriend several days ago. The boyfriend was quoted as saying he'd broken up with her that night and he hoped she hadn't done anything stupid. Police said they'd welcome any information that would lead to finding the girl.

"Yeah, so?" Evan shrugged. "What about it?"

"Chalk another one up to the Siren," Bill said.

"You can't be serious. Every time someone goes missing in this town, it's the fault of some mythological harpy?"

"A Siren is not a harpy. Get your Homer straight."

Evan laughed. "I didn't realize you were so literary."

Bill didn't laugh. "Look, Evan, I know it sounds ridiculous. But if you ask people around Delilah-people who've lived here their whole lives-they're going to tell you they believe that something is out there near the point. Some call it a Siren; some probably say it's a sea monster. But Siren rings true to me. There have been disappearances out there for as long as I can remember. The papers just say the currents out there are dangerous and pull people in. But there are stories from the early 1900s of rumrunners cras.h.i.+ng into the rocks out there, and every now and then, one of the sailors would survive and get to sh.o.r.e. You can go look this s.h.i.+t up-every survivor who ever swam in from one of those wrecks talked about hearing a beautiful woman singing. And the next thing they knew, they were swimming for their lives in the waves."

"Sounds like they were drinking too much on the job."

Bill shook his head in disgust. "You believe in G.o.d, Evan? Heaven and h.e.l.l, all that s.h.i.+t?"

Evan nodded.

"So. You believe in a great invisible tooth fairy in the sky, and horned demons running around a land of brimstone and lava where the dead burn in agony 'til the end of time? And you probably believe in a purgatory, where the souls go who weren't quite bad enough to warrant demons repet.i.tively sticking pitchforks in their eyes to sweat out their sins until they can get to the secret land of harps and honey. Is that right?"

Evan grimaced. "I wouldn't exactly describe heaven and h.e.l.l like that."

"Read your Milton. And Revelations is a hoot too."

"Did you take one of those online courses in English literature this week, or what?"

"Just think about it," Bill said, ignoring the dig. "You believe in all this invisible s.h.i.+t that n.o.body has ever seen, but you can't believe in a real flesh-and-blood creature that has been written about for hundreds of years here on earth that people have reported seeing over and over again?"

Bill turned back to his desk and shook his head. "We don't know it all yet, man. And we never will. There are secret things still on this earth. Be careful."

"Be careful."

Bill's words echoed in Evan's head as he walked the beach after dark that night. He hadn't told Bill about his tryst with Ligeia. He had intended to; he needed to talk to somebody about it. But after their conversation about the missing girl, it just hadn't seemed like the right time.

So tonight his heart remained a mess of guilt and l.u.s.t. He had toyed with the idea of not going out, but...walking the beach was what he did. And he did want to see her again. He pledged to himself that he would not let his guard down again though. He needed to talk to her. To find out more about who she was, and to apologize for last night. Because he had made love to her under false pretense. He was married; he couldn't say "happily," because the past year had been the worst one of his life. But not because of his wife. He loved her and did not want anyone else. Even if Ligeia had given him the best s.e.x of his life, bar none.

But he was married. Not available.

Tonight the waves were quiet, the whitecaps few. A chill wind blew in from the northwest, and he s.h.i.+vered. A gull called out once somewhere nearby, lonely in the dark. Evan shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the white glints of moon reflecting off the wet pools disappearing into the dark sand ahead. Night crabs scuttled out of his path and along the waterline like furtive spiders, darting to s.n.a.t.c.h pieces of seaweed or fish and then disappearing down holes in the sand. The beach was quiet at night, but never empty.

Evan bent to pick up a miniature conch sh.e.l.l, speckled pink and brown and horned with some impressive spikes on its thicker end. Even after all these years, he never tired of bringing home interesting sh.e.l.ls; Sarah had gla.s.s jars throughout the house filled with his finds. He slipped it in his pants pocket.