I found the door marked nineteen and let myself into the musty-smelling room. I shed my clothing and left it in a puddle on the floor. Walking into the bathroom, I turned on the light. The bright fluorescent bulb flickered and a buzzing sound filled the small space. A small shower stood in the corner and a blue towel hung on the rack beside it. I grabbed the bar of soap from the sink, turned on the water and stepped under the spray. I needed freshwater to bring my human self back to life, but I was going to need a lot more than a shower. I couldn't rinse away the effects of years of saltwater properly in a light spray, I needed to immerse. I had to be satisfied with rinsing only, and scrubbing myself thoroughly with the harsh soap. I peered at my fingernails. They were rough and chewed up. I made a mental note to get the tools I needed to groom myself properly. Human men were attracted to women who took care of themselves.
When all the salt was gone, I stepped out of the shower, ignored the towel and went out into the room leaving a trail of water behind me. I fell into the first bed I'd slept in in over eight years and was unconscious before I was even dry.
4
Footsteps in the hall woke me earlier than I would have liked. The long swim and the change had made me tired, more mentally than physically. I lifted my head with a jerk at the knock on the door.
"Miss Belshaw?" It was the hotel manager.
I got out of bed and went to the door, yawning. He was standing on the sidewalk balancing a tray. A plastic bag with something weighty inside hung over his forearm.
"Geez murphy and all his Holsteins!" he yelled, and clapped a hand over his eyes. The tray rattled and he fought to balance it with one hand. "Please put some clothes on, Miss!”
I closed the door, now fully awake. Oops. I pulled on the men's clothing and opened the door again.
"I just thought you might like some breakfast." The manager was mopping his forehead with a kerchief. The tray dipped and threatened to topple and he did a little plié to right it. "We don't usually serve food, but I thought you seemed a little down on your luck."
"Thank you." I smiled and took the tray. My mouth watered at the smell of eggs and bacon. I felt my first real spark of human emotion––gratitude.
"Also,” he took the plastic bag off his arm, "I don't know if these'll fit, but you're welcome to 'em. People leave all kinds of things behind." He handed me the bag.
I set the tray on the desk beside the door and took the bag, peering inside: a pair of dingy white sneakers. A warm feeling filled my chest and I looked up at the manager; he stood there wringing his hands with worry. I had forgotten how kind some humans could be, how thoughtful.
"Thank you," I repeated. I softened my voice and tried to infuse it with meaning. I was out of practice, but best to start now. “I’m grateful.”
He smiled. "You’re welcome. Will you be needing the room again tonight? I'll have to charge you for it this time, but I can hold it for you if you wish?" Was that a hopeful expression on his face?
"Ok," I agreed.
He nodded and turned on his heel. I closed the door, took the tray to the bed where I devoured every last morsel, even the little packets of jam and butter. When I finished eating, I checked my pockets for the coin. I looked at it again, thinking, feeling its weight in my hand. I could turn it into cash but wasn’t quite sure how.
When I entered the office, the manager was reading a newspaper he'd spread across the counter. He was leaning on his elbows and whistling a happy tune. He straightened expectantly, and looked down at my feet. "They fit?"
“Yes. Thanks, again.” Truthfully, they were a little tight but I was happy for them all the same. "Do you know where I could sell this?" I held up the gold coin.
He peered at the item. "Where did you get that?" He reached for it.
I pulled the coin back on reflex.
He cleared his throat and an expression passed his features. Hurt? Embarrassed? I realized too late that my gesture might have made him feel bad, like I thought he was going to steal the coin. I opened my mouth but wasn’t sure what to say.
He spoke first. "There's a pawnshop downtown that would take it if it's worth anything. Corner of Pepper and 7th avenue."
"Pepper..." I began, wracking my brains.
"Here." He pulled a sheet of paper out from under the counter and spread it on the counter before us. It was a crude map of Saltford. He plucked a pen from a tin can and made a circle around a small square on the map. He wrote the words Diamond Six Motel beside the square. "This is where we are.” Then he circled the intersection of two streets in the downtown core of Saltford. "This is the corner of Pepper Street and 7th avenue." He handed me the map.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Let me know if there is anything else I can help you with, Miss Belshaw.”
I nodded, took the map and left.
5
This time it was a metal bell over the door and not an electronic chime that announced my entrance. The pawnshop was an old building jammed to the ceiling with all manner of furniture, records, toys, books, kitchenware, and glass cases full of every imaginable dust-collecting knickknack.
I made my way through the rubbish to the counter at the rear of the store. A woman in a red cardigan was reading a novel with a man's thickly muscled naked chest on the cover. I stared at the image as I approached, wondering why the man’s head hadn’t been included. So much could be told from a man’s face, his eyes. She put the book down quickly.
"Can I help you?"
"I would like to sell this." I set the coin on the counter.
The woman produced a magnifying glass and examined it. She squinted at the coin then looked up at me abruptly with some surprise. She flipped the coin over and examined the other side. There might have been awe in her features. I watched while she covered the coin with paper and used a pencil to take an imprint of it. She flipped it over and repeated the process on the other side.
"Where did you get this, sweetheart?"
"I found it."
"Where?"
I didn't reply. Telling her where I found it would only lead to more questions.
She studied my face, waiting. After a beat of silence she said, "I'm not the right buyer for this, but I know the person who is. Could you come back in a few hours? I can make a phone call and ask her to come.”
"So, can you come back?" She handed me the coin.
"Yes." I tucked the coin away. "A few hours?"
"What's your name and phone number?" She picked up a pen and poised it over a notebook.
"My name is Mira. I don't have a phone number.”
"Oh. Can you come back around... well, it's tough for me to say but I'm sure she'll drop everything..." she chewed her lip. “How about noon?" She picked up the receiver of a tan colored phone and hooked the earpiece on her shoulder.
"Noon," I echoed, and turned to leave.
"You will come back, Mira?" she called after me.
"I will." The bell clanged as I closed the door behind me.
I walked down Pepper Street towards the shopping district. There were new stores with brighter, shinier storefronts than before. The streets were thick with shoppers. I entered a retail store with women's clothing in the window and set about picking out some things. I chose a two pairs of jeans, underwear, two sweaters, a pair of boots, a warm corduroy jacket, and a knit cap as well as a cheap gym-bag to carry my goods. The lady who rang me through helped me fold the clothing and put it into the bag.
Next, I bought soap and shampoo, a razor, tools to take care of my finger and toenails, a pair of scissors to cut my hair, and other bits and pieces I would need. As I was paying for my toiletries, a woman pushing a stroller entered the store. I peered into it as she wheeled past. Inside was a sleeping newborn baby. I couldn’t tell the gender, but it was pink-cheeked with a little rosebud mouth. My heart twisted with longing. The want was so powerful my knees nearly buckled. I clutched at the counter to steady myself.
"You alright, Miss?" The man behind the c
ounter peered at me from over his wire-rimmed spectacles.
I nodded and paid for my things.
Purchasing a sandwich and a bottle of water from a deli, I took my gym-bag and my lunch back to the pawnshop. I sat on the antique bench outside the door and devoured my sandwich.
As I was balling up my wrapper, an expensive looking car pulled into the diagonal parking space in front of the pawnshop. A blonde woman in dress pants and a business jacket got out. She had a long curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and jutting cheekbones. She spotted me as she closed the door and her face lit up with a dazzling smile. She reminded me of the image on the side of the tooth-paste I had purchased. She pushed her dark sunglasses up onto her head and stepped onto the curb in shiny black high-heeled boots.
"You must be Mira?" She extended a lean hand. The artificial scent of lilac swept over me. Though it was not unpleasant, it was potent. My nose threatened a sneeze.
I shook her warm hand, the first human skin I'd touched in a long time. "I am."
"Angelica Butterfield. Miriam says you're looking for a buyer for that beautiful coin of yours?"
"Yes."
"Great, don't get up. Let's stay out here. I prefer natural light." She sat on the bench. The lilac smell swept over me, making me dizzy.
I handed her the coin. She held it up between two fingers, the others fanning out like a peacock tail. She flipped it over with a flourish, her other hand moving to cover her mouth. She inhaled sharply. Her blue eyes found mine, her face lit with excitement. "Do you know what this is?"
"Yes." It was a gold coin. Anyone could see that.
"Where did you get it?"
Why did everyone always need to know that? "I found it."
"Found it where?"
I didn't reply.
She took a breath. "I understand. You don't want to give up your source location. So, how much do you want for it?"
I blanked. I had no idea how much the coin was worth. From her appetite for it, I knew it was worth something. But what? Hundreds? Thousands? I wasn’t interested in doing the research. I wouldn’t even know where to start. ”Make me an offer."
She pondered, meditating on my face. "I'll give you four thousand. Cash.” She tilted her chin down, her face carefully blank.
Four thousand––it was enough to get an apartment and tide me over while I looked for work. "Deal."
"You're not going to counter-offer?" Her back straightened with surprise. "Never mind." She shook my hand and I recalled the meaning of the gesture. It meant we had a deal. "That suits me just fine. But someone should teach you how to barter. I'll give you another thousand if you show me where you found this coin." She tucked the gold into a small plastic bag.
"I can't do that.”
"Hmmm." She frowned. She opened her bag and pulled out a white envelope. It was stuffed with paper money. She rapidly counted through it, took out a wad leaving plenty still in the envelope. She folded the bills over and handed the lot to me. I put it into the zippered pocket on the side of my gym-bag.
"Do you have any more of this type of coin?"
"No.”
"Can you get more of this type of coin?" And then, "Sheesh, talking with you is like pulling teeth.”
"Maybe.” I stood up and hefted my bag onto my shoulder.
"Really?" Her eyes widened. She stood. "I need to know how to get a hold of you. Where do you live?"
"I'm in between homes." I started to walk away.
"Wait, don't you have a phone number? An address? Anything?" She had begun to follow me down the sidewalk, her heels clicking on the pavement.
"No." Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Sorry.”
"Here, in case you change your mind.” She tapped my upper arm and I turned to see her holding out a business card. “I am very keen to work with you if this is the quality you can produce."
I stuffed the card into my pocket without looking at it and kept walking. I felt her eyes on my back for a long stretch of seconds before hearing the car door open and the engine start. She waved at me through the window as she drove by.
6
On my way back to the hotel, I passed a mechanic's shop where a pretty blonde woman sat in an old rocking chair, snapping her gum. Her eyes tracked me as I walked by and she gave me a big, sweet smile. I couldn't help but smile back.
The next place was a restaurant. In the window was a sign which read: Help Wanted, Inquire Within.
As I entered the restaurant, the smell of old grease and rotting vegetables nearly floored me. I turned to leave when a male voice stopped me.
"Well, lookee what the cat dragged in. Come on in here, sugar. What can I do you for? Ha ha, get it? Do you?"
A fat man wearing an apron crossed the restaurant toward me, wiping his hands on a filthy towel. The restaurant was empty except for the two of us. I could see why; the smell was repellent.
"I saw the sign in your window," I explained, breathing through my mouth. The smell of the place was bad enough but as the man approached, he contributed his own sour odor.
"Looking for work, are ya?" His eyes roamed my form. His gaze felt different from others I’d come across: predatory. The hair on my forearms lifted.
"I don't think it'll work out, sorry.” I made for the door.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute.” The dead weight of his arm landed over my shoulders. Bile threatened the back of my throat as his foul scent swept over me.
"Take your arm off me." My voice had changed without any effort. It had become low, threatening, and icy cold.
"Don't leave before we even get a chance to talk, sweetheart. We might be perfect for each other." He forced me to face him, putting a meaty palm on each shoulder. He breathed heavily on me, smelling of alcohol. I knew that smell.
"I don't think so.” I jerked my shoulders in a not so subtle suggestion to drop his hands.
When his grip tightened and he breathed the stench of whiskey into my face for a second time, my brain shut off. I lifted my knee into the space between us, planted my foot in his belly, and shoved him backwards, hard. My powerful leg unloaded into him like a cannon.
The fat man flew backwards through the air, easily clearing a dozen feet. He landed on his back with a hard exhale and skidded across the floor into a chair, which toppled over on top of him with a crash. He pushed the chair off, gasping. His mouth worked like a dying fish as he tried to re-inflate his lungs.
I didn't wait around for him to recover. I was through the door and out onto the sidewalk in a flash. I bent over, my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths and clearing my head.
"Are you okay?”
I turned to see the girl who had smiled at me earlier walking towards me, a ravine of concern between her brows.
"I'm fine. Thanks." I straightened, thankful the nausea had passed.
The door of the restaurant banged opened and the fat man came out, coughing. "You," he wheezed, pointing a meaty finger, eyes bulging. He shook the menacing digit and tried to speak but could only cough.
"Back off, perv," said the blonde, standing beside me. "What's going to happen if we call the cops right now?" She folded her arms across her chest, indignant.
He spat a stream of brown liquid at our feet, coughed some more and slammed the door.
"I know that guy." She jerked her head towards the door. "Honey, you want to steer clear of this place. You can't ever be that hungry, trust me."
"Not hungry, just looking for work.”
"You need work? Do you have any experience waiting tables?" She put her fists on her hips.
"No, but I learn fast."
She dimpled. "I bet you do. I work down at the Sea Dog and we just lost Theresa last week, one of our waitresses. You know the place?"
I shook my head. I could never be sure if I didn't remember a place because the salt in my system was interfering with my memories, or if I didn't know the place because it had been erected in my absence.
"It's the restaurant down in the harbor, the one that
looks like a pirate ship and actually floats in the water. It's the working man's favorite hangout." She made a fist and swung it jovially.
I gave her a genuine grin at the words 'working man'. "That sounds perfect."
"You'll have to start with dishwashing, but it won't take you long. The guys tip great and Phil is like family. That's the owner. He'll treat you good. I'll talk to him for ya, set you up with a trial. Whad'ya say?"
"I say yes." I knew what she would ask for next. "I don't have a phone yet, should I come by tomorrow?"
"Sure, come by after three. I'll be there and can introduce you. How come you don't got a phone?"
"I'm looking for a place to rent still."
"Well, where you staying till then, doll?" She cocked her head, her blonde waves bouncing.
"Diamond Six."
"Oh no. Are you kidding me? You are not!" She looped her arm through mine. "You're going to stay with me until you find your own place. Maybe we'll even get along real good and you'll decide to stay. I've been taking my time looking for a roommate since Paul moved to Vancouver. Who knows? Everything happens for a reason, don't you think?"
"I guess.” I walked with her towards the mechanic's shop. I had never been afraid of people, not even people like the fat man. When it came to choosing company, it was a matter of whom I could tolerate. This girl oozed kindness from every pore.
"I'm Crystal." She squeezed my arm and looked down at me. She was half a head taller, and I was no slouch. "Crystal Clift. Who are you?"
"Mira Belshaw."
"Nice to meet you, Mira. My car is almost done then I can show you your new pad. How’s about that?"
I agreed.
7
I stood in front of the Saltford city reservoir, looking at the dark expanse of water stretching out before me under a full moon. This was the last step in transitioning back to human life, and it was scary as hell. When I went into that saltless liquid and began to cleanse my system, that's when the memories would come; who I was before, things my mother had taught me, what had happened to make me leave land so young, long-gone friends. There was no guarantee that all of my memories would come back, every siren was different, but it was possible that the freshwater would unlock painful human memories and I'd be pummeled with the emotional consequences all at once.
Sirens and Scales Page 89
