Sirens of DemiMonde

by N. Godwin

  I lean my face against the cool fiberglass and hug the boat, feeling the vibration of the pistons humming into the walls and floor beneath me as I pray. I’m aware there are others behind me, nearby twirling in the shadows just beyond my peripheral vision and I close my eyes and pray against Rawly and his legions. I know Rawly is powerful and dangerous and a test of my eternal devotion, a test I almost failed because he’s tricky.

  I won’t ever make that mistake again! I have to keep my wits about me at all times, so I set my wine down on a nearby table, still hugging the wall and considering what I know about dealing with the devil.

  I know the fundamentals, but even they are exhausting, because I know that, above all else, I cannot ever, ever, ever accept anything this demon has to offer me or else I will be eternally damned and rendered useless. But this music makes me so exhausted, exhausted from everything, from this, all this, exhausted by them and Him, and being me.

  “Please,” I whisper to everyone as I hug the boat, “enough.”

  “This amazing ability you possess scares you, doesn’t it?” I hear Rawly asking me above the roar of the gulf and the hiss of the ghosts behind him.

  I look up at the stars and shudder involuntarily and quickly walk back inside Rawly’s sliding doors where the sky can no longer see me. Suddenly, almost jarringly, the only demon left is the massive one standing behind me.

  “Yes! Okay, yes!” I allow as Rawly follows me inside and comes to stand silently beside me. “It scares me! God, it scares me so much sometimes I know I’m going out of my mind! Rawly, please, I’m too tired to play this game anymore. Just tell me what you want.”

  Rawly sits down, his huge hands resting on the long arms of a massive black chair. Like him, his furniture is enormous and he looks like Lucifer sitting elegantly before me as his fingers tap some rhythm against the ancient wood. His dark smile is tinged with foreboding and my breath catches in my throat.

  “It was never taken from you, you know. You’ve only suppressed it. The need to survive is a powerful thing, Helen. Add to that your obsession to please God by completing your curious mission. Don’t look so surprised, Babygirl, I know what a soldier on a mission looks like when I see one. It’s written all over your face.”

  “Can’t You just show me the stupid sign and get this over with? Must you torture me, too?” I shout at the ceiling and stomp my foot.

  “You say you lost your connection to God when you were thirteen. I say maybe you never lost your connection, only the original conduit? Perhaps it was merely transference from one mantle to the next,” he explains with a shrug as he leans forward in his chair, smiling while his wicked black eyes dare me to listen. “Remember, God is forever all-changing, as are his enemies. Perhaps He had to step back and has sent someone else to protect you?”

  I turn around and face him as I listen for the hidden in his words. “So that’s you MO, trying to convince me that God sent you to protect me, that you’re my guardian angel? That’s your story?” I chuckle and shake my head as I begin to pace back and forth. “He cast you out is more likely,” I say while he watches me pace.

  “Are you familiar with the Vedic poets, the Trembling Ones?” He watches as I shake my head no. “The Hindus have certain women they considered blessed; handpicked by the Gods for an amazing… well, let’s call it a journey. These chosen few women possess an ability to compose or sing ancient, complicated songs, in languages long forgotten, to entice the gods. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. No? Hmm, well, it’s an erotic ritual that’s been practiced for many thousands of years.

  “I’ve seen these rituals, these women, Helen. It’s an amazing sight you don’t soon forget. Their trance completely consumes them during their religious encounters, or, if you will, during their sexual liaisons with what they believe to be their gods.”

  “That’s blasphemous!” I insist. “Besides, what could Hinduism possibly have to do with me?”

  “Have you ever noticed how what you don’t know is every bit as confounding as what you do know? My guess is you purposefully refused to study math, not because you couldn’t conquer its vast qualities, but because you were terrified you could. You refuse to delve the dark side of humanity’s religions because you don’t want to know what’s waiting on that darker side, leaving yourself totally unprepared to face your enemy. Are you so terrified of your fate because you know the truth will rock your world, or are you dense enough to believe that if you simply ignore it, it will go away?”

  “What the--look; maybe I don’t want to rock anything. Maybe I’ve had it up to here with spooky!” I motion over my head as his eyes narrow with a look of anger or disappointment or God knows what. “And speaking of spooky, what’d you do, access my high school transcripts?”

  “You’re ignoring the most fundamental rule of war, baby; know thy enemy. Tsk tsk tsk.”

  “Sometimes less is more than enough. You’d do well to memorize this.”

  He says something under his breath and I shake my head as the music changes. I recognize Mozart and wonder what intent this music will take this time. I know that, for what ever confounding reason, I am supposed to be here right now to study this beast and find his level of hellish sin that makes him unique, or special, or scorned beyond all others in His eyes. I also know Rawly is highly likely to be my chosen one just as much as I know everything, simply everything I have just thought is lunacy.

  I sigh and bow my head to pray silently for guidance, not caring what the demon before me thinks, realizing that having Rawly as my adversary would be a battle of epic proportions with questionable results, and God, I know it’s imperative I find his flaw fast if I am to succeed and give all glory to You and yada yada and such... but, by God, now as Rawly begins to evolve before my eyes with each sentence he utters and holds out for my inspection, I only want to cover my ears and hum so I don’t have to see anymore or listen to another word he says. I know he is the personification of evil, but, good Lord, his pull is strong and his words are magical and I am afraid of him tonight, so could I pretty please get a little help down here?! I stomp my foot in frustration and open my eyes to look outside up into the stars.

  Hello up there? Hello, God, it’s me, Helen, down here trying to—oh my God! Did I just call myself Helen?! I slap my forehead several times with the palm of my hand and begin to pace again as the beast watches every move I make.

  “I need to go home, now. Please, take me home. Please!”

  Rawly sits silently and sips his wine, contemplating God knows what as he follows my lead and stares up into the night’s sky. I know he is my enemy and that he is guilty of a gluttonous overabundance of sins. Yet, I recognize there is a strange fascination in his beautiful power and his probing mind that provokes me to answer candidly far too often. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I must avoid them at all cost or else I will surely die.

  “You harbor pride and vanity, and vanity is the sin all other sins are judged on,” I say with disgust as I begin counting off all his cons on my fingers. “And I’ll bet avarice, greed and wrath aren’t far behind. God, maybe you’re guilty of them all? Oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it! You’re guilty of them all! Aw, crap, I knew you were dangerous!”

  “You’re the one who’s dangerous because without a plan you’re doomed to failure. You’re just spinning your wheels and kicking up enough dust to attract trouble.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about now?” I force myself not to scream at him as I stomp my foot in absolute frustration.

  “I love history, don’t you?”

  “Probably not yours,” I scoff.

  “Ah, but it’s not my story, its man’s story. Since time immemorial, man’s history has been filled with many wondrous fascinations. Religion has always held a curiosity for me. In particular, a favorite repetitive theme appears in almost every generation, with thousands of tales about women capable of remarkable things. Some paint, or sing, or dance, or play instruments. Some have the a
bility to touch hearts and minds and lead people, or a strong connection with wild animals. As the wise men have known forever, some even have the gift of second sight or prophecy.”

  “Uh huh,” I say in monotone, wondering when I should cover my ears and start humming.

  “And every now and then, one of these women comes along with many mystical gifts at one time, one who could change the world if the wind is right. They appear throughout history, time after time, and there are always demons that must be vanquished on their road to fruition, sometimes even gods to vanquish.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Tell me something, Helen; what else can you do?”

  “Else?” I laugh, “I can’t do anything right.”

  “For the love of God, at least admit you can sing!”

  “Sometimes!”

  “And?”

  “And nothing else!” I insist and look away.

  Rawly studies me curiously as I study my hands. “I don’t believe you,” he finally says. “You’re lying to me. Why?”

  “I’m not hiding anything else.” I meet his eyes.

  He just laughs morbidly and shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. So, the sainted virgin can tell a lie,” he says more to himself than to me. “But if you have more gifts than one there may be more than a demon on your tail, so it’s probably best to tell me now.”

  “And just when I think you couldn’t get any scarier, there you go again and do it.”

  “Ah,” he says standing and looking at his watch. “Where are my manners? You must be starving.”

  I watch as he walks into the spotless galley and opens a refrigerator and begins rifling through it. He emerges with a large platter with a raw grouper and sets it on the tall counter before him. I curl my lip when he splashes a gross amount of olive oil in the bottom of a cast iron pan then turns the gas burner on high. He doesn’t seem to notice that oil splatters everywhere when he plops the fish in the pan way too early without any seasoning whatsoever. He stops to study his watch again and a moment later I hear a series of pings.

  “Right on time,” he tells me with a wink as he heads over to one of the computer terminals in the galley. “Thank you Rosie,” he says typing into the keyboard. “Come here beside me, Helen,” he motions. “Read this recipe to me while I cook.”

  I hesitantly step beside him and look back at the beautiful fish sitting in a lake of oil on too high a setting.

  “Where’s Mother?” he says as types into his keyboard. “Is she around?”

  I stand behind him and look around his shoulder as an instant message bleeps on the screen. You bet I’m here! My son cooking? For a girl?! When’s the wedding?

  I make a sputtering sound.

  Behave Mother. I can turn this off, he types.

  I read each word transfixed. It’s like watching the gods communicate from where ever it is they reside. I watch as the screen alters again and I gasp out loud when I see my name.

  Helen, dear, I’m so sorry about Kelly. I know how hard it is to lose one.

  “Your …mother knows about me, about Kelly?”

  He just shrugs as I gape at him.

  “You are certifiable,” I say shaking my head and laughing in disbelief. “And I’m stuck in the middle of God knows where with you on some boat, so I must be certifiable, too.”

  “You’re on a yacht, not a boat, and you’re too damn naïve for your own good! You’ve been kept in the dark far too long, in utter ignorance. It’s barbaric and ludicrous! There are things you need to face now and there is no rhyme or reasoning to your strategy. By now, you should trust me, love me even, but you choose to remain ignor--”

  “You can’t force me to love you!” I shout and stomp.

  “The hell I can’t!” he shouts back and stomps.

  Suddenly my eyes sting, I cough and smell smoke. A moment later smoke alarms are blaring as dozens of lights around the yacht flash off and on. We both run to the stove. The fish and the oil are on fire and grease is sputtering everywhere. Rawly just stands there, staring at the fire, too dumbfounded for words. Like a boss, I grab a dishtowel and wrap it around the handle then grab the flaming pan, carefully carrying it out in front of me as I move quickly outside over to the railing of the boat. I step up onto the coach, balancing on my heeled sandals as I lean out over the railing as far as I can and toss the flaming pan into the gulf.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and watch as it sinks below the phosphorous surface of the water. I look down and laugh, grateful for the comic relief.

  I can feel when he comes and stands too closely behind me. But I laugh anyway.

  “Smart move, Harold.” I hold on to the railing, bending over and looking down at the swiftly moving water beneath us as my gauze tank blows up around my shoulders and tickles my cheeks, while I laugh likes he’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. “You apparently are ignorant about basic kitchen fires. Is that by choice?” I laugh with dripping snark. “You are such an unbelievable--”

  He grabs me from behind. His firm chest molds against my back as he wraps his arms around my waist. His scent is all around me and his powerful arms squeeze me up hard against him, too hard while he breathes down over my neck as his heart pounds into my shoulder. He molds his hands around my waist as he slowly pushes me out in front of him, holding me at arm’s length. I am taller than he is now because I’m standing on the couch with my back is to him, yet even then I can still feel the heat of his dark eyes transfixed on the back of my cheeky swimsuit. As he bends down behind me, I can feel the heat from his hands when he slowly raises my dress back over my hips.

  I cry out when he begins to ravenously kiss my butt cheeks, moaning in what sounds like a low growl. I cry out again when I feel the sting of his tongue. I hold on to the railing and instinctively jerk back, trying to yank myself free of his grasp while my sandals fall from my feet in the scuffle.

  I try to shout and wiggle out of his grasp but he has winded me and the words are too heavy for my lungs as I struggle to straighten back up and move his mouth away from my flesh. I yank and twist and try to get his hands off my hips. I cry out as he bites down on my soft fleshy cheek and sucks it into his mouth.

  For a moment my right foot finds its bearing and I remember the move and lash back savagely with my heel, hoping for a nose but encounter solid mass and muscle as his arm intercepts my thrust and pins my leg to the railing. He immediately grabs my thigh with bruising fingers while his other hand leaves my waist and molds around my other thigh. He forces my legs further apart and slowly raises me up to his mouth as my arms flail the air behind me.

  Instant messages ping across his terminals, one after the other. He bites my other cheek, harder still, whispering unintelligible words I don’t want to hear.

  “Stop it, Rawly!” I finally manage to scream. “You haven’t taught me this move yet! Please, you’re scaring me!” I shout with all my might, trying hard not to cry because I think it’s impossible to defend myself against this attack.

  Rawly suddenly releases me. I turn around to face him and begin stepping backwards on the cushions as he follows me step for step until he has pinned me against the cool fiberglass wall. We are eye level now and he is trembling almost violently. I slap him hard, so hard my hands are stinging but I keep slapping him until I realize a balled fist would work better but my hands are too numb to oblige. His black eyes are glassy and hooded as he rubs his face where I have slapped him. His hand reaches toward me and he rubs his thumb across my lips, smearing my lipstick as he forces my mouth open and rubs his thumb over my teeth. He forces my teeth apart and slides his thumb deeper in my mouth, rubbing it over my tongue, in and out slowly as his body twitches and pushes me harder against the wall. When he finally moves his hand from my mouth, he takes my hand in his and lays it across his cheek.

  “Hit me again, Helen,” he pants in my ear. “Just touch me… Sting me! Anything! Hit me again, Helen.”

  “You disgust me!” I lean back from him and close my eyes.
<
br />   “Why, Helen?” he whispers in my neck. “You’re trembling.” I open my eyes and stare into the madness in his. “Good, I’ve taught you well. So, tell me now, my love, what is your next step? What should you do right now? Fight or flight, unless, of course, you choose to lie back and accept the third option? You’ve got to carefully consider all your options at times like these,” he says thrusting his thumb back into my mouth. I bite down this time, hard like a viper.

  “Ah, “he laughs and trembles. “I knew you’d choose fight,” he says as he holds his thumb up and studies it critically.

  He opens his hand and turns it over in front of my face. “You can’t begin to appreciate the power these hands possess, Helen. And we both know I could crush you like a fly at any moment; you obviously believe I would, too. Yet still you choose to constantly taunt and provoke me. Stupid strategy, my dear, unless you have a death wish.” He lowers his hand and moves his face over next to mine and inhales.

  “You foolishly taunt me even with the possibility that I am evil because you’re also fully aware I could take you any time I damn-well please, any way I choose. I could slam myself into you up against this wall right now or over there on the galley floor.” He places his hands on either side of me and leans down to hiss in my ear. “Would you like that, Helen, losing your precious virginity on my kitchen floor?”

  I cower into the wall as he rubs his face against mine. “I could simply make you disappear forever. Perhaps I should,” he tells looking into my eyes. “I am the final authority. Hell, baby; maybe the ancients were right about women, after all? Maybe there is no sane way to woo you and I should just chain you up below where no one could ever find you but me? We could navigate the seas forever. Who’s around to stop me?”

  “Rawly, I—”

  “Ssh. Don’t! Don’t say anything!” he warns, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes. We are silent for a long minute before he moans softly in my ear. “I should have known what it would be like to get this close. I should have known better!” His voice sounds more surprised than angry. “My specialty has always been sliding in with the dark and out before dawn, surgical, void of emotion.