Siren

by John Everson

  Evan jumped. Ligeia was there, right next to him. Her voice had nearly sent him out of his skin, but when he looked at her, he felt instantly calm again. And aroused. She stood naked in the night, arms at her side without shame. Her long dark hair fell in wet ringlets across her shoulders, but didn’t cover the swell of her breasts. Her belly glistened with moisture; the curves of her waist and hips were preternatural. She was a muse incarnate, a modern Venus.

  “We’re going to have to take you shopping for a new outfit.” He grinned.

  Ligeia smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “Do you really want to cover me?” she said, biting his ear. “I think you’re the one who needs a change in clothing.”

  Her fingers began to pull at his shirt, and Evan put his arms in the air for her to lift it over his head. In seconds his pants joined the shirt on the sand, and Evan held Ligeia tight to him, her soft flesh pressing his in all the right places. He felt desperate to have her then, immediately. He wanted to take her standing up, and he grew against her, edging up to do just that.

  She pushed him back slightly and laughed. Her voice was crystalline and beautiful, just like her song.

  “I want you in the water,” she said.

  Evan’s heart stopped. His erection instantly lost its steel. “Um…” he began. She pressed a finger to his lips and knelt in front of him to press her lips to his belly, and below. “It was so good last time, you know?”

  “I told you,” Evan said, feeling stupid as he did so. “I don’t like the water. I never have been able to—”

  His words were interrupted by his own moan at the feeling generated by her oral attention.

  “Shhhh,” she said. “You will come with me.”

  “I’m aquaphobic,” he insisted. “I can’t help it.”

  “It didn’t stop you before,” came her reply. And then her mouth was full again, taking him deeper.

  “I can’t…explain it,” he gasped, having trouble keeping the conversation up while other things were up. “When you sang…the world just…disappeared.”

  The warmth that engulfed him suddenly slipped away, and her hands moved from his thighs to his shoulders as Ligeia stood. The tip of her tongue brushed his lips, sending a tremor down Evan’s back, and then she opened her mouth. A tremulous note emerged, vibrating low, just at the point of hearing. Her head dipped, and her eyes met his with a look that demanded his lust. Gold freckled the brown of her eyes like a cat’s. Her gaze was electric. The melody rose from a whispering basso to a tremulous soprano. She sang without real words; yet there was meaning there. Evan’s mind filled with first a deep sadness, and then a great, overpowering need.

  Evan’s transport this time was instant. He barely noticed that she led him into the water. When she pulled him under the waves, their bodies locked as one, all he could see were her eyes. All he could feel was her mouth on his, her body moving against him, holding him tight and then releasing. The song had disappeared, replaced by her kiss, but Evan drifted in the ocean, letting Ligeia do the work, swimming and screwing at the same time. Her fingernails pressed against his back painfully as she reached her climax, and he felt his own release cresting too. They spasmed together beneath the surface, but as he opened his mouth unconsciously to scream out his pleasure, Ligeia kicked once, and brought him to the air.

  “Oh my God,” he gasped, spitting out a mouthful of seawater. He could only think of one word to describe the feelings pulsing through every vein in his flesh. Rapture.

  Ligeia held him easily, keeping them both afloat. Her lips were wide, happy. Evan let himself drift in her care, oblivious to all fear of the water. His phobia seemed to melt away completely at her touch. “That was the most amazing…ever,” he said, heaving and gasping to catch his breath.

  She pulled him tight to her breast. Her hair stuck to his cheek. “Come with me tonight,” her voice whispered in the dark. “And you will have me like that always. Every day. Yours forever.”

  Evan’s stomach clenched. “Ligeia, I…”

  “Forever,” she promised.

  “I’m married,” he said. “To a wonderful woman. I love her. I shouldn’t be here at all.”

  “You’re mine now,” she said simply, with a shrug that preempted all argument. Then she flicked her tongue across his eyelids, nose and lips. Ligeia began to hum, and Evan’s panic subsided instantly.

  The wind blew against them, raising the fishy smell of the ocean depths, and he shivered. Ligeia gripped him tight to her, legs scissoring his and working him back between her thighs. When he entered her a second time, the force of her moan hit Evan like his own orgasm. Her voice broke all around him in short staccato squeaks. Mellifluous, high and almost birdlike. “Mine,” she moaned more than once.

  Evan couldn’t help himself. His need for her grew so heavy, he joined her in promises.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yours.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The door slammed behind Evan with a hollow snap, and he knew right away that something was wrong. Darren’s office was empty, though the lights were on. He stepped into the bull pen, and all of the desks were empty, though the computer screens all glared with light. Bill’s chair was pushed away from his desk, as if he’d left in a hurry; its back hung up on the front rim of Maggie’s desk.

  “Huh,” Evan murmured. All of their cars were in the lot, and he hadn’t seen anyone up on the dock. No ships were in this morning, though a couple were due, he knew.

  He looked out the back window to the dock and confirmed that nobody was in sight. The pier extended out into the water without a single tie-up so far today. It was a beckoning finger into the ocean that remained unanswered.

  “Huh,” Evan said again, and went to his desk to turn on his computer, which was obvious in its off-ness. He was late again. And this time, he had apparently missed something big. I’m going to hear about this, I bet.

  As the Windows 95 logo lit up the screen, he noticed a handwritten note on a Post-it dangling from his monitor.

  Evan—

  There’s been an accident. We’re going up the beach near the point.

  —Bill

  “What the hell,” Evan said to the empty office. What kind of accident would have sent the entire office out to the beach? Images of blood on the sand, the crumpled body of a water-skier lying a dozen feet from its severed leg filled his mind. Steeling himself for the worst, he exited the back door and took the stairs down to the beach two at a time.

  As soon as he passed the fence that walled in the cargo area of the port, Evan saw his workmates. They were huddled down near the point, but Evan didn’t pay attention to what they were looking at. His eyes were trained on the ship out in the water, not far off the beach. He couldn’t tell how large the craft was, but it was a cargo carrier, without a doubt. Probably the one he’d known was due in overnight, its berth filled with Mexican produce. A green machine, they called it in the bull pen.

  This one wasn’t going to be delivering much green though. Not with its bow head down in the bay. The port side of the craft faced the beach at an awkward angle—ass up, as it were. The water wasn’t deep enough to swallow the craft here, and it had apparently run aground during the night.

  There were flashing lights cutting the air beyond the sand, and as Evan drew closer he saw that there were blue-shirted cops kneeling down in the sand as well as Bill, Darren, Candice and some others.

  Bill saw his approach and motioned him over. “You’ve got to hear this,” he whispered as Evan met him just outside the circle of gawkers.

  “What’s going on?” Evan asked.

  “Ship sank early this morning, just before dawn. They never even used the radio; Maggie saw them out here this morning after she got in. She happened to take a look out the bathroom window and saw a damn ship facedown in the drink, you know? She freaked out!”

  “What happened?”

  “Ha.” Bill grinned dourly. “That’s what I wanted you to hear.”

  His friend grabbed him
and dragged him into the circle surrounding a body on the beach. Paramedics hunched over the bloody mess that Evan quickly realized was a man. It was just like his dream—the sand sated with blood. The emergency team had run an IV into the man’s arm, and were doing something at the victim’s neck.

  “So…what?” Evan asked after a minute. Nobody was saying anything, but the body on the beach jittered and spasmed periodically, so he knew it wasn’t a corpse…yet.

  “The guy was talking a minute ago,” Bill said. “They couldn’t shut him up. I wanted you to hear.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like he’s going to say much now,” Evan observed. “So what’s the deal?”

  Bill opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped as a low moan erupted from the sand. “She was there!” a rough voice insisted. The voice sounded about like what you’d expect after gargling a cup of bleach. “I saw her. She was beautiful and…I swear to you…she was nekkid as a jaybird. I seen nekkid chicks before but she…”

  The voice trailed off into a fit of wet coughing, and the paramedics leaned over, trying to shush him.

  “She sang the most beautiful song…” the man cried out. Evan saw his legs stiffen, and then one hand reached up and grabbed the pale shirt of one of the paramedics. “She sang…” The voice stopped, and then the hand slipped away from the paramedic’s back. In its place was a long red smear.

  There was a flurry of motion, and one of the ambulance drivers tried CPR. But the man was gone. Bill pulled Evan back from the crowd. “He was one of the crew on a small freighter coming in from Porto Huevas. They were almost to dock early this morning, rounding the point when they heard music. The captain slowed the ship and edged closer to shore, and the guy on the beach was with him. He said that she sang like an angel…and they tried to get closer. Then the ship hit something…but neither one of them did anything, because all they could do was listen to the woman on the rocks. Singing.”

  Bill looked at Evan and opened his eyes as wide as he could. “Did you hear me, Evan? These guys crashed their boat and stood there on the deck as it went down because they were totally in a trance because of some woman on the rocks singing. Does that sound at all familiar to you, Evan?”

  Evan shrugged. “Sounds like they got drunk and sleepy and wrecked their boat on some rocks,” he said. “Not sure that a naked singer has a lot to do with it.”

  Bill took him by the shoulders and shook him. “Wake up, Evan. I know it sounds crazy, but hell…you’ve been with her. BEEN with her. No normal woman has the kind of effect on men that this chick does. C’mon, man. When have you ever been able to set foot in water deeper than a sidewalk puddle?”

  Evan looked out to the ass end of the boat that stuck out from the bay and refused to answer.

  “She’s dangerous,” Bill said. “Do you know why that man just finished bleeding to death?”

  Evan shook his head.

  “Because she bit him,” Bill announced.

  “So she’s a vampire?”

  “No! Sirens eat the flesh of their victims. That’s how it works. That’s why they lure ships to shore. For sex and…food.”

  Evan pulled his shirt away from his neck and showed Bill his bare skin. He ran a finger around his throat and shook his head. “I’ve had sex with her,” he said in a low whisper that the others couldn’t overhear. “And she’s never bit me.”

  “Maybe you’re sour.”

  “Then I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?”

  Evan started to walk away, and then stopped. “Hey,” he called. “What happened to the captain?”

  “She ate him,” Bill answered without a trace of a smile. “I’m serious. That’s what he said. She ripped out his throat and chewed off his lips. Was in the middle of ripping into his guts with her teeth when our guy back there tried to stop her. If he’d been smart, he would have just taken a dive and headed for shore while she was busy.”

  “Every man for himself?”

  “Sometimes that’s the only way to survive.”

  Evan, Maggie, Bill and the rest of the dock staff returned to the harbor office one by one, and the day crept by. Nobody seemed much inclined to talk about it, yet, obviously the man’s death impacted them all greatly. Darren didn’t even mention that Evan had been late. He simply disappeared into his office and hunched behind a stack of files and papers.

  Outside, a coast guard cutter flanked the half-sunken ship, most likely to keep away the curious while the wreck was investigated. Maggie made a lot more trips to the bathroom than usual and every now and then just announced, “They’re still there.”

  Evan was glad when the day was done, though he dreaded his first stop of the evening. It wasn’t home, unfortunately. Tonight was his weekly appointment with Dr. Blanchard. He felt stupid for going. People could brag about how their weekly trips to the chiropractor kept them upright, but nobody really wanted to admit that they needed a shrink to keep moving through the days. Somehow, mental health remained taboo in a country where there was a head doc on every corner. Somebody was keeping them in business and most of those somebodies probably didn’t have nearly as much reason as Evan to need help. Most hadn’t lost a child.

  Evan cringed as he walked up the sidewalk to Blanchard’s door. He was still embarrassed about coming here, and knew if it hadn’t been a demand of his employer, he never would have continued coming. Still, Blanchard had helped him, he had to admit that.

  And today, he really needed her. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to tell her that, but he did. There was too much going on for him to pretend to be fine tonight though. Tonight, he needed someone to talk to. And after the scene at the beach today, he just couldn’t bring himself to tell Bill.

  Evan followed Dr. Blanchard into the office and eased into the maroon cushioned chair near her cherrywood desk. Everything about her office seemed to have a trace of red in it, he’d noticed, even down to the faint but unmistakably fake additional color added to her lips.

  “I had sex in the ocean with a Siren,” he blurted out.

  Dr. Blanchard tried to hold it back, but couldn’t. Her professional composure disappeared and she laughed outright.

  “A what?” she gasped.

  “A Siren,” he repeated. “I’m not joking. Last night, I went down to the beach, and a woman sang to me and it was so beautiful, so moving, that I walked right into the ocean with her, and we made love out in the surf. She even pulled me underwater while she came. And I went with it. I came with her, while my face was under the waves.”

  “This is a new tactic,” Dr. Blanchard said, after forcing down her smile. “From a man petrified of the water, not to mention living life, to a man who is, pardon my French, fucking a force of nature in the ocean?”

  She waited for Evan to respond, and when he only stared at his shoes, she continued. “Why did you say that?” she asked more gently. “What’s going on?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous,” he said. “But I’ve never been more serious in my life. The woman I told you about last week? The one who I thought drowned? Well, I went back to the point and she was there again. And she sang to me. So beautifully that I forgot everything. She led me right into the ocean. She could have led me into hell for all I cared. But last night, I think she killed a man. Two men, I guess.”

  Dr. Blanchard quietly pulled her notepad down to her lap and slipped the cap off her pen. Today, she thought, she might need some records.

  “Okay, slow down,” she said. “Let’s start at the beginning…”

  Chapter Eighteen

  June 7, 1887

  Things didn’t feel right. Sometimes, you could just tell. Taffy hauled the rope down hard and shifted the sail.

  Sometimes, things didn’t feel right ’cuz the sea was scary calm, and you just knew a deadly storm was brewing out in the west, and it was just a matter of time until that quiet turned to squall. You hightailed it to shore then, if you could, because nobody wanted to end up as so much meat in Davy Jones’s locker. Ther
e was an electricity in the air during those times that raised the hair on the back of your neck. You just knew that lightning was poised to strike.

  But Taffy had a different feeling right now. This wasn’t a seaman’s itch about the coming temper of Mother Nature. This was the kind of itch that kept you up at night searching the shadows for the beast you knew was out there. Somewhere close enough to slither out and kiss you. He’d had this bad feeling in his gut, truth be told, since the day Rogers had turned up missing. It had gotten worse when they’d pulled some of that boy’s carcass up in the nets. Taffy didn’t believe in coincidences; everything happened for a reason. Everything was connected. Now Nelson seemed to have disappeared into the drink. The thief had gotten hisself a captain’s whuppin’ and the next day, he was gone.

  Coincidence?

  He grinned, but it wasn’t a happy grin. He’d been with Buckley on the sea for a couple years now, hoisting and hefting. The captain ran a tight ship; some called him mean as a widow’s tit, but Taffy had always called him brutally fair. He’d had respect for the man, though Buckley kept to himself and didn’t share his rum with anyone. They all knew he had it; you could smell it on his breath at dinner. But it was his ship, and if the captain wanted his nip, the men couldn’t complain. Captain’s prerogative.

  Still. Something had changed this time out. The captain disappeared at odd times during the day, just…left the deck. Not a word to anyone. His usual surly stand-offishness now seemed simply rude and mean. And the atmosphere about the ship was different. There were the strange noises at night he’d never noticed before. Rogers had said it was just the ship settling, a light creak that seemed musical in its rhythm.

  But Taffy had sailed this ship too many times. The noise didn’t sound at all like boards creaking with the waves.

  It sounded like muffled music.

  Kind of like what he’d been hearing just now, from down here in the hold. Taffy slipped between the wooden crates, his ear at the ready. The ship swayed and dipped, slowly, easily, and Taffy’s feet adjusted without thinking. But as they hit the low end of the trough, he heard a noise. A scraping. From his left.