by J G Barber
Paul searches the house for signs of Laura, or at least a clue where she is. The lights are off, but the full moon shines through the skylight and windows, enabling him to see. “She must be at Ellen’s.”
Come to me, Paul. He hears Lorelei’s voice in his head, accompanied by the melody she sang to Erik on the Rhine River the night Erik’s life ended. The song stirs Paul to the core of his soul. He drops to his knees, overwhelmed by the deep longing to be with her, a grief-infused emptiness that only she can fill. You want to know the secret. I want to share it with you.
Erik’s shadow overtakes him. Paul removes his wedding ring and hits the shower. He washes his hair and soaps his body head to toe, making sure every crack and crevice is clean.
He enters the foyer, naked in the darkness, moonlight illuminating one side of his face. Paul walks through the house, admiring what his hard work has enabled him to buy, reflecting on the price he had to pay for it. I have to close this deal, he tells himself. I want the money more than anything. Paul pauses at a chest of drawers that holds photos from his ten years of marriage to Laura, and a few moments of happiness from life with his parents. He picks up a photo of him and his father. His memory flashes back to the night of his father’s death.
Paul sits by Robert’s bedside, holding his hand. Tubes and wires decorate his head and face. The heart monitor displays a flat-line and alarms sound. A shadowy figure rises from his father’s body and envelops Paul. Paul’s body shakes unnaturally as Erik transfers his will from father to son.
He sets the photo down, the Rhine River storm of 1539 raging in his eyes as Erik propels him into action. Paul marches to the bedroom and suits up in his sailor’s garb, finishing with in his signature black wool seaman’s jacket. He enters the office and reaches for the missing spyglass. He shoves the steel file cabinet to the ground and kicks it until it’s a pile of twisted metal.
The Hummer parks in a pay lot at the other end of the alley behind The Underground techno club. Paul marches down the alley to the door and its usual line of partiers waiting to enter. With a look from Erik’s eyes, the bouncers let him pass.
Lights flash across a sea of dancers tripping to the vocal trance beat. Paul storms across the dance floor, exuding a raw masculinity that turns the eye of every dancer in his path. As he parts the sea, the lights and the music transform the dance floor into a portal to another dimension.
Lorelei mesmerizes a circle of male and female admirers as she dances. She feasts on their energy and attention. Paul breaks the circle. Lorelei looks him over head to toe, snubs her nose, and walks away. he grabs her arm to stop her. Siren eyes that could sink a thousand ships meet Erik’s eyes of rage.
Three of Lorelei’s male admirers surround Paul. He maintains eye contact with her as he lets her go. With a gleeful sparkle in her eyes, she disappears out the alley exit as the admirers attempt to restrain Paul. He shoves them aside and throws the alley door open. Paul dodges the Lamborghini as it races by. He chases after it. The three admirers pursue.
In front of the club, the valet helps Lorelei into her car. Paul catches up with her. “We need to talk,” he demands, grabbing her steering wheel, revealing that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. Lorelei laughs. “Get my keys,” Paul commands. The valet complies.
“Too late, Sailor.” She drives away as the admirers drag Paul back into the alley. He breaks free and starts throwing wild punches. Two admirers grab Paul and the third pummels him. His rage builds with each blow. One blow to the face, and Paul snaps, taking the men down in rapid succession with a storm of vicious punches and kicks.
The Hummer arrives. Paul pulls the valet out and jumps in. The powerful diesel engine grinds and tires squeal as he pursues. Paul spots the Lamborghini a few blocks ahead, stopped at a traffic light. He drives over a curb and down the sidewalk to catch up. The light turns green, and the Hummer chases the Lamborghini onto Highway 5. Even with the pedal to the metal, it only takes a minute for Lorelei to leave Paul in the dust. He checks the clock. There’s just enough time to catch the last ferry. Paul continues north to the Mukilteo Ferry Terminal, to cross the sound to Whidbey Island.
Chapter Nineteen
On the other side of Possession Sound, Paul drives up the hill from the Clinton ferry terminal. He passes the yard of a woodcarver’s roadside store. The beam from the street light illuminates one carving. A mermaid sea hag stands alone, old, and shriveled by time and the water.
He turns onto Deer Lake Road, a shortcut to Cultus Bay Road and Lorelei’s mansion. Driving like a man possessed, Paul reaches his destination in less than ten minutes. He finds a side road next to the sirens’ property and parks the Hummer out of sight.
Paul climbs up a small hill until he finds a survey point. The mansion shows no signs of life. He crosses the lawn to the pool. The patio door is locked. Paul grabs a stone from the planter and smashes the glass. No alarm.
He makes his way through the sitting room where he and the crew partied with Lorelei. Paul notes an antique couch, love seat and chairs, a matched set with mermaids carved into the wood. They surround a glass table with a bronze mermaid base. He reaches the door across the room. It’s locked. It takes several violent kicks to break the door in half.
Paul enters a windowless, softly lit gallery filled with paintings, display stands, and glass cases. Paintings of sirens throughout history cover the walls. The Odyssey with Odysseus, his crew and sirens as mermaids and bird-women. Gentlemen dressed in medieval frills intrude on a woman’s bath to discover Melusine’s secret, her fishtail legs or serpent tails protruding from the water. The Loreley, a beautiful German woman sitting on river rocks, sings and plays a harp as boats sink before her to drown the sailors on board.
One painting draws him in, a circle of seven mermaids holding hands in the water. One of them resembles Lorelei. The other six represent world ethnicities: Hispanic, American and Eastern Indian, African and several Orientals.
The sound of glass-on-glass distracts him. Paul turns to discover Lorelei, wrapped in a luminous red silk bathrobe, drying her hair. Two drinks await on the mermaid table. As Paul grabs one, an overhead light illuminates a statue near the bottom of the stairs, at the entrance to a hallway. Paul takes in the Serpent Goddess: a tall, topless Minoan woman wearing a long, layered skirt and ornate waistband, necklace and headdress. She holds a snake in each hand above her head.
Lorelei takes the other drink. “Congratulations. Most men don’t make it this far.”
Paul lifts his glass to the statue. “Who’s your friend?”
Lorelei brushes her arm against his hand. As they touch, energy flows through Paul’s his heart and groin. It sets him on fire. “Great Mother is known by many names,” she explains. She saunters to the couch. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
He sits on the opposite end. “You said you have Jerry dialed in.”
She grins. “Let’s just say that Jerry’s rise to the top came at a price. He owes me.”
“Cut to the chase, Lorelei.” He drains his drink. “You don’t need me to close this deal. Why am I here?”
She shakes her head, disappointed he hasn’t figured it out yet. “I do need you here, Paul Douglass.” Her eyes compel him to move next to her. “We are the creative force that will make this deal happen. Let me tell you a secret I learned long ago.” She slides her hand along his left leg, then his right. “All this out here is an effect. An illusion, if you like.” She taps his head and slides her finger down across his lips to his heart. “The cause is inside. The life force.” Her finger continues to his crotch. “Female and male merged together as one. The source of all creation.” She infuses her voice with an irresistible siren tone. “You want freedom? Then come to me. You want riches? Then enter me. Join with me. Make love with me.”
Lorelei sets their glasses on the table. “I can take you any time I please. You must choose true power. Choose, Paul.” In one fluid and swift movement, she disappears down the hallway, leaving a trail of ph
eromones in her wake.
The smell lures Paul off the couch and down the hallway to a spiral staircase. A soft, sultry siren’s song calls him down to Lorelei’s playroom. Candlelight and smoke encircle the bed-in-the-round. Mirrors surround the bed. An antique circular table presents a gold tray. It contains a carafe of red wine and a two-handled gold chalice decorated with jewels and a circle of symbols. The labrys—also known as the double axe—the Minoan butterfly representing the cycle of life.
“Come to me.” Lorelei unties her robe, revealing the most exquisite female form Paul has ever seen. He approaches. She removes his shirt and caresses his bruises, each movement a deliberate act of seduction, each touch of her fingers causing his breath to speed up. He leans to kiss her. Her fingers stop him. “First, we must receive the blessing of the Goddess.” She pours wine into the two-handled chalice and hands it to him. He drinks. She takes her turn.
“Undress,” she commands. He empties his pockets on the nightstand and slowly disrobes as she watches. She slips out of her robe and slides onto the bed in a pose so erotic that Paul’s manhood pops to attention. “Turn around. Let me see you.” She watches, delighted.
She sits up, her legs spread. A glimmer of wetness on her inner thighs catches his eye. Her eyes draw him to her. She takes him into her mouth. His passion explodes as he shakes with orgasmic ecstasy. She takes it all in, as if she was drinking nectar of the gods. When his moment completes, she pulls him into bed and wraps herself around him.
They kiss and caress each other until she’s ready. She maneuvers him onto his back and mounts his face. His tongue goes to work until it elicits a liquid response. He drinks in her fluids with a ravenous desire, having tasted nothing so erotic and addictive. Her gushing continues until it drenches his upper body. She grinds her womanhood into his face, smothering him until he pulls at her, begging for air. She slides down his chest and belly, docking with his renewed erection.
Ellen’s old Volvo wagon skids to a stop in the driveway. Laura jumps out and opens the garage door. Her face drops as she sees the Hummer is not there. She sprints into the house. “Paul? Paul? Paul!” Laura comes across the destroyed file cabinet. She runs into the bedroom. Smelling the residual moisture from his shower, she rushes into the bathroom. The light glimmers off of Paul’s wedding ring. She stumbles into the living room and collapses onto the couch. Shock transforms into sobbing and convulsions as she digests Paul’s choice.
Paul’s smartphone activates on Lorelei’s nightstand. Hidden in the shadows, Leucosia’s hand taps the display. The caller ID reads ‘Laura’ as the video calling feature activates. She positions the camera to frame the two lovers in bed.
Laura sits alone in the dark, a woman in grief. Her phone beeps. She sees Paul’s name and answers. She squints to see the video in the candle-lit, smoke-filled room. “My dearest Lorelei.” Laura recognizes the voice. It’s Erik.
Lorelei straddles Paul as they thrust in perfect rhythm together. “Erik,” she moans.
“I want you,” Paul groans in Erik’s voice. His thrusting intensifies.
“I am yours,” Lorelei moans as their bodies and mouths merge.
Laura ends the call. Tears stream as the sounds of animalistic lovemaking echo in her mind, eating away at her soul. The storm of emotions surges as she struggles to comprehend what she just witnessed: Paul’s phone, Erik’s voice, and his business partner’s name. Alexei said Erik loves Lorelei, she reminds herself. The reminder gives her no comfort.
After a long night of slow fucking with more orgasms than Paul ever thought possible in a single night, he shares an intimate breakfast with Lorelei. Their souls are connected. Lorelei radiates energy. Dark circles contrast Paul’s gaunt face. She barely eats. He devours every morsel of food in sight.
Looking into her eyes, he recalls a moment in bed where he saw something different, a fragile, terrified young woman, desperate and yet grateful to be seen. He loses the memory in the spellbinding green eyes of the siren.
“We must complete your tour of the private art gallery,” she says to further distract him.
Paul searches for more food. There’s nothing left. “Sorry about the door. What’s the deal with your gallery, anyway?”
“Oh, just something to do with my investing profits.” Lorelei leads him downstairs.
Paul props himself up on the railing as they descend. The food fortified him and restored his cognitive functions, but he still feels weak and strange at a cellular level. He finds the shattered glass door and split wood door restored with no residue of the damage he inflicted. A metal reinforced frame wraps the new steel door to the art gallery. She unlocks it and shows him in.
He scans a shelf filled with figurines, stone carvings, metal castings and pottery representing the ‘fat woman’ tradition, birds and other animals with women’s upper torsos representing sirens, butterflies, the ouroboros and the labrys. He glances at a set of statuettes of the Serpent Goddess, including one cast in gold with green painted eyes. “These artifacts come from the sacred caves of Crete,” Lorelei says. “Some are as old as we are.”
Paul inspects the glass cases filled with ancient and medieval gold jewelry: rings, necklaces and pendants of the ouroboros and the labrys. Paul points to a group of artifacts bearing the labrys. “This symbol. It was on the cup we drank from last night. What does it mean?”
“Resurrection.” Lorelei continues the tour, pointing out each group of items. He studies the clusters of archaeological relics. Bird-bodied woman cut from stone and painted on pottery. A woman’s head and chest on a lion’s body, sculpted from clay. A topless woman connected to the lower body of a snake. A voluptuous stone-carved woman hangs seductively from a tree. “These are artifacts from Greece. Egypt. Iran. Turkey. This is a tree nymph from India.”
“These all look like sirens,” Paul comments. Laura enters his mind, breaking the spell for a moment. But Lorelei’s emerald green eyes and the change processing in his cells reassert the spell.
“What do you know of sirens, Paul?” Lorelei probes.
Well, aside from the fact my wife is a mythological psychologist whose research concluded you are a mythical siren in the flesh, and my personal driver is a siren hunter who refers to you as “it,” and I’ve witness you place a room of people under your spell with your song, most of what I know I learned from you. He doesn’t speak.
Hearing his thoughts, Lorelei grins. “Die Lorelei,” she says with a German accent. She leads him to glass cases filled with ancient and medieval gold coins and jewelry. He pauses at a display case filled with jewelry from Erik’s chest. Paul’s demeanor morphs into Erik’s. “There’s my Sailor love.”
Paul becomes disoriented as Erik’s will moves to the forefront. These jewels belonged to him. I’m experiencing Erik’s memories, he realizes in another moment of perfect clarity.
The taste of her lips restores his entranced state. “Time for some fresh air,” she calls. “Let’s head down to the marina, Sailor.” Lorelei skips off to the playroom with Paul in tow.
His legs wobble, but he survives the spiral staircase. She beats him to the shower, leaving the door open to invite him in. He stumbles over to his belongings. Panic grips his heart as he sees Laura’s name in his phone’s outgoing call log. He collapses to his knees.
Lorelei emerges from the shower, dripping wet, her skin glistening. She sings to call Paul’s attention as she wraps a towel around her waist. For an instant, he hallucinates that he’s looking at the Serpent Goddess. “It’s a beautiful day, Sailor. Let’s not waste it.”
Paul powers off the smartphone and enters the shower. The water refreshes him. Steam and liquid soap do nothing to wash away her pheromones and her fluids. They have saturated his nostrils and his taste buds. He remains under the shower head for a long while, merging with the water as the cells of his body process the change Lorelei initiated.
The Lamborghini skids to a stop in front of the marina. Lorelei struts to the moorings, supercharged with ener
gy. Paul perks up as he takes in the fresh salt air, the sight of boats, and a venti coffee. He points out several sailboats to her.
She unlocks the gate. “I’ll show you a boat.” Lorelei leads the way to a doublewide slip.
Paul inspects the Isara Hybrid 65, a massive, ultra-luxurious open water trimaran yacht. “I’ve read about these,” he says with a snobbish tone.
“The Parthenope outlived her usefulness long ago. We need a modern boat for modern times.” Lorelei opens the hatch to down below. “We’re thinking about this one. Come aboard.”
“You’re gonna buy a trimaran?” Paul’s offended by his own words as he speaks.
She grins. “It outperforms a racing yacht on open water. You never know when a girl’s got to outrun her pursuer.”
He inspects this custom-built home on the water that looks like something out of a Miami Vice episode but with all the latest technology. Four sleeping rooms large enough for couples. Leather, brass and gold appoint the interior. “This yacht must be worth several million before the gold inlays,” Paul speculates. “Quite the venue for a party.”
Lorelei shoots him a “ready for more” look. As much as he wants it, he has nothing left to give her.
Paul returns to the dock. He finds the boat he spotted when they arrived and trots around to the next dock. Lorelei bolts in the opposite direction.
Dutch tends to his Open 50, an unconventional, high-tech racing yacht. Paul has dreamed of owning this kind of boat. “It’s not the best choice as a live-aboard world sailer,” Dutch points out, “but it’s one of the fastest boats on the water you can find. Come aboard, Paul. Dutch Taylor. We met at Robert’s funeral.”
Paul jumps on deck and shakes his hand. “I remember you.”
“Make yourself at home,” Dutch says. “Take a look around.”
Paul disappears into the cabin. Dutch studies Lorelei as she talks on her smartphone, barely in sight at the far end of the docks. She feels him watching, and moves out of his line of sight. Dutch pulls out his smartphone and sends a text to Alexei: “It’s here at the marina with him.”
