New story: Mara, part 1

Hi PD folks, I'm back with a new short story. I've been poking at this one for a year and a half (!), so it's time to finally release it into the wild. :) Hope you enjoy...

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MARA

There’s a storm coming and inside the store, under the buzz of fluorescent lights, third in line for the register, Mara is restless. Her attention is fixed on the sensation of building pressure, the humidity that the air conditioning can’t manage to suck out. Beneath the no-brand pop music that the convenience store pipes in overhead, she thinks she can hear a roll of distant thunder; it presses in against the hum of the lights. Her bare arms prickle, up and down their lengths.

The Sea Hag -Chapter Eight-

 

Michael

“Aye, Dios mio!” cried our mother as soon as I set foot in the house.

I had followed Gabe in and was reaching to close the large, heavy, front door behind me when the Madre’s light, quick steps hurried up to me and her thin, callused fingers began caressing my face. “Miguelito, Angelito, what happened?” Her hands stroked and prodded worriedly at the bandage around my head and I could only imagine the wounded, haggard picture I presented.

“Mama, I’m fine,” I assured her, grabbing her fluttering hands in my own and kissing them to stillness.

“Dumbass got hit in the head with his own board,” supplied my loving twin with a derisive snort, and Mom lunged toward him. I heard a muffled thwack, and a grumbled “ow” from Gabe.

“He’s right, Ma,” I said, reaching for her.“It was a stupid mistake; I was out there too long without a break and I lost focus.” She took my hand and kissed it with a little sniff of acknowledgement. “It won’t happen again,” I promised.  

“See that it doesn’t.” she said primly. Then she sighed and patted my cheek “You boys are  making me prematurely grey.” 

“Premature?” Gabe said incredulously. “You’re nearly sixty, Mamá!”

“I’m fifty-four, cabrón,” she said dryly.

“You don’t look a day over forty-four to me,” I assured her with a sassy smile. This earned me a scoff and a shoulder-smack of my very own.

“Kiss-ass,” said Gabe.

“Ven, both of you cabrónes.” Mom said, exasperated, “Sit down and eat.” She took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. Not that I needed to be led. I’d grown up here, lived here most of my life when I wasn’t away at school. I knew it like I knew my own body. Still, she was my mother, and I allowed her to mother me at such moments. My head ached fiercely, though I was working hard to hide it, and my belly whined plaintively at the thick, spicy smell of Mom’s Pozole that permeated the house.

“He’ll be fine, Mamá,” Gabe elbowed me as he passed on his way to pull out his own chair. “Just a little bump on the noggin. Good thing that mermaid was there to save you, huh? What was her name again?”

I turned my face to try and level a glare at him. “Sirena,” I said tightly, “and she is not a mermaid.” Probably. “She has legs.” And gills, but nevermind that.

A gasp came from the vicinity of the stove and Mom bustled over, clinking two steaming bowls before us and settling into the chair to our left. “Mijito, you met a girl?” she asked like a highschool gossip. “Tell me everything. How old is she? What does she do? Where does she live?” She paused and added in a stage whisper, “Is she pretty?”  and I knew that this last question was directed at Gabe.

“I didn’t see too much of her before she dove back into the sea like a friggin’ dolphin and disappeared,” said Gabe between mouthfuls of hot soup. “Pretty great ass, though,” he added thoughtfully.

Mom scoffed softly and I busied myself with my own soup while I felt her eyes boring into me impatiently. I was so hungry, and the soup so delicious, that I forgot about her and her questions for several minutes while I finished it. 

When I had drained the last of it’s spicy, tomatoey goodness I sat back and closed my eyes with a sigh. I opened them again when Mom made a polite, throat clearing noise and said, “Well?”

There was a clinking and splashing sound and a small glass touched my fingers. “Drink up, bud,” said Gabe, his voice a mischievous grin. “Tell us all about the fish-girl I saw you suckin’ face with.”

“She’s not a fish-” I stopped, giving up with a sigh, raised the tequila shot with a muttered “Salud” and downed it, wincing at the burn. “She’s some kind of ocean environmentalist. She didn’t say which group, just that she'd been alone out at sea a long time. I don’t know how old she is, but she seems to be near enough my age.”

“She’s gotta be some kinda free diver, Ma,” Gabe interjected, sounding like he had just taken a second shot. “ Cuz I didn’t see her come up for air once after she dove in. And I didn’t see a boat out there, bro.”

I shrugged a shoulder, my face a non-committal mask. “Make up whatever bizarre theories you want about her.” I pushed myself away from the table and stood with finality. “Maybe she’s a mutant. Maybe she’s an alien. Maybe she’s just an eccentric person. The fact is, she saved my life today. If she doesn’t want the world to see her right now, then the least I can do is respect her privacy. I owe her at least that much,” I said softly, hanging my aching head. Then I turned to make my way to my bedroom, pausing to add, “And, frankly, so do you.”

I walked away then, as Mom’s plaintive, “mijo…” followed me down the hall and I heard Gabe say, “Well, he’s not wrong,” before I climbed the stairs to my room and closed the door.

My room hadn’t changed since I was fifteen. Nothing in the house had, really. Both because keeping everything consistent made it easier for me, and, I think, as a sort of homage, or shrine to my father. We’d suffered two terrible losses, traumatic changes, in the same year and all three of us had dealt with it in our own way. Mom’s response had been to solidify as much of her life as she could, to insulate herself from further trauma. Gabe had done the opposite and embraced chaos as a way of life; in a bid to be an agent of change instead of its victim.

Me? I kept my world small, academic, and largely impersonal. I looked at the unpredictability of life through the fractal lens of chaos theory. It made me feel safer to know that even chaos has it’s order, it’s patterns. And that life can be deciphered, even predicted to a point, if only you understand it clearly enough.

My head pounded in time with my heartbeat as I made my way to the en suite bathroom. I took off the bandage and felt gingerly around the swollen knot just above the base of my skull. The skin was split in the center but not large enough to need stitches. 

I trusted Gabe’s assessment on injuries since he had been a paramedic once. 

For about six months. 

The man went through careers like runway models went through clothes. He was brilliant and learned new skills easily, but seemed to get bored once he felt he had mastered a particular area. This year he was bartending and learning carpentry between Grindr dates.

I had changed out of the wetsuit into a t-shirt and board shorts on the ride back home, and now as I striped naked to get into a cool shower, I felt the sharp ache in my sternum where her strange and wonderful hands must have struggled to make my heart beat again. I smiled as I rubbed my chest gingerly and stepped under the spray, letting it soothe away the pain of my injuries.

What a strange and beautiful creature this Sirena was. I remembered vividly the feel of the webs between her long, thin fingers. Much longer than was usual for a human and tipped in thick, sharp claws. Her skin was impossibly smooth and hairless, like a dolphin but with a strange pliability that reminded me of nothing so much as the feel of an octopus. Her head was likewise hairless, and she had only slight ripples surrounding small holes where ears should have been. I hadn’t gotten a good feel of her eyes, but they were probably oversized in order to pick up more light in murky depths. I could feel her breath on my face when we kissed, but no protruding nose, like other women, so her nose must be either very flat or nearly so.

Her construction made perfect sense for a marine mammal. If I were going to design an aquatic humanoid, she is what I would aim for. The gills were an anomaly, though. There were no mammals on earth that possessed gills; our metabolism simply requires too much oxygen.

My soapy hands roamed my body as I thought about the feel of her beneath my hands. Her tiny breasts and pert nipples stiffening beneath my touch. I felt my cock twitch and begin to swell at the memory. My hand worked its way down and I began to stroke myself as I remembered the way she had straddled me on the beach. Her mewling, pleading noises as she ground against me through the wetsuit. The feel of her lips, her hands, her claws. I grunted, leaning against the wall of the shower and bit down on a cry as I came hard to the memory of my hands on her firm, smooth buttocks.

I stood under the water, catching my breath for a moment before rinsing off, toweling off and falling into bed.

The ocean crashed outside my open window and I couldn’t wait to see her again the next morning. I gripped my pillow in a full-body hug and fell quickly and deeply asleep.

Mara, part 2

Hi PD, 

Here's the second and final part of "Mara"! 

If you missed part 1, here it is. Sorry the story's only two parts - but this one is a long and steamy one. :)

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“C’mon in,” he says from the doorway, a little breathlessly. “Can you get my bag?” As she nods, he stretches his left foot down to reclaim his shoe. He stuffs both the card and then his foot into the shoe. She stoops to grab the handle of his backpack, then pauses to take one last look over her shoulder into the courtyard behind them. A few other people are hurrying by, glancing anxiously at the sky; nobody takes notice of her. She takes a breath, feeling as if she’s about to take a dive, and follows Pete into the building.

The door closes them into a dim, air-conditioned foyer with a slate-tiled floor. Mara sets Pete’s backpack down and watches as he retrieves and replaces the card in his wallet, the wallet in the backpack, all with his foot. His hands are curled more tightly, as if in concentration.

“Can I ask,” she says carefully, “when you decide to do stuff with your feet, and…?” She tells herself that if her face is cold, it’s because of the sudden air conditioning, and not that she is, on some level, petrified.

He gives her a look that’s hard to read, then sits down abruptly in front of the backpack. After a moment, she realizes that he was positioning himself so he could shrug the backpack onto his shoulders. “I don’t like making people wait,” he responds after another moment. “So like if there’s a line at a store, I’d rather ask for help. But if it’s just us…”

The Sea Hag -Chapter Nine-

 

Interlude

Aboard the superyacht, Cerulean

The tall, well-built man with a square jaw and twinkling eyes bent over at the waist, studying a large flat-screen monitor. He was looming over the shoulder of a nervous-looking young man in a headset who didn’t seem to know if he should get up and offer his boss his seat, or remain awkwardly silent until he was spoken to.

“Are we sure that’s her?” said Altus Venter, tech billionaire, in his melodious South African accent. He was squinting at the satellite image of a blurry grey figure standing on a beach of light brown sand and holding what appeared to be a bright yellow surfboard. 

The young tech nodded. “Her implant is still pinging, barely, but once the crypto-geeks posted sightings we knew where to point our eyes and ears.”

Venter smiled in satisfaction and placed a large hand on the tech’s shoulder. “Thank Zuck for social media, eh?” he said with a pat that sent the man’s ergonomic chair bouncing.

“Yes, sir,” he said with more conviction than he really felt.

Venter eyed the young man sourly and stood, folding his hands behind his back. “You should lighten up, Brad. The first Pacific Hab is nearly complete. Once I bring her back into the fold, we will have everything we need to ensure that humanity survives the coming cataclysms. Is this not worth at least a smile?”

“Of course, sir,” said the tech, who’s name was actually Brian. 

Working for brilliant innovator, and tech-giant, Altus Venter had been a dream come true for young Brian. And when his hero and role-model picked him for the top secret project code-named “Deep Blue”, he had been ecstatic. But now they had been chasing down rumors of a mythical Sea-Hag for six months, aboard a lavish five-hundred-foot superyacht whose crew quarters only seemed to get more cramped and smelly by the day. All information about the project was strictly need-to-know, so that no one but Venter knew exactly how all the moving parts connected. Brian had heard a rumor that these stringent measures were a direct result of a similar project being mothballed due to an act of corporate espionage and sabotage ten years ago.

 Brian smiled dutifully and, with a few mouse clicks, widened the view and he tapped through a few more sequential photos from that day. “This is the second day she’s come back to this beach, sir. And today she appears to have encountered a local.”

Altus’ eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth as he frowned at the images of their quarry appearing to rescue a blond-haired surfer, staying to chat with him, then changing her skin tone, and disappearing back into the surf just before another golden-haired man appeared.

“My my my,” Altus said, grinning and rubbing his chin like a Bond villain. “Has my little Sirena gone full Little Mermaid?”

Brian looked at him askance. Was Altus Venter, progressive genius, really intending to capture a sentient being and hold her against her will? The way he’d said her name, the fact that she had a name and he knew what it was, raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions that Brian was not ready to look at.

He bit his lip and stared at the screen. At the image of a bald woman, leaning over a surfboard and passionately kissing the shirtless surfer. He flinched at the pang of conscience but found that he didn’t have the words to object. Or was it his courage he couldn’t find?

“They grow up so fast,” Altus sighed, unaware of Brian’s internal moral dilemma. His eyes gazed hungrily at the strange, alien-looking woman on the screen. He waved a hand, dismissing his own sentimentality. “A shame to break up young love, but progress will not be delayed, eh?” He nodded to himself and slapped the young man on the back with one meaty paw while he pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket with the other and spoke into it. “This is Posiedon. Tell Seal Team Blitz to surround the cove, eyes up. Wait for her to surface. I want her on this ship by lunchtime tomorrow, ja? Good work, Brad,” he called over his shoulder as he left the communications deck.

“It’s Brian,” Brian sighed quietly and muttered, “but I’ve only worked for you for three years, why would you know that?” He turned back to his screens and the incoming queries for location specs from Venter’s mercenary goons.

Seal Team Blitz was the stupid name that former Navy Seal, Chief Petty Officer Marco Reyes had come up with for his team on Project: Deep Blue. He and his boys, all former Navy and Marines, a couple of whom were even honorably discharged, had chosen the name when they were deep in their drinks the night before they had boarded this ridiculous floating testament to the necessity of guillotines.

As a high-priced mercenary, Reyes had worked for numerous rich assholes. Rich assholes were the only assholes who could afford his services, after all. He had money banked, no doubt about it, and a hefty trust fund for his kid, but he would never peacock his wealth the way some of these guys did. At least Venter was actually trying to do some good in the world, Reyes, thought. At least this one cares about people, and the oceans, and our future. Reyes admired that about Venter. He’d known far too many bastards who didn’t care about anything but their own pride and ambition. It was nice to work for someone with a conscience, someone with a plan to make the future better.

Still, when Venter’s Soufrican accent pronounced his team name over the walkie on his chest he rolled his eyes hard before going to rouse his men from their bunks. “Copy, Posiedon. We’ll be suited up and on the boats in ten. Over.”

“Brad up in comms has your mission specs,” Venter replied. “Tranq guns only. I want her unharmed. Her well-being is absolutely vital to the success of this project, understood?”

Reyes rolled his eyes again. The man could never learn to say “over” when he was finished speaking. “Understood, sir. Querying comms now. I’ll keep you updated on our progress. Over”

“Do not fail me, Reyes,” came the low, slightly menacing reply. “Over and out.”

Reyes looked at the walkie like it had sprouted tentacles. “Huh,” he said before turning and pounding on the narrow cabin doors behind which his team slumbered. “Alright ladies, get your faces on!” he shouted as he stalked down the hall, the force of the blows from his thick muscled arms rattling the doors in their flimsy housings. “This is a stealth mission!” he bellowed into the face of Rogers as she opened her cabin door. She flinched disagreeably and took a step back. “A snatch and grab, but, as you know, our quarry is amphibious; so be prepared for movement of both the aquatic and land-based variety!”

His team filed out smartly in identical black neoprene wetsuits, hair tightly bound when it wasn’t cropped close. There were five of them, four men and one woman, and they were all decently professional on an op. But they had all been idle and cooped up for weeks and this mission was critical with a capital C. He pulled a ruggedized tablet out of a pouch on his chest and perused the mission specifications as he turned and marched down to the boat launch at the stern of the ship. Five pairs of bare feet marched in time behind him.

On this deck, the stern of the ship had an open U shape. Ocean water filled the shallow pool it created, making a convenient landing zone for small craft to arrive and depart from.

He put the tablet away and nodded at the crewman readying the black rubber zodiac that floated in the pool.

Reyes pulled a wetsuit from a nearby rack and began stripping down as he spoke. “The target is in a small, isolated cove approximately two clicks west-south-west of our current location.” Naked, he began pulling on the wetsuit while five pairs of unimpressed eyes regarded him coolly. “While the target is asleep somewhere in said cove we will quietly set up a net at the entrance to the cove, thereby preventing oceanic egress.”

Rogers’ hand flew up, but Reyes could see a smartass comment coming from a hundred paces and ignored her. They were on a clock now.

He continued, giving Rogers a significant eye as he did, “Should the target attempt to flee by land, their progress will be impeded by dense vegetation to the east and high rocky outcroppings to the north and south.” Rogers' hand went back down with a little smirk. “Our biggest challenge will obviously be securing a net across the half mile wide mouth of the cove in complete silence and in total darkness. Fortunately, we have night vision goggles, so that should make it a bit easier.”

A crewman zipped him up in the back and he motioned for everyone to pile into the boat. He opened a box at the prow displaying the night vision masks, snorkels and fins for everyone to grab. Opening another revealed a stack of air-powered dart guns and six bandoliers full of marine tranquilizer darts. “As you know, the target is extremely high-value,” he said, hefting one of the guns and checking the sights. “This will be an ambush, wait until the target shows before you fire. If it takes until dawn, that’s how long it takes, got it? The target is to be taken alive and unharmed, or not at all, clear?”

A chorus of ‘Yes, sir’s sounded while his team got themselves situated and five pairs of eyes looked to him from the sides of the boat. “Alright, guys, let’s go fishin!’” he shouted and fired up the little two-stroke engine at the back. Cries of “Ooh-rah!” and other cheers rose up into the night as he revved the engine and steered them out of the port and out toward their prey.

The Sea Hag -Chapter 10-

 

Sirena

I slept in the relative calm of the center of the cove, floating submerged and waking slightly every couple of hours to grab a breath from the surface. My dreams were a strange mix of elation and sadness. Filled with Micheal’s face, his voice, his soothing presence, then suddenly being ripped away. Altus Venter’s angry, leering face. Dr. Morgan’s soft, sad smile. My brother, eating his last meal and falling over dead. Me, throwing the tray of tainted food at the man who brought it. My claws sinking into his throat and tearing it out. Blood, screams, gunfire and death. I escaped out an airlock and never looked back.

Shimmering sunlight filtered through the waves, waking me with a small spasm of dream-terror. I blinked and got my bearings. I had disturbed several small fish who had found sustenance in my orbit while I slept, and they eyed me in annoyance as they swam away to find a more appreciative buffet.

I stretched, turning in a lazy circle as I did so. The sun was already fairly high, I realized. Micheal would be here soon if he wasn’t already. The thought of seeing him again made my stomach do a funny little dance. My hand went to my lips as I remembered the feel of his and shuddered in pleasure. I decided I would see if he was on the beach yet and, if not, I would forage for some breakfast mollusks while I waited. I kicked to the surface, popping high out of the water just for the fun of it, and took a deep breath as I scanned the beach.

Something shot past my rib-gills as I did so and I looked down, confused. A small metal thing glinted as it sank a few feet in front of me. Then, something else bit into my leg and I gasped sharply as I grabbed it and brought it up. A small metal dart. Dread panic made my heart hammer in my chest as I turned and submerged. I saw the diver swimming toward me, readying another shot. My leg tingled with a spreading numbness where I had been hit.

I could outswim a clumsy human with ease, but I knew they were pack-hunters. There had to be more. I sent out a series of rapid clicks through the murky water and, sure enough, at least two more human-sized shapes lurked just beyond visual range. They were between me and the open sea. I considered the shape of the darts as I dodged another one and the other two divers came into firing range. They were designed to fly through water, but were heavy enough that they might not travel as well through air. Whoever these guys were, they knew what they were dealing with. I was certain they would have cut off escape from the mouth of the cove, probably with a net. 

It looked like my only option was to find whatever trail Michael had used to get in and out, maybe hide in the brush. My camouflage ability should make me practically invisible in such conditions. I dodged another dart and turned and swam hard for the beach.

Under normal circumstances I am leagues faster than a human swimmer and, even with an increasingly uncooperative leg slowing my progress, I quickly out-paced them and their guns. The surf deposited me unceremoniously onto the sand, my leg dragging behind me. I got up and hobbled for the tree line, quickly spotting the hole in the vegetation next to an old wooden sign with faded letters proclaiming “Parking Lot” and an arrow pointing up.

The buzz of an outboard motor made me turn and see a big rubber Zodiac bearing two humans heading for the beach at top speed. Four divers with tranq guns emerged from the surf, kicking off their fins and sighting their weapons.

Small panicked sounds were coming from my throat. My skin was shimmering through sand colors, my panic keeping it from settling. I hobbled faster.

I reached the trailhead and clambered up the steep incline on all fours, my skin automatically changing to shifting mottled browns and greens. The pneumatic sound of the tranq guns firing followed from about a hundred feet. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no real plan beyond: Hide and Hope so, when I heard the distinctive rumble of a certain diesel engine above me, I threw all caution to the wind. It no longer mattered if Michael and his brother knew about me. As long as these men, whoever they were, did not capture me.

With a wordless cry, I threw myself at the steep trail, dragging myself up hand over clawed hand until I reached asphalt. There, standing next to an enormous, growling beast of a truck, was my Micheal. I called out  his name as I stood and his face was a tangle of confused surprise as he turned and stepped forward with a hand out.

“Sirena?” he said.

“What the fuck?” said a man with long blonde hair and a long, golden beard from inside the cab. Micheal’s brother, I presumed.

Pneumatic hisses came from the forest behind me and I flinched as I was hit in the back of my right arm at the shoulder. I frantically pulled it out, but the spreading fire meant it had already delivered its narcotic payload. 

I lurched forward, the world tilting wildly beneath me. “Please,” I said, my voice going soggy, “please, Micheal. Help…” I pitched forward into him and, after a startled fraction of a second, his strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me like a baby. “Don’t…” I started to say as his face swam in my vision, but I couldn’t remember what I had been about to say, and I was so sleepy…

The Sea Hag -Chapter 11-

 

Gabriel

Some kind of chameleon lizard-person had just crawled out of the woods and thrown itself at my blind twin brother before passing the fuck out. 

Mikey had called the thing “Sirena” so obviously this was his new girlfriend. Fantastic. The Sirena-creature had some kind of dart sticking out of it and I assumed that was the doing of whoever was lurking in the trees in black suits. They weren’t announcing themselves the way not-bad-guys would normally do, so I assumed also that they were up to no good.

An air-gun hiss and a dart cracking into the open door my brother stood in front of confirmed my suspicions. “Jesus fuck, get inside, both of you,” I yelled at my brother. As he scooped the creature up and labored to get both it and himself into a cab that sat five feet off the ground, I pulled the old lever-action hunting rifle from the rack and began loading it without taking my eyes off the trees.

“You fuckers got more than air guns?” I called to the four or five shadows bobbing furtively in the brush. I pulled the action and pointed the rifle with the ease of many hours spent at the gun range.

There was a heartbeat of silence, then one of them muttered something, and an answer came crackling over a tinny speaker. They all began to retreat without a word. Spooky-ass motherfuckers.

“I thought not,” I called as they retreated, but didn’t drop my hold until I was sure they were gone. With a long, slow release of breath I unloaded the rifle and stowed it above the back window once more. “Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever had to draw that thing,” I said as I closed the door and put the truck into gear. We roared out of the debris-strewn old lot and onto an old unused dirt road. The mostly empty back-end of the truck slewed a bit in the loose gravel before I could get it under control. My hands were trembling with adrenaline aftershocks and I didn’t want to look at the thing sleeping with its head in my brother’s lap. I just tried not to let it touch me as we bumped back up onto smooth asphalt and I shifted into higher gear. “It’s really just there for decoration. Not even sure it would’ve fired.” I added, like an afterthought.

When my twin didn’t respond, I blew out a breath and pulled over at an isolated spot, turning the engine off. I turned in my seat and watched as his hands stroked the creature’s weird, bald head lovingly. He kept checking her all over, as if to assure himself that she wasn’t hurt. Her skin, which had been a mix of greens and browns to match the forest, was now a mottled silvery blue. Her feet were two-toed and clawed, like a bird, but with a thick webbing between them. Her hands were human-looking but too long, webbed and taloned. I could see gill slits at her ribs and on the sides of her neck, but she seemed to breathe air just fine. Her alien-looking head was large and smooth, with only rippled holes where ears should be. Her eyes were too large and, when they were open, solid black. She didn’t have a nose, only a slight bump where it would be and two narrow vertical slits.

She had nice lips, though, and two tiny tits, so maybe that’s what my brother saw in her.

“Yo, Earth to Mikey,” I said, snapping my fingers at his face, thoroughly annoyed. 

My brother inhaled and seemed to come back to himself. He turned his face to me and his hands stilled. “Yeah. Sorry. What?”

“What --and I can’t stress this enough-- the fuck,” I said, gesturing wildly and futilely at the creature in his lap. 

He smiled wanly, stroking her shoulder. “Gabe, meet Sirena. The ‘mermaid’.”

I sputtered a laugh and his face darkened. “Maybe you don’t remember what a mermaid is supposed to look like, bro,” I giggled. “But that is no mermaid.” I paused, reflecting as I studied her unconscious form. “Maybe a Sea Hag, though.”

Michael's lip actually curled in anger. “Do not. Call her that.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. When she wakes up we can ask her what she’d like to be called, mermaid, or sea hag--” I stopped as something occurred to me, “Wait. I know this. I’ve seen her before!” I pulled out my phone excitedly while Michael resumed petting his date. “Here!” I crowed triumphantly, pointing at the screen with a grainy picture of what might be a blue head with big black eyes. “‘Sea Hag Spotted in Puget Sound’,” I read the headline aloud and began to scroll while talking. “There’ve been sightings all over the world, dating back nearly a decade. Whenever she’s spotted, there’s a correlation with sabotage of nearby fishing equipment.”

“‘Environmentalist’,” Michael chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “She told me she was an environmentalist.

“So you do think she’s the Sea Hag!” I said, pointing a finger accusingly.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I think,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “that she is someone who needs our help. I think whoever tried to capture her is not going to give up that easily. And I think--” he sighed, his fingers stroking her face tenderly and his face reddening, “I think I might be falling in love with her.”

I blinked at that. Michael didn’t just fall for people. I could count on one finger the number of times he’d proclaimed himself to be in love, and that had ended...poorly. I’d assumed he had sworn off sex and romance all together (because he wouldn’t do the former without the latter, unlike myself), and maybe he had. But one afternoon with this creature and he was in love? For real?

“Gabriel, say something.” Michael said, with a touch of desperation, and I realized that I had gone still and quiet while I processed his news. 

We were nearly back home, and it looked like I might need to call into work. I remained silent a few more moments, sadistically enjoying the uncertainty on my brother’s face before, very quietly, I began to chant. “Michael-and-a-Sea-Hag, sittin’-in-a-tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-Ow!” His punch to my shoulder was hard, accurate, and eloquent. I rubbed my aching deltoid sourly. “Just for that, you can be the one to explain this bullshit to Mom.”

“Naturally,” he replied smoothly, “I am her favorite.”

Before I could explain how wrong he was, the Sea Hag moaned and appeared to be trying to join the land of the conscious once again. 

I pulled onto the windy drive that led to the small and weathered Edwardian manor house Michael and I had grown up in. The place sat off a winding rural road, near the edge of a sheer drop a couple hundred feet straight into the frothing sea.

There was a four-foot wooden railing guarding the ledge, of course, but the view was spectacular. Mom loved it here, said it reminded her of Dad.  I supposed if his spirit resided anywhere, it was here, with the people and the ocean that he loved.

Quite suddenly, I felt I was looking at our father’s face. The peace, the tenderness, the love on my brother’s face. It was the same look Dad had whenever he had looked at Mom. I couldn’t remember ever seeing that look on Michael’s face before.

A small part of me twisted in on itself with envy as he stroked her head and murmured soothing words. The way he regarded her, held her. It was a thing I had tasted but never touched, something I longed for but had never found.

By God, the stupid bastard was really in love. With a fish.

The Sea Hag -Chapter 12-

 

Michael

Sirena twitched and moaned in my arms and I adjusted my hold so that her head rested on my shoulder, face pressed against my neck. Both of my hands were occupied so I took slow, deliberate steps, relying on Gabe to tell me if I veered off course. He counted down the steps to the stairs that led to the front door and I followed his voice.

I heard the creak of the old wood-and-glass door swing open, and Gabe directed, “Angle her left a little bit. Okay, you’re through. I guess just put her on the couch?” his voice turned salacious, “Unless, you want her in your bed…?”

“Gabe,” I said disapprovingly, but I was actually considering it. For her privacy if nothing else. “Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“Still in her studio, I assume. She’s working on a new sculpture. You know how she gets.”

I did, indeed. Cecelia Maria Mendoza-Morgan was an artist, a pretty highly regarded one. She had started out as a painter, and her work had fetched moderately high prices in galleries all over the world. It was at one such display that she had met our father. Both in New York for business, she a Spanish aristocrat by way of Ecuador, he a noted marine biologist from Oregon invited to lecture at a symposium and dragged to an art show by some colleagues.

The way they tell it, they fell for each other almost immediately, though they came from very different worlds. They left the gallery together and spent the night in a hotel room. And then five more nights, both of them blowing off all other engagements. In the end, they decided that they simply couldn’t bear to be apart and Cecelia happily joined Dr. Jonathan Morgan wherever his work took him.

When she became pregnant, they decided to make it official and finally get married. To the everlasting disapproval of her family. She had us both baptized Catholic which mollified them somewhat.  And she used a moderate portion of her trust fund to secure this house on the Oregon coast so as to raise us as close to nature and, of course, the ocean that Dad so loved.

After Dad died, Mom stopped painting. Stopped doing anything, really, except holding her rosary and crying and praying in Spanish.

My sudden blindness was a shock to all of us, especially me. But it somehow seemed to shake Mom out of her grief, or at least give her something else to focus on. I was struggling with compounded grief for both my father and for the future I had envisioned for myself. My new reality was full of limitations both real and painful. Mom had stepped up to help me through that. And, a couple of years later, she slowly returned to her first passion. This time, though, she became a sculptor. Mixing media and techniques to create brilliant tactile and auditory pieces that had earned her numerous awards, both for creativity and accessibility. 

Our mother would probably be in her studio until sundown, but I didn’t want to keep secrets from her. Especially not here. So I shook my head and moved to the couch in the front room, skirting the coffee table and shuffling sideways until I could safely set Sirena down on its length.

I smoothed and arranged her limbs and checked her pulse and breathing. “Gabe?” I called, hoping he was still there.

“Yeah,” he confirmed from the archway that led to the dining room.

“Do you see any wounds or bruising I might have missed? Her vitals seem okay, and I’m hoping it was just standard ketamine in those darts, but…” I gestured to encompass her body.

“Hold on, I need light,” he said as his booted footsteps clomped across the hardwood floor and I heard a soft click. Oh, right. Light. 

He clomped over and he knelt beside me. I followed his movements as he lifted and turned her with surprising gentleness, inspecting her thoroughly. When he was finished he took my hand and guided it to the spots as he spoke. “Needle mark here, on her outer thigh, and here on the back of her right shoulder. He guided my finger to the place, but I could detect nothing. I nodded and went back to stroking her cheek.

Gabe sighed heavily as he rose and his hand ruffled my hair. “Look, I think there’s still some coffee in the kitchen. Let’s go get some.”

I shook my head, letting the mussed strands fall back to their accustomed places. “No. I don’t want her to wake up in a strange place all alone. I want her to at least see a familiar face.”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally, his steps moving toward the kitchen. “But if we’re gonna keep vigil here, I’m gonna go grab a cup. You want one?”

I turned my face and smiled up at him. “I’d like that. Thanks Gabe.”

“You’re still explaining this to Mom!” he called as he left.

I chuckled and went back to solemnly tracing her features. “What are you?” I whispered. “You shouldn’t exist. Nothing like you exists in the natural world. Are you an alien? A mutation? Were you born or were you made? How can I be falling for you when I don't know anything about you?” I found her hand and gripped it, pressing the backs of her knuckles to my forehead and closing my eyes, not expecting an answer. Not even really sure I wanted her to hear the questions.

“Michael,” she murmured and my head shot up. She moaned again and I felt her shift. I held onto her hand and reached for her face with the other. She thrashed and moaned.

“Sirena,” I crooned, stroking her cheek rhythmically, “Sirena, it’s Michael. You’re with me. You’re safe.”

She sat up suddenly, hissing, and her hand was around my throat, her claws digging into the back of my neck. She was strong. Strong enough to snap my neck, I could feel it. I lifted my hands and tried to look as non-threatening as possible.

“Sirena,” I choked through the crushing hold on my windpipe, “Stop. It’s me--”

Booted steps returned and Gabe said a startled, “Oh, shit,” as she leapt up with her hand still a vice around my throat and moved behind me, putting me between herself and Gabe.

I could feel her chest heaving in great fearful breaths. She was disoriented and frightened and apparently, her first instinct was aggression. I kept my hands up and still and said, “Gabe, don’t move.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said uncertainly and I was relieved to note that he had frozen where he was.  

None of us moved for a long moment and then I felt her shake herself and her hand released my throat. She pushed herself away from me and I reached for her reflexively as I rubbed my throat. She hadn’t actually hurt me, I noted, though she could have. Easily.

“Michael?” she said, her voice breathy and pained. She didn’t take my outstretched hand so I let it fall back to my side. “Michael, where are we? What happened?” she paused. “Who is this?”

“Gabriel Mendoza-Morgan,” said Gabe as he moved toward us and I heard two mugs being placed on the coffee table, smelled the rich aroma. “I’m the one who saved your fishy butt from whoever-the-hell those guys were at the beach. You’re welcome.”

“Morgan?” she said softly. Then stated, moving further away, “You are twins.”

I cocked my head at her with a half smile, not sure what the problem was. “Yeah, he’s my twin brother. Is something wrong?” I tried holding out my hand again but she ignored the gesture and began to move around the room. I could hear her strange, soft footsteps accompanied by a click of nails on hardwood. I turned, tracking her movements, confused.

“Who is your father?” she demanded suddenly from over near the front door.

“The fuck is happening right now?” Gabe made his own demand for information, and I actually agreed with him for once.

“Our father was Jonathan Morgan,” I said simply, hoping to calm her enough so she would explain. “What is this about, Sirena?”

She hissed and I could hear her pacing. “That’s why you looked familiar. That is why I trusted you! You look like him. Did Venter send you? How much did he give you to earn my trust?” she demanded. “Is he here? I’m not going back, you hear me?” She was stalking around the room, her voice rising. “Show yourself, Altus, you coward!”

I moved toward her, making shushing motions with my hands and made sure my face was pointed at hers. “Sirena, please. I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no one here, and no one paid me anything.” I splayed my hands out to the sides, offering them to her. “Do you really think I nearly drowned myself on the off chance that you would come save me? Kind of stupid as plans go, don’t you think?”

“Did you say Altus Venter?” Gabe chimed in, unhelpfully. “Like, the billionaire?” 

I moved closer to her, hands outstretched and gave her my most sincere and placating smile. “Sirena, we’re not going to hurt you. On the contrary, we got you away from those that would. You’re safe here in our home. I promise.”

Her long fingers finally slipped into mine and my smile grew broad as she threw herself into my arms with a tiny hiccuping sob. I wrapped my arms around her and held her for a long moment, her face buried in the space between my neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into my chest. “I’m so sorry, Michael. This is just--I can’t believe they found me. After all this time, I don’t know why they are even still looking.”

Gabe sipped coffee across the room in the most obnoxious way possible, letting us know he was still there. I smiled and captured her face between my hands. “It seems like we have some things to talk about. Do you think you maybe wanna sit down, hash all this out?”

She nodded, her hands covering mine as she did so. I couldn’t help it, I leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead before taking her by the hand and leading her back to the couch.

I asked if she wanted some coffee and she physically recoiled at the offer, but gratefully accepted the offer of water. I asked Gabe if he would get it from the kitchen, partly because he could do it faster, but mostly because I didn’t want to leave her side. She sat with her whole side pressed against me, leg to shoulder, her hand wrapped around mine. Her fingers were easily half again as long as my own, the webs stretching all the way to the last knuckle. And those thick claws. She could rip a man’s throat out or snap his neck with equal ease.

My hand went to my neck as I remembered the feel of her claws there. The strength of her grip. I didn’t realize what I was doing until she said quietly, chagrined, “I didn't hurt you did I? I wasn’t trying to. I was just confused. Frightened.” She was inspecting my neck, her claws making delicate trails that were sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. I shook my head and then her mouth replaced the claws and she was kissing a trail down to my chest--

“My God, you two are like a couple of highschoolers,” Gabe boomed into the room. “Keep it PG in the common areas, for Christ’s sake. Don’t make me get the hose.” He paused before Sirena and then moved back to his chair across from us while I heard her guzzle.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” I said with minimal snark. I slapped my palms lightly against my knees. “So, let’s start over. Sirena, this is my twin brother Gabe. Now, apparently, you knew our father, Dr. Jonathan Morgan. Would you like to tell us more about that? Because, I’m pretty sure he never mentioned you to us.”

The sound of an empty glass on the wooden table. Sirena taking a steadying breath. Gabe sipping quietly.

“I am not a natural creature,” she said finally. “I once had a twin as well. We were created from the same recombinant DNA, one male and one female. We were created from a mixture of human and animal genes, the result of countless hours and billions of dollars in research. All highly illegal, of course. But to a man like Altus Venter, laws are merely suggestions. He was the founder and owner of Project: Deep Blue.

“Venter’s goal was to remake humanity. He was building underwater habitats that he said would become humanity’s home when the surface became unlivable. But, for humans to survive long term, he said, they must ultimately evolve and adapt to living underwater. This was why he created us: to be the genetic Adam and Eve of his new human race.”

“Augh,” spat Gabe, disgusted, “You mean he wanted you to-- with your own brother?” 

“Yes,” she said simply. “We were raised in an underwater laboratory, by scientists, including your father. We didn’t know about that taboo. We only knew that it would be our duty once we reached full sexual maturity.”

“I don’t remember Dad ever mentioning working in a secret underwater lab with two illegal genetic experiments, do you, Mikey?”

I glared briefly in his direction and searched out Sirena’s hand to hold. She squeezed back in reassurance. “I imagine there was a pretty hefty and ruthlessly enforced NDA involved in  a project like this, Gabi,” I said, using the nickname he hated. I squeezed her hand and prompted, “Go on, Sirena. What happened? How did you escape?”

“I met your father, Dr. Morgan, when I was small. Maybe four or five years old. My brother and I were well kept. We were fed and educated. We were studied, yes, but never mistreated. We were taught many things by some of the most intelligent people in the world. Your father was particularly taken with us, I think because we were the same age as you, his children. He taught us all about the sea. About all of the life within it, and about ourselves. He taught me that my skin was like an octopus, able to change color and texture at will. I have a dolphin’s ability to echolocate and I can stay submerged on a single breath for nearly two hours thanks to my gills.

“But mostly I remember how loving and affectionate and playful he was. The other scientists kept their distance from us, emotionally which, in hindsight I suppose, was probably for the best. Your father was the closest thing to a father I ever had. When he left, a piece of me left with him. And then…” she didn’t say anything for a long while. Gabe and I both recognized the trauma of loss in her silence and sat in stillness and patience for her to continue.

Her hand squeezed mine and then her other hand touched my cheek, turning it toward her. She swept the hair off my forehead with her claws, running them through my hair. I smiled, small and uncertain, wishing for just a moment that I could see what her face was saying.

“You look so much like him,” she said.

“So I’m told.” My smile felt a bit sad as I ducked my head and kissed her palm. 

She took another deep breath, fortifying herself and let my face go. “Dr. Morgan, he -- had issues with Altus. I don’t know what specifically, but they disagreed often. On the day that their mutual antipathy came to a head, it was so bad that I could hear it from outside the lab, in the water. I couldn’t make out the words, but they were actually screaming at each other. Dr. Morgan left after that and I never saw him again. Shortly after that -- maybe days -- everyone started packing things up, in a hurry. They were shredding things and burning others. Some they just pitched outside, into the ocean. Altus came and told my brother and I that we were to be moved to a new facility. There had been a security breach. We were frightened, but there was nothing to do but obey.

“Then, a guard came in with two trays bearing our evening meals. I hadn’t seen him before and he was cold and armed and something in his eyes frightened me. I was going to tell my brother not to eat it, but he had already done so. His tray hit the floor and he fell, foam spewing from his lips. I screamed and tried to help, but he was already dead. Gone. Just like that. The guard stepped forward, to do what, I don’t know. I went mad. I leapt upon him and tore his throat out before he could even scream for help. I ran down the halls, looking for an escape. I was mad with grief, rage; feral. I don’t remember much after that. I may have killed more if they got in my way. Eventually I found an airlock and just let myself out. No one chased me. I swam off and disappeared into the sea.”

“You’ve been alone all this time?” I said, though I knew that answer. I searched out her hand to squeeze it. “You were just a kid, though. Surviving in the wild alone must have been…” I searched for adequate words and, finding none, finished lamely, “difficult.”

Her small exhalation at that made me smirk in return. “Not as difficult as you might imagine. I was designed to live in the water. Trained to survive there. Mostly it was the loneliness that got to me. I’m human enough to crave social interaction, but not human enough to actually be able to interact with them -- you. Thankfully, other marine mammals helped me fill that void. Porpoises and other whales are really quite affectionate and playful. There were pods I met up with regularly during the year that sort of adopted me. We slept and played and travelled together until they headed for waters too cold for me.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t all just ‘playtime-with-dolphins, unda-da-sea carefree’, was it?” Gabe said flatly. “You were fuckin’ shit up for fishermen all over the place, weren’t you?”

“Gabe,” I said warningly.

“No, he is correct,” Sirena said with a brief squeeze of my fingers. “Everyone needs a purpose. I made it mine to halt overfishing wherever I could. I’ve seen first-hand the devastations corporate greed has wrought on the oceans. I’ve cut dolphins free from tuna nets, dodged whaling ship harpoons, watched as those who couldn’t were slaughtered. My friends.” Her voice grew heated, heavy with emotion as she continued. “I’ve seen sorrow and carnage you can only imagine. So I count those fishermen lucky that I broke only their equipment, and not their necks.” I could feel her tension through our contact,she was fairly vibrating with rage and she spat the last sentence with a venom I hadn't known she possessed.

I heard the leather chair groan beneath Gabe's shifting weight and waited, tensed to step between them if it came to that.

“Whoa, whoa!” cried Gabe and I relaxed a bit. “Okay, that’s totally fair. No need to get all...spiny.” What? He must have seen the confusion on my face. “Dude, she went full pufferfish!” He was laughing, delighted as he said it. “That is so cool,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Sirena withdrew from us, sinking a bit more into the couch. “Sometimes my skin...reacts to the way I’m feeling. I don’t always realize it’s happening.”

“Now she’s turning red!” Gabe provided, “Like, actually candy-apple red!” 

I felt her shift around, moving in nervous little motions. “Thank you, Gabriel, but I think you’re embarrassing her now.”  I ran the backs of my fingers up her arm and skimmed along the edge of her jaw, but whatever changes were taking place, I detected only smooth, slightly rubbery skin. “Sirena, it’s alright,” I assured her. “You don’t need to hide or be ashamed of who you are. Gabe can be an ass sometimes--”

“I’m sitting right here!”

“but he’s the best man I know. He’s always had my back and I know he’ll do right by you, too.” 

“That’s right,” came our mother’s voice from down the hall and I stiffened, my heart hammering in my chest. “My boys are the kindest, most loyal, best--Madré de Díos!” Something clattered to the floor as she stopped in her tracks and everyone went utterly still.