by J G Barber
“One male child of human parents will service hundreds of human women to repopulate their race? That’s a lot of inbreeding.” Laura stretches her body as her analytical mind goes to work. “I explained how this area was a hotbed of siren activity until the Spaniards tried to shut it down. The myth of La Tlanchana persist today. That is why they chose this area, isn’t it?”
His habit wins. Alexei takes out a cigarette. “Yes, they have ancestral and archaeological connection to this place. The sirens enact a plan today that has been in the works for centuries.”
He’s met with the pregnant woman’s stink eye. Alexei reinserts the cigarette into its package and joins Laura in stretching.
In the living room, Ellen interrogates Paul. “Okay, so you’re having recurring dreams about Atlantis. What makes you think it’s Atlantis?”
Paul matches her intensity. “I know it’s Atlantis. It’s an ancestral memory.”
“Makes sense. Perhaps this place triggers your memories.” Ellen grabs Laura’s iPad and brings up a recent search result. “I read this essay by El Anciano, a Mayan elder. He described the ancient Mayans’ connection with Atlantis. Their myths tell of visitors from Atlantis who arrived on tortoise shells to impart advanced knowledge to the Mayan people.”
She shows Paul a photograph of stone artwork from Chichen Itza, a tall man in elaborate decorative dress and headgear. “That guy right there is from Atlantis. Here’s my theory: some Atlanteans knew the Great Flood was coming. The Atlanteans already had trade relations with other civilizations around the globe. Those who knew what was coming befriended their trade partners to ensure their own survival. They left Atlantis before the flood and shared their knowledge to help advance the cultures they joined. That’s why ancient sites around the world share so many similarities. Of course, the Atlanteans also fucked up every culture they touched. That’s why none of those civilizations exist today.”
Paul considers telling Ellen about his new psychic connection with Leucosia. But he doesn’t like where her rant is going. “That’s interesting.”
Ellen grabs her backpack. She pulls out an empty notebook and a pen. “See if you can observe more details in your dreams. They are trying to tell us something.”
That they are. But what? He shakes Leucosia’s face out of his mind’s eye. “How do I do that?”
She hands him the notebook and pen. “Dream journal. Keep it by your bed. As soon as you wake up from a dream, write everything you remember, in as much detail as possible. If you want to get serious about it, we can try to hypnotize you to induce the dream state.”
Paul cringes. He does not want to share his dreams. “I’ll try the journal.”
She eyes him, suspecting he’s not offering full disclosure. “Do not censor your thoughts.”
“I won’t,” Paul lies. Ellen’s eyes signal Laura to come back in. Alexei follows her.
“Paul’s keeping a dream journal now,” Ellen announces. “We’ll be able to tap into his ancestral memories of Atlantis.”
Leucosia’s face and eyes appear in Paul’s mind, as if she’s in the room, looking at him. Laura, Ellen and Alexei study his reaction.
Leucosia stands at the window in her room, looking out on the ocean with Monica-Lorelei. She sees Paul’s face and eyes, as if he’s in the room, looking at her.
“Great Mother continues to reveal Paul’s visage to you,” Lorelei says.
“Yes. And the dreams continue.” Leucosia smiles and holds her hands to her heart. “My mother, Diana. I see her face.”
“Diana. I love the sound,” Monica says. “Was she as beautiful as her name?”
“Yes. I am in love with her face,” Leucosia admits. “But I don’t understand why Great Mother reveals her to me now. Perhaps she warns us of impending danger.”
“We are the impending danger,” Lorelei counters. “Our only vulnerability is the absence of our seventh sister. Jalpari will come to us soon.”
Leucosia shakes her head and shields her thoughts. She does not understand. I do not understand. We are lost without Jalpari. She walks alongside the bedroom window, allowing the ocean surge to wash away her negative feelings and fill her with peace and contentment.
Drawn to the power of Leucosia’s connection with the sea, the siren sisters station themselves at the windows of their rooms. The incumbent Queen of New Sirenia and the six sisters join their spirits, at one with the ocean. Come to us, Jalpari, their minds and hearts call out in unison.
Warren waits with growing impatience in the terminal at the Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo Airport. He’s a chiseled post-collegiate man who looks like a Yale dropout lost in a life of sun, surf and drugs on the Mexican coast. Until he sees Narmaya disembark from her plane. The sight of her brings him to life. “There she is!”
Narmaya is an enchanting college-age Indian woman, dressed in a Mermaid Life (R) V Notch hoodie, blue-green scaled tights, stiletto heels and Mermaid Life (R) Aqua Scales backpack. She struts down the hallway and walks into his arms.
He steps back to take in her outfit. “What’s up, girl? Still living the mermaid life, I see.”
“Always,” Narmaya replies. She kisses him on the cheek. “Oh my god, I am so happy to be here. Your invitation was so timely. I’ve been feeling so strongly called to come here.”
“Well here you are.” He grabs her carry-on bag and heads down the corridor. He has to work to keep pace with her powerful legs. “The others are here already,” Warren says. “They’re back at the condo partying.”
She turns to check out the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you doing? You’re not involved with the cartel or anything, are you?”
He sees the otherworldly look in her eyes, the one that has probed his soul so many times before. “I’m a customer, nothing more.” Warren turns away. “Let’s grab the rest of your bags and get back to the party.”
As they walk down toward baggage claim, every man they cross paths with stops to watch Narmaya, mesmerized by her movements. Wives punch and pull at their husbands. Women who like women can’t take their eyes off her.
Warren grins. “This happens everywhere you go, doesn’t it?”
Narmaya giggles. “Yeah, pretty much. I don’t know why. I’m not that good looking and I don’t have a hot body.”
He checks her out head to toe. “I beg to differ.”
Narmaya wraps an arm around his waist. “Are you saying you have a thing for me?”
He rests his free arm over her shoulder. “No way. You wouldn’t want to hook up with me, anyway. I’m a user and destroyer of young women’s souls.” Warren nods to all the men and women watching them. “All I’m saying is you are fucking gorgeous. If you only knew how much power you wield with that package of goods you’re walking around in, it would change your life.”
“You’re so sweet.” Narmaya strides in front of him. “I should fuck you anyway, just to thank you for seeing me as the sensuous creature I am.”
He stops walking. “No fucking way. We’re just friends. I can’t imagine my life without you as my friend.”
“You’re a good friend.” She checks out the men and women watching her as they walk by. “All right then, looks like I must find a new lover while I’m here.”
They walk to the baggage claim carousel to await her luggage. “Beach bonfires every night,” Warren says. “Maybe we can find you a stray walking along the ocean.”
“A good merman is just what I need,” Narmaya declares. “I always knew I’d have a mermaid baby, ever since I was a girl. Maybe my time has come.” She grabs two large wheeled suitcases off the carousel, lifting them as if they weigh nothing.
“Planning to stay awhile?” Warren asks, pleased by the prospect. “You’re not done with school yet, are you?”
Narmaya hears the sirens call again. Come to us, Jalpari. “This feels like my new home,” she says. “I don’t think I’ll ever leave.”
Chapter Nine
After the siren hunters’ first ride in the Allison SUB, P
aul made a deal with the boat’s owner to use it on demand. Tonight, he waits until the others are asleep before he grabs Ellen’s HD rifle scope and sneaks out.
Paul watches a tour boat on the other side of the marina. The deck and interior reveals dozens of gorgeous women, representing a broad range of ethnicities, filing on board. A dozen AK-47-toting men wearing Cartel Nuevo Ciglo blacks guard the boat.
Narmaya sneaks up behind Paul. “What’s going on over there?” she asks in a calming, song-like voice.
Paul switches off the rifle scope. “It’s just a tour boat.” He turns to check her out in all her mermaid gear. He fights back a laugh.
“I’m Narmaya.” She extends a handshake.
“Paul.” As he shakes her hand, he looks into her eyes to see what he can see. “You’re high. This is a very dangerous place, Narmaya. You really shouldn’t be out here alone.”
She holds onto his hand, squeezing tight to show her strength. “You’ll protect me, won’t you? I feel safe with you, Paul. I feel like I know you.”
He withdraws his hand, cognizant of the after-sting of her grip. Paul studies her. There’s something familiar about her he can’t quite place. “See that boat I was watching? See the guys in black and brown, carrying semi-automatic weapons? They’re with the cartel.”
“Let me see!” Narmaya grabs the rifle scope. Paul switches the power on. “Whoa! These are amazing. Where are they taking all those women?”
“Sex slavery.” Paul takes the scope back. “Be careful. You’re just the kind of girl they’re looking for.”
She continues watching the boat. “They look like they’re going willingly. I’ll bet they’re going to a party. Are you lying to me, Paul?”
He rests a hand on her shoulder. “Go home, Narmaya. This is no place for mermaid wannabes.”
She defies his warning. “Who says I’m a wannabe? My mother and father named me Jalpari. I’ll have you know, Jalpari is a mermaid from my homeland. I will have a mermaid baby one day. Maybe with you.”
Her body language shifts to invite him closer. Narmaya grabs his hand as he removes it from her shoulder and pulls him in for a kiss. Paul responds with a siren hunter-killer look. She considers overpowering him and taking him right there on the pavement. But he doesn’t look the least bit willing. She releases his hand.
“You’re no fun at all, siren hunter,” she teases. His look intensifies. “All right then, I’ll go home. But I’ll see you again soon, Paul. I know it.” She struts away with her most alluring walk.
How the fuck did she know I’m a siren hunter? Engine noise grabs Paul’s attention. The rifle scope shows him the boat heading away from the dock and into the bay. He heads down to the marina and boards the Allison SUB.
Paul trails the tour boat south across Zihuatanejo Bay, lights dark, far enough behind that they cannot spot him. He follows until the tour boat turns into the island’s rocky cove. He throttles down the engine and shuts it off as his boat reaches the southern rocks protecting the cove.
The island guards tie the tour boat to the dock. The men onboard usher the women onto the dock, across the beach, and up the metal stairs to the facility. Paul watches at high zoom as behinds wiggle and breasts bounce with each step up. My god. Another fucking siren orgy. He tracks a lone woman descending the stairs. Monica.
Monica-Lorelei crosses the beach, stopping to talk to a well-dressed man at the dock on-ramp. He signals the guards to leave. She waves, inviting Paul to come over. The man accompanies her onto the dock to greet Paul as the Allison SUB motors over. Seeing he does not have any visible firearms, Paul throws the dock lines. The man ties off the boat.
Paul jumps onto the dock. “You were expecting me?”
“We knew you would come.” As soon as his feet land, Monica-Lorelei lands a big, wet kiss on his lips. “Paul, meet El Jefazo. Head of our private security.”
The two men study each other for a long moment. El Jefazo is Paul’s size, with an athlete’s physique, and the fire of extreme intelligence behind his eyes. El Jefazo shakes hands with Paul. “We must give you a proper Nuevo Ciglo name, Mr. Paul.”
“We shall call him El Cazador,” Monica says with glee. “The hunter.” Monica-Lorelei hooks her arm under Paul’s and leads him toward the beach with a pregnant waddle. “You can see our son is coming along nicely. He’s healthy. Our genes are a perfect match, just like sister Lorelei said.”
Paul processes the surreal moment with a deep breath. “Where are we going?”
“To meet your queen. She’s expecting you.” Monica-Lorelei leads him up the steel stairway. El Jefazo takes up the rear. She races up the stairs. Despite his beach runs, Paul has to work to keep up with her.
Paul ignores the new arrivals as they mingle on the patio. He takes in the facility. Ellen’s digital photographs and Alexei’s satellite photo did not reveal its’ full scale. Aside from the flat two-story wall of windows facing the ocean, the building is circular shaped, with two floors all the way around. New arrivals check out Paul as Monica-Lorelei leads him through the long dining room facing the cove, into a 300-degree circle in the center of the courtyard.
The flat edge features a stage, a large digital display, and a multi-person DJ console. Behind the stage, a massive wood-carved representation of the Serpent Goddess presides over the dance floor, her snake-bearing hands outstretched as if to enfold the dancers in her arms. The dance floor itself forms a perfect clay circle. It’s surrounded by circular tables on mermaid stands and poles bearing speakers and lights. Sectional planters with trees and flowers decorate the perimeter, with gaps between the sections allowing the dancers to enter. The retractable roof opens to the night sky, revealing the moon and stars.
Maraja, Sirena and Suvanna take the stage. Sirena takes the sound mixer, and Suvanna controls the light console. “Recibimiento a Club Sirenia, chicas!” Maraja shouts into the microphone. She signals Sirena and Suvanna to orchestrate a slow build of techno music and light.
Monica-Lorelei takes off her slip-on shoes. She walks onto the clay, holding out her hands to invite Paul to join her. “Welcome to the best dance club on Earth. You are honored to be our first male guest, El Cazador.”
Paul stays where he is, ignoring Monica-Lorelei’s seductive smile and the beautiful women that gather all around her. As the music plays louder and establishes a dance beat, the women dance. He glances over to El Jefazo and the perimeter guards, who stand at attention despite the distractions.
Maraja takes the lead at the DJ console. The speakers pump with an infectious beat. Paul slips his sandals off and joins Monica-Lorelei. He motions to the guards. “Your other guests, they don’t dance?”
“They are not guests,” Lorelei replies. “They are employees.”
Paul notes the guards’ positions. “Only sirens could get away with hiring the cartel as their private security.”
She snuggles up against his chest. “What can I say?”
A flurry of waiters delivers trays of tequila, cannabis and cocaine to the tables. The women partake. The music transitions into a primal, erotic beat. In sync with the music, smog releases into the courtyard, and the lights flash in psychedelic colors that permeate the dance floor. The women shed their clothes.
Monica-Lorelei pulls Paul into her. “We live free here,” Lorelei says into his ear. “You’ll love it, El Cazador. Lots of firm, beautiful breasts and delicious vagina lips for you to enjoy. You can taste any girl here you like. Fuck any of them or all of them. You know you want to.”
Paul watches a circle of women pass around a fat blunt, snort a round of lines, and chase the lines with shots of tequila. They scream, strip, and bounce into the center of the dance floor. He looks at an empty table filled with booze and drugs just a few steps away. “No,” he tells himself.
Monica-Lorelei removes her top, revealing the breasts that so captivated him in L.A. and Seattle. She grabs his hands and places them on her breasts. “Won’t you dance with me?”
Paul pulls away
from her. He steps off the dance floor and slides his feet back into his sandals.
“You’re just no fun anymore.” She doesn’t cover up again. “Then come, we shall attend to our business with your queen.”
Monica-Lorelei leads Paul into a chamber that resembles a modern day throne room. Leucosia awaits them, wearing a long robe sewn in the Aztec style and colors, a tapestry of mermaids and sea turtles. Their eyes connect, and they are inside each other’s minds. They take a step back in unison.
“At long last, a proper introduction,” Lorelei says. “Queen Leucosia, meet El Cazador. We once knew him as Paul Douglass. El Cazador, it is your privilege to enjoy a private audience with the Queen of New Sirenia.”
“Seriously?” Paul says with a snarky edge. “You sirens have you have your own nation now?”
Monica-Lorelei slaps him. “Show respect. You are in the presence of royalty!”
Paul bows, masking his disdain as best he can. “My apologies, your majesty. It is an honor to meet you in the flesh.”
“Enough of this foolishness!” Leucosia stands at the chamber door to excuse Monica-Lorelei. “Leave us.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Monica-Lorelei trots out, her head down. She closes the door behind her.
Leucosia studies Paul. They look into each other’s eyes, facing their fear of the connection they share. “Sister Lorelei foretold that you would come. Why are you here?”
Paul take a step toward her. “We share a memory.”
Leucosia steps back. “You want to destroy me and my sisters.”
Paul searches his feelings. No purpose to lying in this situation. “Yes, part of me does. Another part of me says that the original Sirenians were a peaceful and loving race of beings. We don’t have to keep doing this, Leucosia. I’m tired of hunting you. I propose a peace treaty.”
Leucosia laughs. “You do not represent a nation worthy of negotiating with New Sirenia. Siren hunters are a small band of invasive humans who have no purpose in life. You pursue us in a futile attempt to delay your extinction.” She looks at him with predatory fierceness. “We will meet any attempt to harm us with deadly force.”