Lovers Catch

by Dani Stowe

  “Where did you get that?” she asks and this time she’s the one with her finger pointed at me. “Did your aunt give that to you? How long have you had it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say gripping the coin between my fingers.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Athena barks. “Who gave it to you?”

  I gulp. Blue says he gave it to me, but not exactly. He sort-of motioned he did. I’m also not so sure I should tell her because it’s clear she’s overly eager to get her hands on it. And I’m not letting it go being it’s my only link to my missing memory.

  Athena takes off her glasses and puts them on the table. “Look, Shelley,” she sighs and I still don’t know how she knows me. “I’m working on a doctorate degree. I’m a lover of history as well as mythology and folklore. I moved here two years ago to finish my research on some of the coastal sea lore. This town, Leahman’s Bluff, and its surroundings are infested with sightings of mystical creatures and magic and history—”

  I yawn, unable to listen to her babble as my head starts to throb. Athena huffs at me. “How attached are you to that thing on your neck?”

  I quickly come to my senses and clutch the coin. “I’m very attached.”

  “Can I borrow it?” she asks trying to sound nice though it really sounds like she’s whining.

  “Not a chance.”

  She slams her hands down on the scratched up wooden table and stands up. I watch her stomp away and in a few minutes, she comes back dropping a stack of old books.

  Oh, God. If I’d known I’d be looking at books instead of booties, I would’ve stayed home.

  “Look at this,” she says. Athena looks like a crazy person as she flips through the books; if there’s anyone who knows what crazy looks like, it’s me. Athena rolls her eyes at me when she catches me yawning again; I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t help it. She finally picks a book and slides it over to me. “There. See?” she asks, indicating something.

  I glance over to where her finger is pointed. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be excited, but all I see is a picture of a coin, which matches mine, among other images of coins categorized under a date labeled 1727 to 1760.

  “So, what?” I ask, still swaying in my seat as the oversize hall of books spins about me.

  She huffs and rolls her eyes again then pulls another much smaller book covered in fitted plastic, which I’m sure is intended to preserve it. Athena opens the book, which looks like a journal consisting of scribblings and drawings that are very good, but they are mostly depictions of naked women doing naughty things. It’s clear the women are not from this time; their features are drawn with more voluptuousness than images of this day and age. They also have hair on their privates—lots and lots of curly, thick hair. As the pages advance, the drawings become better and include greater detail. Athena flips through the book and I’m semi-amused by the evidence of porn dating back a few centuries until there is an image of a ship.

  “Stop,” I say. Aboard the ship are men doing random tasks—cleaning, fishing, and on the lookout. Many have long hair and beards though a few wear wigs like the officers of America’s revolutionaries. They look as familiar to me as Aunt Cora’s paintings and books back at her beach house. Staring at a few of the long-haired men, my skin prickles as one of the mates looks familiar; he’s almost recognizable and an eerie feeling washes over me as the room stops spinning.

  I notice Athena’s tiny grin with my intrigue. She turns the page to a drawing of two ships; one is drawn on fire. Flames rise from the belly of the ship, which shows a darkened woman, obviously a slave, drawn naked and in chains in the center of the vessel. I don’t understand it completely since it depicts pre-revolutionary naval officers and crew atop one ship watching the fiery destruction of the other.

  I sigh; Athena turns the page once more and the same slave woman is sitting on a wave holding what looks like a pitchfork. I lean in to get a closer look.

  “It’s a trident,” Athena states.

  The sight of three men skewered to the sharp trident prongs held in the slave woman’s outstretched hand makes me uneasy. Nausea sweeps through me as I notice her other hand is branded with a symbol; I don’t need a history lesson to know it indicates the woman was indeed a slave and branded as property; however, in that hand, she holds three trinkets—a coin, a ring, and a compass. I squint to get a better look.

  “You see it, don’t you?” asks Athena. “You see the coin in the slave’s hand matches the one around your neck.”

  “Close the book,” I tell her. “This coin also matches the one in the catalogue you showed me, which means there’s probably a treasure trove or at least a hundred of them floating around.”

  “Yes, but there’s a difference,” Athena says, staring at my chest again. “Your coin has the loop welded to the top, just like the one in the picture. It was meant to be a keepsake...it was meant to be worn.”

  “So, it’s a knockoff! You’re freaking me out,” I scoff. “Why are you so interested?”

  “Because there’s no other story out there like this and I want to be the first to publish it.” Athena whines and it frustrates me.

  “Publish what? No other story like what?! You want to publish something about treasure and the slave trade?” I question her intently.

  “No! About Mermen.”

  I fall back and slide lower into the hard-wooden library chair and let my head roll back.

  I’m not drunk enough for this shit.

  “That’s how you knew my name,” I tell her. “You’ve been researching my aunt as well.”

  “Yes,” replies Athena. “Your aunt was the expert, so I’m not surprised.”

  I tilt my head back further to look at the thirty-year-old nerdy librarian whom, I have no doubt, is still a virgin. “She was not an expert. She was crazy. So, what could possibly surprise you?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you, Shelley, would possess and carry at least one of the three trinkets that control the staff of Poseidon, his trident, which is really a metaphor for the three men, or mermen, with powers to control the seas.”

  I think about Blue and squeeze the coin tighter because I know where the coin really came from—a homeless man. The poor guy has probably been in enough trouble, he doesn’t need an outlandish crazy woman poking into his business. I already know what that feels like.

  “I’m starting to get the feeling you believe in all this stuff, Athena. My aunt labeled herself a psychic, but you should know that ‘psychic’ is really just another word for psychotic.”

  “Don’t you at least find it enthralling? If the legend is true, you hold the fate of the sea along with all who travel upon it, not to mention the fate of a man, who is hundreds of years old, in your hand.”

  Athena sounds ridiculous. “Don’t you mean a merman?” I laugh, but the woman won’t give up.

  “Listen, after looking at these images, my associates came to the conclusion this was the retelling of a crime of some type. They believe the picture was turned into legend and, as all legends go, it was meant to be a lesson. My colleagues believe the three men committed a crime and were cursed for it. They assume the God of the Sea, Poseidon, punished the three men, but I disagree. I think they drowned trying to save this slave aboard this ship. If I’ve pieced together the legend accurately, to be a merman is not a complete curse. It might sound like a curse because merpeople become isolated and live for centuries without human contact, but it’s my understanding it’s also a second chance. These three men were granted power by Poseidon, so rather than drown and die, they were transformed. But Poseidon’s power ends with the sea. They are creatures of the water that still yearn to walk on land, to be with humans. In order for a merman to return to his human-self, he must unite with—”

  “Let me guess,” I interject, “another element, like a creature of earth, a human.”

  “Yes!”

  “I’ve heard the rest, Athena.”

  “Don’t you want to
know more about the coin?” Athena asks.

  “Sure,” I say and I know I sound condescending, but it doesn’t seem to bring Athena down in the slightest. Her excitement won’t quit. Although I’ve heard portions of this tale before, I do have to wait for Pike because I don’t want to walk home in the rain. “Tell me more about the coin.”

  “The coin controls the merman’s fate. I don’t know how each trinket is linked to each man, but the person who possesses one of the trinkets has the power to finish the transformation. You have the power to make a man walk again...or not. You could force him to sink and swim, which I hope you’re not going to do. So, can I ask you again?” Athena takes a breath. “Where’d you get it?”

  I can’t tell her. If I do, there’ll be a whole new can of worms crawling all over my personal investigation to figure out how and when I got the coin along with all the scrapes and bruises. I’m obsessive about unsolved mysteries, which I’m sure has a lot to do with my parents.

  There are already too many fish in this fishpond, so I pick up the journal and throw it over to the next table. Athena gasps in horror as she stands up to go get it as I scurry out. I can hear Athena yelling after me as the heavy library doors close and I run onto Main Street.

  The rain stopped so the street is again flooded with people who are more excited than they were before the rain. I wonder why Pike didn’t come to get me as I look around, but all I see as I spin a few times are wet booties along with people staring at them. Looking for any sign of Pike, I also find myself searching for the stranger who gave me the coin...

  Merman.

  I’m sure I must be drunk as I spin around like a lunatic looking for a man I believe could have magical powers that can’t speak, can’t walk, and claims to have given me this dumb thing around my neck, which might be very valuable, but is causing more trouble than I could wish for, especially since I can’t remember a thing about how I got it.

  I pause, trying to collect whatever logic I have left and I finally see Pike. He’s chatting with a couple of cheeky women under a big tree decorated with lanterns and lights. It makes me ill; I don’t care if it was just an extra minute or two, but he left me with Athena for longer than I should’ve been. I don’t want to interrupt his flirty interlude, but I’m ready to go home and I don’t mean to Aunt Cora’s. I want to go home—back to my messy apartment far away.

  I slowly move my feet towards Pike and he sees me. I watch him say farewell to the sassy ladies as I feel something hit the back of my legs. I curse as my body takes flight going backward, but something catches my fall. My bottom lands snugly onto a pair of thighs and I look down to see I’ve landed in someone’s lap.

  Pike calls out to me so I turn towards his voice when I see a lightning rod pierce through the night sky hitting the tree he was just under, setting it ablaze. I scream!

  I’ve never been this close to lightning and I’m guessing neither has the rest of the crowd of other booty festival-goers as they join me in a chorus of terror-stricken screaming. Pike has one hand on his gun—a trained reaction to loud noises, I figure, and he’s watching the flames burning behind him fill the night sky and causing a panic.

  I feel a hand wrap around my waist and it’s reassuring, so I stop screaming, remaining seated. Everyone else continues to run, cry, and wail as the tree burns as if Heaven sent forth a punishment for behaving like heathens.

  I’m quickly spun around and wheeled away, ashamed to peep at the man I’m sitting on. Of course, I know who it is, but as I turn back I see Pike—his face is filled with utter despise knowing he cannot follow me; he is forced to save everyone as he once did me. Pike halfheartedly turns in the opposite direction as I’m rolled away on top of the stranger’s lap.

  Chapter 8

  Blue

  THAT’LL TEACH THE SHERIFF to interfere. I loved the look on his face as I wheeled Shelley away.

  Shelley. She smells good, but I can’t place the scent. It’s as if she’s dipped herself in a fruity wine—it’s intoxicating just breathing her in. I think she might’ve had a few beers herself. I wish I could to speak her. She hasn’t said anything yet, just pointed this way and that as I roll her around. She hasn’t even looked at me, which is depressing, and I hope she does not feel indifferent about me because I can’t walk.

  Of course, she could’ve gotten off a few blocks ago. Instead, she keeps adjusting herself in my lap. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, yet every time she wiggles her arse against my crotch, I get excited and she doesn’t seem to mind.

  We reach the end of town and hit a dark, seemingly endless, road. This is going to be a long ride and there’s no way I’m going to push her that far without her even looking at me. I bite her.

  “Ow!” she says rubbing her arm and she finally twists her body to me, still remaining seated. That’s good—that she won’t get off. “What did you do that for?” she whines.

  I stop the chair, cock my head, and motion with my hand from my mouth, encouraging her to speak.

  She squints under the moonlight. “You want me to talk?” she replies. I nod and start pushing again. “What do you want me to say?” she mumbles.

  I point at her but she turns away, facing forward, and wiggles her bottom in my lap again. If she keeps this up, I’m going to do more than bite her.

  “I’m not an interesting topic,” she shrugs. “I think we should talk about you. You’re the dark and mysterious one.” Her voice softens. “By the way, thank you for taking me home, but I could walk. I’m getting sore sitting like this.”

  I stop the chair and reach forward to grip her legs. She helps me to turn them sideways, placing them over the side handle, so she’s sitting across me in my lap. She smiles and wraps her arm around my back.

  “Thanks,” she says and grins, finally making eye contact with me. “That’s much better.”

  I push her, carrying her on my lap, for a while in the dark where all I can hear is her breathing and the rolling of the wheels against the smoothed black pavement. I can tell she’s thinking about something, deciding what to say, and thank the gods! She finally opens her mouth.

  “Where are you from?” she asks.

  I look up at the night sky and I find the North Star over the dark horizon. Calculating my position in accordance with the other stars, I point in the direction of England.

  “That way?” she asks and I nod. “You’re from over there?” she asks again pointing near the same direction, but not exactly and I nod again. Her face looks curious. “You were studying the sky to find your direction. You’re a seaman, aren’t you?”

  I chuckle as I smile and she looks proud of herself.

  “So, you’re a world traveler?”

  I nod then watch her hand as she reaches to her chest, picking up the coin to dangle it in front of me. “You say you gave this to me? Where did you get it from?”

  I don’t know what to tell her or how. I push the chair a little faster.

  “The librarian says this coin is magical. It has magical powers and can control mermen. Have you heard anything about that in all your travels?” she asks.

  I still don’t know how to respond so I keep pushing us along the side of the road.

  “First, you wanted to talk and now you’re not responding,” she says with a bit of ire behind her tone. I rub the tip of my nose on her arm, which startles her at first, but she calms down. “Sorry,” she says. “I don’t blame you for not answering. I’ve had a few too many beers and I’m sure I sound like a crazy person. My aunt used to talk about mermen all the time—it was embarrassing. I thought after she died it would be the end of all the torture, but somehow the issue keeps coming back to haunt me. I feel so stupid just bringing it up.”

  I stop the chair and lightly grip her chin to turn it towards me. Looking her in the eyes, I shake my head. I want to tell her it’s not stupid. I feel her pain—this is torture!

  “Am I hurting you?” she asks.

  I shake my head, no.

  “I’ve
been in your lap a long time,” she says.

  I feel the crotch of my pants get tight and I wonder if she even notices what’s going on under her thighs.

  “I think I’m drunk,” she mutters and bats her eyes.

  I shake my head, yes.

  “You’re really hot,” she says and I had no idea I was giving off such heat.

  She kisses me. Traces of booze enter my mouth and I want to get drunk. I wrap my hand around her back and it lands on her plump little arse. I pull her tightly towards me and her entire body leans in as she rubs her hands over the top my head.

  She pulls away. “What happened to your hair?” she asks. “Yanka cut it?” I sigh, nod, and start to push. “I like it,” she says and I’m relieved. “Do you like her? Do you like Yanka?”

  I’m not sure what to say. I do like Yanka. She’s the first real friend I’ve had in a long time.

  “I have something to confess,” Shelley says and my heart beats with anxiousness. “I didn’t think much of you until I saw the two of you together. I guess I should’ve been more open and not so judgmental, but you did try to attack me in the hospital.”

  I stop pushing and I can’t help but cringe and shut my eyes at the thought of what I did. I guess I did scare Shelley climbing up to her wheelchair to get her attention. I figured the moment she saw me, she’d remember how we met and how I saved her.

  “Are you okay?” she asks and I open my eyes to look at her face.

  I’m not okay. The sight of her makes me not okay; she’s so fair, glowing in the moonlight with her hair, curled from the humidity of the air and draped past her shoulders.

  There is something too familiar about her. The moment I saw her atop the mountain hiking towards the Peak, I knew we were connected, but I was not okay then. I could not control the thunder or the wind and rain. It was as if the elements took control of me. She took control of me and I knew she was the one.