SEA ORPHAN

by J. KRAMER

  Lucien turned into the driveway. The wrought iron gates were open, waiting for his arrival. The driveway was flanked on both sides by palm trees; azalea bushes in full bloom sprinkled beneath and beautifully kept green lawns behind them. The drive to the house was fairly long. He noticed a large dog on the lawns surrounded by puppies. They frolicked playfully around their mother.

  When he turned into the circular drive in front of the mansion, he noticed the two police cars already parked there. They were waiting for him, wanting information about Becky. But now she was gone. Really gone.

  The bell chimed through the house. Lucien waited patiently but not for long. The door opened and a tall, young man faced him. "I’m Lucien Moore. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson are expecting me.”

  “I’m Paul Ferguson. Please come in,” Paul said and extended his hand while eyeing Lucien suspiciously.

  Lucien followed Paul into a large foyer. The floor was finished with gleaming, white marble tiles. A large grandfather clock stood at the far end and exotic plants finished off the interior. Double glass doors opened into a large living room. A policeman stood with his back to Lucien, another sat on the arm of the couch. A tall man with silver hair and very blue eyes reminding him of Becky walked towards him, hand held out in greeting.

  “I’m John Ferguson, this is my wife, Mary,” John said while shaking Lucien’s hand.

  Lucien saw the resemblance between father and daughter. The son looked more like his mother with his dark hair and brown eyes. “Pleased to meet you, though I’m sorry it is under such sad circumstances,” Lucien said softly.

  “Son, we’re grateful that you can give us some information about our daughter. Please sit down?”

  The taller of the two officers introduced himself as Ralph McFee. “What can you tell us, Mr. Moore? How did Becky end up on your island?”

  John handed Lucien a tall glass of iced tea and leaned against the wall to listen to Lucien’s story. Paul, too, stood. Mary sat on the couch wringing her hands. Lucien felt uncomfortable, as if he were the criminal here. But he wasn’t a criminal except he’d fallen in love with a girl he’d thought to be much too young for him. Now he knew she was twenty and there was nothing illegal about their relationship. Why did he feel so guilty then?

  “I live on the far side of the island. When Becky took the dinghy out, the storm must have carried the dinghy out to open sea. After the sea calmed, the tide carried it toward the island but the dinghy had ripped on the rocks. I found Becky on the beach, unconscious.”

  “So why didn’t you contact the authorities?” McFee asked.

  “I live isolated and have no means of contact with the mainland. I prefer it that way. A boat comes every six months or so to bring me supplies. The coast guard knew of my existence and occasionally checked on me.”

  “Yet you managed to make known this time that you were in trouble. Why didn’t you do the same when you found the girl?”

  “She told me she didn’t have anyone. After she woke up, she kind of got to me. I thought she was very young to be so alone in the world and I felt sorry for her.”

  “But she wasn’t that very young. Becky is twenty. I’m sure she must have told you.”

  “No. She didn’t tell me. For some reason she led me to believe she was a teenager.”

  “What was she wearing when you found her?”

  “A tattered T-shirt. I gave her one of mine. It was a little big, but…”

  “And you kept her with you all this time. Mr. Moore, the coast guard informed me you called her your wife. We’ve discovered you haven’t left the island since last Christmas, so how did this union occur?”

  Lucien shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the chair. “We fell in love,” he said softly, his voice now thick with emotion.

  “You fell in love with a girl you thought to be quite young, therefore you didn’t try to make contact with any passing boats. And now you tell us she was kidnapped and you expect us to believe that? How do we know you weren’t tired of the relationship and did away with her yourself?

  Lucien jumped up from the chair livid with sudden anger. “Are you crazy? I love Becky. Why for fuck sake would I bother to light a fire to try and get help if I’d killed her? No one would have been any the wiser if I’d just stayed on my island!”

  John stepped forward and put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Ssh, calm down. There is a lady present.” He turned toward McFee. “He’s right. We had almost accepted that the sea claimed our daughter. We would never have known.”

  Lucien looked at Mary. Her kind round face was very pale and dark circles tainted the skin under her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ferguson. It’s just that…”

  “I understand. You’re in love with my daughter,” she said softly. “But now Becky has been kidnapped and why would anyone want to do that? Who?”

  McFee made some notes. “Yes, that’s what we’d like to know. So you didn’t see the boat?”

  “No. I was on the other side of the island when they took her.”

  “Mr. Moore, do you have any idea who could have done this? Do you have any enemies?”

  “Hell, no. No one ever came to the island and I severed all connections with my friends a long time ago. We did not part as enemies. I left civilization behind and chose to live as a recluse.”

  “Can you give us any information at all about the kidnapper?”

  “No. I saw several footsteps in the sand so there were more than one.”

  “Are you willing to return to the island with us?”

  “Yes, I am, but I need to tell you that the poster should be renewed. Becky changed during her stay on the island. She’s bloomed into a beautiful young woman.”

  Mary’s eyes lit up. “Really? That means she’s finally healed. I’m so glad, but…”

  McFee interrupted her. “You wouldn’t have a camera on the island by any chance, would you?” he asked Lucien.

  “I’m afraid not, but I’m an artist. Just recently I painted three full-length portraits of Becky as she is now. The kidnappers stole those too.”

  “I see. You can describe the paintings in detail when you come to the station to make your statement. After we visit the island you’ll have to come back to the station with us. Are you able to paint from memory?”

  “Yes. Becky’s face is engraved in my mind. I could paint her with closed eyes.”

  “Excellent. We’d like you to paint her for us so we can have new posters printed. That’ll be all for now, then.” He turned to the silent officer. “Terry, radio the coastguard. We’re going to take a little trip to that island.”

  “We have so many questions to ask Mr. Moore,” Mary said in a shaky voice.

  “I understand, Mrs. Ferguson, but we really need to investigate the island as fast as we can, before the wind, the sea or possible rain wipes away any evidence. Mr. Moore can visit with you this evening, after we return from the island.”

  Lucien stood up and smiled apologetically at the Fergusons. “I’ll be back this evening. I promise,” he told them.

  “Come, Mr. Moore. I need to get a hold of forensics. Hopefully we’ll find some fingerprints and other evidence.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Becky didn’t wake until the next morning. She stretched and opened her eyes and looked around disoriented, for a moment having no idea where she was. Then she remembered that she couldn’t remember anything and that this room, this bed were totally strange to her. Something heavy lay over her breasts. It was a man’s arm. Carefully she moved the arm off her body and gazed at the naked man next to her. He snored softly. His name was Gavin, but that’s all she really knew about him, and that he had a huge penis.

  Her hand stole down between her legs and felt the smarting flesh. Had he ravaged her while she slept? Her cleft felt chafed, sore, and prickly from the new growth of pubic hair.

  Her eyes fell on the mysterious paintings. Had Gavin commissioned this Lucien to paint her? How well had she known the painter to allow him to pai
nt her most intimate parts? A thrill coursed through her body at the thought of the artist gazing at her cleft, at her vagina and she wondered if Lucien Moore had been horny while painting her.

  She swung her legs out of bed and walked slowly to the wall of closets. The doors were full-length mirrors. The woman in the mirror who gazed back at her was a stranger, too. “Who are you, Becky?” she asked softly and reached out to touch the reflection. “Where did you come from?”

  She glanced back at the bed but Gavin slept soundly, his soft snore sounded like the purring of a tomcat. The empty whisky bottle and glass next to the bed told her he’d had plenty to drink before going to sleep.

  The doors slid open silently. Becky gazed at the rows of gowns, slacks and tops all neatly hung on hangers. A strange odor wafted into her nostrils, the scent of new material. She frowned as she examined each piece of clothing. Nothing teased her memory.

  Leaving the closet doors open she walked to the dressing table. An array of perfumes and make-up stood on top. She opened one of the lipsticks and noticed it was new, too. Her hands shook as she opened eye shadows, compacts, other lipsticks, all of them untouched. The bottles of perfume were full to the brim, never used.

  When she opened the drawers she found lacy underwear, bras, bikinis, they all felt and smelled new. The bottom drawer contained a pile of velvet boxes. Becky gasped as she opened each one and examined their contents.

  Feeling quite shaken and nonplussed at the array of brand new clothing and personal items, she stepped back from the open drawers and gazed wildly around the cabin. Nothing around her seemed familiar. Nothing rang a bell.

  Except the paintings.

  For some reason she felt drawn to them. She walked to the paintings and sat cross-legged on the floor gazing at them. Suddenly, she noticed something that wasn’t right. The hands in the painting had no rings on any of the fingers. She tugged at the three rings and pulled them off easily. As tanned as her body was, there should have been a white tanning line. There wasn’t. Something wasn’t right, her gut told her.

  Becky jumped up. After setting the rings on the dressing table, she went to the bathroom to have a shower. The tub, still filled with bubbling water, beckoned but she decided to shower instead. She suddenly felt very hungry as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Morning, Harry,” Becky said as she entered the lounge. “I’m starving. Is there a cook aboard this boat?”

  “You’re up early,” Harry said. “Yes, I’ll order breakfast for you. What would you like?” He took in her appearance and wondered what Gavin would say about the decent shorts and shirt she wore. The sales lady had included quite a few sensible dress items. He’d unpacked them all figuring Gavin would make her discard them anyhow.

  “I don’t know. What’s usually for breakfast?”

  “Eggs and bacon, or sausages, steak, pancakes, you name it, cook will make it for you.”

  “Eggs and sausages sounds good.”

  “Toast?”

  “Yes, that’ll be fine. Thanks, Harry.”

  “You’re welcome,” he mumbled and left the lounge.

  Becky walked out of the lounge onto deck to breathe in the fresh sea air. She noticed the sea was calm—the only sound the soft purring of the boat’s motors and the squawking of seagulls circling around the boat waiting for discarded morsels. Slowly she walked to the bow and hung over the railing. Gazing out at the horizon she wondered how long it would take them to get home. Home—she had no idea what that was or where it was.

  “Your breakfast is ready!” Harry called from the lounge.

  Quickly she headed back. “Can I eat outside?” she asked him.

  “Yes. If you like.” He disappeared to return quite soon with a laden tray of food.

  “That smells delicious,” Becky said while Harry set the tray on a small table for her. “Why don’t you join me, Harry? Have a coffee.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “Why not? I’d like to ask you some questions. Surely you can tell me more about myself?”

  “Didn’t Gavin do that last night?”

  “No. I slept right through till this morning.”

  “I see. You’ll have to wait for Gavin to get up. He can answer all your questions better than I.”

  “You don’t like me. Why?”

  “It’s nothing personal. Maybe one day you’ll understand why I’m against your relationship with Gavin.”

  “Relationship?” asked Becky with a frown. “You mean marriage, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I have to go now. Work is waiting.”

  “What do you do? What kind of work?”

  “Everything. I’m Gavin’s right hand man so to speak.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll find a book to read after I finish breakfast. Where is the kitchen? I can take the tray back when I’m finished.”

  “Don’t worry about it. One of the servants will clean up.”

  “Servants? I haven’t seen anyone else.”

  “There is a maid on board and a steward, and of course the captain and the chef.”

  “Where do we live? Gavin told me California, but where?”

  “Gavin owns a large estate just outside of San Francisco.”

  “Gavin must be rich.”

  “Becky, why don’t you wait with your questions until Gavin gets up? I really have to go now. I have to make some important phone calls. Business goes on. Even when we’re this far away.” Without waiting for her to reply he strode toward the lounge.

  “When does Gavin usually get up?” Becky called after him.

  “Usually not till late afternoon. He’s a night person.”

  After breakfast, Becky was bored with just sitting on deck and wandered into the lounge. She’d spotted bookcases earlier and had a mind to get lost in a good book, a world of fantasy, so she wouldn’t have to wrack her brains trying to figure out who she was.

  A girl was busy dusting the furniture. Becky watched her, shocked at the girl’s attire. When the girl bent to dust off the coffee table, bare buttocks mooned Becky. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  The girl startled and stood up to face Becky. “Hello. My name Juanita.”

  A very short, black mini skirt stopped just above the girl’s cleft. The tiniest of frilly white aprons was tied around a small waist. Two black bands ran from the waist to cross over the girl’s back. They just barely covered Juanita’s nipples. Black-netted stockings encased the girl’s slim legs. Did I approve this mode of dress for my staff? Becky wondered silently.

  “Hello, Juanita. Are you the maid?” It was a stupid question but Becky didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes. I maid. I clean many things.”

  Becky studied the girl’s face. Juanita was pretty. A shock of unruly black curls framed a small face. Black eyes, heavily made up, looked at Becky with what she thought was suspicion and hatred. Juanita’s breasts were so big; Becky wondered how they stayed in place under the skimpy pieces of cloth.

  “Do you always dress in such a manner, Juanita? I’d like you to go and change into something more suitable.”

  “No. Master Gavin likes.” Juanita spat at Becky.

  “I see. But I don’t like it. I want you to change into a normal dress.”

  “I don’t have.”

  Becky watched as the girl continued her work. Exasperated, she walked to the bookcase and looked for a book to read. To her amazement they were all books on sexuality and the fiction stories were erotic. For lack of anything else, she picked one of the fiction novels and relaxed on the couch with it.

  The book couldn’t hold her attention with Juanita flitting about the room. Every now and then Juanita would bend over exposing her cleft to Becky’s eyes. It was bare of pubic hair and reminded Becky of Gavin’s words the day before. He wanted her to have electrolysis done. Had Juanita had it done? Dare she ask the girl if it hurt? Had the girl been Gavin’s mistress at some point?

  “Juanita, can I ask y
ou a question?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Juanita turned to face her mistress.

  “You’re not wearing panties under your skirt and I noticed your private parts are quite naked of hair. Did you have it removed electronically?”

  “Yes. The master requires the female staff to remove hair.”

  “I see. Why?”

  “Master Gavin likes naked clit. He no like to see bush on girls.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  Juanita’s smile almost seemed wicked as she replied.

  “Yes, it hurt much. The man, he poke with needle.”

  “And now it doesn’t grow anymore?”

  “No.”

  “Can I see?” asked Becky, her heart thundering in her chest.

  Obediently, though somewhat reluctant it seemed to Becky, Juanita walked up to Becky and stood before her. She pulled up her skirt and parted her legs a little. To Becky’s amazement, the girl didn’t have one pubic hair. Her cleft resembled that of a little girl. A little silver ring showed just above the clitoris. Silver shimmered between the girl’s legs.

  “You had that pierced?” Becky asked wondering how much pain the girl had endured. “Did Gavin require that, too? And what about the silver between your legs? What’s that?”

  Juanita opened her legs wider. Becky saw a row of silver rings on each side of the lips. In the center hung a little silver lock. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Her hand reached out hesitantly and fingered the small lock. “Isn’t that kind of awkward?”

  “Master Gavin likes.”

  “It seems Master Gavin likes strange things.” Becky felt her crotch throb at the thought of the girl undergoing the strange piercings. “Is anything else pierced?”

  Juanita nodded. “Yes. Master Gavin likes.” She pulled the straps away to expose her nipples. They were both pierced with a silver ring. The girl’s breasts were big, very large and round. She noticed the rings attached to a string on the bands, which told her why the breasts stayed in place while the girl worked.