Syren

Chapter Two

Bellow walked back down his head filled with unanswered questions. He retraced his path back to the crumbling ancient city but then, instead of returning to the beach, he turned and picked his way through the ruins not sure of what he expected to find. Most of the walls had long since falling inward or been eroded to nothing more than stumps, like rotting teeth in an old man's jaw. He could discern, the remains of buildings, mostly of the one-room variety, but here and there he noted larger more robust dwellings and inside them rudimentary hearths, tables and benches. The jungle was hard at work obliterating this place, moss covered almost every surface and trees had pushed up through cracks in the stone to stand proudly in what had once been kitchens and bedrooms.

Bellows had stopped to remove his hat and mop sweat from his forehead when something moved in his periphery. He saw it, but years of dealing with murderous sailors, angry drunks and firey women had hardened his resolve. He did not flinch, did not move, gave no indication that he had seen at all. Instead, he turned the other way, moving away from the source of the movement casually to see what might happen. His hand rested easily on his hip, close to the long knife in his belt.

Again the movement, this time he was ready and saw her duck behind a low wall. He had glimpsed a young girl, just for a moment and knew instantly she was no threat to him. But she was trying to flank him, out-maneuver him to come up behind. He strolled on, keeping her at the edge of his vision. He moved in just the right way to allow her to creep up from behind, however, he was in control the whole time.

Eventually, the moment arrived, she was close enough and he was vulnerable enough. She made her attack and he turned at exactly that moment and had her, his left hand around her waist and his right hand catching her wrist before she could plunge her long dagger into his back. To anyone who may have been watching it would have looked as if they were dancing. She squeaked and yanked her arm in a futile attempt to break his hold, but he would not be fooled. Slowly he increased his grip on her wrist until her hand opened like the claw of a bird and the knife fell to the ground.

She gasped in pain as he continued to squeeze her wrist for a few seconds more and then, suddenly he released her. She stumbled backwards and then she turned to run, as he knew she would. There was a loud tearing sound and her escape was thwarted by her filthy white dress, upon which Bellows was standing. The dress tore at the waist exposing the pale flesh of her behind. He laughed wickedly and slapped her backside hard with his open palm leaving a bright red handprint on her buttock.

"Pirate scum!" She screamed, pulling and twisting to get her dress free.

Bellows grinned and grabbed the lower half of the dress tearing it away and sending her crashing in a heap to the ground. She scrambled backwards away from him, naked from the waist down, but he was ready for this as well and in one quick movement he was sitting on top of her.

She was completely at his mercy now, his full weight was across her hips and her arms were pinned beneath his thighs. Bellows reached into his breast pocket and extracted as a small curved pipe. From another pocket, he produced a wad of tobacco and proceeded to tamp it into the bowl of the pipe with practiced ease. Finally, he struck a wooden match and lit the pipe, puffing out a cloud of grey smoke which hung above her head.

"What's yer name girly?" He asked.

She spat in his face. The spittle clung to his cheek and he laughed again.

"You got spunk, I'll give ya that!"

"Let me go!" She said through gritted teeth as she squirmed side to side and arched her back trying to dislodge him.

Much to his surprise, her writhing had the opposite effect of what she had hoped. It had been years since Bellows had seen a woman, much less had one wiggle her young hard body between his legs. He felt that old tickle in his belly and a stiffening in his more manly regions.

The look on her face changed to incredulity. The stiffening had made its presence known to her as well as it pressed against her pelvis.

"Is that your.... my God! You're disgusting! Get off of me!" She was flailing madly now, slamming against him, twisting this way and that, and the fact was it was only making things... harder.

Bellows sighed and leaned forward grabbing her shoulders and holding her still. His face loomed over her and a drop of her own spittle fell from his check onto her snarling face.

"What – is- yer- name!" He said pressing down on her to emphasize each syllable.

She gave up then. Gave up completely. She turned her head and rested her cheek on the moss covered ground.

When she spoke again it was in a defeated whisper. "Just do it and get it over with..." As if to punctuate this her body went limp beneath him and she closed her eyes.

Bellows sat back and shook his head. After taking a long pull on his pipe and puffing out another cloud of smoke he rose with a groan of old age and lifted the girl to her feet. She stared at him warily but did not try to run. He retrieved the bottom of her dress and handed it to her looking away as she tied it around her waist.

"I'm not that kind of man girly." He said. "I like my woman... enthusiastic... if ya catch my meaning."

She said nothing, still watching him.

"So... let's try this again. What's yer name?"

She opened her mouth and after a short pause said, "Emily... Emily MacLeod."

"Nice ya meet ya Miss MacLeod. I'm captain James Bellows." He said. "Tell me, how did you come to be on this island?"