Syren

Chapter Six

She was gone for two days. He ate the remains of the rabbit broth and slept away most of the first, waking in the middle of the night. The little house was pitch black and he was shivering in the small bed. Bellows listened for the sound of her breathing but soon was sure she had not returned. He lay awake until the first rays of dawn and then rose to urinate painfully again.

This time he cupped his own hand in the feeble golden stream, but there were no more stones. He limped back to the bed, exhausted from the effort, with a pain in his side and wondered where she could have gone.

He waited until the sun was directly overhead and then began to worry. He ventured out into the rainforest, back through the ruins, but there was no sign of her. He found a snare she must have set and in it was another rabbit so he took it back to the house and skinned it. The least he could do was make dinner for her after all she had done for him. He got the fire going in the hearth and roasted the rabbit, thinking the smell of food would bring her but by nightfall, he was still alone.

Bellows paced anxiously... she could be hurt... could be dead for all he knew. He limped back outside and began to search, calling her name into the still night. There were no sounds, he realized it with a start. No buzz of insects or chatter of birds. None of the distant animal noises that had filled the island since he had arrived. It was as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation of something extraordinary.

He passed through the ruins and back down the worn path to the temple entrance, stopping before the yawning black opening in the face of the mountain.

What would the monk do this time if he caught Bellows inside? He had no weapon... why was that? Hadn't he had his sword when he came ashore? He couldn't remember, but he must have.

Enough of this stupidity. The scrawny monk was no match for him. He squared his shoulders and marched inside. The torch was not on the wall, and he had no way to light it even if it had been. He crept along feeling his way down the damp passage. After a short while, his eyes adjusted and he could see, or perhaps the tunnel was getting lighter.

He rounded a bend and ahead there was the flicker of torchlight. He knew he was entering the chamber with the chained woman. He pressed himself to the wall and peered around the corner. She was still chained to the granite monolith, but now there was a frenzy of movement around her.

The monk was on top of the chained woman who lay as if in a trance or stupor. He was naked and his hips bucked wildly as he raped her. The monk was so pale that his skin, covered in a sheen of sweat looked like marble. I was as if he were a living statue, jack-hammering away at the prone woman chained to the rock.

Bellows slipped into the room, disgusted by the spectacle of it, but still needing to see the totality of this blasphemy. He moved around the room still pressed against the wall and then stopped in horror.

Emily was standing naked beside the monk, one hand clamped to his withered backside and the other holding his stiff throbbing member. Guiding it into the chained woman as she thrust his pelvis back and forth. The monk himself seemed nothing more than a puppet. An anatomically correct marionette and she was pulling the strings. The look on Emily's face was one of rapture, a snarling wicked smile full of terrible glee.

Bellows shuddered at the sight and quietly slunk back to the darkness of the tunnel. Once he was out of earshot, he staggered away blindly, sprawling at the entrance to the temple. He tried to rise, but felt a wave of nausea and vomited loudly into the underbrush.

"No... " he moaned.

He heaved a few more times but his belly was empty and finally, he rose unsteadily to his feet. Bellows ran like a drunkard, falling and getting back to his feet. Thorns and brambles cut his arms, legs and face as he lost the trail but eventually he burst out of the jungle onto the small stretch of beach.

He thanked God silently that the boat was still resting where he had left it and clambered aboard. The moon was up and bright enough that he could easily make out the shape of his ship, resting at anchor out beyond the heavy surf.

Rowing as if his life depended on it, he powered through the waves that seemed determined to push him back to the island. His shoulders ached and his arms burned but then, he was on the open sea and the ship began to get nearer with every pull.

He called to his crew as he neared her bow but there was no answer in return. Coming alongside he expected his first mate to look down from the deck but nothing of the sort happened. The ship was quiet, much too quiet.

Bellows grabbed a rope and hauled himself up hand over hand until he could pull himself onto the deck. No one was about. There should be at least two men on deck, tending the sails, keeping a watch on the sea and the sky.

He began to truly panic and ran across the deck calling names, "Percy... Jacob... Williams..." Only the rigging creaked in answer.

Bellows ran below decks and then from one end of the ship to another screaming. At last, he stopped, sweat stinging his eyes, his breaths coming in painful gasps that made his chest ache.

They were gone... every last man... he was alone.