Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Sometimes, I dream about killing all of them, of letting them see they were right to fear me.
“Father Aragon.” The tallest soldier strides forward, bowing his head slightly in a show of mock respect. His eyes are dark and cold. “The men say you saved them last night. We would like to hear your account of what happened.”
“Of course,” I say, resting the broom against the pew and then straightening out the front of the black robe I wear in the church. I look into the soldier’s eyes, perhaps a little too deeply, because he goes quite still. I can hear his heart slowing, his breaths becoming shallow and long, his pupils dilating into black pools. I can often compel people this way, placing them under mild control, but Abe does it better than I. The more power I exert over someone, the more likely I am to lose control of myself, so I try not to do it too often.
But this morning, I want the soldiers to hear exactly what I’m going to say.
“I heard the screams from across the water,” I tell them, keeping my gaze focused on the main soldier. “I got my skiff and rowed toward them as fast as I could. Thank the Lord they had a lamp lit, or I would have never found them in the dark.”
“The men said this happened in the middle of the night,” one of the other soldiers says brusquely. “Were their screams so loud that they woke you up?”
I don’t glance at him. “I wasn’t asleep. I was here in the chapel, praying.”
The head soldier slowly nods. Even if he wanted to break away from my eyes, he can’t. He’s enraptured and bespelled. “What did you see when you came across their boat?”
“Exactly what you’ve seen. One man ripped down the middle, and all that’s left of the other was his leg.”
“And what did the men tell you that happened?”
I manage a small smile, as if we’re sharing a joke. “They said they saw a woman in the water. She had tricked them into thinking she was drowning. They said it was a Syren who suddenly pulled their friend under and ripped him apart before she leapt out of the water and onto the boat, attacking the other one. Apparently, she ate his heart and liver before the men fought her off with the oars and stabbed her in the back with their knife. Only then did she let go and sink below the surface.”
“And you believe that?”
Another placating smile. “Of course I don’t. I am a man of faith, a man of God. God would never create such an abdominal creature. There is no such thing as a Syren or a mermaid or a monstrous woman in the sea.”
The other soldier grunts. “Then what do you think really happened?”
“I think the men had a bit too much to drink while they were fishing, and they attracted some other sea creature. We know that sharks swim the strait. I believe the other two men must have fallen overboard from their love of the drink; you know how fond they are of that sinful libation here. They were attacked and killed, and the other two tried to save what they could.”
The soldiers all fall silent, and I finally look away, gazing at the rest of them. They seem suspicious of me, even though what I just told them is the most logical explanation.
“May I ask what you think happened?” I ask them.
The soldier I was compelling blinks slowly and then gives his head a shake. He frowns at me. “I think it must have happened as you said. It is simply not possible for a woman to tear off a man’s leg like that.”
“And there are no such things as Syrens,” I remind him.
He nods. “And there are no such things as Syrens.”
Then, he clears his throat and gives me another nod, this one more courteous. He motions for his men to leave the chapel, and they quickly do so, as if this place suddenly terrifies them.
I watch them go and smile, the first genuine one I’ve had since Abe left.
They want to believe in monsters because monsters are real, and some part of them knows it. But logic always wins.
For me, the less they believe, the better.
Because that Syren does exist.
She did attack those men and eat them.
And she’s somewhere out there in the waters right now, injured, perhaps slowly bleeding to death.
That blood is going to waste.
That blood could sustain me forever if I act now.
Tonight, I’m going fishing.
Last night’s attack happened around one or two in the morning, so I bide my time until then, thinking that might be the Syren’s hunting hours. I clean the church, rewrite the sermon for this Sunday so that it focuses on calming people’s fears of the unknown. Under the moon that slices in through the window, I pray the rosary as only a heathen would, each bead not directed at God but at myself. It’s a chant I repeat over and over again, reminding myself to stay in control.