Song of the Sirens (2 page)

I packed up and, together with all the
men, headed out to sea. The nightmares began at sea, and the weather changed
when the nightmares started.

Chapter Two

Outside my lower compartment room, men
scattered in a hurry to get to the deck. I recognized the sound of scurrying
feet scraping against wooden floors. Something of concern, or excitement,
caused the ruckus. It didn’t involve me in the slightest unless the sub
remerged. I had nothing better to do, unless frittering away in the darkness at
the mercy of weird dreams counted.

First thing, however, involved the
bathroom. I didn’t know where the clock vanished to. Maybe Dad turned the
blaring red screen around, but I might’ve slept or lounged around in this bunk
far past morning, and that required extra time in the bathroom.

I locked myself away in the tiny room,
and emerged forty minutes later fully showered and spanking clean. Unlike the
crew members, I didn’t worry about getting wet and dirty, or reeking of gutted
fish early in the day. I held the unusual position of being the pristine, and
only, girl on board, and I didn’t participate in manual labor.

Like every summer prior to this one, and
since the death of Mom, I spent my entire summer vacation on board Captain
Jack’s boat with five of his crewmen. They shared the vessel with my father and
three of his research team members.

Percival was termed “The Man” because he
spent his entire life searching for the elusive and legendary underwater region
known as the lost city of Atlantis. He meandered on the verge of discovering
its location. Trails of artifacts earned him quite the reputable name amongst
scholars and explorers, and now the main prize sat somewhere beneath him. Every
day tingled with excitement with the prospect of gaining another step closer to
the biggest find in human history.

Atlantis scorched the imaginary depths
of many explorers over the years. Some said the city belonged to a great
civilization with roads paved from gold. Others believed Atlantis had once been
a flourishing metropolis taken by tsunamis. Many believed Atlantis was nothing
more than a legend. Like all legends, it grew to an insurmountable size,
squashing the original story, whether fact or fiction, and transformed into
something which made the eyes of men twinkle with high hopes.

Dad had that twinkle in his eye.

I stepped out into the hall and closed
the door to my sleeping quarters behind me. I didn’t bother locking it, as
there was nothing of value in there. Captain Jack and his crew remained
respectful friends of Dad and his research team, and vice versa. Though I kept
to myself, both sides viewed me as a daughter. This made me feel safe and
secure, especially when Dad spent most of his time underwater and left me
alone. These men had grown to become family, no matter how dysfunctional.

In the end, I stayed out of everyone’s
way. I usually didn’t know what happened until everyone else did. Either I
heard it in passing, or Dad disclosed information before going to bed. He slept
in the lower bunk. Many nights, I fell asleep to his technical explanations of
the excavations and findings of the day. Most fathers read their little girls
princess stories. My father used to read voyages under the sea, and searches
for elusive animals and lost civilizations. I could write a book based on his
life.

This particular morning ran as normal. I
slept in out of sheer boredom while others reared to go well before dawn. I
suspected Dad took the submarine down before sunlight had a chance to chase off
ocean murkiness. Industrial lights should’ve taken care of that issue.

I anxiously cracked my knuckles as I
walked upstairs to the open deck. Mid-morning was breezy and thick clouds
blanketed the sky. The weather was far from a sunny summer day most expected on
this side of the sea. We didn’t anticipate any storms or serious waves,
although the ocean surface became more agitated as the day progressed.

Men scattered all around. They rushed to
get the submarine up and on board the ship. The sub crew resurfaced and eased
the submarine onto the submersed grate dock. Once in position, the deck crew
used mechanical operations to lift the dock and pull it up. As water emptied
through the grates, the sub settled onto the dock floor. Once the dock reached
its height, three arms secured the base to the side of the boat above the
railing.

The Nautile 7000 was Dad’s expensive big
boy toy, his very large baby. It had to be one of the worlds most expensive and
advanced research submersibles. The twenty-five foot vessel could venture over
seven thousand meters below the surface of the ocean. The broad submarine sat
three people with enough leg and moving around room to reach the emergency
supplies at the rear. Large, thick observation windows allowed optimal viewing
in the front and sides. Rotating engines allowed the vessel to move carefully
through the ocean depths. Large, metallic pincers attached to side arms allowed
the crew to pick up and move objects.

I even had the rare privilege of
exploring the water with Dad on one trip. I sat in the back seat against the
right wall and watched the watery world through the side window in complete
awe.

I admitted the most unnerving fact about
being in the Nautile 7000 was that at any point, something could break under
pressure, killing us in a very horrific way. We could succumb to paralyzing
fear in the minutes it took to lose air, feel the pressure crush our bodies,
and drown in icy liquid. The metal sub would crunch and compress with us in it!
Not the way a girl wanted to spend her summer.

I hurried to see Dad, but men crowded
the deck as expected. I remained a good distance from the crowd and patiently
awaited my turn. Everyone wanted a piece of my father. He was The Man, after
all. By the sight of his rosy cheeks and ear-to-ear grin, I knew he returned
with something special.

A sigh escaped my lips before inhaling
the salty sea air. An icy wind picked up. I shuddered and zipped up my
raincoat. I jammed my fists into the side pockets and looked around. A cruel
tempest headed in while the boat sat around like a sitting duck during hunting
season. So much for believing the weather couldn’t get worse.

The fact that Dad emerged so early after
heading down meant something, though. News was either good or bad. I hoped for
the sake my father’s mentality that the news was good. No, not even good, I
hoped with fierceness his news was
outstanding
.

Aside from the normal clamor of the
sea-faring men, and the need to hightail their butts out of here, I noticed
something else. An excited, unexpected vibe shimmied through the crowd like a
sparkling wave. The Man found something, I was certain. This sudden emergence
was a good thing, then.

Another strong gust of wind rocked the
boat. I briefly lost balance but caught myself before tumbling onto my butt.
The slippery deck was not conducive to clumsy people.

I clutched the railing and glimpsed the
turbulent waves beneath us as they rocked and crashed against the large vessel.

A haunting, tangled orb of voices
drifted across the expanse of sea, increasing in clarity and pitch as it
reached the boat. The whispers resembled those from the nightmares, mumbled,
sharp, screeching, numbing, so many things at once.

I glanced around. The men continued
about their business, excited and frenzied, shouting and scattering. They
didn’t notice what I noticed.

The mysterious song seemed to
materialize in the air, wrapped around my face, and turned my chin toward the
vicinity of the ocean below.

I gripped the railing, leaned over, and
withheld a breath. The calling was both sweet and unsettling. The whispers
grew, clashed against one another in scorching chaos. They tugged at the very
fibers of my being, pulled me until I hovered on tiptoes.

Despite the wind chill and abnormally
low temperatures, a bead of sweat formed on my brow. It tickled as it slid down
the slope of my forehead and dispersed across the width of my eyebrow.

I wanted to push away. I wanted to pull
back and return to the men who moved behind me. If I fell into the water, would
they notice? My mind warned me to move, but my body succumbed to the whispers.
I lived my nightmare, trapped in my body, but aware that I inched closer to a
fatal plunge into the bitter, cold waters of the Atlantic.

The water grew dark, abysmal, outlined
in white foam that seemed to desire crawling up the side to devour us all. I
stared in a transitory moment, which felt as though it lasted much longer. The
longer I stared, the more I believed it to be true. Deception laid in the
darkening sea, as if the nightmares paved the way to an unacceptable truth.
Water played tricks on us. It was why men went mad at sea.

“Anita, dear!” Dad called in his usual
deep and throaty voice, which pried through the crowd, crawled over the noise,
and took hold of my ears.

The whispers halted and hushed,
releasing me from their enigmatic grasp. I inhaled a much-needed breath and
breathed in rapid succession. My feet flattened, the heels met the deck, and I
stepped away from danger.

“What in the world was that?” I muttered
under my breath to no one but the air.

I pulled away from the railing, peeled
my gaze from the mesmerizing waters, and turned toward my advancing father. The
mob of men around him parted and looked on with a sort of envy and awe. I
smirked to myself. The expressions on their faces confirmed my hopes. Dad
skipped across the surface of big things this stormy afternoon.

We met halfway on the deck. Dad hugged
me. Without a mother or siblings, my father was the world to me. No wonder I
fretted every time he went on an expedition. Anything could happen inside a
small vessel trapped by tons of water pressure. I didn’t want to lose him. In
fact, my eyes welled at the mere thought.

Anxiety increased threefold while on the
ship, because worry played a large role on this forsaken boat, cast out in the
middle of god knows where. But, it was worth it when excitement hit us, and
today it hit hard.

Dad had a huge grin on his face, which
couldn’t be said of the captain. Captain Jack stormed down from the steering
room. That pounding of his shoes against the semi-loose metal stairs echoed in
the near distance. He wasn’t at all pleased with Dad taking his sweet time in
conditions like this. Captain Jack’s weather-beaten face turned red, and his
jaw locked tight. If he placed any more pressure on his teeth, he’d probably
pierce his gums and crush his skull.

I cringed. I felt the pain just looking
at him.

I stretched my jaw and shook my head.
Those nightmares about sea faring she-monsters took its toll on the
imagination. Hopefully, my new found sense of dread did not carry over to Dad.

My father pulled my chin away from the
captain, whom he’d so clearly angered. According to Dad, I didn’t need to know
that he could piss off other people, or that he might actually have to answer
to someone else.

“Run along now, Anita,” he urged. “I’ll
talk to you in a moment.”

I glanced at the angry warning which
brewed on the captain’s face, and then at Dad. He turned and faced the captain,
but neither griped until I stepped away.

I walked away with a quick step. Tucking
a few loose strands of bourbon-colored hair behind my ear, I glimpsed Dad as I
strolled toward the stairs leading up to steerage. The men danced around the
edges of an intense argument.

I imagined their quarrel. Captain Jack
mentioned the impending storm, odd but dangerous. He owned the boat. He put his
foot down. He would leave Percival if he had to.

Dad, on the other hand, kept the
argument just as strong. This was his research trip and his team. He paid the
captain good money to be out here. So, by technicality, his word was law, and
he wanted to stay. He put his Herculean-sized twelve foot down.

I couldn’t hear the conversation above
the clamor of the men and the sound of rushing waves. I gripped the handle bar
and leaned in, hoping my ears could pick up something, anything.

Anytime now, I anticipated the vibration
from the motors and movement toward land. I expected the captain to hurry off.
I could practically hear him screeching at the men above to get going.

Nothing happened.

The captain turned red. He didn’t seem
to get his way this time. Either he cowered away or Dad had found something.
That something had to be pretty big for the captain to go against basic
instinct on turning the boat around, because we stayed in place.

Despite some of the men who aimed to
cling onto Dad, he ducked inside. He took my hand, and I followed in protective
tow. We rushed down the stairs to the lower deck. We trotted down thirteen
steps, as wooden and creaky as the floorboards, and around two corridors before
entering our room. I left the door open and hovered on toes at the threshold
while Dad raced to his desk at the other end of the short room.

I imagined hearing excited chattering
and rasping floorboards right behind me, but they were quiet. The men gently
pushed me aside and gathered around The Man. Dad’s undivided attention fell
onto the map displayed on his desk, each side weighted down by a rock.