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“YOU JUST CAN’T SEEM to stay out of trouble, can you?” Yanka asks as she props her head against the cell door.
I spin my chair around over the smooth, freshly mopped floor of the jail cell, which comes complete with a firm bed and a whirlpool for the biggies that come out of my arse. This is hardly the gallows.
“What happened to you, Blue?” she whines, slipping her fingers through a small rectangular hole below a glass window in the door. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and then I found out this morning Sheriff Pike arrested you.”
“He’s being held for suspicion of murder,” says a female voice and a redhead looms from beyond the meshed door.
“There’s no way! Blue is not the type to commit murder. Believe me, I know,” Yanka defends me and I’m glad she has so much confidence in me as she flashes a smile. Yanka then looks back to the redhead with disdain, “And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Athena,” the woman says with pride, but Yanka shakes her head and continues to stare wide-eyed at Athena who’s face falls morose. “I’m the librarian, also named the town historian and assistant to the Sheriff’s Department.” Yanka continues to shake her head as she surveys Athena. Athena slouches. “I moved here two years ago, Illuyanka. We’ve crossed paths a few times.”
“Honey, I have no idea who you are,” smirks Yanka, “and if you did you’d know not to call me by my full name. Nobody calls me by that name.”
“Illuyanka? Because it means ‘seadragon?’”
“No!” Yanka shouts and I laugh to myself as Yanka’s features soften and her eyes grow with inquisition. “Seadragon—is that really what my name means?”
Athena chuckles, “Yes. Illuyanka was derived from Hittite mythology and is often depicted as a serpentine.”
“I thought you said it meant dragon!”
“In ancient cultures, both serpent and dragon could mean the same thing.”
“Whatever.” Yanka rolls her eyes. “Tell me again why you’re here. Are you going to help him?”
I roll my chair a little closer to the door, suspecting Athena is working with the sheriff to find good cause to hang me.
Athena’s eyes wander over me, studying my legs and the chair through the glass before fixing her glasses. When she catches me blankly staring back, she flushes with embarrassment to have been caught examining me without my permission.
“Sheriff Pike is having difficulty piecing together his case,” Athena tells Yanka. “A strand of Mr. Doe’s—”
“Blue!” corrects Yanka. “His name is Blue.”
“Okay,” Athena says with a quibble in her voice and looks back in my direction studying me again. “A sample of Blue’s hair matches evidence once removed from the scene of a suspected crime about twenty years ago, but it’s clear this man would’ve been a child back then.”
“What crime?!” shouts Shelley coming down the hall.
I roll my chair up to the door until my toes touch so I can see her coming, but I can’t see her, as I’m seated too low. I hear her wooden, sandaled feet pacing down the hall and I try to call out to her, but only air wafts through my throat.
Fuck. It’s been three hundred years and I’m still trying to use a voice I do not have. But I need to tell Shelley the truth. I need to tell her she shouldn’t listen to any of this because the only person who knows the truth about what happened to her parents is me. I also want to apologize and, although I’m not innocent, I’ve been absolved of my sins.
“I’m sorry, Shelley, I probably shouldn’t talk about Blue’s case with you,” says Athena.
I finally see Shelley as she comes in view through the window and she doesn’t even look at me. She flicks her long, strawberry blonde hair and puts one fair hand on her hip as the other points a finger in Athena’s face. “If it involves Blue and my parents, then you’re going to tell me everything you know.”
“Shelley’s right, Athena,” interrupts Yanka. “You’re new here and—”
“I’ve lived here for two years!” cries Athena, which Yanka doesn’t appear to appreciate; Yanka sticks her large chest out pushing the redhead back a few inches. Athena clutches her notes, intimidated between the two women and the three of them together remind me of my two brothers and me.
Of course, we were not born as brothers but became brothers—first by wind as navigators of the sea, then by a fire aboard a burning ship, and again by keepers of the sea. As of late, we are not so close as we once were, each eager to be free of our aqueous realm and return to earth, to land. If that should cost us our brotherhood, so be it. We have sailed, fought, died, and bickered together for too long.
As the women—Yanka, Athena, and Shelley squabble among themselves, I comprehend why Poseidon loves women so much; he adores them. He disguises himself to entice them and then trick them into lying with him. He goes as far as to allocate his powers to mortal men, like my brothers and me, which gives him more time to pursue the pleasures of women.
It is not surprising his name, Poseidon, should mean “husband to earth,” because he listens to women, too, as they complain, and he often becomes inclined to aid their cries. In truth, a woman’s wailing is Poseidon’s weakness; if a woman should pray to him to save her from whatever darkness haunts her at sea, he will send forth the lightning, waves, and the beasts of the ocean to save her. These things I know—I am his lightning.
But Poseidon cannot save every feminine creature that cries to him, one of his many regrets, for on occasion, some women wish for death. Poseidon would easily kill a man at his own request, but he pities the woman who is in so much pain she should wish her fate to end sooner than destiny would allow. It’s these women whom Poseidon fights the most to understand, to nurture, and to win their affections and love. So, rather than simply grant a woman’s dying wish, he strips her of her humanity and elevates her to the status of sea goddess, or sea witch, granting her powers and dominion over others.
Most times it works against him and he ends up quarreling with them for all eternity because witches are hell-bent on achieving nothing but revenge. Yet, I believe Poseidon enjoys bickering with goddesses of the sea. Looking at these three women bickering amongst themselves—the healer, the scholar, and the survivor, they are each a goddess of their own making and I pray Poseidon should never get a hold of the one that holds my love.
Shelley, I sense, possesses no super existential power other than the simple human state her mortal parents gave her. Apart from the fire that spews from her mouth when she is speaking in anger, which I suspect also fuels the slight red tint to her hair, Shelley is of pure earth and she’s used that earth to build a shell around her for protection. It’s allowed her to survive in the harsh environment of human ridicule, but inside, she is soft—and it drives me mad.
I want to fondle every bit of her soft, fleshy, pink mortal skin between her legs with my tongue and bite the sweet plump earthly fruit of her bum as well as her breasts. Even more, as the earth cradles the water that rests upon it, I wish to be cradled, to rest in the protective shell of her arms where I know no other human or god can make me feel anything less than a man.
I knock on the cell door, but not one of three hears me.
“Tell me what you know about my parents’ death!” Shelley bellows at Athena.
“I already told you I can’t,” argues Athena back at her.
Shelley steps back for a moment, thinking, as she spins around. She grips the coin around her neck and dangles it in front of Athena’s face and the scholar’s eyes widen. “Tell me everything you know and I’ll give you this coin.”
Lightning strikes outside and I bang on the door so hard it scares the three of them because it is louder than the thunder rolling through the halls. I shake my head at Shelley. Her face is blank as if she lost all feeling for me, but I do feel another one of the three looking at me much too inquisitively for her own good.
Athena is studying me, eyeing me up and down with her squinted, beady eyes framed behind her scholarly spectacles. She holds her palm beneath the dangling coin. “I will tell you everything you want to know if you give me the coin and also tell me where it came from.”
“Give the coin to Athena,” Yanka states and another crack of lightning strikes the earth, but it doesn’t keep Yanka from continuing to convince Shelley of giving up the coin. “Honestly, Shelley, you’re not the only one who’s been haunted by the thought of your missing parents for the last twenty years. I know you had a hard time growing up with all the gossip about hungry sea monsters or worse, human traffickers. And, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if the book nerd says she can help you find out the truth, I think we’ll all be better off getting some answers.”
Another bolt of lightning strikes as the coin slips from Shelley’s hand into Athena’s palm. “Speak,” Shelley demands and I feel an ache in my toes.
Athena puts the coin around her neck and I feel the ache spread up into my spine. I bang on the cell door once more with my hands and shake my head wildly. Gripping onto the top of my wheels, I push forward, banging my feet atop the footrests against the door wildly.
Yanka puts her forehead to the glass again. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m sure there’s some clue that’s going to help get you out of there. Let the psycho and the nerd figure it out, okay?”
Athena flips open one of the folders in her hand and skims over the pages. “Shelley, you know your mother was committed to a psychiatric facility for a week before they figured out she had mercury poisoning.”
“No,” Shelley gulps. “I didn’t know. I know some people say she was crazy. How’d she get mercury poisoning?”
“From eating too much fish,” replies Yanka. “This is a fishing town.”
Athena smiles, “Yes, but that’s not all of it. Your mother, Shelley, as you know was a geologist, a volcanologist to be exact. She traveled often before settling here with your father.”
“I know this,” says Shelley. “What about the mercury?”
“It poisoned her. It most likely got into her system working around volcanoes and eating a lot of deep-sea fish, but who knows what else. There are tons of mercury hazards that find their way into the human body, like fluorescent light bulbs, for example. But I’m sure it was a combination of things that contributed to a rise in mercury levels in your mother’s blood. Did you know in the 1700s, women wore blush with mercury in it and they had no idea they were poisoning themselves, contributing to neurological disorders, madness, and even death?”
I know what Athena is talking about. When I was a seaman, I saw men who ate too much deep-sea fish become looney, like the women who wore too much red rouge. They became sick in the head, scratching at their cheeks until they eventually peeled their own skin from their face, nearly bleeding to death. But it wasn’t just the scraping of her visage; when I saw Shelley’s mother with a knife in her hand, alone at sea, I never knew she had poison in her blood.
“What else?” asks Shelley. “What about my father?”
“We don’t know much about your father other than he was a geologist, too. He studied rocks and loved your mother.”
Shelley grins. “My Aunt Cora said my father loved my mother too much. My aunt said he’d cut out his own heart, give up an arm and a leg, do anything for her, go anywhere to be with her.”
Shelley’s right. Her father did say he’d do anything for her. He’d give up everything to be with the woman he loved. In fact, he did; he died traveling to the depths of the sea just to be with his wife, though I had no idea he’d given up his own daughter.
“So, what more?” asks Shelley. “What about the suspected crime?”
“Your parents’ boat was found anchored with blood across the deck with a paddle boat tied to the back. There were no signs of your parents other than the blood, which they tested and found to match your blood and figured it had to be your mother’s. They sent divers, but could not find any sign of either of your parents. There was a bit of lightning but no storm reported that night and there was no reported call for help.”
“Tell me about the hair,” inquires Shelley.
“They found a single strand of hair, which has been preserved as evidence. It never matched a soul until now.”
All three goddesses look at me.
“Blue,” Shelley says softly, bringing her forehead to the door. “Do you know anything about this?”
“How could he know anything about this?” asks Yanka. “Look at him! He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Do you think a ten-year-old could’ve paddled out to sea and killed a couple of adults and then swim a few miles back to shore? How could he be responsible for a couple of missing people, let alone your parents?”
I close my eyes and cringe at what I did, knowing I am responsible. I’m not responsible for everything that happened, for the deaths of both of Shelley’s parents, but I am responsible for killing one.
“You do know something,” Shelley mumbles. She slips her fingers through the hole in the door to reach for me. “Tell me what it is.”
I’m afraid to look at her. I love her, but in this moment, I’m afraid to look at the likeness of both her mother and father. I still do not regret what I did, but Shelley may never forgive me and I might never walk again.
“Goddamnit, Blue!” Shelley yells and pounds on the glass. “Tell me what happened!”
“Hey!” yells Sheriff Pike from down the hall. “None of you are supposed to be here. How the hell did you girls get in?”
“I flashed the deputy my tits,” says Yanka, “but I don’t know how the other two got in.”
Athena fixes her glasses. “There was no one at the desk when I came by.”
“That’s because he was probably pleasuring himself after he got a good look at these,” replies Yanka cupping her big breasts and I’m surprised she chose to be a healer. She’d probably make more than a few pretty pennies as a harlot.
“Tell me what you know, Blue,” continues Shelly. Her voice is low, like a deep-sea creature swooping in right before it makes its kill. I haven’t heard her speak in this tone before.
“He can’t speak,” Yanka iterates. “How’s he going to tell you?”
The sheriff grips Shelley by the arm and pulls her to face him. “He’s not going to tell you even if he could talk because he’s a murderer and criminals don’t easily give up their secrets. Now, the three of you need to get the hell out of here!”
“But you asked for my help,” says Athena to the sheriff.
“That didn’t include questioning witnesses related to the case. That’s my job,” he replies, “so get out and I’ll call you when you’re needed.”
The three of them are reluctant to leave and I hate to see Shelley depart with her heart wide open and wanton of answers to questions only I can answer, but cannot speak.
