Kumiko

THE SUN HAS SET LEAVING only a trickle of light painted on the horizon. It took less than an hour to pack, but cleaning the beach house of feathers and—bluchk!—Bradley’s blood is taking a lot longer. Small drops of dried, marooned, splattered blood span across every corner of the house—the chairs, the cabinets, the walls. Just when I think I’m about done, I see another tiny little crimson speck and I have this insatiable need to wipe it away. I want to wipe it all away. I don’t know why. I don’t plan to stay here, but I just don’t want any traces of Bradley anywhere.

I consider Bradley might come back, but when I get up off my knees from scrubbing, my feathered friend seems to always be on guard—except for right now. The darn thing isn’t even watching me. The seagull’s got its eyes closed.

“Hey!” I shout. It fluffs its feathers as it opens its eyes, but turns its head to tuck it back between its wings to fall back asleep.

I can’t believe I’m talking to a dumb bird and I’m expecting the dumb bird to be a better bodyguard.

I throw the brown sponge into the small bucket of hot soapy water, grab the handle, and head towards the kitchen. Leaning up against the kitchen sink for leverage to empty the bucket, I notice there’s a figure standing on the dry soil out front.

I drop the bucket in the sink and it splashes; soapy water filled with the remnants of Bradley’s leftover blood is on me and I swear to God if that’s him coming back to try to finish what he started, I’ll fight him. I’ll really kill him this time.

I reach over and grab a knife.

I look back to the front, but the figure is gone and I hear a pounding at the door.

Shit!

I don’t say anything, thinking maybe he’ll go away and then I remember the broken window. He can easily come in through it and grab me. As I tiptoe over to the hallway, the beach house creaks and I have to slow down; I don’t want whoever it is to hear me. Even if it’s not Bradley, I don’t want to engage with whoever’s at the door because I have every intention of leaving this town tonight.

I creep slowly down the hall to Shelley’s room. I’m trying to think of a way I can keep the door wedged shut if Bradley should try to enter through the window and I sense the figure beside me.

I turn to my right swiping with the knife into the dark doorway—air—of the bathroom. I know I’ve let out a squeal letting whoever it is know I’m here, but there’s nothing in the doorway and I turn on the bathroom light.

“Hi Cookie,” says a dark figure, a woman, in the mirror and I jolt back into the hall. I raise the knife; my hand is squeezing the handle, but I can’t keep the knife from shaking by my hand that is trembling.

She laughs and I recognize the laugh. It’s the palm reader from the carnival years ago, the one who encouraged me to get the tattoo. I look about to my left and my right and behind me to the wall—she’s nowhere, but I sense she is everywhere. I reluctantly look back into the mirror. My reflection is gone and only she is there.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“It’s not what I want, dear. It’s what we all want. When do you plan to lay with Orphelius?”

Okay. Now, I’m mad. I was scared, but not anymore. “What are you, my pimp? I’m not going to screw with him. Everybody is insisting that I do. And for what? So he can walk? So I can break his century-old curse? I’m not a whore.”

“But you were.”

“I’ve never been a prostitute.”

“No?” she asks. “How many men have you slept with in your lifetime? Fifty? A hundred?” She laughs. “Two hundred? And for what?”

I throw the knife at the mirror. “That’s none of your business!”

The knife hits the glass, but nothing shatters. I march into Shelley’s room shutting the door behind me only to see the palm reader in the mirror above the vanity. I notice the bed next to the vanity, which is a mess, and automatically recall this morning; I feel ill. Does this freak, this witch, even know what I went through this morning?

“I’m not sleeping with him!” I yell. “I’m not sleeping with Orphelius!”

I hear a screech and the flutter of wings from the hall outside. I rush to the window and my heart aches. My feathered friend is flying away.

“Cookie, why are you so afraid?” she rattles.

“Don’t call me that!” I snap. “And I’m not afraid. Orphelius is just different. He’s wrong! He’s got tentacles for Christ’s sake.”

“Orphelius would love you if you had tentacles. He loved you when you were nothing but another man’s plaything. He’s killed for you. He’s died for you. He’s rescued you several times over and yet you won’t even speak to him because he’s different.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I grit as I lean my back against the bedroom wall and sink to crouch on the floor.

“In your former life, Orphelius rescued you from swindlers who would have had their way with you and killed you if they did not receive a ransom. Later, Orphelius rescued you from a burning ship and then again by towing you to safety. But on the night you risked going out to see him, in the same form he is in now, because you loved him, you died.”

“That wasn’t me!”

“But it was,” she insists, “Your lord, who owned you, had followed you to the pier where he watched the two of you copulate. When you returned onshore, your lord slit your throat and tossed you back into the sea like garbage. Orphelius was mortified. He carried your decaying body with him for days until...” she chuckles, “until he came to see me.”

“Stop,” I tell her. “I don’t understand any of this. You keep telling me this story is about me, but it’s not. I don’t know who this other person is or who she was. I suspect you’re going to tell me I was reincarnated somehow and now I owe Orphelius for all of this. But I didn’t ask for it and it even sounds like my former self didn’t ask for it either because I was dead.”

“Exactly,” she says. “You were dead. Do you know what it takes to bring someone back from the dead?” I shake my head. “More death,” she gripes.

“Ow!” I feel a bite at my shoulder and I look to it. Big round dragon eyes are looking back.

“Talk to him,” says the witch and I look up to see her fading in the mirror. “Talk to Orphelius before more animals are taken, more suffering endures, and more birds die or worse! The world will have to live forever with your indifference to a man who only wants to give you love.”

I OPEN MY EYES TO DARKNESS; I can’t sleep. The witch’s last words continue to echo in my mind.

I’m also scared. I’ve decided to make camp on the couch as it was too late and too dark to leave this night, not to mention I had no idea where I planned to go.

Waves roll outside. I know Orphelius is out there—I can tell by the way the waves sound, like they’re lightly crashing into something as they come up onshore.

I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m so resistant to him.

Because he’s strange? Because I hardly know him? These are legitimate reasons, aren’t they?

He was sweet on the beach during the few minutes we spent together. I chuckle to myself knowing Athena was right—I am a slut. I let Orphelius kiss me even though he was a stranger. Of course, I had to! His face is gorgeous!

My legs are tingling, like I have restless leg syndrome, so I get up. I walk quietly in a circle in the dark until I decide to head towards the kitchen.

Lost in my thoughts, I twiddle my fingers over the countertop. Abs. Orphelius had nice abs and two strong arms as well. In fact, I liked the way he held me in them. I felt so secure—he held me so tight.

I reach down to open the drawer and feel around until I find...a pen. I toss that on the counter. I continue to rummage through the junk drawer and I discover...a round metal thingy with a chain. I toss that on the counter, too. Digging a little further back into the drawer, I finally find it—the flashlight!

I turn it on. The light pierces through the darkness and I recall Orphelius as he popped out of the water when I was isolated on the beach. He didn’t talk much, but we didn’t really have time as Bradley, the asshole, interrupted us.

I walk towards the back door and open it. Maybe, I’ll just give Orphelius a chance to explain himself. I don’t have to get to close. I’m sure he could choke me with his tentacles, even though everyone vows he’s “safe” to be around.

Walking down the ramp onto the sand I march towards the water until I see him...or at least, a portion of him. My flashlight illuminates large tentacles the size of anacondas slipping and sliding along one another in a huge slivering wet mess.

“Kumiko,” I hear him say and I lift the light towards his face. He squints with a cocked head.

I keep the light on him for minute to look at his face. He’s so pretty and manly at the same time, even when he’s grimacing. He’s so human from the waste up and it crushes me I can’t have all of him in human flesh. His emerald green eyes dazzle between the squinting until he raises his hand to block the light and I turn it off.

“Come closer,” he says. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” I mention, but I don’t move.

“Do I disgust you?” he asks.

“What? Pfft. No!” I’m lying, of course, and I feel terrible. To hear him ask me like that makes me feel like a jerk, like I have no consideration for his feelings or his predicament. But I am judging him based solely on his appearance, so yeah, I’m a jerk.

He clears his throat. “Have you seen the pup?”

“Pup?”

“The dolphin calf?”

“Oh, the baby! No, I haven’t.”

“Is there any way you could bring it to me or I to it? It’s in pain. If I don’t bring it back to its mother soon, it will die.”

I’m such a bitch. Coming out here, I thought this whole encounter was going to be about me.

“I don’t think I can do that, but Athena might be able to help. I will talk to her in the morning.”

“I sense the pup may not make it past morning. How about you? Are you well? Did that skipper hurt you badly?”

I chuckle at the use of the term skipper; it sounds too regal for Bradley. He is more like a cock-sucking pirate. I rub my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“That’s rude,” I chortle. “How do you know I’m lying?”

“I can sense it. Come closer.”

Reluctantly, I trail my bare feet through the sand to get closer and when I’m within arm’s reach, Orphelius traces his fingers through my hair, rubbing the bump to the side of my head lightly. “I apologize for being late this morning.”

The small, tender, aching sensation of his palpating fingertips is accompanied by a sweet tingle that radiates through my body, lifting my soul, but a warm breeze brings me back to earth. “Late? It’s not your responsibility to look out for me.”

“But it is,” he says gripping his hand behind my neck. “I brought you back from the dead.”

I feel a sliver, like scales under my skin, run through my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt but the feeling makes me uncomfortable—my dragon tattoo is moving. Orphelius puts his hand on my shoulder and the thing stops.

It makes me angry he has such control, yet also puts me at ease. I feel lost and hopeless and hopeful, all at the same time. It’s not just the mystery, but also the magic that makes me fearful. There are so many things I want to understand, but I also don’t want to hear about any of it. I am of two minds. It’s like I have no control of my fate and I don’t know how to take control.

Talk. That’s what the witch suggested, but I’m afraid to talk. My parents never talked. I don’t really know how to talk to someone...

Maybe I don’t have to talk. Maybe Orphelius can do all the talking.

“Will you tell me the story,” I ask with a soft whisper. “Tell me the story of our past, of us.”