Chapter 2- Mysterious Life

Chapter Two

Someone was frantically calling to him, desperately grabbing for him with fingers disguised as soft words. It created a mildly unpleasant throbbing in his subconscious, nudging him from the folds of the blackness. It seemed pretty, unreasonably annoying and prying and far beyond his essential reach. Choosing to ignore it, he continued to float aimlessly in his sea of blackened slate, but escape was futile. Somehow, threads of warm golden light grabbed him and yanked him rather roughly from his black paradise, slowly at first and then alarmingly quick and lethal. The black seeped away, peeling his vision into a much more bright and colorful world, a world he was not sure he wanted to rejoin or abandon.

“Thank goodness!” A whiff of cinnamon perfume wafted into his nostrils as a woman enveloped him in a furiously soft hug, her long coppery hair wrapping itself on his cheeks and merging with his own shaggy hair. His vision panned once more, the little smudges clearing away to reveal his mother, who pulled back with exhausted eyes and a small smile. He was covered under mounds of tenderly-crafted quilts, each one a mild color and painted with pictures of landscapes. There was a sturdy bookshelf, with many brown-colored novels, and a fireplace crackling in the corner, the flickering flames dancing on the reflection of the mirror.

“What happened?” Sawyer croaked, his throat and lips caked with dry saliva. His body, though now blissfully warm and comfortable, was extremely heavy and weighed with fatigue. His head ached a bit, and his mother’s words sounded a little bit garbled, as if she were speaking to him from underwater.

“Well, you nearly gave me and your father a heart attack. Nearly drowned, you did. You were pale as snow and cold as ice when the boys brought you in. You had some frostbite on your hands, and I’ve never seen you look so dead.” His mother informed him softly, her eyes warm but firmly strict, and her hand gently pressing against his dry forehead. Bits and pieces of his memory started to flicker in his mind, and he rubbed his head in pain as one in particular terrorized him. The lavender eyes, blinking steadily with an inner flame to be distinguished, the smiling, wicked teeth intent on ripping him to shreds, the cold gleam of her tail, and most of all, the sweet venom of her song.

“Is he awake yet? Marilyn wants to know.” A soothing voice permeated the air, and Andrew’s face poked inside the wooden doorway. His eyes crinkled at the creases with relief when he saw Sawyer give him a weak salute with his fingers, which were a bit plump and red-tinged. Andrew smiled and gave him a thumbs-up in response, though Sawyer mentally noted his bloodshot eyes and pale complexion, as well as a juicy red scar that lined his forehead.

“Do I have to see her? She’s known for giving migraines.” Sawyer groaned, surprised to find his voice was abnormally crackly and weak in volume.

“She was worried about you, and she deserves to know you’re alright, which thank goodness you are. If I had known my son almost drowned today…” His mother trailed off, emotion overcoming her as her lips trembled and a few tears sprung to her aged eyes. Sawyer bit his lip, and enveloped his mother in what he prayed to be a soothing hug, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his hair and her breath misting on his neck. His father watched with guarded eyes, just as someone barreled past him.

“Aww, what a touching scene.” A perky voice floated into the comfortable silence, and Sawyer groaned audibly as his mother pulled back and smiled welcomingly at the new intruder. It was a girl, with long chocolate hair in a sloppy ponytail, with vanilla cream-colored tips, and a smirk on her heart-shaped face.

“You again.” Sawyer grumbled as the girl rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the bedside, reeking heavily of snow and pine. She took no hesitations in punching his arm roughly, smirking when his face twitched in a grimace and his mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Marilyn, don’t be too hard on him. He is my only child, after all.” She mentioned, and Marilyn waved her hand lazily as his father and mother willingly evacuated the room, leaving the two in silence. Marilyn turned her gaze to his warily, as if judging his mental stability.

“I never want to get out of bed again.” Sawyer muttered, and Marilyn threw her head back, her hair sliding down her gray wool cardigan as she erupted into a fit of throaty and entirely unfeminine laughter. Snorting, she patted his arm platonically and hiked her legs into a criss-cross position, tugging a branch of platinum-dipped hair from the grip of her sleeve.

“Well, looks like you don’t have to. Lord knows how much she spoils ya. Spoils you rotten. And I can’t say you deserve it.” Marilyn added teasingly, flicking him on the forehead with her chipped fingernail and brushing her long hair with her spindly and wispy fingers, the platinum glowing under the reflection of the flames, creating a sunny hue to her dyed hair.

“Give me a break, I almost died today. How’s the rest of them holding up?” Sawyer asked her tentatively, fearful of the answer but still wanting to hear it. She gazed at him with those hazel eyes he knew so well, and pondered in thought before opening her glossed lips and answering him. He watched her silently, his mouth and lips becoming moistened with the cool water and his body comfortably warm.

“You did almost die, Sawyer. The others are relatively fine, some minor injuries, and in a bit of hysteria. Whatever, they don’t matter right now. But you? You almost left us, falling off the side of the boat like a newbie! I just about keeled over when your mother called me. Way to give a girl a heart attack, buddy.” Marilyn’s voice took on a steely edge as she said this, and her glare was certain, blazing into his own stare intensely. He could’ve sworn he saw tears misting in her eyes, but she blinked and he found himself awkwardly offering his arms for a hug. She stared at him curiously, pursing her lips in confusion, as Sawyer was not a very affectionate person by any means, and then her eyes lit up and her lips pulled into a sly Cheshire-Cat grin. Enthusiastically leaping forward and wrapping her arms around him, her body warmth was almost suffocating. Almost like drowning.

“Come here ya big lug. And don’t you even think of almost dying on me again. Seriously.” Marilyn whispered into his ear, and pulled back, crossing her arms on her chest and giving him a somewhat angry smile.

“I’ll try not to, Mari.” Sawyer replied, flashing her a grin. She puffed her cheeks at the use of her childhood nickname, but couldn’t help but lift her thumb in a cheesy yet warm gesture of understanding.

“So, while you were dying from asphyxiation, you murmured something about a song. Care to explain to your dearest friend in the entire world?” Marilyn asked him, her eyebrows waggling charismatically. Sawyer clapped a palm to his forehead, pouting when he tried in desperate vain to recall the events of his near drowning. It was excruciating, the memories, but one thing was grating in his mind. The notes of that song seemed to poke and prod, little snippets of the glitchy sounds rattling his eardrums and causing him to grit his teeth in a mixture of annoyance and fear.

“Well…. there was a song…. it was a very nice one, and I wished I could hear it forever. And there was a girl…..” He recalled, and immediately Marilyn’s eyebrows jumped in confusion.

“A girl? Was she drowning too?” She inquired, warily evaluating her friend as if he were an entirely different species.

“No…. she…. she wasn’t….. human…” Sawyer trailed off thoughtfully, ignoring the bewildered twinkle in her hazel eyes.

“Er…. did you, by any chance, get a concussion? You’re kinda scaring me, Saw.” Marilyn murmured, her laughter anxious and void of humor.

“If I had really gotten a concussion like you claim, would I really be so pleasantly talkative and alert?” Sawyer retorted, trying to hide the hiss in his tone and the sting of her words.

“True, true. Point taken. But I highly doubt you saw some mythical girl in that lake, no matter how much you want a nice pretty girlfriend. It was probably the lack of oxygen, but don’t sweat it. I’d be pretty screwed up too if my lungs were being attacked mercilessly with cold water.” Marilyn pointed out, winking at his horrified expression. Her blunt way of saying things were just part of her character, and that character had beaten him up and cheered him on in the years of their flawed yet steady friendship. He supposed it could be considered endearing, to anyone who hadn’t received some of her punches or temper tantrums.

“Remind me to never allow you to give me any medical care. Not that you would make it past the preliminary rounds. If I recall, your GPA isn’t exactly the greatest. You should really cut down on the Netflix.” Sawyer commented, snorting unattractively as Marilyn gasped, feigning discomfort.

“Shut up. You’re lucky you almost drowned or I would sock ya right now.” She growled, but managed to get a nice solid punch in his gut, causing him to cough and shoot her an iron frown. Thankfully, the door swiveled open and an addicting aroma of warm soup spilled into the room. His mother had arrived with a tray in her small little hands, and she smiled enthusiastically at the two of them. Marilyn cocked her head and grinned, flashing a peace sign at her practically second mother.

“Your color is much better, Sawyer. I quite like the normal you versus snow white. Here’s some tomato basil. I know, I know, not your favorite. But you’ve got to eat, and I’m afraid I must use my rights as your mother and insist.” She told him, and Sawyer pretended to pout his lips childishly.

“No mother, I refuse to accept your measly soup. You know, that you mention it, I am pretty starving.” Sawyer smiled, accepting the tray as another ceramic bowl was pressed into Marilyn’s hands.

“Thank you Mrs. Rekins.” Marilyn remarked sweetly, batting her eyelashes to add to the effect. His mother simply patted her shoulder and vacated the premises once more, and as soon as the door clicked shut Sawyer snapped his gaze to his friend in disapproval.

“It saddens me immensely that she has no idea how annoying you really are.” He grumbled in his signature grumpy voice, as she rolled her eyes and spooned a mouthful of red liquid into her mouth quite sloppily, licking her lips.

“Oh, blah blah. Spare me the lecture. God, your mom is seriously the best chef. I need this recipe, lord knows mommy dearest sucks at cooking.” Marilyn gulped down the soup at remarkable speeds, taking absolutely no care to daintily sip like Sawyer was, instead wolfing it down rather barbarically, even spilling a few drops on her cardigan and on the quilts.

“Unfortunately, yes. Your mother is not skilled at all when it comes to the culinary arts.” Sawyer sighed poetically, hiding his obvious pleasure at the soup. It may not have been his first selection, but his mother sure knew her way around a crockpot.

“Why do you always talk like that? Like you’re some professor or something. Sheesh. Makes me feel so intelligent, by the way.” Marilyn remarked, some soup dribbling down her chin. Sawyer wordlessly handed her a napkin, disgusted at her sloppy mannerisms.

“Thanks, buddy. I’m glad we’ve got seven years of friendship behind us, eh?”  She grinned, and he couldn’t help but smiling himself.

“Was I supposed to get you some sappy friendship anniversary gift or something? Because I was a little preoccupied.” Sawyer added, and she burst out laughing, sending a few droplets of soup onto his napkin. Marilyn grinned sheepishly, shrugging as she set the drained bowl onto the tray and placed it by the fireplace. She remained standing, turning her palms over the flames and sighing, blessed with their heavenly warmth.

“Nah, you know I don’t care about that stuff. Anyway, back to your fabulous life events. So you really think you saw this chick in the water or something?” Marilyn grilled him, and he nodded, his shaggy hair occluding his vision for a split second.

“Definitely. And call me insane, I really don’t care. She was there, I swear.” Sawyer confirmed, and Marilyn didn’t offer any sort of response, choosing to center his stare on the golden flames dancing in the fireplace.

“Hmm. I must really be a fool, and I’m still skeptical, but I may not totally doubt you. I just don’t know if I totally believe this mystery creature.” Marilyn told him matter-of-factly, and he shrugged.

“It’s a pretty bizarre thing to comprehend, I’m still trying to work out what I saw myself.” He remarked, as Marilyn shuffled to glance out the window. The snow drifted heavily, and from the cabin window the lake still sat, innocently calm with no evidence of the previous storm.

“Okay, so we’ve confirmed that you saw some pretty lady in the water and she was not human. Let me guess. Mermaid? Vampire? Centaur?” Marilyn asked him, stretching and cracking her shoulder muscles with a rather obnoxious crunch.

“Really? Assuming I have some crush on a girl I saw while I was drowning?” Sawyer barked, frustrated at her antics but even more embarrassed that her assumptions might be correct.  Those lavendar eyes, that long silky hair, seemed to speak wonders. No. He shook his head, refusing to cave in to the lure of a mere pretty girl.  Leaping over to the bookshelf and perusing it mildly, Marilyn  blew him a little kiss.

“Oh but you loooove me. But come on, I’m dying to know. Bloodsucker? Fishy girl? Half horse or goat?” Marilyn pressed eagerly, sliding a book off the shelf and thumbing through it, only half-interested.

“Mermaid, I think. But I don’t remember mermaids having sharp fangs. And they certainly were a lot sweeter in fairy tales.” Sawyer stroked his chin in thought, catching some stubble that scraped his now clean fingers.

“Aww, how cute! Ariel’s got you crushing, boy! Though you may want to hold off on smooching those fishy lips, she just might want to take a bite, if you know what I mean.” Marilyn whispered, shivering and making a retching sound with her throat that caused Sawyer to cringe.

“No one said anything about wanting to have her. I just saw her, that’s all.” Sawyer protested, but the excuse was pathetic and false, hanging in the air like a white flag to a general.  Those lavendar eyes, they still seemed to haunt him, tracing every move with a ghost-like presence and silence he swore he would never forget.

“You just saw her. Mhmm. I’ll let it slide for now. But geez, a mermaid with fangs? Sheesh, man. What happened to good old Ariel with her pretty voice and cute little Flounder? It makes me wonder…….. there was a legend about some creature…..” Marilyn cringed, and stroked her chin in thought, and Sawyer gulped at her sudden shift in behavior.

“A legend? If you’re talking about Nessie, I would like to remind you that we do not live in Scotland.” Sawyer retorted, shoving some of the quilts off his now very well heated body.

“No, idiot. I’m talking about lovely creatures from a certain group of people that you should at least have some recollection of. Ever heard of the sirens?” Marilyn inquired, moving rapidly to sit on his bed again, this time holding a rather thick book to her chest.

“Sirens? Nope. Never heard of them.” Sawyer replied, remembering all the times he didn’t pay attention in class and frankly not caring all that much.

“I have two words for you my friend. Greek. Mythology. Research time!” Marilyn informed him cheerfully, a sadistic glint in her eye as she slapped the huge book in front of him and he read the words scrawled on it begrudgingly.

“Greek Mythology: A Complete Guide.” He read aloud, and slammed his face into his palm with a groan. He hated research. And nosy friends.