The Stowaway

The sea of darkness glimmered like black onyx, silent against a full, oblong moon. To the east, an autumn draft stirred. Footsteps scuttled about like the mice, scavenging their next meal as heads bobbed and weaved over the side of the barque cargo ship, straining for a glimpse of the obscurity below— a woman, clinging to a sliver of driftwood, her knuckles bone white, gently rocking to the cradle of waves against the lullaby of the sea. 

As they hoisted her stiff body upwards, her arms and legs dangled limply; like a rag doll, picked up from a puddle, salt water rained from the frill of her Edwardian dress, the expensive fabric, weathered with salinity. Her curly blonde wisps, heavy with wetness, cascaded down to her hips, sticking to the pale flesh of her cheeks. Despite the circumstance, she looked peaceful; a sleeping siren from wives' tales, pulled from the sea. 

“Give ‘er some water!” “Get a blanket!” “She’s already dead!”— a cacophony of opinions rang out about the crew, unsure what to make of the young woman lying on the oakwood deck.

I inched forward as if afraid my proximity would stir the dead, yet the rise and fall of her bosom assured me that life was within her still—however fleeting, clinged on.

A moment passed. I swallowed, steadying my hand to reach out to her. A beat, then her eyelids fluttered and flew open. Blue irises like incinerating flames seared into me. My heart thundered in my ears. Her face was still, betraying no emotions. They bore into me— searching for something, something hidden, something buried. I felt her gaze, deep and her fury, ravaging. Though I had no memory of her, she felt faintly familiar.

“Y-” Her syllable came out in a breath; she was obviously at her physical limit. Her body trembled and she coughed up yellow phlegm mixed with the sea. “It’s you…” she seethed through her chattering teeth, eyes locked to my face. Her hands quivered when she spoke as if her life’s essence was seeping out with her words— how fascinating. 

I noted the sailors’ expressions, their eyes wide in confusion, clothes stinking with the musk of hard travel. Twenty eyes inching towards hesitant accusation. 

“She’s in shock,” I said calmly to no one. To everyone. “She needs warmth, fix her some dry clothes and give her food,” I stated. I was a doctor after all, and they would listen to my advice. A young sailor, face sprinkled with the red buds of puberty reached out to touch her shoulders. She flinched away, arms pulled against her chest, flicking cold water around as she shook her head and attempted to scream, but only a loud shrill voice came out, “Don’t touch me.” She slid backwards, propelling herself with her arms and legs like a salamander, snaking her small, frail body against the ship’s railing.

“M..monster,” her pale slender finger pointed accusingly at me, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.  

I cleared my throat, “I understand how shocking this is. You were floating at sea. You need rest. Please, we will not harm you,” I assured, motioning for the men to back away from her. “You must be cold and hungry. They will boil water for you.” I held up my palm to reassure her.

 “I am a doctor.”

“No, no, no, no,” she protested, her voice rising an octave “NO! NO! NO!”

 For such a small being, her voice held the scream of Skadi, the Nordic giantess of winter and hunt. She protested until her tired limbs betrayed her, and her eyes rolled into her skull.

…

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked, dawn light peeked through the porthole, casting white orbs onto the oakwood walls. The tea, warm, in the cup I offered her. She nodded, pulling the goose down blanket closer to her chin, reaching slender fingers out to accept my peace offering.

“What has happened to you?” I asked, careful to keep my voice calm.

 She shook her head, eyes fixated at a spot by my foot, her cherry red lips poised to speak,

“I-I don’t remember,” she admitted, her shoulder slumping as steam rose in tendrils, infusing the air with the smell of peppermint and mandrake root.

“It’s common to have amnesia after trauma,” I said, sitting down on a chair opposite her. 

“I was running errands for my mother. I was picking up her medication… Then a hand grabbed me and then—” she stopped, tears welling in her pretty eyes. Her once damp hair now dried into magnificent waves framing her face.  

She sniffled, putting the tea to her lips, “I can’t seem to recall anything.” I watched the soft space between her clavicle pulse with each swallow. “Then I woke, cold, surrounded by strange men.” 

“Yes. That must have been jarring,” I nodded, placing a hand on my knee. “You called me monster earlier,” I continued, a relaxed smile lifted the lines of my lips, “why did you call me that?”

Her eyes widened with shock, and embarrassment, perhaps. “-I did?” she asked, horrified.  

 “You did.” I answered coolly. 

Hues of pink rushed to her cheeks, like roses blossoming against her snow-white skin.

 “I don’t remember that…I’m sorry,” she stated.  

I waved my hand, hoping to ease her embarrassment, “No need to apologize, it's a common reaction given the circumstances.” With this, a relieved sigh escaped her soft lips—a beauty encapsulated in the soft glow of morning light. 

 “Can you recall anything about the incident?” I asked. 

Her eyes, framed with thick lashes, darted back and forth. “I remember a stopwatch in a closed fist— golden, with foreign markings.”

Something clicked. A memory stirred. A single beat of my heart. I recalled a news article the month prior, before boarding this vessel, about a killer abducting beautiful girls; their bodies found devoid of vital organs. 

The trembles returned to her fingers as her body rocked back and forth. “ I. It had to be him,” she whimpered.

“Then, you are lucky to be alive. They caught him last month. The trial is in a few weeks.”

It is astounding how relief can wash over one’s face, making it alight with hope. “Are you sure?” she asked, her blue topaz eyes glinting, tears welling in them, adding to their allure. 

“Yes, according to the newspaper. There were no further incidents since the arrest,” I assured, smiling, resting my hands in the comfort of my suit pocket. I moved towards her, resting my palm on the softness of her skin. “You are safe now. We will make landfall tonight."

Something resembling a smile flickered on her lips. She nodded, leaning to the side, head slumping against the soft, ivory pillow. The mandrake and peppermint were starting to take effect on her doe-like features. 

I reached into my pocket for the watch, hieroglyphs skillfully etched onto its outer shell, ancient knowledge pulsing behind the runes. Precisely two minutes—that’s how long it took for mandrake sedation—how marvelous! 

“Where did you get that?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. I could see the revelation seeping into her features, slowly, like a predator inching towards its prey. The pulse in her neck, quickening—the truth slowly unraveling before her eyes.  

Then, it appeared—bright and vivid on her angular cheeks, the emotion I’ve come to relish—fear. She was caught in its talons. She struggled to resist my touch though her body was slow and uncoordinated. Satisfaction coursed through my veins—the feeling of raw power cocooning in my chest. 

“This?” I held the stopwatch, the light danced off its shiny exterior. “It’s a keepsake from my travels to Egypt.” The horror now froze on her face like a mask. 

 I closed the watch in my hand, hearing the satisfying click, “Did you know the ancient Egyptians believed in human sacrifice? Various organs were used as medicine,” I offered conversationally, “In my own findings—the more beautiful the donor, the more effective the result.” I slid it back into my pocket. 

She was fighting it now, her lips parted but only a croak escaped, “ You..monst-” she managed, but sleep had risen to claim her. 

“Rest now. You need it. A new world of science and medicine…and donors await me tomorrow.”