Captivated Ch. 07

In the next instant, she quickly dodged the bucketful of water thrown at her.

"GEMS!" she shouted, angry and horrified. But then he'd quickly tossed the contents of the second bucket out, and in her upset to reprimand him, she didn't dodge that one and the water crashed down over her head as people around her cried out in shock when they caught a few drops while Charly caught the lion's share, instantly drenching her from nearly head to toe!

Without any regard for the horror he caused her—or the other islanders around her—Gems dropped the bucket with a hollow banging sound to the cobblestones, and grabbed up his camera to his eye as he peered through the lens, waiting for...for what, exactly?

Although otherwise impossible and, at any other given moment pretty much improbable, silence—a stunned and horrified silence—filled the air as Charly stood there, stiff and frozen, with dripping arms up and away from her sides as she stared with jaw agape and dripping eyelashes unblinking...drenched like a cat in a vicious Maine storm...

Then she slowly, oh so slowly, raised her head. As she did, her jaw slowly closed and her dripping turquoise eyes began to narrow just as a burning began in their depths. And by the time she had fixed them on Gems, they were spitting fire!

Gems, seemingly confused, slowly lowered his camera and frowned as he looked at a drenched Charly. He was so preoccupied by the failure of his plan and still asking himself why she hadn't begun to transform into her real self, that he didn't notice her breathing—something that was slowly accelerating and getting more intense with every passing second, making her delicate nostrils flare.

Not far from them some two stalls away, the four blond mainlanders stood as quiet and as seemingly stunned as everybody else as they stared at a confused Germaine and an increasingly upset Charly Meeren.

Then the silence was broken by an angry shout, but it came from a third party.

"What the HELL is WRONG with you, Gems?!" One local fishermen and stall owner barked as he stepped from behind his stall that was closest to Gems.

"Huh? Wh-What?" Gems looked up to find Mr. Treymore bearing down on him.

Treymore angrily snatched the camera out of Gems' hands and then the strap over his head with enough force to have Gems' head rolling, but the younger man quickly ducked and the strap came off fluidly without injury to him.

"Look what you've done?! Are you out of your mind?! Are you CRAZY?!"

"—NO!" Gems shouted angrily, hating that last word. "I was gonna prove to all o' ya's once and for all that Gems ain't crazy and that she turns into her real self when sea water from the east side grottos touches her skin! Then you'll all know that Gems has been right all along and that I'd seen her in her real form! I'd really seen her, I tell ya! That's why she never wears short sleeves or shows any body parts even when it's a hundred and nine out! She can't have sea water touch her skin—!"

"—How dare you!" Charly's enraged cry snarled, silencing Gems instantly. "Are you happy now, you imbecile?! Look what you've done to me! I'm drenched!"

"Why ain't you turnin'? Why ain't you showing your real siren self?" he asked, completely oblivious to the fury of her words and the rage lighting her eyes—and he had the unmitigated gall to look disappointed, too!

"That's IT!" Charly stamped her boot making a sucking, sloshing sound before she shot into a run for him.

Gems' eyes grew literally and perfectly round, before he finally realized he'd pissed her off, and with a scream not unlike a girl's, he snapped around and shot out the other way casting terrified looks over his shoulder.

Although Charly was furious, she wouldn't know what to have done with Gems had she caught him. She really just needed to chase him out of her sight before she found out, as infuriated as she felt at that moment. But the terrified looks he'd cast over his shoulder as he fled from her was payback enough, and she came to a sloshing stop as she watched him continue to run away. She was certain he wouldn't stop until he was safe and sound in his father's cottage.

"I can't believe he did this to me," she muttered, half in anger and half in dismay as she turned and 'sloshed' back to her fallen wicker basket.

Her face was wrung in an expression that looked between pain and disappointment. And then she looked downtrodden when she saw her fresh fish and produce scattered on the cobblestones. With tears of embarrassment and helplessness stinging her eyes, she came to her fallen basket and lowered herself on her knees before she began collecting what she could still use—which wasn't much. Most of her fish had fallen out of their wrappers and were soiled, and they were drenched by the water Gems had flung at her.

Although she was certain that the islanders around her, quietly watching her, didn't approve of what Gems did, she could feel their curious gazes. She knew they were also very interested to see if anything would happen to her—physically—just as Gems had wrongfully predicted. Although sea water was a part of the process of mermaid transformation, it was her mermaid's song that conjured the power to make it happen. Without it, no transformation could ever take place.

She was so embarrassed she could cry. In fact, she felt a single teardrop roll down her cheeks and she quickly fingered it away and sniffled as she continued to gather her soiled and drenched items into her basket.

"Here, Charly," Mr. Treymore said compassionately as he handed her a clean blue towel.

"Thank you," she muttered tearfully as she took it and swept it around her neck before she took her basket and rose to her sloshing feet.

"Here, lemme help you," Mr. Treymore said as he took her basket, and she didn't resist.

She slipped the towel from around her neck and began toweling off her face with trembling fingers as she watched through a blur of unshed tears as he began replacing the soiled items in her basket with freshly wrapped ones. Then she paused when she saw other merchants come with wrapped produce.

"Here you go, Charly," Remy Paulson said as she handed her a plastic bag of watercrest.

"I had a few tuna filets left over," Carson Billingsworth, a fish merchant, said as he carefully put wrapped tuna fish in her wicker basket.

As more and more merchants came over to her and placed their gifts into her wicker basket, she felt better and even smiled through her tears.

"Thank you. Thank you all," she said softly with a smile of true gratitude before Mr. Treymore lifted her basket and handed it to her. She took it with a deeply grateful look and smile and then saw that her basket was filled with more fish and produce than it originally contained.

"Oh, but this is too much!" she protested.

"Nah, Charly," Carson Billingsworth, a scruffy fisherman and fish merchant, said as he shook his proud head full of silver gray hair. "We knows it's been hard times for ya. And I have to admit," he winked, "fishin's always been pretty good for all of us. We just wanna give somethin' back now we have the chance, is all."

She blinked big eyes when the others agreed in a chorus. Feeling tinier than a mite and yet grateful at the same time, she bowed her head and nodded her appreciation before she made a beeline for the exit of the market, not seeing three blond mainlanders watching her as she passed them.

Of course the islanders knew about her and her mother. Still, it was never so blatantly said in public and in front of her the way Mr. Billingsworth now did. She felt so on the spot, so embarrassed, that when she could, she sped up the pace and had only one thing in mind—getting out of there as quickly as she could without looking pathetic—scratch that!—looking more pathetic than she already did.

As she exited the market place with that goal in mind, she missed the tall blond mainlander leaning against a streetlight post, and promptly passed him without so much as a glance!

"Need a ride?"

Immediately recognizing that voice, she stopped and snapped around as she stared at him with big wet eyes full of shock.

"What are you doing here??" she cried softly.

He smiled as he quirked his head. "I believe you know what I'm doing here."

She swallowed and quickly glanced back at the market, wondering if he'd seen what had happened. Then again, he hadn't asked her why she was drenched, and she lowered her eyes to look down her length and barely stopped herself from wincing.

"The Humvee is just behind you," he said, motioning with his head to a spot behind her.

"Thank you, but no thank you," she said before she turned to resume her walk. She was embarrassed to the core of her soul because she realized that his lack of asking why she was so wet could only mean that he knew and he only knew because he'd seen it happen!

"We need to talk, Charly—"

"—No, we don't."

"—About Ava and Arthur."

He watched as she shook her head, but she didn't stop nor did she slow down. She actually accelerated her pace into the fastest walk he's ever seen!

Charly wanted to run like the wind! It wasn't only because she knew Royce Masterson had witnessed what had happened, nor was it the shock she felt when she realized he hadn't left after all or that he knew about her twins, but she wanted to flee that place because she felt something was amiss with her. Physically. She was becoming lightheaded and dizzy, and she believed it had something to do with the tears she'd shed earlier. She couldn't afford to dehydrate and she learned, early on, that she dehydrated far quicker than any human alive and that dehydration could kill her.

"We have to talk and we will!"

In the next moment, she felt a hand grab her arm, make her stop, and she was spun about-face. That only exacerbated her bout of dizziness and she felt her strength drop. Her fingers lost all power and the basket dropped from them before hitting the ground. She felt her legs go weak and her neck muscles go lax, and she fought to not follow the way of her wicker basket as she struggled to keep her head straight on her shoulders.

"Don't touch me," she wanted to shout indignantly, but it sounded weak and breathless in her ears. "Please...don't touch...me."

"I'm not going to let you run off and hide again—" But before he could finish, he saw the sickly look on her pretty face, and then he felt all strength leak out of her as if she were a punctured balloon. "Charly!" he called just when she dropped, but he quickly caught her up and swung her up into his arms. She felt so lifeless now, and it changed his disposition instantaneously, replacing impatience with concern—and rising panic. "What's wrong with you?"

Her lips moved but for a few brief moments, no sound came. Then, "W-w-w..."

He quickly stalked to a nearby bench and sat her up on it, but she was suddenly too weak to even sit. He kept his arm around her and held her close to his body to support her, and then he placed a large hand against her cheek and made her raise her pale face to him. Her eyes were closed although he felt she was still awake...somewhat.

"Tell me what I need to do, Charly," he whispered urgently with as calm a tone as he could muster since he was deeply concerned but didn't want her to pick that up in his voice. "Tell me what you need me to do," he repeated.

"Here."

Royce snapped up his head to see none other than Germaine Jones standing nearby holding out a plastic bottle of water. Royce looked enraged as he looked at the younger man, and he saw Germaine take a step back, but he continued to hold out the bottle of water.

"Get away from her or so help me—"

"—She needs sea salted water," Gems quickly said. "She's dehydrated. I saws it happen before and she had to drink sea salted water."

The mainlander glared at him with the most viciously cold eyes he'd ever seen in a man's head! And for a few moments there he was certain the big man would get up and punch his lights out, but he was as concerned for Charly as the mainlander was, and that gave him unusual courage.

"I ain't lyin', Mr. Masterson...she needs to drink sea salted water or she just might die." Then Gems nodded. "Look at her lips. They're already crackin' and turnin' blue."

Royce tore his angry gaze from the younger man, and looked upon Charly's face. His handsome face was, despite the red of anger in his lean cheeks, ashen when he saw Germaine was right. Her lips were not only dry and cracked as if she'd been in the Sahara for days, but they had an eerie bluish tint, too.

"Unscrew the damn cap and give it to me!" Royce snapped.

Gems quickly unscrewed the cap off and stepped forward before he held out the bottle of water to the other man. He watched as Royce Masterson quickly took it and held the open top to her lips. When they didn't move, he trickled a little water onto her lips, and then they both watched as she responded by opening her lips for more.

Royce kept trickling the sea salted water into her mouth, but he was growing increasingly concerned when he noticed that she wasn't awakening. Soon, her lips quit moving and water trickled alongside her face and into her short black curls.

"Wake up, Charly," he whispered softly, and although her color was returning, she wasn't stirring awake. "Why isn't she waking up?"

"Maybe she needs to git back to the lighthouse. I think that's where she's strongest," Germaine told him anxiously.

Royce looked up with a grim face and nodded. "Okay. Come with me," he said as he screwed the cap back on the bottle and, still holding it, carefully gathered her limp body into his arms. With Germaine Jones bringing up the rear, he marched to the parked Humvee just up the dune and had the younger man disengage the alarm and open the passenger's side door. "I need you to come with us," he told Gems.

Gems took a step back, shaking his head. "I-I-I don't wanna go to her lighthouse," he said, but the bigger man impatiently grabbed a bunch of his jacket sleeve and as he tugged open one of the rear doors, he shoved him into the backseat.

"We don't have time for your superstitious shit!" Royce snapped.

"I-I can git your brother to come with you, Mr. Masterson—!"

Royce slammed the door shut in his face before he sprinted for the driver's side. But when he opened the door to get in behind the wheel, he heard one of the doors slam shut and he shot up his head just in time to see Gems running off with big frightened eyes over his cowardly shoulders. He wanted to chase down that idiot and throttle him, but there was no time for pleasure, so he slipped in behind the wheel and started the Humvee.

He drove the short distance to her lighthouse and parked the Humvee by the red and white guardrails. He'll call Ry and the girls on the cell phone when he had Charly safely in her lighthouse and has seen to her. If what Germaine told him was true, she should be revived by the time Ry and the girls arrived.

He carried Charly's limp body down the steps and onto the path that led to the wood and rope bridge in front of the lighthouse. He was happy to hear her stirring awake the closer he got to the lighthouse. He carried her across the wood and rope bridge and then to the small porch where he allowed her legs down before he began searching for her keys in her pockets. She made a moan of protest when he was feeling in the pockets of her denim pants, but he ignored it. When he finally found the skeleton-key, he tried it, and it turned in the lock.

A few moments later, he carried her to a faded blue sofa that's seen better days, and he gently laid her on it, propping up her head with one of the mismatch nautical-themed throw pillows. Then he seated himself beside her and leaned over her as he studied her eyes as she frowned and fought to open them. He gently caressed her damp black curls from her eyes, untangling the curly strands from her impossibly long eyelashes, his handsome face etched with concern.

"Tell me what to do, Charly," he whispered with an agonizing tone of concern. "I'm at a loss." He shook his head. "I don't know what to do for you."

Then he realized that her clothes were still wet. She needed to get out of them or she might get sick. He quickly got up and searched the small abode, looking through the few doors, finding the kitchen, a masculine bedroom, and on his way to another room, passed an open door to a room where two small beds were.

He paused as he looked at the two pretty beds. He knew it was the bedroom of Charly's children. He felt a lump in his throat but he had no time to waste. He quickly moved on to the last door and finally found what appeared to be her room.

He stalked over to the armoire and opened it, finding a sad collection of clothes. But they were unmistakably Charly's. He quickly grabbed a dark blue hoodie, a pair of clean denims, and laid these on her full-size bed. Then he turned and went in search for underwear.

He came to a five-drawer chest but paused when he noticed a framed photograph on top of it. His blue eyes softened when he saw it was a picture of her twins as babies...they were wrapped in simple baby swaddling blankets, and she was holding one in each arm, smiling warmly down at them. Then he opened the top drawer, found some underthings, and shoved it shut before laying everything out on her bed. When he was about to leave to get her and carry her into the room he caught a glimpse of something and suddenly stopped short. In an elegant white rounded wall niche with shell motif, on a bed of small iridescent scallop shells, was a familiar green and blue "sea stone".

Ryan's sea stone.

"You have to go."

He snapped his head around and saw Charly was up. She was barely keeping herself on her feet as she leaned heavily against the door jamb of her room. Her eyes were hazy and she was still pale, but at least her lips weren't blue and cracked anymore.

"I don't want you here," she whispered as she looked at him on the verge of tears. "You're not supposed to be here. I want you to go!"

He didn't say anything as he stepped to her but with a soft yelp, she put up her hands to ward him off. He ignored that and took her arms to help her to her bed, but she struggled.

"You don't understand!" she cried softly, her voice breaking with pent-up emotions. "I can't cry again. I don't want to cry again. You have to go—"

"—You're not well," he said, cutting her off with a quiet but firm tone.

"I'll be fine if you go," she said as she looked up at him. "Please go—"

"—Are they mine?" he asked with an earnest look. He watched her stare up at him with what looked like fright. "Are they?"

To be continued

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