Page 6 of Wild Life (STEAM-y #2)

The Screech Owl Has Risen

Aleki

I didn’t remember humans being that noisy. My head pounded from all the shouting. For such a scrawny person, she was loud. Her voice grated my ears like the cries of a screech owl in heat. To top it off, she had wide, round eyes and brown hair exactly like an owl.

I couldn’t stand her chaos. That was why I had grabbed her throat. To stop her so my mind could have a moment to think. Strangely enough, her pulse vibrating against my fingers had soothed me, like butterfly wings flapping on my skin.

I would have expected that a person with a voice that large would be bigger in size, but she barely had any meat on her. Her arms and legs were long and thin…delicate when compared to my solid limbs. I bet they’d snap off if a harsh gust of wind ever hit her. Actually, she was the windstorm, violent and unpredictable.

Her ability to fight had surprised me. It was nothing I’d have expected from the frail and lifeless figure I had found lying face down on the beach yesterday after the storm had passed. Her skin had been so pale, yet after having seen her awake, I realized it was naturally that nearly translucent shade of the inside of a lychee. It was interesting to see how quickly it turned red when she was at a loss for words. Like when I had handed her clothes back.

I had seen women’s underwear before, but never had I been tasked with removing them from an actual woman.

I blinked, remembering the moment I had found her.

I had been nervous to touch her—to touch another human. No one ever came to this island. The surrounding seas were so fierce that no one would intentionally wish to make the voyage.

I had assumed she was already dead when I’d found her. No injuries had been visible at first glance, but to my surprise, she had roused and managed to cough up water, her eyes remaining shut, too tired to wake.

With her thin body cradled in my arms, I’d carried her back to the hut. I’d had no choice but to remove her wet and sandy clothes. The fabric had clung to her body like glue held it in place as I’d pried pieces of clothing from her cool skin. Her bra and panties, as I had learned they were called from the boys in grade school, matched. They were black, like the color of midnight, and a deep contrast to her light complexion. My throat had tightened at the image that lay on my dinner table like a feast for my vision, and my insides had rumbled with something I could only describe as hunger. Not for food. For something else I couldn’t begin to explain.

My fingers had instinctively brushed the tops of her bra where fabric met flesh. Little bumps had broken out, following the path my finger traced. Curiosity had nagged at me, so I pushed the garment down.

Until then, I had only seen breasts in the nude magazines conveniently hidden away in my trunk of books. Those images couldn’t compare to the real thing. Two perfectly symmetrical globes, swollen bigger than my own chest, like ripe fruit with how plump they were. My mouth had instantly filled with saliva. Dark-pink peaks had stood at attention in the center of each fruit, so hard that my fingers had itched to touch them. How would they feel if I pinched them…rolled them between my fingers? Soft? Hard? Would they change shape? Could I make them soften in my hands? What would they taste like?

As badly as I’d wanted to find out, it hadn’t felt right to touch them while she was unconscious, so I let them be.

Plus, the next distraction had beckoned me. Her panties. I’d slid them down her legs, an inviting V greeting me. A sprinkling of dark hair—the same color of Christmas gingerbread cookies as on her head—covered the part that had intrigued me the most. Or perhaps I had only wanted to see it because it had been hidden away from me like a present, begging me to unwrap it.

My blood had thrummed in my ears as I’d leaned in, examining the glimpse of peach flesh peeking out through her hair, and suddenly, my tongue had been too large for my mouth. I hadn’t been able to look away. She had smelled sweet and musky. Like juice that could never satisfy your thirst, no matter how much you drank.

It had all been too much for me to handle. Confusingly beautiful. I had to shake away the cravings so I could proceed with my task without faltering. With the last of her clothing removed, I’d dried her and wiped the sand from her skin, then I untangled the seaweed that had woven into her hair.

When I had cleaned her enough, I carried her to my bed and covered her with a blanket I had stitched together using fabric I’d found on shore with a needle made from a splinter of wood. I didn’t know who this woman was, but she was clearly not a threat. So, I’d let her rest.

Any interest I had in her had vanished when she had opened her mouth, screaming like some hellish creature without so much as a thank you for taking her in so the vultures wouldn’t attack her sack of bones. Who was this demon, and more importantly, when would she leave? My days of wishing for visitors were long gone—except right now, I was hoping another human would show up to take her home and leave me in peace.

I took out my frustration in the dirt I shoveled away, clutching the giant clamshell I used as a hand trowel so tightly that the rim dug into the flesh of my palm.

Behind me, the hut door creaked open slowly. The Screech Owl has risen. Her uneven footsteps, conveying her uncertainty and fear, gave her away.

One step. Then two. She shuffled, as if rethinking having come outside, then as if she had turned to go back in.

Pause.

Another step.

Then a series of hurried ones until they stopped.

She was fully dressed and in a silent standoff with Poaka whose head had dipped like he was prepared to charge at her. From the way his tail wagged, he just wanted to play. She was oblivious to his true intent, and I enjoyed watching her on edge.

Poaka was a piglet at heart, but his size would injure her if she wasn’t careful around him.

I snapped my fingers at him, signaling to back away. He grunted his protest, then trotted over to the hammock, plopping down underneath for shade.

Screech Owl’s shoulders sagged in relief, and I returned to my chore.

“Where am I?” Her voice was soft and shaky now.

So, it is possible for my ears not to ring from the sound of her voice. Interesting.

I didn’t offer a response, despite being capable of speaking. Although most of my day was spent in silence, I did talk to Poaka, and sometimes sang him his nightly lullaby. My vocabulary was vast, except my speech never matched the speed of my thoughts. Words were sticky on my tongue, like they couldn’t leave as smoothly as I wished. I hadn’t spoken to another human since my mother had died in this forsaken place twenty-four years ago, and I wasn’t interested in doing it again with a stranger. I had nothing that I cared to say to her.

Instead, I focused on the basket of fish I’d set to cure before the storm. I poured out the accumulated liquid that hadn’t properly drained because of the rain soaking the surrounding dirt.

Screech Owl approached me slowly. I could see her feet moving gingerly from my periphery, like she was stepping on hot coals. The brush underneath her soles must’ve been uncomfortable. She’d better get used to it fast. No shoes around here, princess.

She hesitated before bending to meet me at eye level. Her scent, an intoxicating mixture of some sort of spice mixed with juicy fruit, enveloped me. She had been tossed about the ocean for who knew how long and had somehow emerged still smelling like a dessert that I couldn’t quite place from my former life. A life that didn’t involve curing fish in a ditch.

I glared at her—a warning for her to keep her distance. Her aroma was fogging up my head and I didn’t like it.

She stayed in place, her green gaze carrying a soft desperation. “You understand me, don’t you?”

I did.

“My name is Maris.”

Maris. It was a beautiful name that suited her well. The s at the end sounded endless, kind of like the waves of the sea. I wondered what it would sound like off my own tongue.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

Aleki.

“Why won’t you reply?”

Because you don’t belong here.

My silence elicited a heavy groan from her throat, followed by a forceful exhale of air out of her mouth that sent the hair framing her face flying. Inwardly, I smirked while still tending to the basket of fish.

A hand touched my forearm. Her fingers were delicate like the rest of her body, and her touch was careful, but somehow, it sent a shock wave through my body. “Please. I need to get home, and I can’t do that if I don’t know where I am.”

It was easy to feel sorry for her. She reminded me of a lost kid. Like I had once been. Like I still was. Perhaps it was better for her that I didn’t reply. Then she wouldn’t have to hear that there was no way out of this place. I knew firsthand that this island was forever , and she’d figure it out, too, soon enough. On her own.

She let go of my arm and took a seat on the ground. “I’m a scientist who was traveling by boat,” she continued, her fingers furiously pointing at her chest, then into the distance before rocking through the air.

The strange signs she was acting out, like I was a foreigner who couldn’t understand her, irritated me all over again. Any pity I had for her disappeared. She was the foreigner, not me. This woman was not only annoying, she was condescending, too.

“Fucking hell!” she shouted. She threw her hands up in frustration, and they landed in her lap with a loud smack.

A good chunk of my slang word catalog consisted of swear words I had learned in school—words that couldn’t be found in my dictionary. My knowledge of curse words wasn’t plentiful, but it was sufficient when I needed to let out some steam if I was carrying something heavy or a fucking coconut fell on my head. Fallen coconuts should always be preceded by the word fucking .

A loud gurgle reverberated between us. Maris clutched her stomach, and her skin instantly turned my new favorite shade of rosy red again. It had been nearly a day since she had last eaten or drunk anything, and as much as I hoped that she’d go back to wherever she came from, she didn’t deserve to starve.

I took her small hand in mine, aware of how her eyes widened in response to the gesture. She tried to pull away, but I held it firmly in place and then placed a piece of fish in her palm.

She lowered her head, smelling the offering. “Fish?”

I rolled my eyes. For a scientist, she wasn’t too good at figuring things out on her own.

Her focus roamed over the salt-crusted meat like it had been poisoned. Maybe if it had been, then she’d leave me alone for good.

Maris sniffed at it again.

The Screech Owl was so particular, it was grating my nerves.

I grabbed a piece for myself and scraped off some of the salt coating before putting it in my mouth. The chewiness was stiff. It still needed a few hours more to cure until it was perfect, but it was tasty enough.

She watched me the whole time, probably wondering if she was hungry enough to eat food from the man she assumed was holding her captive rather than die of starvation. Starvation would work fine, more fish for me.

Eventually, she caved. Her jaw worked as if she were chewing the bubblegum I used to love from my old life. She let out a greedy sigh, satisfied with the fish. “Thanks,” she murmured.

I handed her another piece, and we ate together in much appreciated silence.