“Know about it? I heard it—that, the chanting. It was you?”“You hear it, but you never stop. How?”“I thought it was a trick of my ears, some illusions produced by the wind and odd-shaped rocks. You’re telling me you are the siren?”She smiled in a disappointing manner, but she nodded.“Do you believe me?”“No, of course not.”“What if I sang?”“We’ll see.”She understood. She opened her mouth and a beautifully haunting sound came out of it, an inhumane melody that, for the first time due of how close it was, the fisherman felt hypnotizing. He’d hear it every time he would cross the Siren’s Call, he never stopped but he always admired its beauty. It had to be her.“You are the siren.”She laughed.“And you are the fisherman.”He sat on a chair in front of his bed as she returned to it. Only a bedstand separating the two of them, they stared at each other, their eyes full of distrust and their mind running at full speed to process everything.“Why do you care so much about me, siren?”She nodded,. ”“So, you were actually just bluffing, then?”I looked at her again. “No, I wasn’t.” I waited a second and then looked over at her. “My old man knew it, too. I told him flat out that unless he threw me in jail, I was history. I was gone the next week.”“Wow!” Marilyn thought about it for a minute, and asked, “So what did Hamilton do that got the cops involved?”So, I told her. Everything. Well, everything about my brother and my family. That was depressing enough.It was a longer drive in those days. You took the Beltway around the city to Glen Burnie, and then drove down 301 to Annapolis, where you would cross the Bay Bridge and take 50 into Ocean City. It was a four-hour drive. Eventually the ride to Annapolis would become an interstate, and Route 50 would be upgraded to an interstate in everything but name, and you could shave an hour off the trip. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, though. The second Bay Bridge had just been finished last year, opening a major chokepoint up. I can.
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