Page 7 of Achille's Earth Angel
Alex frowned. “That’s pretty bizarre, Ange. The one in the water is the one that really bothers me though. The other two had the most opportunity to hurt you if they’d wanted to, but you said they chased the first one off. That beach has always had a riptide and is dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. It feels like he must be local, but I don’t know anyone who would try to attack you. We just don’t get that around here.” He took a drink of iced tea. “We don’t have anything going on except the usual tourists, but I’ll do some checking around.”
Ange hesitated. Normally she wouldn’t say anything to the local constabulary, but this was her cousin Alex. He’d understand and not think she needed to go to the looney bin. “Y-you don’t suppose there is any truth to who they say they are, do you?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t laugh at her. “Honey, there have been some strange things happen on this island. You know I was once rescued by a woman in the sea,” he began slowly. “My Aunt Ruthie believed me and said it had to have been a sea nymph.”
Ange nodded. She knew the story, which was why she knew Alex wouldn’t think she was crazy. Aunt Ruthie was one of her mother’s sisters.
“I’ve never seen her since, but I still go out there sometimes,” he added. “Even though I know it can’t be real, I guess there is a part of me that believes it could be.”
“I remember,” she replied, a shiver running down her spine. When something moved in the window across the room and behind Alex’s shoulder, her gaze was caught. Her eyes suddenly widened and a gasp was ripped from her throat. There in the window stood Achilles, staring in as if looking for something. He’d changed into a blue T-shirt and jean shorts, but she recognized that God-like body immediately.
Seeing her face, Alex immediately whirled around to see a big man walking away. “What is it, Ange?” he asked, concerned about the color draining from her face. “Are you okay?”
“It was him,” she whispered, her gaze swinging back to Alex’s face.
“Who? The man who assaulted you?”
“No. It was the one who calls himself Achilles.”
***
ACHILLES GROWLED LOWin his throat. His Angel was eating with another man. The urge to go inside and tear his liver out of his body and leave him dripping on the table while he hauled her out was compelling. Gaining some control of his senses, he turned and walked away. He needed to think before approaching her in public. His thoughts drifted back to when she’d run away from him.
After Hercules had left, he’d started down the primitive road towards the horizon into which the little yellow car disappeared. It wasn’t long before another one of those motor vehicles had come up behind him and offered him a ride into town. Since he wasn’t a god and couldn’t just move with the thoughts of his mind, he’d accepted and reluctantly folded his large frame into the small tin carrier.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” came the question from the driver.
Achilles looked sideways at the small elderly man with a thin ring of hair around his bald head and bushy sideburns that looked like they were trying to make up for the head’s lack of growth. His bulbous nose even had some hairs sticking out of it, but the merry twinkle in his faded blue eyes exuded warmth and acceptance.
Achilles shook his head and returned the friendly smile. “No. I just got in this morning.” How could he tell the little man that he’d been around for centuries? Just not on earth.
“I thought you might be in town for a wedding or something,” he replied, “since you’re all dressed up in an older style of traditional attire.” He winked at Achilles. “Although you might want to lose the sandals and get some boots. Sandals are pretty casual for a wedding.”
“I’m not going to a wedding, I’m going to a-a garden party,” Achilles improvised. He realized he would have to get some normal clothing or he would stand out like a sore thumb in this society. He studied the man’s clothes. He to, had on sandals, but he also had on shorter white pants and a red, short-sleeved garment of some sort that looked soft and comfortable. “Where would I get clothing like you have on?” he asked.
“We’ll be in town in a couple of minutes, I’ll drop you off at the emporium if you like. They sell touristy stuff, and you can buy T-shirts and shorts there, all kinds,” the driver replied, eying him curiously.
“Thank you for your kindness,” Achilles said politely. “But if you don’t mind, can you just let me out near the edge of the city? I really need to get some exercise.” Whatever they used for money here, he knew he didn’t have any. Perhaps some of the dwellings along the route into the village might have some washing hanging out that he could just borrow.
When they stopped on a curve to wait for another motor vehicle to go past them, Achilles was stunned. “What in the name of Hades is that?” he bit out, pointing as the convertible full of young men and woman swept by them, the women dressed in nothing but pieces of cloth to cover their breasts. The girls standing up in the front area of the vehicle and waving their arms only had a scrap that covered their buttocks and their feminine mound in front.
“Them?” The old man gestured with a chuckle. “Those are just some teenagers headed for the beach. Probably a mix of locals and visiting relatives having a fun day out. Visitors wouldn’t be likely to have a car here. Of course, they could be headed for the nudist beach, you never know. They have one down that way too.”
“Nude? You mean they don’t wear any clothing while swimming?” Achilles asked, trying to imagine a beach full of young, nubile women all nude. The only place he’d ever seen that was in a bathhouse in Athens back in the day, and then he’d sneaked in. Bathing houses for woman were strictly off limits under penalty of death. It was considered a violation for a man to look upon another man’s wife when she was bathing.
The old man shook his head. “I know what you mean, believe me. Don’t know what this world is coming to sometimes.”
Achilles grunted and nodded in assent. It was becoming clearer with each passing moment that he knew little about this time frame in mortal history.
“So, where are you from?”
“Near Athens,” he murmured vaguely, knowing he was at least in Greece, in the Aegean Sea.
“What do you do for a living?” The old man was certainly curious.
“I’m a war...a goatherder,” he finished quickly. He’d been a warrior, the greatest in Agamemnon’s army at the time, but since he’d become immortal, he hadn’t really had an occupation. His father had been King Peleus, the King of the Myrmidons, a warrior race in Thessaly. Now he spent his time helping Zeus when he needed to quell arguments among the lesser gods and demi-gods. He was still respected as the greatest warrior of all time.
“How long are you in town for?”
