A Siren Calls.

The call came around tenish. Gregosz. Security job in Acton. Big money but their payoff was my silence.
Next night, I arrived at a disused Baths - an Edwardian ideal of working-class cleanliness and leisure. Nowadays it had become a mausoleum but inside, someone had splashed a lot of cash - excuse the pun.
State of the art, blue tiled pool in which I glimpsed a gliding shadow.
Gregosz beckoned and I noted a huge steel container and a net – the type used to catch wild animals.
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t ask.’ Gregosz smiled. ‘A Russian oligarch’s plaything.’
The water broke and the shadow surfaced. I registered a lithe body, covered in downy hair with a high-cheekboned, human face.
‘A real mermaid,’ whispered Gregosz as I gazed, mesmerised into almond eyes pleading, ‘Save me.’
Twenty four hours later I returned with the lorry. Gregosz’s key let me in and I went to the pool, unsure if the night before had been real.
I only recognised Gregosz from the look of terror on what remained of his face. One eye. Shredded net. Bloodied meat  strewn across cobalt blue.
My heart was pounding as I saw her surface.
‘Save me.’

Susanne