I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 7. Brights' Boat

I tense and kick, leaping into the air with inhuman speed, shrieking mid-jump to scare and arrest my target. But the second my head pierces the lake's surface, noise, smells, light, all hit me with unexpected intensity and I promptly shut up. The sky is too bright, the air is too warm. Raindrops are too sharp, and the sounds are too many. There is screeching, talking, whirring, honking. Propelling upward like a bullet, I lift my legs, crossing my arms over my face for protection, as if it'll help. Good luck. I'm not human anymore, I'm a newborn siren. With my eyes closed, scared to see who it is I'm about to kill, I hang midair for a split second, and fall. A new sense of direction makes sure I land into the boat and not the water. My feet make a loud plopping noise within inches of someone warm. It's someone emanating such a multitude of scents and sounds that a bout of nausea rolls over me. I want to throw up, yet at the same time, I want to taste this overwhelming sweetness. I want to eat.

There is metallic odor of anxiety, mixed with fresh sweat and a touch of cigarette smoke, trailing from his skin. It's a he, I don't know how I know, I simply do. As if done waiting for an opportune moment, the melody of his soul hits me full force, a beautiful harmony broken up by a hinge of pain. It emits emotional vibrations, I can almost taste them. Surprise. Fear. Awe? Why would he feel awe. Is this how it's supposed to be, some kind of killer admiration? Before I can think anymore, a fight erupts inside of me, the new versus the old. The new demands I open my eyes and feed right this second, the old squints even harder till I feel like my whole face will collapse in on itself. The new opens my mouth, the old clamps my mouth shut with an audible click and makes me shudder all over. The new is the siren, the old is the human, and the siren wins. The syrupy substance of my victim's soul pours over me and I break into a song on instinct.

Perched like a bird, and holding the sides of the rowboat for balance, the first few verses of We Can't Be Apart, by my favorite UK band, Siren Suicides, rings from my lips. I don't know how I decided to sing exactly this, but I always listen to it when I miss Hunter; it makes me ache and feel comfortable at the same time.

"There you are,

Without me you cry.

I surround you,

Love me or I die..."

Deep notes weave out of my mouth, dripping into his-a kiss of death without touch. A surge of goose bumps passes over my skin as I feel his living force resonate to my tempo. It's like that tremble from singing in the school choir, that one rare moment when everyone hits the same note and you become one huge voice-conducting column. Until, of course, some idiot screws it up and the feeling is gone.

I feel human warmth roll over me in waves of breath, it makes me hungry. All logic squandered, my new primitive side drives to push for more, but something is blocked. There is no flow. I don't know what flow there is supposed to be, but the process seems to have gone wrong. Whoever it is I decided to feed on, is trying to say something. I don't want to hear it or I'll lose control. I'm supposed to be mesmerizing and enthralling in a new and powerful way, right? Then why do I feel like dying all over again?

"I adore you.

See me or I fly.

I dream of you.

Dream with me, don't lie..."

His soul reverberates to my rhythm, tunes in and morphs into a submissive harmony. I imagine it happening. I imagine bending it, telling it to shed its host, pulse to my beat, slink inside of me. I imagine the warmth filling my chest, unclenching an agony of hunger, replacing my void with fresh soul. What's really happening is, nothing. Nothing happens. Something is wrong, I'm doing something wrong. Still, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, the siren in me urges me to keep trying.