I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 8. Seward Park

Harbor Patrol is advancing on us, my father's boat just behind it. Both are going at the speed of seven knots, or eight miles per hour, and are painted an indiscreet shade of gray. Yet, they couldn't be more different. The Harbor Patrol's boat is a standard motor launch, about twenty feet long, clunky and squarish, with black letters spelling SEATTLE POLICE on its hull, and blue stripes with the Seattle Police logo. My father's boat is three times bigger, a sleek Pershing 64 made by Ferretti, Italian, of course. It's more like a stylish bullet than a boat; a pleasure for the eye, with a maroon inscription on it that reads: Talia. My mother's name. He bought the boat in 1992, when they met, and named it after her. Then they got married, and honeymooned in Italy for Christmas, where my mom got pregnant. I always wondered what went wrong after that, but nobody ever told me.

Compared to these two motorized beasts, our rowboat goes at three miles per hour—as fast as Hunter can row. This fact trails through my head, and still, I can't move. I can't even talk for some reason, looking at the word Talia.

Hunter drops the paddles. "Dude, this is no use. We're screwed. I hate the idea of jumping into this cold brine. Brrr." He touches the water and shivers. "You probably won't even feel it, will you?"

I look at him and through him, hear him and don't hear him.

"Ailen?" He snaps fingers in front of my face, I don't move.

"Shit, Ailen, snap out of it!" he shouts. I don't blink, mesmerized by the advancing boat, like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed, understanding that I'll never be a part of my previous life again, that I'm dead.

"Ailen, we're not gonna make it if you sit like this, do you hear me? Ailen! Ailen!" he yells in my face. I look at him, not seeing him again, thinking about my name. Ailen. It's a boy's name. My father picked it out, because in Old English it means "made of oak." It meant strength to him, only I was a surprise. He wanted a son, and, instead, he got a weakling.

I feel a tear silently roll down my cheek. Hunter pauses, takes a deep breath, wipes the tear off my cheek, and holds up my face. A wave of hunger sweeps me away like a wave of nausea and I gag involuntarily.

"Hey, you okay? Listen, we've got to get in the water and swim to the shore, do you hear me? You're a siren, for Christ's sake, stop acting like you're freaking stupefied!" My head lolls back and forth in rhythm to Hunter's attempt to revive me. The warmth from his hands makes me want to retch from hunger. To suppress it, I scan the horizon until I see downtown Seattle in the distance, the Space Needle to the right of it. A floatplane takes off and the rumble of its engine suddenly makes the world come alive with sounds, colors, and smells, as if a muted veil has been torn off.

I force myself to focus on Hunter, terrified by my desire to eat him. "Yes, I hear you. Water. Jump. Swim. Got it." I turn back to check how far our pursuers are and see two rounded domes on top of Papa's boat, two satellite antennas, a mere ten yards away. The domes shimmer as if looking back at me, slowly morphing into my father's eyes—huge, round, terrifying. I begin hyperventilating, like I always do before he strikes me. Suddenly, all of this is too much. The sounds, Hunter's touch, the hunger. My hands go numb, my skin feels as if it's being prickled with a thousand needles. All I want is to get away from here, as far away as possible, to somewhere colorless, tasteless, and quiet. To hide under a rock. Disappear.

"Shit!" Beads of sweat roll off Hunter's forehead, as he leans over me. I don't remember how I slid to the bottom. "Don't you pass out on me now, breathe! In and out, in and out." I breathe, and hear the boat engines. Someone is shouting into a loudspeaker off the patrol boat to our left, announcing themselves and asking us if we're okay. To our right my father's boat levels with us. I can't see him, but I can hear him take quick steps out of the cockpit, through the saloon, and onto the deck. He leans over the rail and I see his face, set in a strange mix of pain and anger, dark against the milky sky. Our eyes lock. I gasp for air, trembling, shaking my head no!