I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 20. Ship Canal

I'm free. Twisted in pain, I jump toward the ceiling, head first, propelling upward, a hard line of muscle and disgust. I'm not good enough. Not good enough for my mother, not good enough for my father, not good enough for Hunter, and not even good enough for Canosa and her sisters. I can't even kill a siren hunter, like she asked me to. What am I, after all of this? A half-dead girl? A half-alive siren? Whoever I am, I don't want to be me anymore.

Midair, arms stretched into a line over my head, I want to smash to pieces. I imagine myself as a slimy mess, which is exactly what I am. I can't die properly, can't seem to find a way to do it for good. I should've taken a gun with me, I should have taken a gun! Too late.

My head passes ceiling level and I burrow into the tunnel of dirt. Momentum carries me a few more feet and then I stick out my arms and legs to arrest my jump, staying still for a second. Then, I push off and fly upward again, spitting out bits of clay and stone that dribble on me, brushing roots away from my face. My body probably resembles a jumping caterpillar, contracting and shooting up again, through the mass of broken acoustic paneling, rubber sealant, plastic, foam board, bent roof trusses, and several feet of torn-up concrete. I'm horrified at the image of Canosa eating through it. How the hell did she do it with her teeth?

But the chance to finish my thought is lost. I make a spectacular exit out of the hole and onto our front yard, covered with bright green grass and flanked by feeble bamboo shoots, Papa's attempt at beautifying the front of our house. He'd paid an exorbitant amount of money to some fancy local gardener just to have his natural and ecologically sound, Seattle-styled, designer landscaping now ruined—looking like a giant mole hole, all brown and torn up.

I cough and sputter soil and mud, crawling on all fours away from the hole. I stand and stagger toward the bushes that separate our yard and the neighbor's. His trees stand dark against the gray afternoon sky. The usual. No rain, no sun, just a typical September day.

My jeans are a mess. Hunter's rain jacket that I'm wearing is torn, covered in filthy muck. I dust myself off, shake dirt out of my hair, and brush my face, suddenly unsure of where to go next. Moist air fills my lungs together with that earthy smell. So grimy, it's almost crunching on my teeth.

"I hate it, I hate it, I hate it," I say through gritted teeth. "How can I make myself cease to exist?"

"Walk back to Papa, why don't you, silly girl? He's a siren killer, he'll make you disappear, will he not?" Canosa climbs out of the hole behind me. I spin around to face her.

"You again. Will you leave me alone?" I retort. She scowls at me and tugs me toward the bushes. Even though her face is dirty, it's lovely when framed by the greenery.

"Let go of me, I don't want to..." I begin, but then hear the whizzing of the chainsaw stop. Then, I hear a faint crash, a few curses, the opening of the creaky garage door, and, finally, soft footsteps.

"Stupid." Canosa smacks me on the back of my head. It doesn't hurt, but it floods me with shame. "Stupid and rude. Follow me, and keep your mouth shut." She digs her fingers into my arm and pulls me through the bushes into our neighbor's yard. She glances back at me, and I feel guilty for yelling. She saved me, after all. She saved me, and I didn't even thank her.

"Ailen? Ailen, stop!" I hear from behind and below, and then a shot of a focused sound wave hits the ground behind me, sending up a puff of dirt. We duck, fall on the grass, and roll. I hope that nobody sees us and none of the neighbors decide to call the cops, because I really don't feel like throwing another scene and killing people right now. On top of that, I'm sure that wherever we go, we're going to attract lots of attention. Canosa looks like a naked corpse that just crawled out of her grave, after having spent a good hundred years or so there. I don't look much better. My jeans and jacket are torn to the point where I'm almost as naked, and as dirty as her. Except my hair is short and it sticks out this way and that in matted, nasty clumps.