My Sisters in Death (Siren Suicides, Book 2)

Chapter 4. Chop Suey

I snarl and take a step forward, crushing glass shards with my stolen silver sneakers. Some semblance of morality tries poking holes into my gut, telling me that I shouldn't do this. You should stop and kill no more, it says. You promised. I shout back inside my head, Go fuck yourself! and send it rallying down into the depths of my soulless being. But it's relentless. It worms beneath my skin and turns into guilt; it pulses behind my eyelids in rhythm to the music. Something bad is about to happen, it warns. Fear seizes my heart. Shut up! I think back at it, angry at my doubts. Violently, I shake my head and take another step toward my future victims, seeing from the corner of my eye as Canosa lunges at the fat guard who keeps swearing non-stop.

Killing will ease my pain. Why the fuck am I always so worried about others? How about, for once, I have an angry fit and let them worry about me? Huh? How about that, bitches? And with that, I charge.

I leap two large steps, squat, and jump onto the ticketing booth, knocking the phone out of the guard's hand with my right foot and landing on the floor inches from him. His soul promptly shrouds me in a concoction of amateur guitar strumming, knuckle cracking, and snoring. Salty. Well, it could've been worse. Salty is not so bad.

"Hey! How are you doing? I'm starving," I say as I watch his face turn ashen, his lips quivering, waiting for that one minute of happiness promised by my singing, divine in its splendor.

Hunger drives me mad. I can't remember why I'm here in the first place; nothing matters except for the food standing right in front of me—the poor image of a man with feeble features and a wisp of red hair, too thin for his age. He's no more than a high school graduate who got lucky; perhaps a relative of his is friends with the owner, because the kid has no muscles for a security job. His slender white fingers are only fit for trembling, his shallow frame dressed in black.

I hate him.

"I hate you all," I hiss, and I want to kill him.

He stands stupefied, puppet-like. Alternating red and green lights flash across his face. There are shrieks from the crowd now. Perhaps Canosa is making her way in; perhaps people are finally noticing that something is wrong.

Then the song ends, and the lead singer breaks the empty ambiance, saying into the microphone, "What's happening, people...The door is—"

The interruption annoys me and I bark at her, "Sing!"

She grabs the microphone and lets out a note, her eyes bulging with fear, her long blond hair glistening under the red light. She's...she's Tara Patterson! My breath catches, I can't believe I just yelled at her. I feel strangely evil and giddy at the same time. I decide to apologize and try to explain everything to her afterward, so that she understands.

I peer into the frozen faces of the crowd and yell, "Dance!"

Immediately, people unfreeze and begin moving. I stretch my neck and look back at my victim, blinded by desire. I lock my eyes with his and ignite his soul; sucking in air, I let anger open my throat. I sing in sync with Tara to my favorite song, Let Me Be.

Her voice blares from the stage in her typical low timbre. My voice joins hers, resonating with it, and sends shivers up my spine.

"Why can't you let go of me?

Whispering in my ear,

Pulling on my skin.

Let me be happy, let me be happy.

And I will be, I will be."

Fog consumes me and the guard. In the back of my mind a thought about Hunter surfaces, making me wonder where he is and if he's figured out by now that I'm here. But the thought gets trampled by my immediate need to feed. Tendrils of dense vapor roll off my skin, fitting the atmosphere perfectly, looking like one of those nightclub fog machines at work.