Siren Suicides (Second Edition)

Chapter 24. Brights' House

A lonely car honks once behind the window. A few late-night commuter souls clink into a tired escapade from a party, trailing home. Hunter's soul smolders in a faint but delicious concerto next to me. Darkness presses on the house, smelling of gasoline and nightly perspiration. My tongue tastes bitter. 

A parasite, I repeat in my mind over and over. He means me.Enclosed in a beautiful shell. His most precious pearl. A work of art and science combined. Extracted from a broken mollusk discarded after delivery. I shrink into the soft leather. Revolting disappointment overwhelms me. A sudden temptation takes over, and I throw my next words at my father like I don't care.

"You forgot something," I say levelly.

He raises his eyebrows and taps his fingers on the sonic gun in a steady rhythm, lifting his feet on tiptoe so that his silk socks press lightly into the freshly vacuumed carpet.

"Please, enlighten me," he says.

"You forgot to check if the parasite is still alive." I savor the pause.

"Oh. Not for long, actually. Turns out, I have grown rather fond of the parasite I happened to produce." He stretches his lips, but his eyes don't smile. "We'll be staging your funeral tomorrow morning. To quiet the city folk and stop the rumors, let people know we found your body and just weren't ready to disclose the news. You know, the works. To give you a proper goodbye."

"What?" I almost choke. "Why?"

I just sit there, reaching out and grasping for the meaning of this news but finding nothing to hold on to.

"Where would you like to go?"

"What?" I force myself back. "I'm sorry, I got distracted. What did you say?"

"I said, after it's over, where would you like to settle? You didn't hear anything at all, did you?" He shakes his head. "How typical."

I gape. "Sorry. The whole parasite thing, and then the funeral thing...why do we need to do it? I don't understand."

"I'm doing this for you, Ailen. We need to do this for you." He studies me, making a clear emphasis on the word we.

"We need to do this? For me?" I repeat.

"Yes, for you." He clears his throat. "I made a mistake, as a father, and I apologize. I failed to...to see you as my daughter, above all, siren or not. I want to make this right again. I want us to feel like a family and put an end to this incessant conflict."

I simply stare, dumbfounded. Something smells fishy.

"Once you're buried, we'll be able to leave Seattle and start a new life, you and me. I will close my business and open up a new one in another city. What do you say? Sound good? Is there a particular place you'd like to go?" he asks again.

His knuckles grow white, his skin stretched over the hand holding the gun, yet his face lights up. There was only one other time when he was glowing like this, and it was when we returned from my mother's funeral. Another fake funeral, because there was no body to bury and her casket was empty. He excused his happiness on account of not having to look for her body anymore. He said the funeral brought him much needed closure. Back then, of course, I had no real idea of what is so clear to me now: it was him who pushed her to jump off the bridge.

"You're serious? You mean this? For real?" As I say this, my traitor heart bursts aflutter. Hopeful, childish, full of naïve excitement. His crimes forgotten. His violent behavior evaporating from my memory like it never existed.

"Of course I mean it! How is that for a birthday present? I didn't forget, see?"

I study him, wanting to make sure there is not a hint of deception in his eyes, not a twitch in his facial muscles. I'm scared, terrified to believe. It's too good to be true, too easy, too all of a sudden. I swallow back tears.