In a fraction of a second, I gauge the amount of shit I've gotten myself into. Sound is my compass. My new attuned hearing is the sense that overpowers all others with its extreme acoustic sensitivity. I listen. Less than half a mile away, a group of joggers is running. Within a minute, they will stumble on a rowboat lying smack in the middle of the road. Behind me there's movement in the woods that I don't like. It doesn't sound human nor is it produced by an animal, because I can't detect any souls accompanying it, only the quiet rubbing of tree branches. In front of me, my father's boat cruises at top speed toward the peninsula as if he knows exactly where we docked, or, rather, had been carelessly butted into the shore by my humming. And next to me is Hunter, shaking like a leaf, freezing in his wet cotton clothes, yet still warm and sickeningly tasty.
Pretending to get rid of the blackberry aftertaste, I gather saliva in my mouth and spit it out, guy-like. "Well, fuck!" I say, waiting for Hunter's reaction.
His mind is elsewhere, because he turns to look at me and, without saying anything, hugs himself tighter and absently traces lines in the dirt with the tip of his sneaker.
"How the hell does he do it?" No reaction. "I mean, how did he know where we went?" Silence. "Hunter, my dad is on his way here. Somehow he found out where we went, do you hear me?" He nods, without looking at me. I have a feeling that he knows something and either doesn't want to tell me or doesn't deem it important to tell me. Both scenarios make me fume. I suppress the urge to flood him with questions—from how he knew where to look for me under the Aurora Bridge, to why he didn't ask me how I turned into a siren, to what he is thinking about right now. This blends into an incredible urge to share the fact that the sirens from my bathroom are real, all of this is real, to...I take a deep breath, because somehow it feels that this is not the right place or time to talk to him, and even if I try, he will ignore me. I try a different tactic.
"Hunter, we need to move the boat and get out of here, we have like a minute left before all these people will show up and start freaking out," I say, my heart beating faster, my ears sensing the engine revolutions getting louder. Hunter keeps doodling in the dirt with his sneaker. "All right, I'll go move it," I concede.
Still no answer.
"Are you okay?" I come behind him and carefully touch his sleeve, wanting to grab his arm and feel his warmth through the wet cotton, restricting myself to simply stroking it with one finger.
"Can you open it already?" he says into the sky with the passion of an erupting volcano.
"Open what?" I'm momentarily stumped.
"I thought so. You forgot," he says in a fallen voice.
"I forgot what? Hunter, what did I forget?" I plead, rubbing my hands on my jeans, as if it will help somehow.
"The present. You don't really care, do you? It's just a piece of paper, I get it. It's not like I bought you a boat or something." He sucks in air loudly through his nose, snorting up the snot, and wipes his nose with a sleeve.
"What? Oh, the present!" My hand goes to the pocket.
"Yeah, exactly." He glances at me and takes a step away.
"Hunter, stop it! Stop acting like a baby, all right? I just had a lot of crazy stuff happen to me, and you know that my memory is fucked up. Of course I remember your present, but it's kinda the wrong time to open it right now. My father is going to be here any minute, there are people jogging this way, and whatever else is happening in the woods behind us, and..." I want to say I'm hungry and I want to eat him, but I bite my tongue.
"Of course," he says. "I should've expected that."
"Please, I didn't mean it like this." I want to grab his neck with both hands and squeeze it hard, his breath coming to me in waves of heat. "What's wrong, why are you so upset all of a sudden? Why now?" I ask, nervously glancing at the road and wondering when the group of runners will turn the corner and start screaming. "Look, there are so many things I want to tell you, but I feel like I can't for some reason, and I'm afraid to face my father without being ready, because he's..." I almost say, a siren hunter. Hunter raises his eyes at me and quickly drops his gaze. "So, would it be okay if I did this a little later?"
"I..." he begins. "Ah, never mind." His lips take on a shade of purple, shaking.
"Fine!" I sigh. "You win, damn it."
I see the beginnings of a familiar grin play on Hunter's lips. He rarely gets upset about things like this, but when he does, he starts acting like a total baby. Whatever it is that upset him is very important to him. For the life of me, I could never fathom the transformation, but I knew that if I didn't act and didn't do what he wanted, he'd erupt into a burst of anger later, and it usually wasn't pretty. Or he'd smoke weed and drink cheap beer till he puked his guts out, claiming that it cleared his psyche and was for the better of humanity, so that he wouldn't unleash himself upon the world. He'd sweep his arms open at that and then fall asleep, snoring.
I pull the crumpled envelope out of the rain jacket pocket.
"I hope you like it." Goose bumps trail up his neck. I know it's no use arguing with him about freezing, besides, I can't give him my jacket because then I'd be naked. And I can't warm him, being as cold as a fish myself, and hungrier than hell.
I focus on the task at hand—sticking my finger under the flap, tearing the envelope open, and peeking inside. There are two long rectangular pieces of thick, glossy paper with something printed on them. My heart beats faster. I take them out and read, suppressing a gasp.
"Oh, my God! Two tickets to Siren Suicides! Wait, what—tonight?"
I watch the tickets tremble in my hand, unable to believe it. I've been a fan for years and years, ever since they released their debut album, Under the Mirror, in 2004. They've had several tours in the US, but never in Seattle. This was their first time here and I was dying to go, but I had no money, Papa wouldn't buy me tickets, and he wouldn't let me go anyway, for sure finding a reason to lock me up in the bathroom for the exact amount of hours the show lasted.
"Yeah, they're in town. I knew you wanted to go. I wanted to keep it a secret, you know, to surprise you."
"Oh, Hunter, this is the best birthday present ever!" I throw up my arms to hug him, when my whole body zings from craving his soul. I tear myself away violently, shaking all over. He grins, perhaps having attributed my retreat to shame or confusion or something else.
"It's okay, I don't bite." He gasps. "Did you hear that?"
"What?"
"A siren."
"Where?" I whirl around, and realize with relief that the group of joggers decided to turn back before making it around the corner, but my father's boat is visible now. I turn back to Hunter. His breath coils into puffs.
"There she is, right under your nose." He points to my chest. "Listen to this. Twenty minutes ago, I'm taking a little cruise on a rowboat, then bam! she jumps out of the water. Scared the shit out of me."
It takes me a second. "Hunter!" I scowl, and then point at the boat that's now a few yards away. "Oh, my God, he's here."
Before I can say anything else, Hunter cups my face, his palms on fire. His breath is like summer filled with bird whistles, laughter, and all things home, and I give in to it, to this feeling, unable to care about anything anymore. "Forget about your dad for a second. Look at me. I'm not your enemy. I'm just trying to make you feel better, okay? Why did you jump off that bridge? Give me the real reason."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
I blink and try to look away, making my arms hang limp so I don't bruise Hunter with my grip.
He exhales. "It's okay, no pressure. You don't have to answer right this second, I get it. Listen, I'm happy that I found you, that's all. I thought I never would. I thought you really drowned." His soul emits such a heavenly melody, that I think, I don't deserve such beauty.
"I did drown, if you haven't noticed. I'm dead, Hunter. Dead."
"No, you're not."
His eyes lock with mine.
"See this?" I crane my neck. "Those are gills." I place his hand on them and wince at the heat. "Feel them. I'm not human anymore. The human Ailen is gone. Gone! I'm a siren now, understand? S-I-R-E-N. A soulless killing machine, slimy and clammy and rotten and..."
"You're not rotten."
"You're so stubborn sometimes, I hate you."
"No, you don't."
I want to slap him but my hands won't move. I feel like an idiot and I'm hungry, so very hungry. There is food, right in front of me, delicious beyond comprehension. All I have to do is sing. He trusts me, we're friends, he'll do anything I ask of him, like he always does. But I won't. I know I won't. I can't.
"Happy Birthday, Ailen."
And I can't resist this anymore. Another moment, and we're kissing.
We've kissed and made out before, when stoned. Everyone does. But this is different. It's not tainted by being high or drunk, it's real and it's wonderful. The taste of that first Linden blossom fills my mouth, like an edible flower dipped in stolen honey and set on fire. Melting. I'm a thief, I have no right to take this, but I draw on it like a thirsty fiend. More. More. I want more. I want this to never end.
The tickets trail out of my hand, I hear them flutter as they fall to the ground, but I don't care. My world is spinning. The sky and the ground tangle into one impossible mess, and Hunter's kiss bursts on my tongue like a million sugar pellets.
I hear a few squirrels climb up a tree and then something else. I freeze, the magic moment broken.
Hunter pulls away. "What is it?"
"He killed the engine, hear the silence? Great. We could've made it into the woods by now, you know." I nearly want to cry from disappointment and pull on his hand toward the forest.
"No, we couldn't. Not yet."
"What do you mean, not yet?" I say with tears in my voice.
"I need to know one more thing." He breathes into my ear, and I think I will faint soon from being so close.
"I'm confused, Hunter, you keep doing things that make no sense, and then you—"
"Do you love me?"
I stare into his eyes, not fully understanding why the tone of his voice is so melodramatic. But I decide that I'll ask him later, feeling an oncoming panic settling its greedy fingers into my heart, terrified yet prepping myself mentally to face my father. I study Hunter's face—his hairline with that funny cowlick, his nose red from sniffling, the stubble of his nonexistent facial hair that he shaves every day in an effort to make it grow. I think back to our love declarations in the past, all done while stoned out of our minds and not sounding very serious. This time, his question feels real, like our kiss.
"Yes, of course I love you," I say, knowing that I didn't search long enough inside myself to fully mean it. I hold my breath, knowing what I have to ask him next. "Do you love me?"
"Yes. I love you very much, from the bottom of my heart, from the depths of my soul. No matter what shape you come in, get it?" I see his pupils widen with emotion, and I can't believe it's the Hunter I know, as if he grew into some otherworldly creature called an adult and changed forever. Before I can say anything, he puts his finger over my lips. "I just needed to confirm this before deciding on something. Now we can go." He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the forest.
I glance back. The yacht's silver bullet of a body bobs gently several yards away from the shore. Its engine revs up again, sounding like Papa is tweaking the throttle and burns out his bow thruster in an effort to stay put in one place and not drift. Then, he sounds three blasts on his boat's horn and I cup my ears, wincing from the loud sound. I understand it's some kind of a warning signal and decide there is no use in waiting for the right moment, there will never be one.
I grab Hunter's arm and wheel him around. "He came here for me. He's a siren hunter. Canosa told me. Canosa, the bronze figurine from the bathroom, remember?" I say.
Hunter looks at me, unperturbed. "I know," he says.
"What?" I gasp.
"That's why we need to get out of here, now."
"You knew? Then why the heck did you drag your feet?" I turn back, thinking that we have another ten minutes, easy, considering my father's distaste of getting wet and the amount of time it will take him to open up the yacht's tender garage and lift out his small inflatable boat. Not to mention paddling all the way to the shore and then risking getting wet. I badly want to see him do it.
"I hope he wrecks it," I say. As if to answer, Papa gets out from the back of the cockpit and carefully steps forward, toward the nose of the boat, to the very end. He kneels, with a large, gray plastic loudspeaker in his hands. I wonder what he's about to shout at me, and, seeing the distance between us, I turn bold.
"I hope you fucking wreck your stupid boat!" I yell. A few Douglas firs sway in response to my voice, and I see a path of waves follow its trajectory on the lake's surface.
"Don't!" Hunter pulls at me. "Duck, now!"
"Hell no!" I say. "What's he gonna do, yell at me? I can yell louder, just watch."
"I said, get down!" Hunter pushes me, but to no avail. I have so many things I want to shout to my father, so many obscenities and hateful statements and...
Instead of putting his mouth to the loudspeaker, my father sort of looks though it, and before I understand what's happening, a wave of a concentrated sonic boom hits me in the face.
Bam!
My eyeballs threaten to turn to jelly and I think my brain will burst from the pressure of its impact. Every little cell I have in my head wants to jump out and separate itself from my body. The sensation reminds me of walking into a glass door, yet magnified a hundred times.
"Owwww!" I yelp and fall first to my knees and then on all fours into the grass, taking in its brilliant greenery through tears in my eyes, smelling its fragrance, grabbing tufts of pine needles into my fists.
It needs to be a clean blow, Papa used to tell me, when his hand began to hurt after hitting my face several times. The most effective way to teach a woman a lesson is to slap her, it humiliates her and makes her remember better. Here is how you do it. You keep your palm open, like this, then strike with the back of your hand as if you crack a whip, deliberate and fast. Blast her. It hurts but leaves no mark. How about it? Genius, I'd say. That makes her shut her mouth, makes her stop all this incessant whining. Have you read Walter Perry? No? You should. Wise man. "Their song," he said, "though irresistibly sweet, was no less sad than sweet, and lapped both body and soul in a fatal lethargy, the forerunner of death and corruption." Listen to his words. You, women, corrupt us, men. That's what you do. And because I happen to have a daughter, I have to work hard on root this out of you, do you understand? It pains me to do it, but it has to be done, for your future.
He'd slap me one last time to drive home the message and then blow on my cheeks, in an attempt to make me feel better. I'm really, sorry, Ailen, but I believe that one day you will thank me for this. I'd stick out my tongue and lick off my tears, quickly, before he'd notice.
One day you will thank me, his words echo in my mind.
I raise my head, glare across the fifteen yards of distance between us, and whisper, "Never."
"Ailen, no!" Hunter shakes my shoulders, but I throw him off me in one movement and stand.
Hatred floods me. I open my mouth wide and roar. I roar for me, for my pain, and for my mother. For all those years she suffered at his hands under his maniacal control, feeling his mix of intense love and hatred toward her at the same time. I watch my father's posture grow slack as my roar reaches him, reaches his rotten nature hidden behind an expensive polo shirt, classic khakis, and Gucci boat shoes. I want him dead.
The wind generated by my voice knocks him down, his knees buckle and he slides into a sitting position, dropping his loudspeaker to the right. I know now that it's no loudspeaker; it must be some kind of a sonic gun designed specifically to kill sirens, to blast us into oblivion. I inhale and holler more. As if from strong wind, waves form on the shore and roll toward the yacht, crashing against its hull, sending droplets flying into my father's face, into his closely-cropped, curly hair. His boat bobs and floats backward, the name Talia teasing me with its lovely inscription.
"Ailen, watch out!" Hunter shrieks.
I turn my head to see what's going on, when someone slips out of the woods, slinks behind me, and grabs my arm. It's Canosa. Her white hair shines impossibly bright in my new and improved field of vision. I'm momentarily blinded, and, blinking to remove the halo, the only thing I can think to say is, "Great. Just what I need right now."