In the space of half of a second, I'm split in two. Part of me wants to lodge underwater, soothe my aching gills, and become one with the world of songs, sirens, soul sucking, and all things morbid that come with being a predator. I want to buy into this illusion of divine existence, however perverted it sounds. I want to be a part of my siren family. It feels easy to give in, to define Hunter as my enemy and no more. To define people as food. To forget about my father. Yet, another part of me yearns for air, for the dreamy uncertainty of living, loving, and feeling—that amateur orchestra called life. In it, soul or no soul, Hunter is my star, the most skilled concertmaster, subordinate only to the conductor. But, exactly how will we be able to coexist like this? I watch his face, beckoning me to squash it and achingly loveable at the same time.
An ethereal bridge forms between us, a trajectory of a question asked with my eyes. The sirens lunge through the lake's underbelly in a burst of excitement, flapping their feet as they advance toward us. I'm sure Canosa wants revenge for me not saving her, for her nearly dying. I have to decide, I have to do something.
But what about Papa...I gaze into the darkness of the woods, hoping to see beyond, to believe that maybe, by some miracle, he has escaped. I wish I could just take a torch and extract this naïve love I have for my father, watch it burn and scream and sizzle. Angry tears burst their way through, spilling quickly down my cheeks, before I have time to wipe them off.
The lake bristles and stretches its toothless smile into a series of waves. The boat shakes and brings me out of my stupor. "What did you say?" I notice that Hunter was talking and is waiting for me to respond.
"I said, it took them a while." I detect nervous notes in his voice. "Looks like the hunt is on. That's good news, I suppose, right? Never a dull moment." He raises his eyebrows at me and waves his hand in this gesture of could-you-speed-up-a-little. "Do you mind?" At this, he lifts his legs, turns on his butt half a circle, plops his feet on the boat's bottom with a splash, picks up the oars, and begins rowing like mad. The boat jerks into motion and I nearly fall forward.
None of this fully registers in my mind. I don't really hear him, distracted again. "Canosa's alive, did you see that? That means my father's gone for sure," I say, mostly to hear it and taste the sound of it, to try it on. It feels horrible, and guilt washes over me. "Hunter, what have I done? I shouldn't have left him like that. I should've fought for him. I could've saved him, but I ran away like a coward. I could've—"
"Would you mind?" He drops the right oar, turns his head back to look at me, and motions impatiently, twirling his hand again, before returning to his rowing. He bends forward, falls back, pivots the oars, and lets them screech in their rusty rowlocks.
"What?" I ask, disoriented.
"Hum, please. They'll be here any minute—your femme fatale friends from the deep realm of the glorious Lake Washington, don't you get that? I, for one, have no interest in meeting them one more time. So, can you go?" he says, without turning his head. A forced pleasantness rips thin over his irritation.
"Did you hear what I said?" I try.
"I did. I heard you, Ailen."
"So? What do you think?"
"So!" He drops both oars and twists around to face me. I've never seen his face contorted with fury quite like now. "You're his daughter! But you know what? He'd kill you in a heartbeat. So why would you feel obligated to help him when he's hated you your entire life? He's a fucking asshole, all right?" He is breathing hard.
I blink.
"Look, I'm sorry, but can we talk about this some other time?" He slides back into position, picks up the oars, and dips them into the lake once more. Splish-splash, splish-splash.
"No, he wouldn't!" I'm angry and hurt, fighting tears. Damn it. I'm not going to cry, I'm not!
"Dude, we'll be eaten alive here in, like, a minute? Do you mind helping me out?" Hunter shouts over his shoulder.
"Sure, sure. Sorry."
I crawl back over the bow and hum. Immediately, we jolt into speeding, but thoughts of my father lying dead in the middle of the siren meadow won't let me concentrate. We make it past the north tip of Seward Park and I break again.
"Fuck, Ailen, what's wrong now?" Hunter yells.
I turn around, Hunter does the same. We're several feet apart, sitting on opposite benches. I look at him but don't see him, looking through him as I talk. "Hey, I know it might not seem like it, but I know he loves me. On some level, somewhere deep down, he does. Or...I mean, he did." I wipe my eyes and my nose on my sleeve, glancing nervously at the surface of the lake and expecting Canosa to surface any second. Yet, I'm unable to move.
Hunter slaps the bench with both palms in exasperation.
"Awesome, Ailen, just awesome. Let's see if I understand. What you're saying is that this is the rare occurrence of the mysterious beast called familial love. Ever heard the term? I'll explain. You're referring to one of those twisted love-hate relationships between parents and their children that qualify as the norm nowadays, you following me? Here is what it looks like."
He makes his typical theatrical face, enacting everything he says with extra care and an in increasingly annoying exaggerated voice.
"I hate your guts, but I won't show it. Oh, no-no-no. I'll display an image of the perfect parent, loaded, over-protective, totally admired by neighbors, teachers, other parents, whatever, you name it. It's classic passive-aggressive. This is what you're talking about. Well, sorry to break it to you, Ailen, but that's not what familial love is."
He pushes my hot button—this desperate wish of mine—which is what he's good at. And I explode.
"Oh, yeah? How would you know. At least my father didn't leave me like yours did. I mean, think about it. He left you the same day you guys found out about your mom's cancer. Really? I mean, really?! Great timing, asshole!" The instant I close my mouth, I know I've said too much.
It's still dark, but the pre-dawn dimness begins trickling in, enough for me to see the blood drain from Hunter's face. Darkness circles his eyes and his whole posture tilts and weathers with pain. Both oars hang aimlessly along the sides, rotating slowly in their locks and squeaking in rhythm to the shallow waves. Our boat drifts north. A few cars whiz by, flashing darkness out of the sleepy boulevard—either very early commuters or late night bar hoppers returning home. I barely notice the sound of their souls, consumed by the wish to dig my fingers into Hunter's neck and rip it off his shoulders.
I shudder. Bitter regret spills into my mouth like bile. Gasping, I mumble, "Shit...I'm Sorry. I didn't mean to, it just came out like this, I swear. I didn't...Oh, shit." I cover my mouth, before I say anything else.
"Don't you...ever...mention my father leaving. Ever...again." Hunter speaks each word slowly, with force. "Got it? If you ever mention him again, I'll skin you alive." The veins bulge on his neck and he clenches the sides of the boat so tightly I can see his knuckles turning white in the darkness. Immediately, he twists around, picks up both oars, and begins rowing like mad.
After his threat, I'm not sorry anymore. Blood pumps my face full of bitterness and dismay. I reach out and slap him on his back. He turns in surprise.
"Go ahead, monkey boy. Knock yourself out, why don't you?"
We glare at each other.
"Screw you," he says under his breath and turns back to row. I slap his shoulder again.
"What now?" he yells, dropping both oars so that he can turn to face me. He opens his mouth to say something else, but this time I talk first.
"Did you really just say, screw you?" I'm fishing for anything I can sink my teeth into, to keep fighting, to satisfy my urge.
"I thought we covered this topic already, didn't we? So don't tell me what I can or can't talk about. Got that, monkey boy? Besides, I'd like to hear what's so special about your father that can't be said out loud. What are you, too chicken to say the truth?"
"Just keep your nose out of my life, will ya?" he fumes. "I can make it on my own, thank you very much. Get out of my boat. Go on, join your freaky sisters." He points to the water.
"Sure," I say with grim satisfaction. "Never mind me, then. Sorry to have bothered you. I think I'll go for a swim, like you suggested. That might do me good. See ya." I make a motion as if to tip over the edge of the boat.
Hunter's eyes open wide at this, but he says, "Go ahead. And stop reporting to me every single thing you're gonna do. What am I, your parent or something? I don't give a shit what you do."
"Oh, you don't? Really?" I say, and press a finger to my lips, indicating silence. "Hear that?"
The faint echo of Canosa's voice pierces through several yards of water behind us. It comes out warbled, in a weird roaring noise that could be mistaken for a boat's murmuring engine, choking on a lack of gas and blurting out its last revolutions before it dies for good.
"Hear what?" Hunter says, and flips back his hair.
"The sirens. Singing. They're close now. Another twenty seconds or so and they'll be here in all of their, as you said, femme fatale splendor." I smile and cock my head to the side, knowing that I won. Because Hunter's bravado wilts and he finger-combs his hair again and adjusts his hood, like it needed adjusting.
This is Hunter, though, and he is stubborn. He never lets me win without putting up a good fight. I see an idea flash through his eyes. He smiles back at me.
"Oh, but I shouldn't be scared. Ailen here will use her magical humming thing or whatever, and she'll get us out of this. She always does—the glorious savior, the hero of the moment. Come on, turkey, prove me wrong. I'm waiting." He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
I gawk, not expecting him to pull the hero card, but then immediately retort, "I get it. Now you need me all of a sudden. Good luck." I mimic him, crossing my arms in a make-me-or-else gesture.
A few seconds slink by.
Canosa's voice is louder now, but we both ignore it, like two stubborn drivers speeding toward one another in the same lane, thinking that it's the other one who will yield, all the way until the imminent crash. The invisible tension between us is so thick it could be sliced in two. I realize it's time to choose. What's it gonna be, Ailen? Sirens and water, or Hunter and air? Air or water? Water or...
"I thought you were smarter than this," Hunter finally says, turning around and picking up the oars.
Plop-swish, plop-swish.
His back muscles roll under his sweatshirt and I can almost hear his teeth grinding. The boat slides north, away from Seward Park. Nowhere near fast enough for us to escape.
"Ouch. That hurt. I'm so hurt I can't breathe," I say, but it comes out weak and pathetic. Hunter ignores me and continues to row. For a second, I study my fingernails. Their bluish tint reminds me of a corpse. And my skin reminds me of wet paper with traces of veins catering to my dead heart. A faint, ugly pumping sound emanates from my chest. I think I detect an echo of Hunter's soul, but it can't be. It must be wishful thinking.
I crash into the abyss of regret, all the way from the highs of my fury and then deeply into the throes of vile and forlorn thoughts in a matter of seconds. It's exhausting, debilitating, paralyzing. My mood swings tie me into a pretzel of self-hate. I don't dare talk or move, afraid to disturb the flow, lucky to be sitting next to Hunter and savoring the moment, balancing on the edge of indecision. Then, the unthinkable happens.
He drops both oars, turns back around to face me, and takes my right hand into both of his. I jolt with surprise. His skin is so hot, it almost burns me. I force myself to sit still, for fear of him taking it away.
"I just can't seem to get you out of my system, no matter what I do. Sometimes, it makes me so mad, it's like..." He falls quiet, perhaps trying to find the right words.
Then we both hear them.
Canosa, Ligeia, and Teles surface. Their arms snake out of the water all around the boat like the tentacles of a gigantic octopus hell-bent on getting what it wants.
"Ailen Bright, the girl who thought she could run away from it all." Canosa says to my right, her eyes open wide and glistening in the dark with a faint, bluish glow.
"He's mine this time, I called him," Teles interjects, swimming along the left side of the boat, edging toward Hunter.
He drops my hand and turns to face her, shrieking, "Shoo, shoo!" as if he can't come up with anything more intelligent at the moment.
"Shut up! You didn't call nothing," Ligeia silences Teles, coming up behind Canosa and looking important.
"It is not as easy as you think," Canosa continues, smacking Ligeia's face without looking, making both of them fall quiet. "Trust me, the game is only starting. Don't you want to know what happened to your beloved Papa?" Clutching the boat with her left hand, she stretches out her right one to touch me.
Her voice jingles against the stillness of the dawn with the sound of beautiful bells. I study her face and instantly know that I will become as bitter as she is if I cave in to my siren instincts and join them. I will become a man-hater, a love-hater, a hater of all things that I could never have. What good will it do me? It will consume me, just like her, guts and all. Still, it won't give me an ounce of relief from my pain. As if to illustrate, her pretty face grimaces in the way a stunning woman winces when she senses that her usual charm failed to work.
This is it. Forget whether water or air will win. Within a second, I sway away from her touch, sit up straight, inhale with great force—as if I was suffocating—and push myself off the bench with both arms, turning midair to plop down on my stomach. I face forward, grabbing both edges, and become one with the nose of the boat. My chest expands and I exhale through my nose as I utter a loud humming call.
The lake responds like it was waiting for my command, obedient, happy to oblige. I feel its particles gather in an urgent uproar, beginning from the bottom, forming a current, picking up speed, and catching the hull of the boat in its wake. In one powerful lurch, we propel forward. Canosa's hands slide, ripping away from the boat's side. From the corner of my eye, I see her close her empty fists over the memory of where they were a second ago. She roars her displeasure, and Ligeia and Teles join her. All three are screaming and writhing in one spot, splashing at the foam that formed from the current. I stop glancing back and concentrate on moving us forward.
"Whoa!" Comes from behind. "Holy shit, Ailen! Not so fast, I almost fell out!"
I grin and hum some more, partially happy I finally made a decision and partially wanting to show off my power, to get another Whoa! I'm humming like mad, feeling the vibration of water atoms resonate to my rhythm, talking to me, singing with me, and making motion together.
The sky turns from black to purple, its very bottom alighting with a shade of lavender. Dawn enters the air, splashing my face with cold shower. It must be, what, after three in the morning? My jacket ripples in the wind. Seattle's usual clouds hang in a thick layer of weight over the lake. More and more cars come to life and make their way onto the roads, but there are no morning joggers or dog walkers yet. It's still too early.
We skim along the mostly empty boulevard to our left and, within minutes, we make it to the I-90 floating bridge. We pass under its onramp and keep speeding north, reaching another floating bridge, the 520. The boulevard to our left snakes out of sight and gives way to apartment buildings, boat piers, and sand. We quickly skirt Madison Beach, splashing through the Arboretum wetlands where I was so content with Canosa's company not too long ago. The boat's hull cuts through the blanket of water lilies, making them circle behind us with their sweet aroma as we dash into Union Bay. We near the green latticework of the Montlake Bridge and enter the usual noise of the city—no matter the time of day or night, annoying and constant in its everlasting presence.
Our escape it too good to be true. No matter how far I go, I won't be able to escape myself fully. As hard as I try to pretend I'm cool, like I'm over my issues and happy as a clam, I'm not. I hum and move us forward, but my thoughts keep turning back to the siren meadow. Sadness moves over me in waves; sadness for not being good enough, for leaving my father to die, and for staying alive myself. It seeps into my humming, no matter how hard I try to hold it back, and begins speaking to the rain the way I did when I parted it while riding on the back of our stolen Ducati motorcycle. Only, there is no rain now. But I feel as if it's coming to show me how I should weep properly.
We pass under the bridge and, at once, the sky opens into a downpour. In several seconds, we're both drenched.
"Damn it, it's pouring. Can you maybe stop it? I'm soaking wet!" I hear behind me.
I shake my head without turning it, knowing that I can't break now or we'll lose momentum again. At the same time, I don't want to withdraw from the melody that is gushing out of me, giving me some kind of relief and letting me shed my tears in the most grand way possible. I feel the raindrops as they pummel my face, and I'm content with that, soaking it all in. Humming. Purifying my aching, soulless void.
"All right, fine. Just wondering," Hunter mutters.
We keep gliding, perhaps at a speed of eight knots and no more. I slow the boat down, afraid to attract too much attention.
Red brick buildings flash past us on the right, student dormitories. Rain pummels the streets, slants at a diagonal against a patchwork of houses, doors, and windows. Tall streetlights burn the night's receding darkness away, their shining lamps blinking yellow in the mist. The rain makes me happy again. I watch the drops plummet through the sky and, on impulse, stick out my tongue to catch them, still humming but now sort of half-singing.
"Look up,
The sky is gray.
Can you see?"
In this moment, I'm back to being six or seven,with the sense of wonder and tranquility I had when my mother was with me, and,I mean, when she was truly with me and not spacing out in her daydreams or oneof her songs. I don't remember much of my childhood, and every time I do, it'sa treat. Elated, oblivious to everything else, taking a chance on the dangerwe're in, I let the memory carry me away.