The Siren

  The Siren

  KIERA CASS

  iUniverse, Inc.

  New York Bloomington

  The Siren

  Copyright © 2009 by Kiera Cass

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4401-5423-2 (pbk)

  ISBN: 978-1-4401-5424-9 (ebk)

  Printed in the United States of America

  iUniverse rev. date: 7/7/2009

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For Liz-

  Because she’s the kind of girl that songs should be written about, poems should be composed for, and books should be dedicated to.

  CHAPTER 1

  Wanting to cry doesn’t mean you can. Or at least not in any way that can give you some sort of satisfaction. It’s a luxury really. The same goes for songs and laughter, or the words whispered in the ear of a friend.

  I had taken these things for granted. How was I to know that out there, in the world I had once truly lived in, something as simple as an afternoon greeting could cause unimaginable devastation?

  A solitary tear traced my cheek as I stared out the second-story window of the house we were borrowing. On the cobbled streets below, a couple walked. It was a young pair, not much older than me. Or, rather, than I had been eight years ago. She was a bronze-skinned beauty, but not necessarily because of her features. No, it would have been because she was all too aware of the way she looked in the eyes of her partner. The boy— equally tanned, but far more muscular— held her hand intertwined with his own. As they walked, he looked into her eyes, lifted her hand, and kissed her eager fingers.

  What must that feel like?

  Wiping up the lonely tear, I closed my eyes and imagined it. The sun would be drawn to my chocolate hair, its gentle curls lifting and falling with my steps. He, whoever the faceless man in my head was, would have fingers too large to fit comfortably between mine. But that wouldn’t matter. As he held my hand, I wouldn’t feel the strain of my fingers being pulled wide. All there would be was his skin on mine. Without making the decision, my elbow would bend in time with his, happily following any direction he gave. Unexpectedly, warm and familiar lips would meet with my hand. I would reward him with a smile.

  The sounds of Marilyn’s approaching footsteps drew me from my daydream. I dabbed under my eyes once again, removing any trace of tears. Marilyn worried for me so; I couldn’t let her see me sad. I pulled the window shut, and we were truly alone.

  “Are you alright?” Marilyn asked, pausing at my side. Her hands, moist with the same coolness as mine, brushed my forehead.

  “I’m perfect.” I smiled brightly, shrugging my shoulders as if I had no reason to ever be sad. Being an actress was part of the job. Not towards my sisters necessarily, but sometimes it had to be done.

  “Could you hear Her earlier?” she asked. This would be why she sought me out now: to pass on wisdom.

  “I think so. This morning, right?”

  “Yes! Now, what did She say?” Marilyn was beaming. How could I stay down surrounded by such enthusiasm? I sighed and tried to remember the exact wording. I dreaded getting this wrong.

  “Well… I think She said that it could be in a day or two, that She was still waiting, but to be listening?” I mumbled.

  “Perfect! Really, Kahlen, that was spot on. It’s been, what, eight years now? You should be able to hear Her clearly by this point. Now when I’m gone, you should stay near the Sea. She’s easier to hear that way, and you can get to Her faster. Besides, there’s plenty of time to see the more remote parts of the world.”

  I couldn’t deny that. Time I had. Marilyn smiled and ran into the kitchen. Time for an indulgence.

  Marilyn was a red-head and had a spirit to match her hair. But that was an acquired trait, or so I understood. This meant that, in general, we were a good pairing. My personality was naturally cheery, though I had been admittedly somber more and more often over the last few years. I was grateful to have my sister with me, but I still felt isolated. It would have been nice to know more than one person in the entirety of the world. Well, two, but for all intents and purposes, Aisling was no part of my life.

  But friendship with just anyone was not an option for me.

  I can’t remember their names, but I used to have plenty of friends. And a family, too. Though the voices are gone, I clearly remember the action of us huddled around our dinner table talking. There were so many things in this world I longed for with an ache so big it surprised me. Most of the time, the desires of my heart were overshadowed by the day-to-day dullness of living in silence.

  There were rules. All I had to do was obey— do my duty, pay my dues— and then all these little daydreams could be my reality. I could have my hand held. I could be kissed on the forehead. I could live a life of my own. I just had to wait.

  The waiting was torture.

  The silence was worse.

  Thank God for Marilyn. Besides being easy to talk to, she was full of endless wisdom. Her sentence was coming to a close, so she knew everything I would need to do in order to pay my debt in secrecy. That was the key: to not make mistakes. Otherwise, this was all for nothing. She drove those thoughts into my head as we ran around South America. I wasn’t sure which country we were in anymore; we had been to so many. But when Marilyn explained that going back to America wasn’t wise in the beginning, I asked to go some place with color.

  It was certainly full of color here. The trees practically glowed green, and the sky was a shade of blue I didn’t know existed. The people were colorful, too. In Ohio I had seen a whole lot of white and a fair amount of black, but here people were brown, mocha, honey, and olive. I didn’t know so many skin tones existed.

  We were currently borrowing a home that must have housed at least a half a dozen daughters. That was lucky for us because we needed the clothes. And though we couldn’t read the signs or notes around the house, we had no trouble deciphering the words we heard through the windows.

  Language was never a barrier for us since we never ha
d to speak it and could always understand it. Marilyn, for example, was from England, but when she spoke I never heard her accent. It must have been in there somewhere, but it never visited my ears. The only real clue I had to her nationality or era was the phrases she used from time to time. I sometimes wondered if my voice managed to pick up a British accent on the way to her ears.

  This was part of how it worked. I think it was because sisters came from all over the world, and we had to be able to speak to one another since there could never be anyone else. And when we sang, the sounds encompassed so many languages, it seemed natural. We must have been infused with every possible dialect. I never did ask about that, so I could have been wrong.

  Maybe it’s simply that our voices weren’t our own anymore.

  Marilyn reentered the room with a bowl full of fruit. She chewed a piece of melon slowly, truly enjoying the taste. I could understand the draw. Once she left us, would she ever taste anything from this corner of the world ever again? Would she somehow long for it, but not even know what it was?

  I loved Marilyn. It was an easy thing to do. She had been vulnerable and honest with me from the very beginning, and that made adjusting to this life easier. She hid none of her own struggle from me, so I hid nothing from her.

  Marilyn was seventeen when she became a siren. She had discovered that her fiancé was having an affair, and when I say “discovered,” I don’t mean through overhearing gossip or discovering a love note. I mean that she actually endured walking in and seeing the man she loved in bed with another woman. He wasn’t even sorry. He told her to get out while the other girl laid there and laughed.

  She was just too young to know what to do with herself. She felt betrayed, unwanted, ashamed and couldn’t bear the thought of facing him or her family. Having tied rocks to her feet, she jumped in the Ocean hoping to never be found. Her clothes alone could have done the job.

  As she sank, she felt the stupidity of her actions. She wasn’t the terrible person, he was! She shouldn’t be suffering, he should! Regret washed over her. She wished that she had been stronger and had really done something with her life, and with that in her heart she cried out to live.

  The Ocean consented.

  Everyone in her family thought she had died. And it left her former fiancé free to marry the other girl— not that he even really wanted that.

  It’s hard to stay away at first; that’s why you just go somewhere else. You miss the ones you’ve left behind, of course, but what’s worse is knowing they miss you for no reason. You’re still there. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been. You’re sturdier than they are.

  But there’s nothing to be done. Rules. After a while, there’s no one left to go back to. That makes it a little better. And a little worse.

  The only remnant of that life was Marilyn’s engagement ring— a token she kept to make herself calmer, braver, better.

  My story was a bit different than Marilyn’s. I don’t remember much, but I’m sure it was 1921. And I think the month was June.

  “Where do you think you’ll live once I’m gone?” Marilyn asked casually. I hated to talk about it. Of course, I was happy for her, but I didn’t know how I would tolerate being even more alone than I was now.

  “I really haven’t thought about it. I might stay around here; I like it here. I’ll be sad to be alone, but I don’t think I’m prepared to live with Aisling.” I rolled my eyes.

  Marilyn laughed. It was contagious. The release of sound lifted my whole body. The longing of my earlier voyeurism disappeared in the lightness of my voice set free.

  While Marilyn was full of spirit, Aisling, our other sister, was bitter. She had a deep regret of this life, but wasn’t brave enough to cross the Ocean in such a way that the deal would be revoked. Aisling still had some time to go— less than I did, but much more than Marilyn. Marilyn was set to leave us within the year, and I would desperately miss her. Aisling had kept to herself, and I only ever saw her on those times when the Ocean called us together. It had been more than a year now since we had to serve last. I wasn’t looking forward to the reunion.

  Aisling was beautiful, of course. She was blonde and pale and exquisite. Marilyn told me once that Aisling was Swedish, but I had no way of telling myself. While we were all somehow graceful, she pulled it off the best. She, like Marilyn, had glorious blue eyes, like tiny jewels on her flawless face. And something in those eyes that I could never name… it made you long for unknown things when you looked at her. But she was mean-spirited. I think it was our first encounter that left such a horrible impression. I admired her for all of five minutes when I saw her, and then she spoke to me.

  “Don’t waste your time; you can’t pull this off,” she had said.

  “Aisling, if you’re going to be like that, just leave,” Marilyn told her.

  “I think I will. After all that noise, I need some quiet. Nice knowing you,” she said to me, as if she expected me to give up once she left and would never see me again. It seemed like Aisling forgot awfully fast how she felt when it was her turn. Hate is a very strong word, but it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say I hated Aisling.

  “No, I don’t think you have the patience for Aisling,” Marilyn said. I think if it had been possible, she would have choked on the bit of fruit in her mouth.

  “Hey, I can be patient! I’m fun to live with, aren’t I?” That was pointlessly defensive; I couldn’t stand Aisling. But it felt good to sound that way. I felt like a teenager.

  “Of course you are, dear. Best roommate ever. But I’ve lived with Aisling, and it’s enough to drive you mad.”

  “Exactly when and why did you live with Aisling?” The thought was revolting.

  “In the beginning, just like you. It was so different. I didn’t even make it a week with Aisling. Think about that: we have years and years, and the two of us couldn’t survive a week! Could you imagine if I left you alone after your first week?”

  I trembled. “Oh, I would have been completely lost! Why didn’t she want to stay with you?”

  “I don’t think it was me exactly. I think she just wanted to be alone. She made it very clear that she wasn’t enjoying being watched all the time. She yelled at me and threw a fit if I got too close or said too much. She just didn’t like it.” Marilyn shrugged at the memory.

  “What did you do?”

  “I left. That was what she wanted. Aisling asked me to explain everything to her one more time, and then said she’d stay close to the Ocean and ask Her if she was needed until she could understand on her own. Stubborn as a mule!” Marilyn concluded with a laugh.

  I laughed along with her. “Who do you think was ready to leave first?”

  “I think we were both pretty tired of each other. I tried to stick it out, honestly. But I went south, and she went north, and it’s better that way. I’m not sure if one sister has ever tried to dispose of another, but we weren’t far off!” The thought of trying to destroy another sister was something that was truly laughable. I don’t know how that would even begin to work. “Seriously, I broke a plate over her head one night.”

  “What!?” I exclaimed. That sent us into another round of giggles.

  “She called me something, I forget what, and I just grabbed a plate and hit her on the head!” The laughs continued. “I mean, it didn’t hurt her, but I think she got the picture.”

  Only Marilyn would come up with something like that. I loved her so much. I was going to miss her.

  I soaked up the moments of laughter. It was a beautiful and private sound. I had discovered that breaths weren’t harmful— like a breathy chuckle— but if a drop of our voices leaked into the sound, there were problems. Sighs, sniffs, and huffs were all benign. But laughing, speaking, crying, and even whispering are music in their own ways. These were to be guarded. So we bound them up tight before we ventured out for the afternoon.

 
I was always desperate for distractions; I was more myself when I was active. Just walking on the beaches helped me to feel more normal. The boys whistled at us as we passed. We must have seemed exotic here. Between Marilyn’s red hair and my pale skin, it was obvious we weren’t locals.

  In the wee hours of the night, when no one was there to see, Marilyn and I would sometimes sink into the surf. The Sea must have felt how much I distrusted Her but never bothered to address it. The waters here in the middle latitudes were constantly warm and teemed with life. Fish swam past with fluid grace, practically dancing in their underwater world. Out, just past the lengths where a normal human would feel comfortable traveling, the sands gave way to jagged rocks covered with skinny strings of seaweeds that looked like they were waving to me each time I passed. I would go out there, grateful for the change of scenery, and stay under the water facing belly up. The moon wiggled as waves passed, and I felt the truth of this life: We all depended on Her.

  But it was too early, too bright for any such excursion. Instead, we did as the natives did. We found a little band playing in a courtyard and went to listen. I loved the music here, it was all so fresh. We sat on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, just watching. A canopy kept most of the sun away as people rested in chairs. Flowers bloomed everywhere, filling the air with their perfume; it was still so exotic to me. The band all wore similar shirts in a light cream color, but still looked very casual— like everything else here.

  A few couples were dancing in time to the music. There were children holding hands and hopping in a circle. An older man danced with a girl who must have been his granddaughter. I could hear him quietly telling her she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. I was glad to have been close enough to hear that. There was no one here to ask me to dance, so I settled for the next best thing. I grabbed Marilyn’s hand to pull her up to dance with me. I finally tugged hard enough to get her to comply when we both heard it.