I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 9. North Shore

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.