I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 17. Aurora Avenue

My defiance is making the air taste like thick cotton wrapped around a probing stick and stuck in between my father and me. Which one of us will push it to cross these last ten feet? Whose face will be slapped this time? Without a moment's hesitation, my father aims and fires at me. An earsplitting bang blasts the air and hits me in the gut. As I fall, I watch two women descend the stairs, give me a quick glance, and saunter off. The sonic gun must hardly make any noise at all, not to their human ears, at least...I can't finish my thought. Ablaze with pain, I bend and fall, vibrating like a piece of glass about to shatter, seeing everything through a film of fog. My jeans catch on the sharp end of a chain link. I try to yank my leg free without breaking eye contact with my father, crossing that terrible bridge into the mind of the one who spawned me. A siren hunter without a soul. I fight the oncoming nausea.

"I said, I hate your guts. Did you hear me?"

"Good. I'm glad to hear it, sweetie. Now, would you please get in the car?" He motions with his gun. I detect nervous notes in his voice. I'm not, not running away, and that must puzzle him. It puzzles me too, but some mad stubbornness is making me stay, to test my theory. Plus, I can barely move.

"You're not going to kill me, are you? You can't. This is all for show," I say, slowly moving my stiff tongue, verbalizing something that's been bugging me since he first fired at me on Seward Park beach. If he wanted to dispose of me, surely he would've done it already.

Behind me, the passenger door remains closed and Hunter sits there quietly, his soul's Vivaldi now barely discernible. He's not getting out to help me. The air thickens with my resentment, I can almost touch it. Shaking, I get up until I'm kneeling, and I edge toward my father on all fours, dragging my limbs like an injured crab. I continue staring at him in the face, and I can see a trace of doubt. He frowns. Then my sleeve catches on another broken chain link and I fold down, digging into asphalt with my elbows and face.

Sprawled on the ground, I raise my head so I can see Papa.

"Go on, shoot me. I'm helpless. See, I can barely move."

And I flash him a grin. The terror that passes through his eyes is so genuine, that I burst out laughing. It shakes me to the core, sounding wrong and gleeful at the same time, releasing my fear into the open. I hear him curse.

Bam!

Another shot. It hits me square in the face, slapping me on my right cheek just as Papa always does. He'd then hit my left one, for symmetry, he'd say. To make me think about standing up to him, about growing out of my female weakness. I blink tears out of my eyes. The right side of my head is on fire; my right eye is close to popping and the right side of my jaw feels ready to part with my face. I grit my teeth and remain quiet, expecting the blast to my left. Nothing happens.

My father's silhouette swims against the staircase underbelly with pulsing regularity. I close my eyes and open them again, shedding more tears. Still no good. Everything around me looks as if it's covered with a layer of water. A gigantic, bronze bell tolls in my ears, ringing on repeat, echoing the shot. I suspect there must be some sort of intensity setting on that thing, some sort of a dial that regulates the wavelength or the focus of the sound beam, aimed at either torturing the siren or blowing her up for good. Because how else did he blow up Raidne with one blast from a distance of about fifty feet, yet he can't blow me up from only ten feet away? My mind clears up. Facts. Facts are my crutch and my sanity, they always pull me out. And water.

I try to turn my head toward the Puget Sound, to glimpse its blue expanse. No luck. My head drops on the pavement, my neck muscles twitching, exhausted. My nerves, assaulted by the sonic boom, feel detached. The last of my strength evaporates into a groan. I'm an escapee caught red-handed and awaiting corporal punishment. On sheer will, too stubborn to give up, I manage to roll onto my back and face the sky. But I don't see it. I don't see the street, I don't see the buildings. There is no highway exit above me, no clouds, no trees. Nothing. All is gone, replaced by Papa's eyes. Large, round, dark. They burrow a hole through me, and I flatten.