Siren Suicides (Second Edition)

Chapter 10. Wet Lab

Jimmy and Glen materialize on either side of the doorframe, their soul melodies assaulting my hearing and making me hungry. Good, maybe it'll give me some much needed strength. Repulsive, but edible. My chest agrees with a growl of famished void, ready to make me pounce. They must be afraid of me. The thought gives me pleasure and I hiss involuntarily, pumping myself up for a fight.

It's show time, Ailen. You can do it. It's what you were made for, isn't it? Admit it, you love it. Get back at them; get back at your father for all of the pain he's inflicted upon you. He doesn't deserve to live, nor do they. Suck out their lives, you can do it! Sing to make them lose their minds, bend their sorry wills with your voice, gut those babies, make their every bone pop and break.

I know, I know, I want to answer myself, but I'm terrified that I can't do it at will, that I need a powerful emotion to kick myself into gear. This drives me insane, mad at my own constant self-doubt and the fear of accepting myself as I am.

Hunter glances at me. I press a finger to my lips, telling him to be quiet. He nods his head, eyes expectant, miraculously trusting me this time.

Ailen Bright, I tell myself, you're a siren. So, act like one!

There is muttering by the door, phrases exchanged in a hushed whisper, and then Glen, the squat bearded guy, takes a few tentative steps into the corridor.

"Hey, kids, easy now. Easy..."

Emboldened by our unresponsiveness, he crosses the rest of the distance, his rubber boots squeaking on the floor. A sonic gun in one hand pointed at me, he reaches for Hunter with the other. That's my cue.

"Uncle Glen, here, to take you kids upstairs. I have me a gun, you hear? Let's not—"

I shriek, lunging forward and pushing Hunter aside. I grab Glen's orange suspenders that hug his beer belly. Surprised, he loses his footing, kneeling forward like a sack of potatoes with a dull thud. That must hurt his knees. Good. Before he gets control of his upper body, I straight-arm his chest and he folds back, falling flat onto the floor, his head smacking it with a juicy crack. He screeches. I hop on top of him, pinning his right wrist to the floor until his fingers uncurl and he loses his grip on the plastic weapon. The trawler rocks and the gun rolls away into the darkness. Hunter catches it and scoots into the shadows, out of sight.

I hug Glen with my thighs and squeeze hard, not allowing him to move. I press his other wrist to the floor and lower my face within inches of his nose.

"Hi there, fatty. Nice beer belly," I say into his face, seized by a mad desire to scare him.

He gapes at me, speechless.

Hunter shouts behind me at the tall guy, Jimmy.

"What the fuck are you looking at? Get your sorry ass out of here while you can, you stupid dickhead!" he shouts. It's his way of attacking, yelling obscenities before he gets scared or before his opponent realizes his fear. I smile. This is the Hunter I know. I also realize I love him so much it hurts.

"Hey, don't point that thing at me, son, you hear me? Put it down, put it down!" Jimmy's voice yelps back.

It feels disgusting sitting on Glen's belly, sensing his gas and intestine movements, like I'm on top of a water-filled pillow that constantly shifts and sloshes underneath me.

"Please, please," is all he manages to say, his assaulting courage gone, replaced with pathetic mumbling. His eyes droop deeply into their sockets, a thin sliver of saliva making its way down his beard.