Siren

by Tricia Rayburn

  I held my breath and waited for one of the other two guys to disagree. She didn’t jump, I silently begged them to argue. She fell, or she was pushed. Girls like that don’t just jump for no reason.

  “And?” prompted the third guy.

  “And, dude, you clearly need more coffee. He was an accident. She was a suicide.”

  I dropped the fork I didn’t realize I was still holding. It clattered against the porcelain. “Sorry,” I said, when they all looked at me curiously.

  “Anyway,” continued the guy in the middle as they turned back toward the water, “like I said—totally different.”

  “I don’t buy it,” said the blond. “They both die in the water, wash up within half a mile of each other, and are found only eight days apart? It’s too coincidental.”

  “So what? Some psycho fisherman is using people for bait? Trying something new in preparation for the annual Winter Harbor Shark Tournament?”

  The blond shook his head and looked out at the harbor. “I don’t know. But it’s messed up—and getting in the way of my surfing, which is really unfortunate.”

  “Kind of hard to stand up when you’re as stiff as the board you’re riding,” agreed the guy in the middle.

  It was good that they ended their break then and headed back down the stairs. I didn’t know what would’ve come flying out of my mouth if they hadn’t, but I could tell from the burning in the bottom of my stomach that it wouldn’t have been pleasant.

  After their voices faded completely, I got up and crossed the balcony. I picked up the Winter Harbor Herald they’d left on the floor and sank into one of the chairs.

  Paul Carsons, 45, Found Dead on Mercury Isle: #23 on Forbes 500 Leaves Behind Wife, Three Daughters.

  I scanned the article. Thanks to his invention of an all-natural caffeine alternative popular in energy drinks, Paul Carsons was very rich. His boat, Perseverance—which, judging by the photo of the wreckage, once looked a lot like the yachts at the far end of the harbor—had capsized. Most interesting, at least to me, was that his body had been found very close to where Justine’s had been. And in the article Chief Green called the weather and water conditions so extreme, “even Triton himself couldn’t have held his own.”

  I turned the page, and my eyes fell on a picture of Paul Carsons, his wife, and their three daughters sitting on a blanket at the beach, and then to the caption underneath: “Carsons and his family bought a vacation home in Winter Harbor last year. This was to have been their first full summer in town.”

  My eyes lingered on “was to have been” until a drop of water landed on the words, causing the black print to blur. I thought I might actually be crying—finally pushed over the edge by this new tragedy and physically grieving the way I should have started to days ago—but then the wind shifted. A soft spray blew through the window screens, sending more droplets onto the paper and across my bare arms and legs.

  Outside, the sky had grown darker. The harbor, which had been as smooth and still as ice, was choppy. Sails were already being lowered and fishing boats brought in.

  “Vanessa!”

  “Hi,” I said, folding the paper just as Paige reached the landing. “How’d it go?”

  “You don’t want to know,” she said, rolling her silver-blue eyes. “Like it’s my fault Charlie plowed into me like a bulldozer and made me drop the entire bin of plates?”

  “No?” I guessed.

  “He might’ve been there first. But, whatever—I’m half his size!” She grinned and plopped into the chair next to mine. “So how was your first Betty’s breakfast?”

  “Amazing,” I said. “Kudos to the chef and his supportive staff.”

  “Glad to hear it. Anyway, I can’t really chat—I think Z wiretapped me—but I just wanted to say hi and bye.”

  “Thanks. It was nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” She hopped back up.

  We both jumped as a clap of thunder sounded, making the floor vibrate underneath our feet.

  “This weather is so not good,” she groaned, looking toward the harbor. “Everyone’s coming off the water now and will be lining up outside, begging to wait it out inside. Countdown to crazy: T minus three minutes.”

  “Do you need any help?” I asked, standing quickly.

  She looked at me, her eyes flashing against the darkening sky. “Like, keeping the masses from breaking windows and looting?”

  I smiled, hoping she couldn’t tell how silly I felt asking what was probably a very ridiculous question. “Like busing tables. Or washing dishes. Or whatever you need.”

  She seemed to consider the proposition. “Have you ever bused before?”

  “No … but I did make it through my first Betty’s meal without breaking a single plate.”

  She beamed. “At least one of us is qualified.”

  Later, when the storm had passed and the sun had set, when I was by myself and too scared to close my eyes, there would be plenty of time—there would be nothing but time—to think about Justine and Paul Carsons, and whether one had anything to do with the other. And since a few hours of calming distraction were probably about the closest I was going to get to sleep, I would take them when they came.

  CHAPTER 5

  VANESSA… my Nessa … come out, come out, wherever you are….

  I shot up on the couch. My heart beat so fast and so loud, it took a second to hear the cartoons on TV and the DJ chatting in the kitchen. My eyes darted around the room, taking in the thin line of light shining between the drawn shades and the window ledges, the plastic container of wilted salad on the coffee table, and the duck-shaped clock on the shelf above the fireplace: 7:20.

  Big Poppa had been right. After receiving the green light from Louis and hauling bins of dishes for ten hours, I’d been so exhausted by the time I got home, my body had finally relented.

  I grabbed the remote from the floor, turned off the cartoon, and flopped back down. I now saw Justine every time I closed my eyes. And unlike when I was awake, when her smile and blue eyes flashed before me every time I blinked, in the dream she didn’t look like the Justine I wanted to remember. She was too thin, too frail. Her skin was gray, not ivory, and mottled with yellow and purple patches. Her dark hair hung in thick tangled ropes down her back, and her blue eyes glowed white. And when she called out for me, a searing pain sliced through my skull.

  I reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table, eager to replace Justine’s voice with someone else’s. I’d just pressed the Boston area code when a loud tapping sounded in the kitchen.

  It’s just a bad muffler on a passing car … or a boat with motor trouble on the lake … or Mr. Carmichael, back from Vermont and doing yard work …

  “No more sleep for you,” I said when the tapping sounded again and I realized someone was knocking on the kitchen door. Not sure who’d be visiting so early in the morning, I finished dialing home before answering. “Hi, Dad,” I said loudly when he picked up.

  “Vanessa?”

  “Yup, it’s me.” I walked through the kitchen, noting the scissors in the ceramic jug by the refrigerator, the fire extinguisher by the stove, the wooden block of knives on the counter. “Having a great morning. I’m using your extra-sharp Ginsu knives to slice cheese for the omelet I’m making.”

  “What Ginsu knives? And why are you yelling? Is everything okay?”

  “You’re almost here? Turning onto Burton Drive now?” I stopped a foot from the door. Judging by the profile visible through the thin curtain covering the window in the kitchen door, whoever had knocked was definitely male.

  “Vanessa, if you’re trying to tell me something—”

  “Hang on, Big Poppa,” I whispered, grabbing the doorknob. “Simon?” My potential burglar stood on the stoop in jeans and his maroon Bates fleece.

  “Hey. Sorry, I know it’s early—”

  “You and Caleb always use the back door.”

  “I tried the back door,” he said. “And the front door. And the
side door. You didn’t answer.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I was just about to force this door open, because you weren’t answering. And because the lights have been on all night, and because I couldn’t hear anything out here over all the noise in there. I thought something happened.”

  “Oh,” I said again, feeling ridiculous. “Sorry … I fell asleep.”

  “You fell asleep? I’m so glad to hear it!”

  Big Poppa. I’d forgotten I was holding the phone. “Dad, sorry—yes, I finally fell asleep.” I turned, hoping Simon wouldn’t notice the light pink traveling from my forehead to the base of my neck. “But Simon just stopped by. We’re going to get something to eat. Call you later?”

  “You’re okay?” Simon asked as I hung up and turned back.

  “Yes. Thank you.” I opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Want to come in?”

  “Actually …” He glanced behind him, toward his house. “I came over to see if you wanted to come out.”

  “Out where?”

  His jaw clenched. “To find Caleb.”

  My heart thrust against my chest. I’d planned to head back to Betty’s, since Louis had said he could use the extra help whenever I wanted to offer it, but finding Caleb came first. “Give me a few minutes.”

  He stepped inside as I ran to the bathroom to speed-shower. I didn’t know what had made him decide that today was the day to try to find Caleb, but whatever the reason, I was happy he wanted to include me. Not only would it be nice to have company, but a search led by him was guaranteed to take much less time than one conducted only by me; as Caleb’s brother, he had to know where to look better than I did.

  Pretty Vanessa …

  I’d finished getting dressed and was drying my hair when I heard Justine’s voice. The mirror above the sink was cloudy from the shower, but something behind me had flashed brightly in its reflection—like a lit match, sparking silver instead of gold.

  The lake house was seventy-five years old. There was nothing shiny about it, especially not in the bathroom, which hadn’t been remodeled since Dad bought the house in the late eighties. The tiles on the walls and floor were moss green, and the cabinets were dark wood with black handles. Anything that was usually shiny in normal, modern bathrooms, like the faucets and light fixtures, was dulled bronze.

  I wiped the steam away with one hand. “You’re losing it,” I told my reflection. “About one hallucination shy of certifiable.”

  One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand …

  I froze. There was another flash above my right shoulder. Another between my left elbow and torso.

  You can look … but he has to want to be found….

  Her voice surrounded me like the cool early-morning mist rising from the lake, covering my arms and legs in the thin, gray film I could never wait to rinse off. I closed my eyes against it, against her voice and the image of her from the dream that still lingered, her skin purple and yellow, her hair falling like clumps of dark seaweed down her back.

  “Be right there, Simon!” I yelled in a pathetic attempt to warn away whatever was making me see and hear things.

  I knocked hard against the towel rack as I darted toward the door. The impact made me drop the brush I still carried, but I didn’t bother opening my eyes to see where it landed. I left it where it was and groped ahead of me until one hand landed on the doorknob.

  My eyes snapped open as soon as my feet hit the hallway area rug. Running toward the kitchen, I felt the way I always did whenever I accidentally ended up the last in line while hiking with other people in the woods: like I wasn’t really the last one in line.

  “You okay?” Simon asked when I skidded to a stop in the kitchen.

  “Fine,” I said, trying to smile. “Just excited to get started.” I grabbed my purse from the kitchen counter and headed outside before he could say anything else. When he didn’t follow me right away, I peered through the doorway.

  “I’m not sure when we’ll be back, so I put the TV on,” he said, entering the kitchen from the living room.

  I watched him jog down the steps. It hadn’t even occurred to me to turn off the radio and lights before walking out the door. And instead of turning them off for me, the way other people might’ve for someone whose head was clearly somewhere else, he’d turned the TV back on.

  “So where are we going?” I asked after locking the door and hurrying after him. “Where do we start?”

  He quickened his step as we approached the Subaru, then pulled ahead of me to open the passenger’s-side door. “The marina.”

  As he closed the door and rounded the back of the car, I glanced around as if sitting there for the first time. Simon had bought the Subaru when he got his license, and for two summers he’d played chauffeur to our little group, driving us to the movies, Eddie’s Ice Cream, the miniature golf course. But this was the first time it’d ever been just the two of us. It felt strange to sit in the front without the car bouncing up and down as Justine and Caleb climbed in the back. And, of course, it felt strange to think that this was the first time I’d been in the Subaru since the last time, when the four of us were still together.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, dropping in the driver’s seat and starting the car. “I picked up snacks.”

  I was about to say I was fine when I noticed two plastic cups in the holders between us.

  “Watermelon guava,” he said, then nodded to the Harbor Homefries bag by my feet. “And scrambled eggs, sausage, and cheese on a kaiser roll.”

  I grabbed the bag, surprised that he knew my breakfast of choice. Our foursome never ate the first meal of the day together, which meant I must’ve mentioned it at some point … and he’d remembered. I was so touched by his thoughtfulness and moved by the gesture, I couldn’t look at him as I unwrapped the sandwich. “Thank you.”

  In addition to satisfying our hunger, eating gave us something to do instead of talking during our drive into town. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Simon; I just didn’t know what to say. It felt like we’d fast-forwarded a few decades and suffered from empty-nest syndrome. After all that time, what did parents talk about besides the children who were no longer there?

  “So,” Simon finally said as we pulled into the Winter Harbor Marina twenty minutes later. “I have to ask a huge favor.”

  I’d been staring out the passenger’s-side window but turned to him when he spoke.

  “I don’t know where Caleb’s been, or what he’s been doing. Our parents and I wanted to give him some time and space to deal with things in his own way, but we thought he’d be back by now. Depending on where he’s been, if we find him—”

  “When we find him.”

  He let out a small breath. “When we find him, I don’t know what kind of state he’ll be in. Trauma affects people differently, and for Caleb to leave the way he did … I just don’t know how he’ll act after being on his own for so long.”

  “Okay …”

  He glanced through the windshield as two fishermen passed by, toting rods and reels. “Would you mind not saying anything?” He turned back to me, and his eyes were sorry. “At least not right away? I know that he was the last one with Justine, and that you have questions about that night.”

  I looked down and fiddled with the straw in my empty smoothie cup. Simon had no idea that what I wanted to ask Caleb went far beyond that night, into the weeks and months leading up to it. He had no idea that I was banking on Caleb having the answers to everything I thought I’d known about Justine in the past two years—and perhaps before that—but hadn’t.

  “I know he’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Simon continued, “but it would help if we let him go at his own pace. Seeing you will remind him of her … and I don’t want him to keep running.”

  I nodded. “Of course. I won’t say anything until you say it’s okay.”

  He exhaled. “Thanks.”

  We climbed out of the car, and I was happy to l
et him take the lead. Going to the marina was a good idea; I didn’t think either of us expected to find Caleb there now, but he’d worked there as a dock attendant since he was thirteen, when he’d finally been strong enough to lift the gas nozzle and help pull boats in. We’d heard stories about the marina nearly every day in the summers since then, and we knew some of Caleb’s coworkers were also his best friends. Someone there had to know something about where he went.

  I followed Simon into the office, which was a one-room shack covered in colorful buoys, like a Christmas tree festooned in ornaments.

  “Well, look what the hook dragged in! Wait … it is you, isn’t it?” Captain Monty took off his glasses, wiped them with one corner of his cargo vest, and put them back on. “You look a little big for the older Carmichael boy, but I wouldn’t forget that grin.”

  “You’re not seeing things,” Simon said, shaking Captain Monty’s hand. “I joined crew at school this year. Turns out rowing for three hours every day is good for more than a suntan.”

  That explained it.

  “The color’s not half bad either, now that you mention it.” Captain Monty folded his arms on the counter and leaned forward. “And who do we have here? She’s a pretty one.”

  I shook my head slightly when Simon glanced at me. I’d met Captain Monty a few times over the years but clearly hadn’t left much of an impression. Now wasn’t the time to be remembered since I didn’t want to answer questions about Justine.

  “This is Vanessa. She’s a friend from school.”

  “Brains and beauty, eh? You always were a smart one, my boy.” Captain Monty wiggled his eyebrows in a way that should’ve annoyed me but didn’t, because he was Captain Monty.

  “Anyway,” Simon said, “I was actually hoping you might be able to help us out with something.”

  “You name it, it’s yours. Except for the mighty Barbara Ann out there. She’s mine.”

  I peered around Captain Monty through the window behind him. Barbara Ann, the ancient fishing boat that had been docked in the same spot for thirty years, still bobbed in the water not far from the office.