The Afterlife (Siren Suicides, Book 3)

Chapter 19. Cascade Range

This is my nightmare.

"You never cease to surprise me with your...methods, Ailen. Nonetheless, excellent job. Two sirens gone, and Canosa damaged. I'm pleased with you, very pleased, indeed."

I feel numb all over. More than numb, I feel like I'm chiseled from a mountain rock that miraculously doesn't sink. Somehow, I'm still floating, taking in every detail of our encounter in a series of snapshots. My father's open forehead, his gray hair carefully combed back. His stern eyes peeling me apart. His ever-present classy boating outfit, complete with a fancy maroon waterproof jacket and brand-new khaki pants. I sense a whiff of his signature cologne and want to gag.

"Out of all boats, I had to pick the one with you in it," I whisper, every word slow to emerge.

"Kids," he actually addresses both of us, "sorry to have left you hanging. I certainly didn't think it would take you this far from the Aurora Bridge to do the job. But a job is a job is a job, right? No matter where you do it or how, the fact remains. You did it. I will hold to my word. You both will live. Ain't that good news, Ailen? Where is that smile, show your Papa, please?" He looks at me with a new expression in his face, one I don't recognize. Half awe, half fascination, and perhaps a hint of jealousy mixed with fear. All hiding under his mask of fake parental love. Forget gagging, I want to outright vomit.

He leans out of the boat and I have the sudden urge to pull him underwater and keep him there until he is no more. I'm pissed, because I know that a siren hunter can't die from a siren's hands.

"Will you accept my apology for abandoning you two?" my father says. My jaw drops open once more. He has never apologized to me in my entire life. Never. Not once.

He stretches out his right hand, his gray hair moving in the evening breeze and his lips forming a perfect smile.

When I fail to give him my hand in return, he pats me on the head lightly with a contained grimace of disgust. My father always hated wet things, especially wet, dirty things. Promptly, he unzips both of his jacket pockets and takes out two resin gloves, the thick orange kind that fishermen use for fetching their catch out of the water. They squeak as he pulls them on.

"Looks like your boyfriend is injured?" he says to me.

"Hey, son, you all right?" This is directed at Hunter.

Hunter merely nods.

"If you don't want to talk, that's fine with me. We'll have all the time in the world to talk later." My father is obviously in a very good mood and I exhale in relief. I don't know what he'll do to Hunter if he learns of his impairment, especially here, in the middle of nowhere, with who knows what he has hidden in his pockets or under the bench.

Hunter seems indifferent, staring blankly.

"Well?" My father raises his eyebrows.

I hesitate, not knowing what to do next. He apologized to me. He praised me for a job well done. He heard me and spoke to me like to a normal human being. So what that it took for me to die to get this? It's what I wanted my entire life. Perhaps he loves me, really loves me, after all?

Thoughts are reeling around my head like an angry cloud of buzzing bees. Automatically, I follow the boat and help my father prop Hunter up and over the side of it.

"Did you forget how to talk? Or did she stun you with her theatrics?" my father asks Hunter.

"Hello," Hunter mutters and falls silent, slumping into a wet, shivering pile on the front bench, giving me a look full of accusation.

"I don't blame you. I'd be speechless, too. Look at this. She flooded an entire valley! My God." My father's cheery mood fueled by the aftermath of the destruction makes him blind to what's going on, and I'm eternally grateful.