The Siren Jewel: Spellbound Prison Saga

by Karri Roberts

  “We made it through the worst of it. Let's grab some grub.” Dad smiled as he parked. “Great job with the mantras, kiddo. It seemed it really worked for you this time.”

  I slammed the car door and smiled at Dad. Ben took my hand and pulled me toward the diner. He was so easy to forgive my outbursts, my anger. He deserved a better sister. The gravel crunched under my feet and the glorious smell of charred cheeseburgers and fried onion rings filled my nose. Nothing like greasy diner food to calm the soul.

  I stared at the ceiling of my room at the lake house, thinking about the storm, which had cleared almost as quickly as it had come. I shivered as a chill washed through my body, turning my bones to ice. I grabbed my robe, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the hot water in the shower.

  I gazed at my reflection in the mirror as the steam started clinging to it, hiding my face beneath the fog. Slipping behind the floral shower curtain, I let the scalding water pour down on me. My skin turned red and raw under the scorching downpour, so I adjusted it to a more comfortable temperature before I washed and shaved all the necessities.

  I exited the shower once the water turned cold and wrapped myself in a fluffy pink oversized towel. Something was different, off. I was different. Not that I’d really been normal to begin with, but I had gotten really good at faking it. Up until last year, I had lots of friends, got good grades, and never really got in trouble. But my whole life I never felt like I truly belonged.

  I ran my fingers through my red hair. My natural beachy waves were forming in the wet tresses down my back. I tossed my blow dryer and straightener under the sink. Might as well look different too. Let the outside reflect the inside. The chill in my bones persisted.

  The only time I ever remembered feeling anything close to this was when I was nine and went ice skating in thin leggings. I fell on the ice and soaked the thin fabric, but I refused to stop skating. I didn’t want to miss out on all the family fun. I thought about how I cuddled with Mom under the heated blanket after we got home. I felt so warm, loved, safe. The chill in my bones faded, and I was warm once again.

  I put my pajamas on along with my favorite fuzzy socks, just in case the icy chill returned, and headed downstairs. Dad was at the kitchen island washing and slicing up fruit. Mom used to do this first thing every time we arrived at the cabin. Cut up enough fruit to last for a few days so people could just open the fridge and grab a healthy snack instead of junk. Mom did it to help everyone make better choices. Dad did it in remembrance. He hated fruit. This act of love made me want to forgive him for being such a big fat liar. If only it were that simple. I snagged a piece of watermelon before I took a seat on a barstool across from him.

  I flipped through Facebook. So many smiling faces. Family vacation photos. Moms who were alive. I placed my phone facedown to avoid the temptation to continue to scroll and dive into a deep river of self-loathing. I picked it right back up and opened yet another social media app. Right there, looking up at me was Heather. The Heather I grew up with from diapers to training bras. The Heather I built a Barbie Dreamhouse for out of cardboard boxes when the real one failed to materialize one Christmas. The Heather I trusted with my deepest secrets and feelings only for her to screw me over. My ex-best friend for life. How could I have trusted such a snake? How could I have been such an idiot?

  I slammed my phone down. Dad jumped, and the knife slipped from his hand, landing on the tile floor with a clatter.

  “Shit,” Dad muttered.

  Ben came down the stairs, hair wet, eyes heavy. Shame covered his frowning face.

  “Dad, I forgot my toothbrush,” Ben whispered. Dad sighed as he scraped all the watermelon into a large plastic storage container. Guilt clenched my throat.

  “Jewels, didn’t I ask you to make sure he remembered his toothbrush?” Dad walked to the buffet table near the back door where we kept all sorts of extra things we typically needed when we came to the lake house. He didn’t wait for me to respond. We both already knew the answer. I fucked up. He dug around through a few drawers before pulling away empty-handed. “Damn it. We don’t have any extras.”

  He leaned on the kitchen table, eyes closed, head hanging low. Time passed extraordinarily slowly in that moment. Dad was contemplating. Ben and I were just awaiting the verdict. That was all we could do. Dad struggled with the hard conversations, the punishments. I now knew why mom used to take the lead with these conversations.

  “Ben, go upstairs. Use your finger as a toothbrush for the night. When I go to town in the morning to pick up the fishing bait order, I’ll grab a new one.”

  Ben ran up the stairs without a word.

  “Dad, I know. I’m sorry. I forgot to check his bag before we left,” I said.

  “It’s not just this time. It’s not just the toothbrush. This is a symptom of the problem.” Dad took the seat next to me. “I haven’t seen any of your friends since right after the funeral. You have withdrawn from the world. I know I promised you, you would only have to see Dr. Shay for one year but—”

  “Dad, no. Don’t even finish that thought.” My fists tightened into balls.

  “Your last session was a couple of weeks ago and the little progress you made while seeing her is disappearing. As if you’re backpedaling. Dr. Shay had suggested an inpatient facility with programs specifically designed for trauma.”

  I slammed my fists onto the counter.

  “I’m not going to the looney bin, Dad. I’m not doing it.” Tears burst free. The wind howled outside like an injured dog, slamming the branches of the big oak tree into the house. I jumped from the stool, sending it crashing to the ground. Dad wrapped me in his arms. I buried my head into his chest, soaking his shirt with snot and tears.

  “Shhh, Jewels, shhh. Okay, okay. No inpatient. But something has to change.” He kissed the top of my head.

  “I don’t want to go back to Dr. Shay either. I can’t. I will be better. I promise. I’ll be nicer, more responsible, not as moody.” The wind outside rattled the windows. Huge droplets of water splattered against the panes.

  “It’s more than that. You’re checked out. You don’t even try anymore. I don’t know how to fix it for you.” He took my hand in his and squeezed it. His eyes bored into me, searching for something. I turned my head, avoiding his gaze. My hand warmed like I’d held it in front of a fire. The heat quickly traveled up my arm before spreading along every vein and nerve in my body. I felt invaded. I jerked my hand from his and shook it. The flow of heat stopped immediately.

  “What was that?” I locked eyes with him. A shadow of worry crossed his face. This time he looked away.

  “What was what?” He stood and walked over to his duffle bag, still sitting on the bottom of the stairs. He pulled a black velvet box from the side pocket and held it to his heart.

  “That warm feeling when you touched my hand.” I held my hand up. “What was that, Dad?” I asked firmly. The core of my being was telling me something was happening. Something was wrong.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your hand was freezing.” Concern formed creases on his forehead. “Maybe this should wait until the morning.” His hold on the black box tightened.

  “If nothing is wrong, then why should it wait? What’s in the box?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  Dad sighed and set the box in front of me. “I think it’s time you have this. It’s been in the family for generations. It’s supposed to help the person who wears it to find their true self.”

  I slid my hand across the smooth velvet box. My fingers ached to open it. I pulled back the lid and gasped. My free hand went to my chest like some woman in a romance movie who had just been proposed to in the most cheesy, romantic way ever. A silver starfish necklace with a deep green stone lay inside the box. Dad lifted the delicate chain and brought it up around my neck. I lifted my hair and he clasped the hook. A surge of energy pumped through my system like the first time I thought it was a good idea to have a double shot of espresso imme
diately after I had two energy drinks. My senses heightened. The cool metal of the necklace tingled against my skin. The scent of Ben’s body wash floated down the stairs, so strong I felt I was in the bath and body aisle at the store. The crickets chirping outside grew to an overwhelming buzz vibrating in my ears. All the hairs on my body stood on end, swaying in sync with the flow of the air-conditioning. I felt weightless.

  Dad placed his hand on my arm. A shock of static electricity coursed along my skin, and everything stopped. The buzz of the crickets went silent. The pulse of energy that had been surging through me suddenly withdrew, leaving an icy trail in its wake. The smell of Ben’s soap disappeared. I turned to face my father. The world around me spun, then everything went black.

  The sun poured in my large bay window, stinging my eyes. I rolled over, so the windows were at my back. Relief. A faint chill set just below my skin. A reminder that things weren’t quite right. The necklace rested on my chest, far heavier than it appeared. It pressed into me, leaving its mark on my skin. A bright yellow sticky note was stuck to my bedside lamp.

  I promise to explain everything. Went to town to get a toothbrush. Be back soon.

  Love, Dad

  Nothing made sense anymore. Ever since Mom died last summer, my life had been one whirlwind of confusion followed by another. My emotions were all over the map and my mood swings had cost me everything. When that snake, Heather, told everyone I was certifiable, it was easy to believe. Bad luck seemed to follow me.

  Dad intentionally kept things from me. Things about me. Things I needed to know. First that I was adopted and now this. Whatever this was. How can he keep so much from me? Anger beat at my insides, looking for a release. I was determined to get some answers.

  I dressed before walking down the hall to the master bedroom. Cartoons blared from downstairs. Ben was up. I stood in the doorway of the room my parents once shared. Mom’s memory caused me a moment of pause. What would she think of me now? Didn’t matter. She lied too. She was just as bad as Dad. Death didn’t excuse her from this.

  Who was my birth mom? Did I get my blue eyes from her? Dad’s eyes were brown. My love of popcorn with extra salt and chocolate pieces must have come from her. Dad hated it.

  I walked to the long, wood dresser and dug through the drawers. Some clothes. Most were empty. I didn’t even bother closing them. Why should I care if he knew I was digging through his things? At least I wasn’t lying about it. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I felt I would know it when I found it. I needed to hold something in my hands that confirmed my adoption. Something more than a letter torn to illegible shreds and now only held in my memory. I needed concrete proof, undeniableness.

  Was my birth mom even alive? She probably died protecting puppies and babies. Something tragically heroic. Maybe she was some druggy the courts found not fit for being a parent, so she lost her rights. That was worse than her being dead, but more probable.

  Tall dresser in the corner held random items of extra bedding and throw pillows. I moved on. Pressing forward with the same relentless force, the anger within me hung onto my soul. I sat on the edge of the bed. The same side Mom used to sleep in. I opened the top drawer of her nightstand, expecting it to have been cleared out. To my surprise, it was a mini time capsule full of moments from Mom’s last day alive.

  The book she had been reading on our girls’ weekend last summer, the frayed bookmark still in place. Her reading glasses on top of the worn cover. Beautiful postcards covered in local flowers. We had picked them up in town the day she died. She was going to send them to all of her friends. A half-empty box of motion sickness medication. She always got seasick when we went on the boat and we had a full day on the water planned. She did it for me. I loved the water.

  A few other odds and ends were scattered throughout the drawer. I eased it closed so I wouldn’t disturb anything. I wanted to leave it as it was, as she had left it. I rolled across the bed, tossing throw pillows as I went. Dad’s nightstand was full of a whole lotta nothing unless you counted his anti-snoring nose strips and a random screwdriver as things of interest. I did not. I sat on the edge of the bed, scouring the room for anything I missed. The closet.

  I opened the rickety doors across from the bed. To my left was Dad’s old jacket and a few flannel shirts. To my right were empty hangers. I ran my hands across them, remembering Mom’s favorite pair of jean capris, stained with cream paint from painting the shed back home. The floor of the closet was dusty and bare. This must have been the first time I had ever seen the floor in that closet.

  Mom’s extensive sandal collection covered the floor every summer as far back as I could remember. But now just one pair of men’s water shoes remained. I leaned back against the doorframe and slid down to the floor. That’s when I saw it. Near the back corner, the wood was marred with tool marks. On my hands and knees, I traced my fingers across the marks and felt the board give a little beneath my hand. I clawed at the wood with my fingers but couldn’t pry it from its spot. The screwdriver. I ran to Dad’s nightstand, jerking the drawer open so hard I pulled it completely out of its spot. The nose strips and screwdriver went tumbling across the floor. I snatched up the screwdriver and scrambled back over to the closet. I wedged it in between the baseboard and the wood plank, applied a little pressure, and pop. The floorboard snapped up, almost smacking me in the chin.

  In the subfloor between two rafters was a book. The leather was old, worn on the edges, and such a deep brown it was almost black. A pentagram was stitched on the cover with my last name beneath it, Farrington in the same silver thread. I flipped through the yellowed pages full of strange images and text in multiple languages. A spell book. That was the only thing it could be. A picture fluttered from between the pages and landed on the floor. A woman with long brown hair and blue eyes smiled up at the camera from the water she was floating in. Next to her was my dad. Younger, much younger, but still my dad. He wasn’t looking at the camera. His sight was on the girl. I flipped the picture over, searching for her name. Hiddencrest-Junior Year, Joseph and Alure.

  “Jewels, are you awake?” Ben’s voice filled the hall.

  “I’ll be there in one second.” I shoved the picture into my pocket and dropped the book back into its place beneath the plank of wood before pounding the floorboard back into place. I kicked the screwdriver, and it rolled across the floor until it hit the corner of the bed. I stepped out into the hall, almost colliding with Ben.

  “Whoa, Jewels. What were you doing in Dad’s room?” Ben’s lips were stained red and all of his hair stood on end.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I smoothed the hair on his head. “Do you want to go down to the lake?” I asked.

  “Before Dad left, he told me I wasn’t allowed to go near the water without him.” Ben sighed.

  “Well, I’m sure he didn’t say you could have a cherry popsicle for breakfast either, but you obviously did.” I grinned. “Rules are made to be broken. Let’s be rebels together. We can practice skipping rocks across the water.”

  Ben smiled before he turned to run down the hall. “I’m going to put my swim trunks on!”

  I went to my room and stashed the picture of young Dad and the mystery girl in my backpack. I eyed my swimsuit before stuffing it down further into the bag. I wasn’t ready to swim. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready. I put my flip-flops on and headed downstairs to be a rebel.

  Ben raced ahead down the dock. His pounding feet added a steady beat to the birds’ song. The board creaked under my feet as I followed. The water lapped against the sides of the dock, seeping between the cracks wetting the wood beneath my feet.

  A warm tingle tickled my chest where the starfish pendant of my necklace rested. I clasped it in my hand, letting the sensation spread to my fingertips. A rush of strength filled me, following the path of heat. I smiled as joy and excitement grew in me, overpowering the sense of panic I was feeling. I held tight, hoping the feeling would grow; I concentrated on it. If my famil
y had a spell book, could that mean I was a witch? Worry fueled by my growing anxiety clawed its way to the forefront of my mind. I squashed it like a bug and buried it under my wild curiosity.

  Witches could do all sorts of things. Like cast spells on those who wronged them. Fly on brooms. Or better yet, find out information others hid from them. But witches also grew warts and wore pointy hats, which if I was honest didn’t seem that appealing. I pushed all thoughts to the side and focused on the power coursing through my body. I wanted more.

  A splash of water broke my concentration. My hand dropped the pendant and the flow of power stopped. I stomped over to the edge of the dock, fully prepared to yell as soon as Ben surfaced. When his head popped out of the water, he smiled up at me. That innocent, popsicle stained grin was impossible to be mad at. My anger melted away.

  Water spattered across my front as Ben splashed me. I laughed. I sat on the edge of the dock, sticking my legs in the water. I kicked fiercely, returning Ben’s water attack. He dived under and swam out of range of my fire.

  He bobbed up and down in the cool, clear water. He would dive to the bottom of the lake and then come back up again. Some stone or stick in his hand, he would then throw farther out into the deeper parts of the lake.

  “Don’t go out too far. Stay near the shore, okay?” I said.

  “I will.” He waved before he disappeared under the water once again.

  A tiny tickle on my feet sent shivers down my spine. I peered down to see hundreds of teensy fish nibbling on my toes and swimming around my feet. They pressed their little bodies against my skin, the same way a cat rubs against your leg when it’s happy to see you. I had never seen so many fish in one spot before. Their behavior was so odd, almost friendly. Friendly fish aren’t a thing. Are they? I twirled my feet around. The fish followed, staying close. I pulled my knees to my chest. Water dripped from my toes, each little drop distorting the surface. Through the ripples, the fish looked up at me. Slowly they dispersed until only a few remained, swimming in circles beneath me. A steady splashing drew my attention away from the odd fish.