Siren

by Tricia Rayburn

“I got away. Don’t you want to know how?”

  I started to shake my head, but stopped when he touched my chin.

  “You.”

  I lifted my eyes to his.

  “I snapped out of the initial hold long enough to tell you to go after Caleb and to run at her because I heard you. You spoke, and I was pulled right back. And then when it was just the two of us, and she was doing everything she could to get me to come to her, to go with her, I heard you again.”

  “But I wasn’t there. I was nowhere near you.”

  “I know.” He brought his face closer to mine. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Vanessa, what happened last night … wasn’t just about last night.”

  I searched his face, torn between begging him to stop and wanting him to continue.

  “For as long as your family’s been coming to Winter Harbor, I couldn’t wait to see you every summer. We could always talk for hours about books, movies, Justine and Caleb … or we could talk about nothing. It was always easy, always comfortable, you know?”

  I nodded. I’d often thought the same thing.

  “But a few years ago, something changed.” He looked at me. “Do you remember what we were supposed to do the night of your accident?”

  “Of course. It was Thursday. Drive-in movie and ice-cream night.”

  “Right,” he said. “Only you couldn’t make it … because you were in the hospital.”

  “Where you and Caleb came with your laptop and a pile of DVDs.”

  He lowered his eyes. “Do you remember what movie you watched that night?”

  “Sleepless in Seattle. Caleb allowed a romantic comedy due to my fragile condition.”

  “And I don’t remember … because I never knew. I didn’t look at the laptop once because I couldn’t look away from you. You and Justine were on the bed, with the computer on her lap, Caleb sat in a chair next to Justine, and—”

  “You were on the window seat,” I said. “On the other side of the room. You said you were hot and wanted to be near the AC vent.”

  “I wasn’t hot. I was scared. I’d never been so scared in my life.”

  I tried to picture him, watching me for two hours from across the room. I’d welcomed the distraction from my thoughts about what had just happened and had been too engrossed in the movie to notice. “But I was fine … they only kept me a few days for observation.”

  “Vanessa … you were in the water for thirty-four minutes. You shouldn’t have made it. And that night, I realized how lost I’d be if you hadn’t.”

  I reached up to brush away the tear that fell to his cheek. He took my hand and leaned closer. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to believe what he said now and that what had happened between us wasn’t a mistake. For a second, I thought he would, and that I could … but then he pressed his lips to my forehead instead.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry Zara got to me. But that’s what I knew that you didn’t know. That’s why I believe Oliver.” He pulled back to look at me. “I’m not saying that’s all there is to it. It doesn’t explain the weather, or why they’re doing what they’re doing. And I’ll do everything I can to find out more, until we know enough to stop them.”

  The back door flung open before I could respond, letting in a gust of wind and rain.

  “What is it?” Simon’s expression hardened. “What did Jonathan say?”

  Caleb sat in the backseat, chest heaving. His hair was plastered to his head, his clothes clung to his skin, and water dripped down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Jonathan didn’t say anything. No one’s seen or heard from him in three days.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “DO YOU LIKE blueberries?”

  I stood in the kitchen doorway and scanned the room. The table was covered with opened packages of bread, bacon, and pancake batter, their contents spilling onto the newspapers underneath. A thin layer of flour coated the entire counter, which was cluttered with mixing bowls and utensils. Eggshells littered the floor, leaking clear liquid remains onto the linoleum.

  “I can’t remember,” Mom said when I didn’t answer. “I can’t remember if you like blueberries and hate strawberries, or like strawberries and hate blueberries. Or if you like them both, or hate them both.” She looked around her, as if the answer lay hidden in a pile of flour. “Why can’t I remember?”

  Probably because she hadn’t made anything but coffee for breakfast in ten years. “I like all berries,” I said, keeping my theory to myself.

  She sighed. “Thank goodness. I was starting to worry that you might have an allergy, and I couldn’t forgive myself if I’d forgotten that.”

  “Mom … what is all this?”

  “What’s all what?” She turned back to a mixing bowl. “You didn’t eat much last night. I thought you might be hungry.”

  This wasn’t normal Mom behavior. Even if it had been ten years since she’d cracked an egg, the time off wouldn’t have made her so tense, so frantic now. Plus, she was the neatest neat freak I’d ever known. If she’d really wanted to make breakfast just because she thought I might be hungry, she’d be cleaning up as she went.

  Already guessing what was wrong and knowing I wouldn’t get a straight answer if I asked, I went to the kitchen table and slid the Winter Harbor Herald out from under a loaf of bread.

  I coughed to cover my gasp. I’d expected the news, but not the headline.

  Four More Bodies Wash Up in Winter Harbor, Town Declares State of Emergency.

  I scanned the article, finding some small relief in that none of the most recent male victims was Jonathan.

  “Mom … what do you say we go out for breakfast instead?”

  She turned to me. “Out?”

  “You’ve been cooped up here for days. A change of scenery would do you good.”

  She beamed like I suggested we hightail it back to Boston, and I ignored the slight guilt I felt for deceiving her. For two days I’d been trying to figure out how to learn more about her connection to Raina without simply asking if and how they knew each other. I didn’t want to risk upsetting Mom any more than she already was, or give her reason to toss me in the back of the BMW and whisk me away. Short of just throwing out Raina’s name and seeing how Mom reacted, I’d had no idea how to find out what I needed to naturally … until now.

  “We could go to Betty’s,” I said, watching her expression. “The chowder house on the pier?”

  “What a lovely idea. We haven’t been there in ages.” She kissed my cheek as she passed through the kitchen doorway. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

  During the drive to town, I thought about how I never would’ve done this even a few days ago. Because Mom and I didn’t do things like this. We barely even talked. She and Justine could always discuss clothes or makeup, and even took monthly mall and spa trips together. Not sharing the interest, I always opted out of those excursions, choosing to read or watch movies with Dad instead. Breakfast at Betty’s would be the first time we’d been anywhere, just the two of us.

  Normally, I would’ve been afraid of long silences and awkward conversations. But I wasn’t afraid now. I’d felt stronger, more confident, since the night Simon and I spent together, and the feeling had only grown after he confessed his feelings in the car outside the Lighthouse. I’d even slept without the TV on the night before. It was as if Simon had become my night-light; even when he wasn’t with me, he was illuminating the world so that I no longer feared it.

  And when he and Caleb returned from Bates, where they were researching sirens and ways to stop them, I would make sure he knew how grateful I was.

  “Not very busy, are they?” Mom commented as we pulled into the quarter-filled parking lot ten minutes later.

  I swiveled in my seat and scanned the property. Garrett wasn’t asking for reservations at his usual post. The latest deaths had either run more people out of town or kept them locked in their summer homes and away from danger.

  I snuck
glances at Mom as we crossed the parking lot and entered Betty’s. I’d hoped going to Raina’s family’s restaurant would automatically trigger some kind of reaction, but if it did, Mom hid it.

  “You’re quite popular,” she said after we were seated—and the hostess, busboy, and a waiter had said hello.

  “I’ve become friendly with Paige Marchand,” I said, lifting my eyes from the menu to watch her face. “Her family owns Betty’s, and I’ve been helping them out, so I’ve gotten to know a bunch of the staff.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She tilted her head and smiled. “I’m so glad you made some friends.”

  I nodded and looked back down at the menu, thinking I might have to throw Raina’s name out there after all.

  “You know, that’s how your sister always coped with everything.”

  I looked up again.

  “She absolutely adored you but didn’t always have an easy time of it. That’s why she was so outgoing and had so many friends and boyfriends. She desperately needed people to like her—the more who did, the better she felt.”

  I shook my head, temporarily forgetting our reason for being there. “What do you mean, she desperately needed people to like her? What wasn’t easy?”

  “What can I get you today?”

  I dropped the menu to the table and clutched my head. I’d hoped Zara would be working—if she was at Betty’s, that meant she wasn’t doing things she shouldn’t be elsewhere—but had been too distracted to look out for her. Now she stood right by our table, holding an order pad and smiling like we were ordinary customers and she was an ordinary waitress.

  “Hi, Zara.” I forced my hands from my head to avoid alarming Mom.

  “Vanessa,” she said evenly.

  “Mom,” I managed, trying not to wince at the searing pain coursing between my ears, “this is Zara Marchand, Paige’s sister.”

  “Oh!” Mom held out one hand for Zara to shake. “It’s so nice to meet you. I was just telling Vanessa how happy I was that she’d made some new friends. It’s been a very difficult summer for our family, as you can imagine, and—”

  “We’ll have scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee,” I said.

  Mom looked at me, surprised.

  “Coming right up.” Zara’s silver eyes gleamed as she took our menus.

  “Sorry,” I said once she was gone. “I’m pretty hungry.”

  Mom frowned but didn’t press.

  “Anyway, what were you saying? About Justine not having an easy time?” This, too, was something I wouldn’t have done a few days ago. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything Mom knew about Justine that I didn’t, and would’ve immediately dismissed the conversation. Plus, if she talked long enough, maybe she’d relax and let something slip about Raina.

  She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Sweetie … you are an exceptionally beautiful girl.”

  I started to shake my head.

  “Yes, you are.” She put one hand on mine. “I know you don’t realize it. You never have. That probably drove Justine crazier than the fact that everyone always noticed you before they noticed her.”

  “Mom, no offense … but this is silly. Justine was gorgeous. Everyone loved her. She had more friends and boyfriends than most girls have in a lifetime.”

  “And she worked really hard at that.”

  I slid my hand out from under hers and sat back.

  “When you girls were very little, every day I would put you in the double stroller and take you for a walk through the Common. And every day, I would get stopped by at least a dozen people who told me what beautiful daughters I had.”

  “Daughters,” I repeated.

  “Yes. Justine was beautiful, too.” She paused. “But, Vanessa … they were always looking at you.”

  “So I was a cute baby,” I said, trying to be patient. “Justine was too young then to notice or care about the attention, and by the time she was old enough, it had turned to her.”

  She seemed to choose her next words carefully. “Do you remember when you were in sixth grade and Justine was in seventh, and you came home on Valentine’s Day with a lunchbox filled with cards?”

  “I guess,” I said, not really recalling.

  “Do you know how many cards Justine got?”

  “Ten? Twenty?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “See?” I felt strangely triumphant. “There was no way I could’ve fit that many cards in my lunchbox.”

  “Only twelve of them were for her,” Mom said. “Those were from her girlfriends.”

  “And?” I said, when she looked at me like I should know what she was talking about.

  “And some of the boys in her grade saw you when we dropped both of you off at school together. They had little crushes and gave her cards to give to you.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “I know you don’t. You didn’t think anything of it—then, or in similar situations in the years following. You didn’t notice when boys tried to ask you out, or hung out with Justine in hopes of talking to you.”

  “But I’ve never even been on a date.” That was still true, despite what had happened with Simon.

  “If you haven’t been on a date, it’s not because no one wanted to take you out on one.”

  “Mom,” I said calmly, “Justine went white-water rafting, and snuck out late at night, and kissed a lot of boys. She wasn’t afraid of anything. That’s what everyone loved about her. That’s what I loved about her.”

  “Yes, she did do all of those things—because she thought that as your sister, she had to try that hard to get people to notice her. She didn’t talk about it to your father and me quite as much as she got older, but we knew that’s what she was doing. And we did our best to reassure her and make her feel as loved as possible.”

  “If that’s true,” I said, not buying it for a second, “then why did she go out of her way to protect me? To take care of me, to try to help me feel less afraid of everything that scared me? If being my sister made her work so hard, wouldn’t she have been bitter? And resentful? Wouldn’t we have been enemies instead of best friends?”

  “You were so innocent, so unassuming. She knew you had no idea what everyone else saw.” She looked down. Her glossed lips parted again, as though she was going to elaborate … but then she remained silent.

  “What are you saying?” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Vanessa, Justine was beautiful. She was funny and smart and daring and exciting.” She looked at me, her eyes watering. “But she was also the most insecure person I’ve ever known. And I think that’s why she did what she did. I think that’s why she jumped, in the middle of the night, in very dangerous conditions.”

  I stared at her. If what she claimed was true, then Zara had nothing to do with Justine’s death.

  I did.

  “Anyway,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t want all of that to ruin our lovely breakfast. It’s just we hadn’t really talked about what happened, and—”

  She stopped when I put the piece of paper on the table before her. I watched her eyes travel from the green Post-it note at the bottom to the nine words in the center.

  “What is this?” she asked, the pink gloss on her lips growing brighter as the color faded from her face.

  “Justine’s personal essay,” I said, my heart racing. I’d been carrying it around in my purse since taking it off her bulletin board. “About who she was, and who she wanted to become.”

  She glanced at me. “What are you … How did you …?”

  “She wasn’t going to Dartmouth. She didn’t even apply.”

  My stomach turned when her eyes filled with fresh tears, and for just a second, I almost regretted telling her what would’ve been the worst possible thing she could’ve heard before Justine’s death. But she’d basically just accused me of making Justine’s entire life difficult before sending her over the edge for good. I wanted her to know
that she didn’t know Justine as well as she thought.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her eyes locked on the middle of the page. “She said she was accepted. She wore the sweatshirt. She carried the umbrella. We turned over her college savings account to her name when she turned eighteen, and she sent in the deposit right after that.”

  “Did you actually ever see a bank statement?” I asked gently. “Or a returned check made out to Dartmouth?”

  “I must have … or maybe I didn’t. It seems so long ago now, I can’t remember. But I know I was very busy at work at the time, and she was so excited, so I just assumed …” She shook her head, then looked up. “Why would she lie?”

  I frowned as the tears slowly spilled onto the tops of her cheeks. “I’m not sure.” I debated telling her that finding out was the real reason I’d come back to Winter Harbor in the first place, but then decided against it. I didn’t want to get into a heated discussion about Caleb, or field questions I couldn’t answer. Plus, she hadn’t looked so devastated since the police had delivered their terrible news at the lake house several weeks before, and despite my intentions a few seconds earlier, I didn’t want to say anything that would make her feel worse.

  I looked across the room, surprised when a table of middle-aged men erupted in loud laughter. I’d been so distracted by our bizarre conversation I’d forgotten where we were, and why.

  “Here you are—scrambled eggs, toast, and two cups of coffee.”

  I turned back, noting as I did that my head felt fine.

  “Can I get you girls anything else?”

  Raina. She stood by our table, talking to both of us but looking only at me. She wore a short green sundress that showed off her tan—and curves.

  “Hi, Mrs.—Miss—Marchand,” I said, my eyes darting to Mom. She was so thrown by Justine’s blank essay she didn’t notice the steaming plate before her. “What are you doing here?”

  “It is my restaurant,” she said, her fake smile growing wider. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “Right. Sorry.” Feeling like lasers were shooting at me from her silver eyes, I looked away. When I did, I saw that the table of middle-aged men across the room had stopped laughing and were watching Raina, transfixed.